"Do you think Emma Watson will consent to be your wife, if she supposes, her ladyship, your mother, objects?"
"That's the worst of it—I am afraid she may have some scruples, but I mean to try my luck at all events. There's another thing too, to be considered, Fanny Carr is coming here—that eternal talker, Fanny Carr, and it would save me an immense deal of trouble with her if I could give myself out as an engaged man. She would not talk half so much."
"You really think that would make a difference," said Mr. Howard, trying to smile, but not very successfully.
"I have no doubt of it at all, and the blessing of being freed in some degree from the trouble of answering her is more than I could tell. That girl would talk the hind leg off a horse in no time."
Howard deliberated. He felt perfectly convinced that Emma never would marry from ambition or mercenary motives, but he was not quite sure what degree of influence the young peer might have over her heart. The idea of meeting Lady Osborne again was excessively disagreeable, and as he was really under the necessity of going to fetch his sister home, he thought perhaps he might as well go at once, and allow Lord Osborne a fair field. Then if the event were consonant to his own wishes he might return with a safe conscience. But the question arose, what would Emma herself think of it; in what light would she consider his quitting her thus suddenly, after the betrayal of feeling which he that very afternoon had made? Would she not think him the most capricious, the most changeable of mortals—might she not be justly affronted with him, indignant at his vacillation—might she not suspect him of trifling with her feelings—might she not think herself extremely ill-used—could he bear to forfeit the esteem which she had sometimes shown for him. No, Lord Osborne asked too much, he thought only of himself, and expected to rule Howard now, in an affair of consequence like this, in the same way as he had formerly done, when the question solely regarded what part of the river they should fish, or which copse they should go through with their guns. It was impossible, he could not, and he ought not to yield, and he determined that he would not. These thoughts occupying his mind, he was exceedingly silent during the whole evening, hardly venturing to trust his voice beyond a monosyllable, and never raising his eyes except by stealth to that part of the room where Emma sat.
The evening passed very much as might be expected amongst such a party—Margaret talked a great deal, and her husband took every opportunity of contradicting her assertions, and turning her opinions into ridicule. Lady Gordon gave up all attempts at keeping the peace as perfectly hopeless, and Sir William sat by Emma and entertained her with his conversation, whilst his brother-in-law was quite as silent as his rival. At length, to the great relief of the whole party, the Musgroves' carriage was announced, and they took their leave, and Emma, ashamed, agitated, fatigued, and worried, left the party immediately afterwards, for the silence and peace of her own apartments.
She was ashamed and mortified that the Gordons should have seen the want of concord, and the absence of courtesy between her sister and her husband—it was much worse than she had expected. Tom seemed to think no civility even was due, and Margaret set no bounds to her peevishness; but all this anxiety was merged in her considerations as to Mr. Howard's conduct and feelings. She could not comprehend him, and she understood herself only too well.
His last words to her might in themselves mean nothing, but there was a tone and a look which accompanied them which gave them a deep, and, to her, most important meaning. Her hand still seemed to feel the thrilling pressure of his fingers, and she could hardly believe that after this he could longer leave her in doubt as to his wishes.
Whether it was the agitation of mind which these reflections occasioned, or solely owing to the pain which for two days she had been suffering, she could hardly tell, but the next morning she found herself so feverish and unwell as to be quite unable to leave her room. She felt this the more because she thus, as she fancied, lost the interview with Mr. Howard which she had been promising herself, and until she found all chance of it gone, she had not known how very much she was depending on it.
In the meantime a scene which she little dreamt of was enacted at the vicarage. Early in the morning, Lord Osborne, impatient for the decision which he fully expected would be in his favour, hurried to secure an interview with Mr. Howard. Great was his surprise when he met with a firm refusal from this gentleman to accede to his proposal. He would not absent himself from Emma at this time; he would not forego the chances of success in his suit; no voluntary act on his part should cause her to doubt his sincerity, or suppose him indifferent to her. Lord Osborne was thwarted in a way which he little expected, and he had so seldom met with opposition before, that he knew not how to brook it on this occasion. He was quite silent, but with gloomy look, and long strides, he paced up and down the little drawing-room, uncertain what to do or say next, or how to express his indignation.