by Abby Ayles
Chapter 10
Francis paused, his hand poised over the letter he was penning.
He knew that he must choose his words with great care. Although he was writing to a friend and former fellow schoolmate, the subject of the letter was quite sensitive.
His friend, though they did not often visit with one another, would find nothing strange about receiving a letter from Francis. However, he might think it rather odd that he was asking questions about a woman.
Emma Baker, to be precise.
Francis was determined to learn what it was that Emma was hiding. He had hoped that, if he were to be a bit warmer and more charming, she might open up to him herself.
That had not happened, however. In fact, in many ways, it seemed that Emma was trying harder than ever to close herself off to him, especially after he had stroked her face.
As such, he was forced to do some sleuthing without her knowledge or consent.
He had considered traveling to her home, with the ruse that he wished to visit her brother. Perhaps, if nothing else, Marcus would have some of the answers he sought. Francis could not help wondering why Marcus was not helping Emma or handling his responsibility to his family.
However, in the end, Francis decided against going to Emma’s home. He was certain that word would get back to her, and even more certain that she would leave once it did.
Therefore, he decided to simply begin his investigation by writing to his friend.
He knew that he should not pry into her personal business at all, but he could not help himself. He could do nothing to help her or fix the situation if he remained in the dark about the problem, and fixing the problem was all that truly mattered to Francis.
He also could not deny the fact that this matter was providing a welcome distraction from his grief. Nor could he ignore the evidence that this distraction had made him notably livelier than he had been since Caroline’s death.
Not to mention that it gave him something else about which to think, in order to avoid remembering that his father-in-law was practically blackmailing him into marrying Rosaline.
Francis sighed and put down his pen. He put his fingertips to his temples and rubbed lightly, recalling the elderly earl’s ultimatum.
He did care for Rosaline a great deal but as nothing more than a friend. He could not picture himself with her or living a life with her as husband and wife.
Specifically, he could not bring himself to imagine fathering children with her, which is something he knew that everyone, including Rosaline, would expect, and rightfully so.
Rosaline was young and optimistic, and she would indeed make a great match for any of London’s marriageable men. However, he could not provide her with the family she no doubt sought.
He struggled enough to bond and spend time with his two children. He knew that there was no way he could create a bond with children born from a woman he did not love.
Before he realized it, his thoughts wandered back to Emma.
She was strong and intelligent and inquisitive, sometimes to a fault. But she was also very beautiful, in a way that was very different from Caroline, but to him was equal, just the same.
For a moment, he imagined himself wedding Emma and, perhaps, having children with her. To his surprise, this was an idea that was quite compelling to him. Certainly, more so than the prospect of marrying Rosaline.
Just then, Francis became distinctly aware of his thoughts. He shook his head and tried to erase the images of him and Emma together.
Once more, he chastised himself for considering his governess in such a manner and pushed the idea to the back of his mind. He needed to focus on the task at hand.
As he finished the letter to his friend, Francis realized that it might be days, or even weeks, before he heard back from the man. He did not have that much time. He was determined to resolve the mystery in Emma’s life, and he needed to do so quickly.
He decided that, while he awaited a response from his friend, he would also ask other people in town what they knew about Marcus.
Francis looked at his watch. It was still early enough in the morning to begin his interrogations right away if he wished. He rushed downstairs and ordered that a carriage be made ready. Then, a thought occurred to him.
Whether he liked it or not, Emma had been right. He was not spending anywhere near enough time with his children. And he knew that he would never begin to work on rebuilding the bond he once had with them if he did not make the effort.
He went back up the stairs and knocked on the children’s bedroom door, disrupting their lessons.
“Excuse me, Miss Baker,” Francis said, feeling himself flush timidly.
Emma looked up from the book she had been reading, her eyes wide.
“Yes, Lord Ashfield? Is something the matter?” she asked.
Francis shook his head vigorously.
“Not at all, Miss Baker,” he said. “You are doing very well. I would just like to speak with my son, if I may.”
Emma blinked, seemingly surprised.
“Of course, my lord,” she said.
Winston jumped up and rushed to meet his father. Francis noticed that Rowena looked both hopeful and disappointed, and he felt guilty for not calling to her as well.
“I will speak to you later, sweetheart,” Francis said to his daughter. “I promise.”
At this, the little girl beamed brightly and returned her attention to the governess.
As Francis ushered his son from the room, he could not help but notice the small smile spreading across Emma’s face. Nor could he hide the smile on his own.
When his son had met him in the hallway, Francis noticed that the boy’s face had gone from excitement to cautious attention. Francis felt this tug at his heart, and at that moment, he knew that he must try harder in the future to bond with his children.
Now nervous, Francis cleared his throat.
“Winston, I would ask that you accompany me on my errands today,” he said bluntly.
He had long forgotten how to interact with his children, and he had momentarily spoken as though he was speaking to a business associate or employee. He took a deep breath.
“I thought that you and I could go to town. I must speak to some people,” Francis added.
Winston’s eyes lit up, and Francis’s heart melted a little.
“Yes,” the boy cried. Then, seeming to remember himself, he straightened his coat and exhaled. “I mean, I would be happy to accompany you, Father.”
Francis smiled warmly at his son’s excitement.
“Very good,” Francis said. “Go on inside and tell Miss Baker.”
Winston nodded and bolted back inside the room. Francis waited just outside the door, but he could hear his son’s excitement. He could not hear the governess’s response, but the tone of her voice sounded both surprised and pleased.
Within seconds, his son was back at his side. He had put on a mature, serious mask, but Francis did not miss the joy that glistened in the boy’s eyes.
For the first time since Caroline’s death, Francis felt truly pleased with himself. He felt that this was a big step toward connecting with his children, especially in light of his conversation with Emma.
He briefly felt guilt for not inviting Rowena too. He loved both his children, but if he were being honest with himself, reconnecting with his son was far easier, because Winston looked far less like Caroline than his daughter.
As the pair exited the house and walked toward the carriage, Francis noticed the boy’s barely concealed glee. He felt another pang of guilt at having not made any efforts to get his children out of the house as of late, but he made a vow that he would make more of an effort from that moment on.
Winston all but jumped into the waiting carriage, and Francis had to stifle a robust laugh at the boy’s merriment.
The first two stops proved to be as fruitless as Francis’s investigations had been thus far. While he had enjoyed visiting with people to whom he had s
poken little since Caroline’s death, they had little information of use.
As he left his second acquaintance’s office, he caught sight of the clock. He noted that it was just before noon, and it occurred to him that he had not eaten breakfast.
“Would you like to have some lunch, son?” he asked.
Winston nodded fervently.
“Right, then. Let’s go,” Francis said, smiling.
Francis picked a nice coffeehouse, not far from his last inquisition stop. As they ordered their meals, hot chocolate for his son and coffee for himself, Francis worried about what to say to his boy.
As hard as he was trying, he still did not know quite how to bond with his son. Fortunately, however, that proved to be an irrelevant concern. Winston chatted happily all throughout the meal, about lessons and fun new games that Emma had taught to him and Rowena to play.
Francis felt a bit of envy nip at him knowing that Emma was bonding more with his children than he had been. However, he had to admit to himself that there was also a bit of relief mixed with that envy, as well as admiration.
He solidified his resolve to spend more time with his children so that he could experience more of the children’s lives as well.
Once the meal was finished, Francis set out to continue his investigation. He still had a few ideas for people to question, and he figured that he could do so before sundown.
However, as he and Winston headed for the carriage as they left the coffeehouse, Francis stopped in his tracks. There, exiting an office just a block over from the coffeehouse, was none other than Marcus Baker.
Francis took his son’s hand and helped him enter their carriage. “I won’t be long,” he promised Winston. “I just need to speak with an acquaintance of mine.”
Marcus had stopped to consult his pocket watch. As he approached him, Francis gasped.
Emma’s brother looked quite peaked, which shocked Francis into a brief paralysis. As soon as Marcus started moving again, however, Francis continued his path toward the man as well.
“Marcus Baker,” Francis said.
Marcus turned toward the voice calling him, his eyes wide. Francis noticed the bruising beneath the younger man’s eyes and was once again taken aback. He gave himself a mental shake and tried to mask his surprise at Marcus’s apparent physical state.
Now that he had Marcus’s attention, he was at a loss for words. He took a step toward the man, hoping that Marcus did not flee before he could speak with him.
“Y-Yes?” Marcus asked.
Francis winced at the weakness in Marcus’s voice. He had not been close friends with Marcus, but he had liked him well enough, and to see him in such a state unnerved him.
“Do you remember me?” Francis asked. He felt that formally announcing himself would do him no favors with the man.
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Who does not know Lord Ashfield?” he asked, his tone light, but laden with tension.
“Of course,” Francis said, offering his hand. “You and I attended the same school, as I recall.”
“I recall that as well,” Marcus said, very politely, shaking Francis’s outstretched hand. Francis could not help but notice how weak the handshake felt. “How have you been faring?”
“Very well, thank you,” Francis said. “Do you have a moment?”
Marcus looked around hurriedly, but at last, nodded.
“Certainly. What can I do for you, my lord?”
Francis took a deep breath. He had not really expected to speak to Marcus himself, and he was now unsure as to how to continue the conversation.
“How have you been keeping?” Francis asked weakly.
Marcus smiled politely, but Francis saw the strained look in his eyes and the way he kept glancing around as though wishing to be away from him.
“Well, here I stand, talking with you,” Marcus said with a small laugh.
Francis laughed along with the man, but he felt no real humor.
Again, Francis noticed Marcus looking around as if looking for an escape route. Not wishing to miss his chance, he decided to get right to the point of the matter.
“I assume you know that your sister has come into my employ as my governess?” Francis asked.
At this, Marcus stiffened. Francis tried to keep his composure, but he could not help noticing Marcus’s sudden change in demeanor.
“Yes, I am aware,” Marcus said brusquely.
“Oh, she is a wonderful governess, indeed,” Francis said, trying to reassure Marcus that he did not wish to complain about his sister’s capabilities.
Marcus’s expression darkened further still.
“Indeed, I have no doubt that she is,” he said.
Francis smoothed out his coat, bothered by the sudden change in Marcus.
“I was wondering why—” Francis began.
Suddenly, Marcus became completely cold and inhospitable.
“If you will excuse me, I have a pressing matter to which I must attend,” he said. Before Francis could say anything more, Emma’s brother rushed away, heading for the nearest carriage.
As he walked, Francis noticed that Marcus walked with a noticeably awkward gait that reminded Francis of an off-balance drunken man.
Francis frowned, startled by Marcus’s sudden harsh reaction. They had not been good friends, but Francis had certainly never considered Marcus his enemy, and could not see any reason why Marcus would treat him as such.
He wondered if Marcus had partaken of one too many drinks so early in the day.
At last, the pieces fell into place. Whatever the case, Emma’s plaguing stress must be stemming from her brother. Marcus had acted strangely enough, but from their short conversation, Francis could not determine exactly in what he might be involved.
From the looks of things, whatever was going on could be nothing good.
With a heavy sigh, Francis retreated to his awaiting carriage. As the carriage altered its course and headed for home, Francis resolved to hire someone to follow Marcus until he got the answers he sought.
Chapter 11
On the day she was supposed to travel to Rosaline’s home, Emma cut the children’s lessons short.
She did not think the children had noticed, but she had been a nervous wreck all morning. Or, perhaps they did notice, but after she announced that lessons would end early, they did not care.
Once she had dismissed the children for the day, she headed down the hall toward her room to make herself presentable. As she walked, she nearly ran right into Francis, who was coming out of his study, studying a piece of paper in his hand carefully.
She gasped in surprise, catching Francis’s attention. He looked as startled as she did.
“Good morning, Miss Baker,” he said cordially.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said.
“Are lessons finished for today?” he asked.
Emma swallowed. She had not thought to ask him if he would mind her taking half the day off.
“I dismissed the children early today,” she said timidly. “I am going to town.”
Francis looked at her, seemingly curious, but not angry.
“Where are you going?” Francis asked.
Emma’s heart pounded.
“I am going to have tea with Miss Brentwood,” Emma said. She held her breath, awaiting Francis’s reaction.
He only nodded, seeming disinterested.
“Yes, I believe that you should take a day off,” he said. “You have been working quite hard. Have a lovely afternoon. And give Rosaline my regards.”
As Francis walked away, once more focused on the paper in his hand, she let out a sigh.
She had been certain that Francis would be angry with her taking off early or see through her and know what she and Rosaline were planning at once. She knew such a thought was foolish, but she was very pleased that she had been wrong, nonetheless.
***
As the carriage pulled up in front of Rosaline’s home, Emma gasped. She had expe
cted the home to be grand, but seeing it for herself took away her breath, much like seeing Francis’s sprawling mansion had when she first arrived.
The splendor of the house intensified Emma’s fraying nerves, and she folded her hands in her lap, willing them to cease trembling before the carriage came to a stop.
As when she arrived at Francis’s home, she thought about her own home. By comparison, her home was very shabby and dull, and quite small.
