Perhaps you ought to speak your mind more often, Emily Pepper. “Are you spying on me, Tobias?”
The humor in his eyes faded. “I do believe the country air is making you contrary, Miss Emily. Apologies if I have given offense. I occasionally deliver correspondence to the inn, and I happened to overhear a tavern maid gossiping with some plowboy. They look forward to both the dancing lessons and the flirtation to be had thereafter.”
Happened to overhear, meaning he’d eavesdropped. “I’ve suggested Papa have a master shipwright review your plans for the merchantman,” Emily said, starting for the staircase. “Neither you nor Caleb made that suggestion.”
Tobias fell in step beside her as she mounted the steps. “A shipwright to fuss over a few simple changes will take time, and time is money. Caleb will be difficult over the delay, as only he can be, but if it’s important to you, I will second the motion.”
Emily had already won Papa’s consent. She did not need Tobias’s gracious offer of support. “If those few simple changes unbalance the cargo hold, and our ship is damaged or lost as a result, then the time saved by cutting corners now is wasted, isn’t it? If our haste causes preventable loss of life, then we are at fault, are we not?”
“Dancing puts you in a bad humor, miss.”
“Depending on who partners me, you might be right, but that has nothing to do with irresponsible hurry where Pepper Shipping is concerned. Papa has agreed to send for a shipwright, and Caleb has nothing to say to it.”
“Caleb probably doesn’t see it that way.”
To blazes with how he sees it. Emily could not bring herself to be quite that honest. She instead stopped at the top of the steps and rummaged around mentally for how Valerian would couch the point she needed to make.
“I appreciate how hard both you and Caleb work and how loyal you have been to Papa during his bout of ill health.”
“I am happy to be of use to a man who has done so much for me,” Tobias replied.
Emily suspected he meant that. Tobias was short on charm, but to Emily, that made him easier to deal with than Caleb. Caleb had a ready sense of humor, an ability to turn the conversation in a light direction, and a tendency to not take himself too seriously. Caleb was more of a friend than Tobias would ever be, though Emily trusted neither of them.
“You are well compensated for your loyalty too, Tobias. I am Osgood Pepper’s daughter, and now that his health is improved, I intend to resume my duties as his amanuensis and assistant.”
She made that decision as the words left her lips, and she would explain it to Papa at the first opportunity.
“But Osgood has a pair of secretaries now, miss. We brought the Walmer twins down from London, and between the two of them, they handle all the correspondence and reporting.”
Emily knew the Walmer twins by sight, but she did not know them. They had been employed in the Manchester office and brought to London only as Papa’s health had faded. Now the two young men bided in guest quarters, ate at the second table, and mostly kept away from the public rooms.
“Then I will read what they produce and ensure it meets with Papa’s wishes.” She’d done that before all the trouble had flared up with Adam, and caught many an error too.
“Might we discuss this someplace less public?”
Tobias was a creature of strategy and action, all logic and ledgers. That he’d ask for privacy was disquieting.
“In here,” Emily said, leading him to the second informal parlor. “Whatever you have to say, Tobias, please just say it. You and Caleb cannot be trusted to honor my father’s health limitations. You keep him at his labors when he has promised to rest. You leave him sitting at the desk when he should be enjoying fresh air and sunshine. You ply him with port far into the evening so that you can discuss business, business, and yet more business. I won’t tolerate it any longer.”
To say the words felt good. Shouting them would have felt better.
Tobias wandered across the room, coming to a halt before a woodcut of a hare in snow. Such art would not adorn the walls of a London town house, but Emily liked the exquisite detail of the print and the hare’s sense of calm sagacity.
“You are right, of course,” Tobias said. “We have been too pleased with Osgood’s renewed vigor to insist that he heed your concerns regarding his health. I think you underestimate, though, the extent to which his newfound joy is precisely because you are more interested in matters social and domestic.”
This was said gently, even carefully, as bad news should be delivered.
“You’re saying Papa is relieved that I’m less involved in his mercantile enterprise?” A sense of betrayal accompanied that question, because Tobias’s suggestion fit all too well with Emily’s own sense of the changes the past few years—and the remove to Dorset—had brought.
Tobias glanced at her over his shoulder. “Osgood hasn’t said anything directly, but he’s implied that you feel responsible for your brother’s wrongdoing. Osgood is worried that you’ve tried to take your brother’s place in the business, when you should be finding a husband and setting up your nursery.”
How could an evening go in such a short time from unalloyed joy to utter rage? “My brother has a name. Adam is alive, and in two years he will be free to return to England. The courts found him guilty, and you and Caleb aided them in doing so. I will never believe Adam stole from Papa’s business, though I understand the evidence presented was damning. In no way do I feel the need to atone for a wrong Adam did not commit.”
“You are so loyal,” Tobias murmured. “I admire that about you tremendously.”
“If you admire my loyalty, then try to show a little more of it yourself. Make Papa observe mealtimes, send him up to bed at a reasonable hour. Have at least some of your blasted discussions out in the garden or on the terrace. I will not sit idly by while you and Caleb make Papa ill again.”
That wasn’t exactly fair. Older men grew frail in the normal course. Papa had been lucky to come across medication that had abated his symptoms, lucky to have encountered Margaret Dorning, who knew how to prepare and administer that medication.
“I can do as you ask where Osgood is concerned,” Tobias replied, “but you will still hover and fret, when what Osgood wants, what he wants more than all the fast ships and beautiful cloth in the world, is for you to take a husband and be happy. You refuse to even make the attempt, Emily. How loyal is that?”
Tobias again spoke softly, reasonably, and Emily wanted to slap him. “You may have a point, but taking a husband does not necessarily result in happiness. The wrong husband is worse than no husband at all.”
“And instead of looking for the right husband, you insist on maintaining a correspondence with the son Osgood has disowned. Your father would be very hurt if he knew that.”
The parlor, Emily’s favorite, abruptly felt too small. “I don’t need you to tell me how my own father would feel. Papa made a grave error where Adam is concerned, and in time, I hope he can admit that.”
“Does Adam reply to your letters?” Tobias’s question was posed casually—too casually.
“He has not for some time. Because of his skill with languages and numbers, he’s managed fairly well as convicts go, but his situation is difficult. How exactly did you learn that I write to my brother?”
Tobias next became fascinated with the landscape over the mantel, a bucolic study of a shepherd with his flocks. While the sky was pale blue and replete with fluffy white clouds, the shepherd and his charges dwelled in a dark forest below. To Emily, the painting raised a question: What manner of sheep dwelled in forests? What manner of shepherd kept his sheep beneath the shadowed trees when sunny fields were nearby?
Tobias faced her, his expression conveying more patient humoring. “I spotted a letter to your brother on the first occasion when I took my correspondence to the inn,” he said. “The inn’s mailbag spilled. I was clumsy with it, trying to shove my letters in with all the others, and the lot went cascadin
g over the table. The innkeeper’s wife was wroth with me, and well she should have been.”
Two hours of dancing hadn’t tired Emily, but this discussion was tiring her. “I trust you will keep quiet about my personal correspondence.” She made that a statement, not a question.
“Your secrets are safe with me, Emily, but I don’t think you’ll find Caleb quite so accommodating.”
Emily had started for the door, though the significance of Tobias’s words stopped her. “I beg your pardon? Is Caleb also prone to spilling mailbags that just happen to include my letters to Adam?”
“I trust not, but Caleb fancies himself in love with you. If you’d give him a chance, he might well be that right man you alluded to earlier. If you accept Caleb’s suit, you can keep an eye on your father, remain attached to the business, and start a family. Caleb is a decent fellow and good company. Far more sociable than I am.”
A more accomplished lady might have been able to hide her reaction, but Emily was only an heiress, not a lady by birth. She burst out laughing, even knowing that deriding any man’s romantic aspirations was unkind.
“I’m sorry. You have taken me very much by surprise. I could no more marry Caleb than… The idea is absurd. He’s a fine fellow, and he has many delightful qualities, but he’s not… He hasn’t…”
He doesn’t listen to me. He doesn’t ask me questions I ought to be asking myself. He doesn’t warn me against my own impulsive nature, though warning me must cost him.
Caleb is not Valerian Dorning.
“Feelings can change,” Tobias said mildly. “I will leave it to Caleb to make his sentiments known to you if and when he deems such a declaration appropriate.”
Tobias was back to being amused—or pleased. Emily couldn’t tell which. “If Caleb is shrewd,” she said, “which I believe him to be, he will not burden me with unwelcome announcements. Please heed my demand regarding Papa’s health, Tobias. That must take precedence over all other concerns.”
She made it as far as the door before Tobias’s voice again stopped her. “Your request, you mean? Your suggestion that Osgood pay more attention to naps and mealtimes?”
“My demand,” Emily said firmly. “My utterly clear and sensible demand. Good evening.” She drew the door closed quietly behind her, but all of her good cheer from the time spent with Valerian was gone.
Tobias had been smiling at her as she left the parlor, and though the result was to illuminate features more handsome than most, the effect on Emily was profound unease. She was climbing into bed when she was assailed with the awful notion that Tobias might be thinking of courting her.
She fell asleep and dreamed of waltzing with him, something she’d done on several occasions previously. In slumber, the prospect took on the quality of a nightmare for no reason Emily could discern.
Chapter Six
Morning brought with it both an oppressive overcast, which was unusual for Dorset in summertime, and a corresponding dampening of Valerian’s spirits.
The money Marie Cummings had conveyed was not that large a sum when invested in the cent-percents. The manuscript sent to London apparently hadn’t impressed anybody. Translating recipes and giving dancing lessons was no way to make a fortune, and Clovis needed new shoes.
Valerian took his morning tea tray to the back porch of his little cottage. The view was lovely on sunny days, and even today the air was full of birdsong and a hint of a breeze. Birdsong and breezes made no sort of dower portion, though, not for a woman of Emily Pepper’s means.
“Clovis needs new shoes, I need new boots.” This grim reality had become apparent as Valerian had applied polish to his footwear before going to bed. He’d already had his boots resoled twice, and he might be able to make do with that economy again.
“Are you now given to talking to yourself?”
Grey stood on the garden path, looking every inch the country squire—almost.
“The sapphire in your cravat pin is a bit overdone for daytime in the country, Casriel. I like it on you. Join me for a cup of tea?”
The earl climbed the steps to the porch, his boots gleaming—less than a year old no doubt.
“How do you happen to have a fresh pot of tea at the ready when you didn’t know I’d be calling on you? You even have a second cup on the tray.”
Good God. Valerian had put together his own tray, lost in imagining a call from Emily Pepper, which was ridiculous. So far gone had Valerian been in his make-believe socializing that he’d put service for two on the tray.
“You were overdue for a visit,” he said. “The next parlor session approaches, and Hortense Blevins is accused of stealing Milly Anders’s best petticoat from the wash line. I have a suggestion about that.”
Grey took a seat at the small table where Valerian had set the tray. “I was hoping you would.”
“Offer to cut the petticoat in half.” Valerian slid into the other chair. “Take a leaf from Solomon’s book. The woman who did the fancy embroidery on the hems and seams will object to the destruction of her artwork, and you will know to whom the petticoat truly belongs. Or ask both ladies to bring you samples of their best stitchery, and their responses to your request will shed light on who has nothing to hide and who has turned to backyard larceny.”
Grey helped himself to a slice of buttered toast, slathering it with jam. “What if they bring me chemises and stockings and whatnot? How will I examine such garments without dying of mortification? This is good jam. I thought we were out of pear preserves at the Hall.”
“That’s not from the Hall. Hannah Weller gave it to me. I translated a treatise for her from the Latin, all about gout and humors and black cherry tisanes.”
“Sounds dreadful, but not as dreadful as taking ladies’ undergarments into evidence. Do you enjoy translation work?”
“I enjoy being useful to my neighbors.” And having a steady supply of preserves, too, of course.
Grey put down his toast and put aside all pretense of Elder Brother Out for a Ramble. He sat forward, forearms braced on his knees.
“I said that very thing to my countess the other night. Valerian is quite well liked, I said, in part because he’s such a generous soul, and well blessed with tact and consideration.”
“Thank you.” Though this effusion of fraternal flattery was leading up to something. “Your tea.” Valerian passed over the first cup after putting in a dash of sugar.
“You have the knack,” Grey went on, “of seeing what’s needed and being about it. You are also well read in the law, an accomplishment I cannot claim and do not aspire to. I suspect you could also examine delicate embroidery far more knowledgeably than I can.”
“While you sit in the Lords, a purgatory I would not wish on a sworn foe.”
“Just so.” Grey dunked his toast in his tea. “It’s about the magistrate’s post, you see. You’re perfect for it, and I am not. The whole business was inflicted on me because Papa took his turn at it, though I doubt he was any more suited to adjudicating squabbles than I am. You know the law. You hold property outright, unlike Hawthorne, who loves the land but has none of his own. Might you be interested in becoming the king’s man? You’re a decent fellow with some time on your hands.”
A decent fellow with time on his hands, who stayed up late translating recipes, polishing his own boots, ironing his own cravats, and dreaming impossible dreams where Emily Pepper was concerned.
“I am not exactly at loose ends, Grey.” Books didn’t write themselves, and if a publisher came along willing to print the completed book, the author was still expected to find subscriptions for it and to make any needed revisions.
The earl slurped his tea. “I thought you’d finished up your little project.”
Emily Pepper thinks my little project is brilliant. “I’ve finished with the first draft. What’s involved in the magistrate’s duties?”
“I hardly know, I’m so poorly suited to it. You listen to a lot of complaining neighbors. About every two months or
so, you are called down to the posting inn where somebody has knocked somebody else about the head. Spats and tiffs, brawls and bad behavior.”
“Sounds like having a lot of brothers.”
Grey finished his tea. “You would see it like that, but then, you liked reading law. Ash said you had a better head for it than he did.”
An observation Ash had never passed along to Valerian. “I like solving problems and being of use.”
“There, you see?” Grey held out his empty cup. “You are perfect for the post, and being magistrate will help defray some of your household expenses.”
Valerian poured his brother another cup. “I thought the magistrate worked for free, happy to contribute his efforts to the common weal.”
“He does contribute his efforts without remuneration, but he’s not expected to contribute his paper and ink, his horse, his coal, or his personal conveyance. Reasonable expenses are compensated.”
Valerian sipped his tea and tried to ignore Clovis’s need for new shoes. The farrier had already reset the front pair once…
“I will think on this, Grey. I’m flattered that you’d ask me, and I do like to be of use, but I also have some ideas in mind for another book, and writing a book takes time.”
The earl downed his second cup at one go. “You are being coy. You can do your scribbling in the evening, when lesser mortals, such as my humble self, are condemned to perusing the law books hour after hour. If I threaten to thrash you, would you agree to take on the magistrate’s job? You could arrest me for assaulting a judicial official.”
“You’re a peer. You are harder to arrest than most.”
Grey rose. “I knew that—I think. Please do consider taking the job, Valerian. If you don’t like it, we can pass it on to somebody else.”
“Somebody such as?”
“I don’t know. The time of year is wrong to impose on anybody working his acres, but only a landed man will do. That reminds me, Beatitude says your tenant is walking out with Mr. Carter. Will you move into Abbotsford should Mrs. Cummings vacate that property?”
A Woman of True Honor: True Gentlemen Book Eight Page 8
