Bridey nodded in understanding. “Men make their own choices and we must suffer for them. It’s not easy finding a common ground where we are both comfortable with decisions that affect us equally.”
Finding out that it was her nature to care didn’t make her decision easier. That she’d made her choice in anger didn’t help. She simply had to hope she was right to send him alone so she could pursue her own concerns—as he had his.
The ride into Harrogate was tense. Gray clouds reduced the August heat, but the rain didn’t break before they reached town. Tess gave directions to her father’s house. The street was narrow and the wide berlin filled the pavement once it halted at a modest three-story town house.
With a footman and driver accompanying them, Emilia felt safe enough climbing out. Tess had come from a solid home and an educated family. It was just confrontation that she was bad at.
But with Bridey and Tess at her side, she couldn’t turn back. She nodded at the footman to rap on the door. A maid in a long white apron answered. Her eyes widened at sight of Tess.
“We will see Dr. Thomas,” Emilia said stiffly, handing over her card. Technically, a viscountess ranked over a baronetess, so her card bore more weight. Bridey’s experience and composure meant more than a title, but that was hard to prove with a bit of paper.
The maid scurried back moments later to lead them down the hallway—not into the parlor but into a study. The doctor preferred familiar male territory for this battle, Emilia realized in amusement. She was probably hysterical. She clasped her gloved hands to keep from flying apart.
Tess’s father wasn’t a tall man. Gray hair rimming his bald pate and wire-rimmed spectacles on his nose, he wasn’t even an intimidating one. But he was full-chested and twice Tess’s size. Tess cringed when he rose from his chair.
For that alone, Emilia wanted to slay him like a dragon. “Dr. Thomas,” she said coldly. She didn’t know how to do pleasantries, but she knew how to make demands. “I have come for the draft of my pharmacopeia that young Crenshaw claims he was taking to you. That was badly done of you, using Tess’s eagerness to please against her. I suggest that you apologize to her or you will most likely lose your daughter’s faith.”
“I don’t know who you are and have no idea what you’re talking about. No daughter of mine would have behaved as she has done. I have no daughter anymore. You will leave and take that wicked creature with you.”
Tess whimpered. Bridey caught her shoulders and hugged her.
“Your daughter was seduced by a piece of rubbish you allowed into your home,” Bridey said haughtily in her most cultured upper-class tones. “You are the one at fault for contaminating an innocent. Tess is an intelligent asset to my home, and I welcome her heartily. If you turn your back on your own flesh and blood, it is your loss. We are offering this opportunity to make amends. It may be your last chance to do so.”
“And who the deuce are you?” Thomas demanded, glowering.
“Brighid Pascoe, Baronetess of Alder Abbey, and the woman who will claim this gem you are throwing away,” Bridey declared grandly.
The physician’s expression turned red and ugly. “The witch who thinks to teach women how to be physicians! You may go to the devil with my daughter. We will have you up at assizes the first time you touch a patient!” Thomas shook his fist and rudely took his seat, as if they were mere servants.
Emilia wanted to bash him over the head with his own books. While Bridey lashed out with words, Emilia searched the room for any sign of her manuscript on the messy shelves and found none.
Deciding he wasn’t worth courtesy, she waited for Bridey to set him properly in his place. Then it was her turn. She leaned forward with her palms on his desk. “The Duke of Sommersville is in possession of the final manuscript. Keeping the draft is foolish and will only serve to raise the ire of the duke and my husband. You do not want them as enemies. Do not dig your grave any deeper, sir. Return my manuscript.”
“I haven’t seen Crenshaw in days,” Dr. Thomas declared angrily. “Your accusations are an insult. I will have the authorities in here if you do not leave at once and take that baggage with you. She is ruined and of no use to me now. You are welcome to her.”
Tess made a strangled sound, then caught Emilia’s arm and pulled her aside so she could face her father directly. “Charles forced himself on me that last time we met,” she said, the words barely loud enough to hear. “I told him I was carrying his child, and he tried to rid me of it by beating and raping me. You are the company you keep. I can no longer keep company with men who treat me as if I’m no better than a dog.”
She spun around and walked out proudly, although Emilia saw tears streaming down her cheeks.
That had taken strength. Emilia admired the child for her courage and wished she knew how to be the same.
All she had was her husband to throw at him. That was unsatisfying. With no other weapon but her wits, Emilia straightened and offered an unpleasant smile. “The draft pages are missing antidotes for the poisonous herbs in some of the formulas. I trust you are knowledgeable enough to know which ones so you don’t poison your patients. Should we receive any more threats, Lord Dare and the duke are prepared to take you to court. Good day, sir.”
Behind her, Bridey made a rude snort. They both hurried after Tess.
Once in the carriage, Bridey broke into gales of inappropriate laughter. “The look on his face when you told him he would poison his patients was priceless and well worth our journey.”
Catching her breath beneath the laughter that kept erupting, Bridey shifted to the backward-facing seat next to Tess and hugged the crying girl. “You were magnificent, my dear. He truly does not deserve you. It’s a pity we cannot choose our relations, but I would be proud to call you little sister.”
Tess turned into her shoulder and wept. Not certain that her feeble attempt at wit was worth laughing over, Emilia leaned out to order the carriage back to the abbey.
She wasn’t satisfied, but Bridey and Tess shouldn’t be taxed any more this day. They had accomplished what they’d set out to do, but Emilia still didn’t have her book. She wanted to grab Dr. Thomas’s ears and rip off his head for causing everyone such grief. It would have been nice if Dare had been there to accompany her, but she was no longer relying on him. Let him make money and feed his family and go his own way.
She wanted her own reputation for fighting back so no one dared cheat and steal from her again.
By the time they returned to the abbey, she’d made up her mind. After Bridey and Tess descended, Emilia stayed inside the carriage.
“Won’t you come in with us?” Bridey asked worriedly. “If Dare is gone, you shouldn’t be alone.”
“I will spend most of my life alone,” Emilia said. “I’ll learn to cope. I have some errands to run, if you don’t mind my borrowing the carriage.”
Hardly in a position to argue, Bridey waved her off, although she frowned as she did so.
Heavy clouds rolled across the sky as Dare drove the open gig down the road, sipping from the doctored water Emilia had mixed for him. That he had strength enough to handle the horse said the fresh country air had been good for his lungs, but a drenching downpour would probably ruin all the gains he’d made.
He winced at realizing he was actually considering the effect of rain on his health. Once upon a time, he had ridden through blizzards to complete a deal without giving the risk a second thought. Only old men worried about a little rain. Old men and Emilia.
Thinking about his anxious wife, the one who hadn’t shared his bed last night, he cursed at his own lack of understanding. He’d foolishly wanted her to share his triumph today as he finalized his dreams. They could have had a celebratory dinner, then enjoyed the luxury of a fine inn with big tubs and hot water and a comfortable bed. He wanted to shower his wife with the wealth he’d worked so hard to earn.
Emilia had no interest whatsoever in wealth.
Worse yet, she had spent the be
tter part of her life creating an important book that could change medicine, a book for which she well deserved recognition—and someone had stolen it from her. She’d wanted his understanding and aid, not his wealth.
He stewed over the notion. Admittedly, he didn’t need his wife’s support as she did his. A railroad might not be an earth-shaking event, but it would do more than enrich his pockets. It would change lives for the better. He had a right to feel disgruntled that she didn’t respect the importance of his endeavor. But he was feeling disgruntled because Emilia wouldn’t be with him to share his triumph.
How had he fallen so low that he needed a woman to help him celebrate? Once a deal was done, he’d always been happy to go out with a few fellows to a tavern. Some good beef and fine wine had always been enough before.
It wasn’t enough now, Dare realized in dismay as he urged the horse on. He craved Emilia’s rare laugh, her astonished look of approval when he did something fine. She made him feel as if he was special and not just the man who provided food for the table.
Of course, she also made him feel lower than a worm for not helping her retrieve her book. He’d simply assumed finalizing his investment was more important than a draft copy of a book. But she’d been uncommonly distressed. Protected as she’d been all her life, she’d never been mistreated, so he had simply brushed off her tears as hysterical and temporary. Except—Emilia was not the hysterical sort.
Worse yet, it was just now occurring to him that the fool woman might get it into her head to retrieve the book on her own. Alarmed, he pulled on the reins as the pony reared at a flash of lightning ahead.
The book wasn’t important as long as the copy was on its way to the duke, but Emilia. . .
Damn, but this marriage of convenience was becoming seriously inconvenient. Somehow, he’d let Emilia become well beyond important to him—and with his short life span, he had to consider that more closely. For these past weeks, she had been the sun that brightened his day and the fire that heated his nights.
She was damned well the reason he wanted to live forever.
Popping a horehound in his mouth to prevent his chest from seizing in panic, Dare turned the gig around. Hadenton wasn’t too far off this path. He needed to have a talk with old Crenshaw anyway. He might be late for his meeting in Leeds, but if he timed it right, he’d miss the rainstorm. And if he were really lucky, he’d be there if Emilia took it in her head to confront the old goat and his son.
Praying the fool woman had stayed home, reluctantly admitting that she probably hadn’t, Dare lashed the reins and sent the pony trotting down the lane to Hadenton. He wished he had a real horse, but a single coughing spell could spill him on the ground. He didn’t think his pride could handle the fall—or his head, should he hit a stone. Perhaps he really was growing old to think like that, or maybe just more mature. He didn’t want Emilia nursing an invalid with a broken head as well as lungs.
There was the crux of the problem. . . he’d not cared what happened to him before. He’d never had reason to consider how his family would feel if he broke his neck.
Marriage was smothering the devil in Dare.
It was a good thing he only needed this one last deal to reach his goals or he’d be giving away concessions because the other fellow needed the money more. Women softened the head—but the nights, the nights were worth it. Remembering Emilia rising over him wearing nothing at all—was akin to all the world’s natural wonders rolled into one.
If she had just been good in bed, he might beat back this weakness, but Emilia had a rare mind, one that delighted and helped him. And there it was. . . her eagerness to help. How could he not love a woman, a partner, who wanted only to help for the sake of helping? Not out of pity, not because she wanted something, but because she had the same interests as he did.
He had no choice but to return her favor. With a few inquiries, he found the drive to Crenshaw’s estate. Leaving the gig out of sight, Dare tucked his pistol in his coat, wrapped in a cloak against the wind, and trudged up the drive. He’d learned early to spy out the lay of the land before entering strange territory. He didn’t like surprises.
Keeping to the shrubbery, he walked around to the rear where the stables were. More carriages than he would expect Crenshaw to own were lined up along the stones, and the paddock had several horses milling about. He didn’t see an excess of grooms, but if his surmise was correct, the men inside weren’t wealthy nobility but merchants and bankers who drove their own rigs.
To his dismay, but not to his surprise, Ashford’s crested berlin rolled up the drive as Dare considered his next move. He could hope it was Pascoe, but he knew it was not.
So much for any element of surprise. He couldn’t imagine what his wife intended, but he was insanely eager to find out.
With a spring in his step, Dare emerged from the shrubbery just as a footman helped Emilia from the carriage. He admired her attire with pride at her grasp of the situation. Instead of wearing one of her grandiose gowns with the flying sleeves and bouncing petticoats to flaunt her grandeur, she was dressed in a modest calling gown that any merchant’s wife might wear. Dare thought she’d have been better off with a suit of armor if he gauged the meaning of this meeting rightly, but modesty had its own protection.
The rain started just as he reached the drive and the footmen rapped at the door.
“We’ll both be drenched by the time they answer that door,” he complained as he joined her.
“Dare! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out in this.” Emilia drew her cloak tighter, but rain watered the roses in her hat.
“Neither should you. Nor should you be here.” He stated the obvious. “Crenshaw has all his cronies inside. This is not the time to confront him.”
He saw the uncertainty, recognized her desire to retreat, then watched as she lifted her jaw and marched up to the entrance without him.
Grimacing, he joined her. “So, it’s to be like this, is it?”
“I did not ask you to come,” she pointed out as the door finally swung open. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own problems.”
“Just as I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own health, right?” He didn’t know where that had come from. He handed his card to the maid waiting in the entrance.
Emilia sent him a sidelong look of puzzlement, but didn’t have time to question. Dare placed his hand on her back as they strolled after the maid back to a room where male voices rose in anger. This would not be a pleasant visit. He wished he could carry the damned woman to the carriage and heave her in, except Emilia would most likely stove in his head if he tried. He had to admire his wife’s courage in coming here.
While the maid attempted to catch the attention of her shouting employer, Dare took the time to study the room’s occupants. He recognized Frederick, the elder Crenshaw, from Emilia’s description of her earlier visit. He knew Weathersby, the banker he’d talked to in Harrogate. He assumed the hulking young bull snarling in the corner nearest to them was Charles Crenshaw, the man who had threatened women and shoved Emilia. Dare set his sights on that one. The others appeared to be physicians and merchants of small interest to him.
Finding a gnarled hiking stick leaning against a table, Dare picked it up and slammed it against the wall, causing paintings to tilt. The noise startled the argument into silence. Everyone in the room turned to glare at them. Dare took off his wet top hat and bowed grandly. “Good day to you, gentlemen. Pardon my intrusion, but I have come to retrieve my wife’s property, if you would be so good as to return it.”
Emilia glared at him as well, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that this group would listen to a woman’s plea. Dare practically bounced on his toes in anticipation of the confrontation to come. He wasn’t completely soft yet.
“Who the devil are you and what are you talking about?” the gouty old man Dare had identified as Frederick Crenshaw demanded from his place by the fire.
Looking properly horrified
, Weathersby leaned over to whisper to him.
“Ah, I do apologize, gentlemen. Not all of us have been introduced. I am Lord Dare, and this is my lovely wife. We have lately moved into Sir Harry Malcolm’s home in Alder, the one Mr. Weathersby and Mr. Crenshaw were supposed to be looking after and apparently sought to sell to their investors for a railroad instead. You’ll be seeing the lawsuit papers about that shortly.”
Dare could sense the younger Crenshaw easing in his direction. He placed his bulk more directly between the bully and Emilia before speaking over the astonished murmurs. “Young Crenshaw here apparently took it into his head to stop the lawsuit by beating up on the mother of his child, shoving my wife, and stealing a draft of her pharmacopeia. I will leave it to his respected elders to deal with his behavior, but I want my wife’s book back.” His drew his smile into a threatening frown as he made his point as clearly as possible.
“We have no notion of what you’re talking about,” an older man with mutton chops said querulously. “We are a legitimate group of merchants banded to aid our town in obtaining the transportation it needs to grow. What right do you have to make these accusations?”
“Witnesses and evidence, sir, which will hold up in court. The Duke of Sommersville possesses the final draft of the book in question, so there is absolutely no worth to the one Charles stole except for sentimental reasons to my wife.”
“Well, there is some danger to anyone using it,” Emilia added in her best professorial voice. “The pages on antidotes for the poisons in some of the formulas weren’t quite complete and are not in the stolen copy, which renders the book rather dangerous.”
Dare had to fight back a grin but gave her a look of appreciation he didn’t think she noticed. She was too busy glaring at the men glaring back at her. His lady might not be charming but she didn’t mince words.
Several of the unknown men continued to declare they knew nothing, but Dare noted Crenshaw and Weathersby remained silent. He considered taking the stick to someone’s head, but with Emilia present, he’d have to make violence the last resort.
Chemistry of Magic Page 21
