“And your guardian has agreed to this?”
Her smile vanished. “My stepmother and stepbrother have served as my trustees. My father passed away when I was sixteen.”
“I am sorry for your loss.” He was silent for a moment. “Both my parents have passed also.”
“I am sorry for your loss as well,” said Emma.
“It is hard to lose a parent.”
“Yes.” Emma’s first instinct was to brighten the maudlin conversation. She never wished to burden anyone with how much her heart grieved the loss of her father, so she typically kept the conversation light. In the immediate aftermath of her father’s death, Eustace had taken great offense at her grief, calling her tears childish and manipulative. Emma had learned to smother her feelings behind a calm facade. Yet one look at Dare’s somber eyes told her that he would prefer honesty over superficial pleasantries.
“When my father died, it was quite a blow to me.” Emma glanced away from the intense, black eyes of the Earl of Darington.
“Where were you when he passed?”
Emma looked up. It was a question she had never been asked before. It took her back to that moment in time.
“I was beside him. He had been injured, shot by accident by one of the village lads hired to help with the annual hunt. A shotgun had accidentally discharged, and he had been struck. I tended his wounds, following his instructions. It seemed as though he would recover, but then the wound turned hot and festered. I did everything I could to save him, but he grew weaker and weaker every day, until finally…”
She could not stop the memories from flooding back. The night before he passed, he told her he was dying and not to blame herself. She had begged him not to leave her. She stayed by his side, trying anything to help. By the morning, his breathing was ragged and labored. She knew it was close to the end. She held his hand and told him she was sorry. When he breathed his last, she had cried until her breath came in silent gasps.
Regina had blamed her for his death, saying Emma should have let them bleed her father, and that if they had called a proper doctor, his death could have been prevented. Her stepmother’s words still haunted her. “I miss him greatly,” Emma whispered.
“Forgive me the lack of a handkerchief.”
Emma started and looked up at Dare, confused by the comment. Why would she need a handkerchief? She blinked and tears fell down her cheeks. She quickly found her own and attempted to remedy the situation. “Please do forgive me.” She feared his recrimination.
“It is a natural thing to mourn one’s parent.” The only thing she saw in his eyes was compassion.
“Yes, yes it is.” She was enormously relieved by his acceptance. Dare did not attempt to fix her tears and make her stop, nor did he seem inclined to run away. Of course, he had little option to flee. “How old were you when your parents passed?”
“My mother died bringing my sister and me into the world. My father died when we were twelve. I was at school and not able to be present at his passing.”
“I am sorry for your loss. My mother also died in childbirth when I was young, attempting to bring a son into the world. Unfortunately, neither survived.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“I think, perhaps, losing a mother early, it is not good for a child. I felt I missed something,” confessed Emma.
“Yes. If my mother had lived, life would have been very different.”
“Yes. Very different,” agreed Emma. No stepmother. No stepbrother. Mothers were the protectors of children; they stood in the gap to shield their offspring from pain. Without them, children were vulnerable.
It was odd that in the sparse room with a complete stranger, Emma felt she could talk about things she could never share with her family. The Earl of Darington was different. Though she was supposed to be taking care of him, it was he who was providing comfort to her.
Twelve
Dare had never been more confused. He had spent a good deal of time and energy trying to avoid young women, especially the possibility of awkward conversations, and yet here he was, talking about the death of his parents, something he had never done in the entirety of his life, with a beautiful young lady without feeling a qualm of discomfort. He should have been running for the door, injury or not, yet instead, he hoped she would speak more about her life.
Their honest conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door and a maid brought in a repast, basic in nature yet delicious in scent. Emma jumped up to accept the offerings and placed them on a small wooden table. “I asked for some broth for you,” she explained, bustling about to prepare to break their fast. “Have you any appetite?”
At the scent of food, his stomach rumbled audibly. “Yes, indeed.” It had been a day since his last meal and he felt the deprivation. “Is that bacon I smell?” Dare was taking a distinct interest in the breakfast tray.
“Yes, but let’s start with the broth.”
His enthusiasm waned. He thought nothing could reduce his regard for Miss Emma St. James, but coming between him and bacon came close.
“We can work up to bacon,” she conceded.
He tried to sit up a bit more so he could eat, but his wound throbbed with pain. He had been hurt before, but never this bad. It was going to take time to heal—time he did not have.
“Now let me raise your head a bit with another pillow so you can try this broth,” said Emma in a mothering fashion.
“I can feed myself,” he complained and took the spoon from her hand. She held the bowl and he ate. Slowly at first, then faster, trying to fill his empty belly.
“Easy now,” she gently chided. Dare did not care to be treated like an infant, but he did appreciate her leaning over him with warmth in her eyes and a smile on her face. He could see where the role of invalid could have its advantages.
“So I understand you took to the sea as a young man.” She smiled at him, her bright-blue eyes crinkling at the edges.
“Yes. I have only recently returned.”
“I know.”
He frowned, wondering how she would know of his movements.
“It’s been in the paper,” she admitted with a guilty shrug of a dainty shoulder.
So she had read of the Pirate Earl. He wondered what she thought of such an unfortunate title.
She appeared to have something on her mind as she gazed at him intently, but then she turned away when he looked at her. She hummed a song as she cleared the dishes, nibbling on her bottom lip in an unconscious manner.
“Was there… Do you have any concerns?” He was not sure how to ask what she was thinking and, for the first time in his life, wished he had been blessed with more social graces.
Emma glanced up with bright eyes and returned to her post on the chair by his side. She did not seem to mind his awkward attempts at conversation. “I do not mean to pry, but you said you thought those men had targeted you. I was wondering why. Please do forgive me my awful curiosity.”
Dare never spoke of his past, but if there was ever a time to break this rule, it was for Emma. If those men were still looking for them, the truth might help her stay alive. He owed her that much at least.
“It’s a long story,” he hedged.
“I adore long stories.” Her eyes sparkled with an adoring enthusiasm, and he found he was not so opposed to talking of his past after all.
“My father died when I was twelve,” he began, trying to stick only to the basic facts. Facts were easier. “We were called back to our family house and found that it had been gutted. The silver, the china, and anything of any value were gone—the furnishings, pictures, rugs, all gone. Everything.”
“You were robbed?”
“We were told my father had not managed his finances well and everything was being sold off to pay the creditors. Hours after the funeral, we were packed in a carriage and taken to
London, to what we thought was the home of our guardian. Instead, we were handed off to some rough men who took us to Fleet.”
“Debtors’ prison?” she gasped. “But I thought a peer of the realm could not be imprisoned there!”
“That is true, but they lied about our identities. They said we were children of a merchant who had gone deeply into debt and we liked to pretend to put on airs. I explained who I was, but nobody would listen.”
“That is horrible!” Emma rose to her feet in indignation. “How did you escape?”
Dare searched her face for disapproval or rejection. Yet in Emma’s eyes, he saw only sincere concern. “We were in Fleet for a few weeks before my tutor found us and helped secure our release.”
“Well, I am certainly glad you were able to escape, but who did this to you?” Emma began to pace in the small, sparse room.
“After we escaped, I was able to win my majority in court and take control of my finances. Our steward had robbed us of all monies and property beyond the land entailed to the title. He stole everything and left us in prison.”
“The thief! What happened when you confronted him? Was he arrested? Did he hang?”
“No. He was found murdered in an alley behind his lodgings, his throat slit, no trace of the fortune he stole. He must have been working for another and was killed to ensure his silence.”
Emma’s jaw dropped at his frank words, and he belatedly remembered this was not the type of conversation one was supposed to have with a lady.
“How horrible! Who would do such a thing?” Emma sat back down in the chair beside him and leaned close.
“To this day I do not know.” Dare felt the weight of the unknown enemy that he had carried his entire adult life. Someone had gone to great lengths to cause him pain. “I joined the Royal Navy and served for years until I returned to England for university. Afterward…as you have read in the papers, I sailed as a privateer. Despite what the papers infer, I was not a pirate.”
“No, of course not. You are an honorable man,” she reassured, her eyes gleaming. “What stories you must have to tell.”
“I was able to restore my fortune…more than restore.” He could not help but voice a small boast. “Unfortunately, the wealth may have made us a target.”
“Do you think someone tried to abduct your sister to hold her for ransom?”
“Perhaps. We have recently been the target of several attempted robberies.”
She paused, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. “Do you think what happened to you as a child, the attempted robberies, and the abduction yesterday are connected?”
“I do not know.” He did harbor suspicions. “But I will find the truth.”
“Yes, but you must heal first. I do hope you can find the answers you seek. I will pray for a solution to present itself. I have had to rely quite a bit on the good Lord these past few days, and I have not been disappointed.”
“You are sincere in your faith?”
“Why yes, of course.” Emma’s expression brightened into a natural smile. “I would not know how to survive without it. After my father’s death, my faith was the only solid ground on which to stand. Is not your faith of importance to you?”
Dare shifted a bit in the bed. “I have not the fortune of experiencing any understanding of the deity.”
“Well, it’s rather difficult to understand the creator of the universe, so I would hardly hold that against you.”
“Perhaps I have never seen the hand of God in my life.” Dare took a breath and blew it out again. He was sure that she would not approve of what he was going to say but was unwilling to deceive her since he had been frank about so much. “In truth, I have doubted the existence of God. Either he has no control over the circumstances of my life, or he does not hold me in high regard.”
“So you think that the Lord should protect you from any adventures?” She tilted her head to one side.
“Only the bad ones.”
“How do you know the good from the bad?”
“When you end up shot and bleeding on the floor of a coach, you’re in a bad one.”
Emma inclined her head in acknowledgment. “That does sound rather awful. But then, if you had not been in that carriage, I shudder to think of what would have happened to me. I fear your misfortune was the answer to my prayer.”
Dare grunted. “To follow your logic then, God does exist, does act in the lives of men to protect those he chooses.” He gestured toward Emma. “He just doesn’t like me.”
“Now do not say such. I am certain God loves all his children.”
“If he loved me, he would have found a way to protect you without getting me shot.”
“I can see you are rather firm on this position.”
“I was shot.”
“I concede the point. I would likely feel the same if I was shot. It cannot be comfortable.”
“No, it is not.”
“Would you like another dose of—”
“No, no, I am well enough. I do not wish to be medicated into unconsciousness. I am simply saying that faith is easier when one has very little to complain of.”
“Well, I suppose you are going to find me argumentative, for I cannot agree. I tend to ignore my faith when things are going well and cling to it desperately when they are not. I suppose that says a little about my capricious nature. There now, you have induced me to reveal myself in a very unflattering manner, and I was so determined to present myself in an admirable light.”
“Nothing you can say will reduce my admiration for you.” Darington spoke in earnest. He appreciated her candor and even her willingness to disagree. She was a lovely, capable creature, with a mind of her own.
She would make the perfect bride…just not for him.
Thirteen
The emergence of Sally, the petulant and rather tardy maid, ended the interesting conversation Emma was having with the Earl of Darington. Sally returned in a silent sulk and took up residence on a stool in the corner of the room.
Though Emma could no longer press him for more details of his life, she marveled at the new information she had learned about the Earl of Darington, the Pirate Earl himself. She had always secretly enjoyed reading the London society papers, thinking the aristocracy far beyond any true problems. Dare had certainly experienced more than his fair share of difficulties, and it only made her hold him in higher esteem.
She only wished he could experience the comfort she had in her faith. Without that, she did not know what she would do. A slight rustling got her attention, and she realized Dare was attempting to sit up.
“What do you think you are doing?” she accused.
“’Tis morn. Must inform the magistrate of all that has occurred.” He glanced at Emma. “Well, not all that occurred, but we need to inform him about the men so he can try to apprehend them.”
“Yes, of course we must, but you cannot walk downstairs.”
“I must.”
“But you cannot. I will go.”
“No!”
She paused, startled by his emphatic response.
Emma tilted her head slightly to one side. “Whyever not? Surely, we must report such evil deeds to the proper authority.”
“A magistrate will ask questions. Some of which may be difficult to answer.”
Emma blinked. “What questions?” Though she feared she knew.
“Like your name and what you are doing here and why you were spending the night with a man not married to you,” Dare said ruthlessly.
Emma smoothed her skirts. “You make it sound very sordid.”
“They will think it very sordid. You have been of great service to me. I would not repay you by ruining your reputation.”
Emma shrugged. “I do not think it matters if my reputation is ruined in this hamlet. Besides, I had no intention of giv
ing my true name.” She had no desire to be found by Eustace.
“Still it would be a shabby repayment. Besides, we do not know where those men are. I must go.” Dare attempted to sit up in bed.
Emma immediately rushed to his side. “No, please do not move. You know how I feel about the stitches. I will be ever so angry at you if you force me to do them again. That, indeed, would be a poor repayment.”
Dare winced and lay back down, the pain clear on his face. “I will not let you leave this room without me to protect you.” He looked at her with such intensity she did not doubt him. If she were to leave, he would drag himself after her.
“May I suggest that I ask the innkeeper to request the magistrate to come here so you can make the report?”
Dare glowered at her, but she could tell she was winning the argument.
“I will go no farther than the common room of the inn, and I will even take Sally with me. Now what could possibly go wrong with that plan?”
Sally shook her head in protest, but Emma was firm. This would be simple. She knew it must have been safe, for Dare reluctantly agreed to it.
Emma walked down the stairs to the common room, having to stop several times to encourage the recalcitrant Sally to come along. The maid did not want to become involved with anything to do with the men who had attacked them and complained about having to spend the night in the servants’ quarters of the inn with a maid who snored. Emma attempted to be sympathetic, though she had no real empathy.
“My husband would like to speak with the local magistrate,” Emma told the innkeeper when she found him in the entryway. “Could you tell me how I might direct a letter to him?”
“Why, you are the second person to ask for the magistrate today,” commented the innkeeper, scratching the white tufts of hair on the side of this head. “Must have been some excitement, for Sir Gerald is being kept busy.” He paused and gave Emma the expectant look of one hoping to be given more information.
Since that was one thing Emma could not do, she merely gave him one of her brightest smiles. “My goodness. How unusual. How might I contact Sir Gerald?”
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