by Denise Daye
“No…no, we wouldn’t,” Emma said, analyzing John’s expression.
“Saturday, then,” were his last words before the magnificent statue of a man left Emma to Agnes and Lady Evergreen, who eagerly dragged her up the stairs to start the fashion show.
Lady Evergreen giggled. “We all have to look our best on Saturday! The Blackwells are the most respectable and well-bred family in all of England.”
Emma threw a last glance at John, who watched from the bottom of the stairs with an expression hard to read. What was Emma doing? She tried to tell herself that she had just played hard to catch to make Blackwell want her even more, but deep down inside, she knew that there was another reason for wanting to stay at Evergreen just a little longer.
Chapter 7
T he days at Evergreen Castle were revealing themselves to be the best of Emma’s life. John read every wish from Emma’s lips, and Agnes and Lady Evergreen were two of the kindest people Emma had ever met.
In the mornings, they would usually eat breakfast together, followed by a walk through the beautiful Evergreen gardens. Walk by walk, Emma would learn more about them, especially John. He was by far the most amazing man Emma had ever come across—or even heard of. Agnes told Emma that after the death of the former Earl of Evergreen, John’s father, John had made some striking reforms to the estate, well ahead of his time. Servants worked on schedules and had two days off a week. They were also paid a fair wage and were free to marry and still maintain their employment at the estate. Children were raised in the servants’ quarters, which were generous apartments, and John paid for their education. Agnes also told Emma about John’s time in the military, and that he had come back a war hero. Apparently, he now spent most of his free time helping veterans in need. John didn’t like it when Agnes glorified him, always telling her to stop and that nobody would be interested in these stories, but Emma was more than curious. She wanted to know everything she could about John Evergreen.
After their walks, Agnes would teach Emma one of the countless “boring” accomplishments a lady was supposed to master before marriage. Agnes never said a bad word when Emma revealed yet another skill she was lacking—pretty much all of them. Quite the opposite. Agnes and Lady Evergreen were beyond thrilled to teach Emma everything an English lady needed to know, from stitching to the most popular songs of the time. In return, Emma taught them everything there was to know about fun activities, from baseball to the card game Apples to Apples, much to the enjoyment of the servants’ children, who screamed and squeaked in happiness when Emma played baseball with them or challenged them to another round of Uno using self-made cards. However, the biggest treat for the Evergreens came in the form of Emma’s storytime when everybody gathered after dinner in the music room. Even the servants asked for permission to be present during Emma’s incredible tales, which ranged from flying machines called airplanes to creating dinosaurs using prehistoric DNA.
“But can the dinosaurs not swim from this island to England when we are asleep?” Timmy, one of the maid’s children, asked, drawing his brows together in concern. He was sitting on Emma’s lap on the floor next to the fireplace.
“Not if you do your homework and listen to your mother,” Emma said, throwing Tilly, his mother, a cheerful wink.
“Well, I must go do my homework, then,” Timmy said, jumping up from Emma’s lap.
“Look at that. I thought you said homework is for fools,” Tilly said, putting her hands on her hips.
“Mother, please, that was before I knew about T-rexes.” Timmy stormed out of the room, followed by laughter. As if it was their cue, the servants started to leave to finish their work before the end of their shifts. John walked over to Emma and helped her back up on her feet.
“What an amazing talent you have. These stories are nothing short of astonishing. You should write them down.” John held her hand for a second too long after she was already back on her feet, making Emma blush.
“I didn’t come up with them. It wouldn’t be right to take the glory from their real authors.”
“We still love them. It is such a blessing to have you with us. I hope you never leave,” Agnes said before kissing her brother goodnight on his cheek.
“Do not be selfish, Agnes. Emma will have to find a suitable husband, and with her charms and looks, I would not be surprised if even the famous Lord Blackwell himself proposed to her. Unless she fancied something a bit closer?” Lady Evergreen said, waving her hand fan and trying to look innocent.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Mother…pleeeeeaaaaaaase!” John seemed to be at his wit's end with the amused Lady Evergreen, who kissed her son goodbye and excused herself, dragging Agnes along with her.
John turned to Emma after his mother and sister were through the door. “I apologize. I truly do not know how to make her stop. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. With all your talents, I am sure you might have a few ideas? At this point, I am open to anything,” John asked, half-joking and half-desperate.
Emma laughed. “I’m afraid it’s every mother’s duty to embarrass her children. They take this obligation very seriously, as you know.” Emma helped Tilly clean up the pillows that some of the children had been sitting on from the floor. By now, Tilly knew not to argue with Emma that this was no task for a lady, as Emma would help her anyway. Tilly put the last pillow back on a chair next to the door and threw John a look that said, “Do not let that one go,” before leaving herself.
“That makes perfect sense. What about your mother? Is she as annoying as mine?”
Emma froze in sadness. The thought of her poor mother made its way into her mind quite often. Was she looking for her? Had the police gotten involved? She must be on the brink of losing her mind. She wasn’t the best mother, but she loved Emma nonetheless and had done what she could to protect her from that joke Emma refused to call a father.
“I am so very sorry. I did not mean to upset you.” John took a step toward Emma, as if he wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how without being inappropriate.
“It’s okay. She doesn’t know I’m here.”
“We do not have to talk about it,” John said, his voice low with sympathy.
Emma did prefer not to talk about her mother. It broke her heart every time she thought of her. John took another step closer to Emma, taking one of her hands in one of his own, which caught Emma by surprise.
“I wish I could take your pain away. I feel so helpless when I see you sad.”
Emma looked up into his beautiful eyes, so full of love and compassion. Never in her life had she craved the touch of a man more. What if she were to take a step closer and just put her head against his chest? Would he mind? Think her improper?
“Nobody has ever been this nice to me. I will never be able to repay you. Not in a million years would I have ever even dreamt it possible to meet someone like you.” Emma meant it. Besides her mother, nobody had ever cared for her the way the Evergreens did. John pulled her hand up to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat. Its rhythmic pulsing intoxicated her. Her own heart started to beat faster.
“It seems Agnes is quite successful at making you believe all those exaggerated nonsense stories. But if they are convincing you to stay, then I swear by all that is dear to me, they are nothing but the truth.” He smiled, taking another step closer, placing himself right in front of her.
She could smell him—gosh, he smelled good. He was at least a head taller than she was, as if he were made for women to lean their heads against his chest to find the comfort they craved.
“You are a kind and good man. You will make a special lady the happiest woman on earth one day.” This very sentence brought Emma back into reality, as if she was hit with a cold bucket of water. What was she doing? She tore herself away from the sweet, intoxicating warmth of John’s body, stepping backward before their bodies could touch. That was exactly what she was not here for! Playing with John’s feelings! She was not the woman who would make him happy. She
was the woman who would break his heart and abandon him overnight whenever her first chance to go back home presented itself.
John took a step closer again. “Emma…I wanted to talk to you about something…”
She pulled her hand free from his grip. “I…I better go see if Ackley was able to talk to the police about the robbers.” Out of all the excuses in the world to leave, Emma had chosen this one, almost as if she wanted to remind herself once more that she was just a fraud.
“Of course,” John said in a perfect gentleman’s tone, despite her claim being an obvious excuse.
Naturally, the police wouldn’t have new information about the robbers because they weren’t real. Just like you, Emma, she told herself, rushing out of the room.
John was sitting in the library, reading over the same tenant contract over and over again. It was late, and everybody was in their rooms. He had the usual fire burning in the library’s enormous fireplace. He sat there every evening with his whiskey to go over work he had missed during the day. But right now, he was incapable of doing even the slightest bit of work. His thoughts were completely occupied with beautiful, kind Emma. All week, Emma had let his overbearing sister and mother dress her in Blackwell’s dresses like she was a doll. John had never been interested in fashion, especially not Blackwell’s, but he had to admit, he loved every single one of the countless times his mother and sister had presented Emma to him in another dress. How can she be so beautiful? he wondered every single time she stood before him.
John had signaled to Emma on several occasions that he would come to her rescue and stop the fashion party of horrors, but she always turned him down with a kind smile, saying she enjoyed seeing his mother and sister so happy. John knew how trying his mother and sister could be, but he loved them, and they had pure hearts. For Emma to be so kind to them meant a lot to him. Nobody else in society was.
He shook his head to free himself of Emma for a moment, just to fall right back into the memories of her rolling around in the grass, playing baseball with the children. Her dress always got covered in grass and practically ruined, but Emma never paid it any attention. Once, she tickled little Timmy until he dropped the ball, then ran off with it, chased by a horde of screaming children. Like a fopdoodle, he would stand by the window or lean against a wall to watch her play this wild American sport or exciting card games with the children, simply unable to tear himself away.
John suddenly thought about the dreadful Blackwell party tomorrow. If not for Emma and his mother and sister, he wouldn’t go there even if his life depended on it. Of course, Emma had no clue, but Blackwell was the reason for everything that his family had gone through all these years. Only three people on this planet knew what had happened between John and Blackwell, and neither his mother nor sister were one of them, so how could he possibly be mad at them for chasing after Blackwell like children chasing after a colorful butterfly? He couldn’t, so he just watched in silence when they invited him into his house, accepted his invitation as though it was the greatest honor of their lives, and marveled at his presents as if they had come from the Lord savior himself.
John rubbed his forehead in disbelief of all the things that were going on right now. Emma took his breath away—Christ, she had even gotten him to accept an invitation to a party thrown by the only person on this planet he couldn’t stand. All she had to do was look at him with her green eyes, and he would do anything for that woman. For some peculiar reason, it felt as if he’d known her for a long time. He felt comfortable around her, craved her company, her touch.
John pushed the contract aside as though it had just defeated him in a round of chess. He took a long sip from his whiskey and folded his sleeves up to his elbows to look at the wound the drunken fool Milly had given him when John pulled him out of the gutters. It was red but not infected. He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling, thinking again about those eyes and pretty smile that always warmed his heart.
“You are a fool, John,” he said to himself, thinking that the very thing he’d tried to avoid all his life had happened to him in a matter of days. He’d fallen in love. But what if she didn’t return his feelings? Her eyes told him that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, but the way she had acted in the music room today implied otherwise. And what if she fell for Blackwell? He’d surely done everything he could to make it happen. That buffoon had danced in front of her with everything he had, like one of these brightly colored birds trying to attract a female for mating season. It was so unlike Blackwell, who did nothing for anybody—ever—period. Was this directed at John, or did he really feel…whatever Blackwell was capable of feeling…for Emma?
The door squeaked and opened slowly. And there she was. Emma Washington.
“Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She turned around to leave, but John jumped up.
“No, please. You have not intruded at all.”
“It was just, I couldn’t sleep, and Lily told me that every fine house has a library, so I thought I might borrow a book.”
John instantly took a few steps from the couch he had been sitting on to invite her to come in and take a seat. “You are at the right place for that. Come in and look around. Or take a seat and tell me what books you like to read, and I can tell you what books we have that might be a good fit for you. You see, I know this library better than it knows itself,” John said proudly with a smile.
Emma sat down and scanned the library. “It’s quite impressive. I mean, having so many books.”
John sat down on the couch across from her. She was wearing a comfortable nightgown and had her hair put up into a lazy bun. He noticed that she wasn’t wearing a corset. She must have meant to quickly grab a book without being noticed by anybody. He could see the lines of her breasts through her gown, sending a heat wave through his inner thighs. John changed his gaze to the more appropriate fireplace.
“So, how many of these books have you read?” Emma challenged him, the corners of her mouth ticking upward mischievously.
“All of them.”
“All of them? But there must be thousands!”
“8,241, to be exact.”
“That is incredible.” Emma sounded genuinely impressed.
He folded his hands behind his head. “Ha! Before you admire me for something I am not worthy of, let me explain. I did not necessarily read them all. It would be more accurate to say I skimmed a lot of them.”
She grinned. “That’s still very impressive.”
“Well, that is what happens when you have as many sleepless nights as I do.”
Emma looked down at the carpet as if she wasn’t sure to ask about those sleepless nights or not.
“You can ask if you want to, it is quite alright.” Why did he want her to ask him about something he never spoke of with anyone? Even encourage her to ask? To this day, he told his closest friends and even his own mother that he didn’t want to talk about his time in the army whenever the subject arose.
“Are nightmares the cause for all those sleepless nights?” This took John by surprise. Emma had said it so casually…as if it was totally okay to talk about it. She hadn’t asked it in a way that seemed uncaring. It was more like she actually wanted to know what was troubling him.
“Yes. They are. From my time in the military. I am sure Agnes leaves those details out when she sings about those glorious medals of honor, I brought home. But then, most people avoid taking the conversation about war further than the pretty parts. It does not make for nice dinner conversation to talk about the reality of war.”
“Only the dead have seen the end of war,” Emma said in an empathetic voice, moving John in a way nobody had ever before. If John didn’t know better, he would think he was talking to a fellow soldier, someone who’d been there to see the horrors and truly understood how accurate Emma’s summary of war was. If he hadn’t understood his attraction to this woman earlier, without a doubt—he did now.
“I honestly would never have jo
ined the military if I had not found myself in an unfortunate situation that required me to enlist. I had no part in causing this unfortunate circumstance, but the end result was the same.” It mattered to John what Emma thought of him. For a moment, he was hesitant to share with her the reason that had forced him into war, what had happened between him and Blackwell all those years ago, but then he decided not to. He didn’t want to come off as a desperate rival who was trying to bad-talk his wealthier, more attractive opponent. Thank God Emma changed the topic, as if she knew that they were getting into territory that made John uncomfortable.
“What happened to your arm?”
“Oh, that? Let us just say, some people are easier to help than others.” John walked over to a little wood table with different bottles of whiskey on it. “May I offer you a whiskey?”
“Yes, please.”
“Ha! Why am I not surprised that you drink whiskey, Mrs. Emma Washington?” He laughed lightheartedly while he filled her a glass and refilled his as well.
“Is it inappropriate for ladies here in England to drink whiskey?”
He handed her the glass. “Unusual, not inappropriate. Most women prefer sweet champagne or wines.”
“I have to confess, I prefer those over whiskey as well, but as we say where I’m from, a free drink is a free drink,” Emma said, taking a big sip.
He laughed heartily. “I think I like Americans more and more by the minute. So, tell me, what kind of books do you like to read?” John studied Emma, who took another big sip of her whiskey like it was water. She was obviously nervous about something. Was it the fact that they were alone together?
“Books about chemistry…and time tra…times. Books about different times. Or old rituals.”
“That must be the most interesting combination of books I have ever heard.” John grinned, walking over to one of the many bookshelves next to the fireplace. “Books about chemistry would be here.”
