by Lyn Stone
She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. “I’m fine, really. I waited up to tell you that your cousin called soon after you left.”
“Carrick?” he demanded gruffly. “What the hell did he want?”
She got up from the chair so she would not have to crane her neck so to look at him. Also because he made her feel too small, like a child being scolded for some unknown transgression. “To congratulate us, he said. He offered to paint a portrait of you and me. A wedding gift.”
Nick said nothing. He appeared lost in thought. Considering the offer perhaps.
“I’d rather he didn’t,” she quickly admitted.
He frowned down at her. “Why? Did he say something to offend you?”
Emily considered the question, then answered obliquely, “I don’t care to sit for one. Do you mind? Perhaps Carrick would substitute something else, a painting of flowers, trees or the like.”
Nick appeared to be relieved. “I’ll certainly suggest that if he comes again. In the meantime, I think you might be wise not to receive him unless I am with you. Have Upton relay that you are not at home.”
“But that would be a lie, if I am at home,” Emily pointed out.
“It doesn’t matter, Emily,” he said with a hint of impatience. “That is what people say when they are not receiving. It merely means that you are not at home to him in particular.”
“A white lie,” she observed.
“Yes, quite. It’s accepted.”
“Not by me,” she assured him. “A lie is a lie.”
She watched Nick draw in a deep breath as if he were fortifying himself for something unpleasant. Emily hoped it wasn’t an argument. Not when she had only just decided to forgive him so that she could begin his reformation.
His voice was extremely deep and even as he suggested, “Then have Upton tell Carrick that you are at home but do not wish to entertain him.”
“That would hurt his feelings! I could never do that.”
“For God’s sake, don’t let the man in the house, Em! That’s an order, do you hear? Do not let him in! Now go to bed!” With that, he turned on his heel and quit the room before she gathered a breath to answer.
Well! He truly was in a foul mood this evening. She had to wonder what set him off like that. Nick was going to be a hard man to live with for all her patient understanding.
The next morning, Emily rose from her bed before daybreak to see to the departure of the Bournesea servants. When she arrived downstairs, Nicholas was already there.
There were some thirty people to see off to the country and he had gathered them in the gardens by the side entrance. She noted four hired coaches lining up, their teams outfitted with pads on their hooves to keep from waking the neighbors with their clopping when they passed along the street.
Emily went to Nick’s side. “Good morning, my lord,” she said politely.
“My lady,” he replied.
She stood waiting, uncertain what role she must play in this farewell, hoping to take her cue from him.
He spoke for them to the assembly. “The countess and I would like to express our thanks for your forbearance in traveling here to London on short notice and your lack of complaint about doing so.” He turned over a large packet to Mrs. Waxton and another to Simms, the butler who served at Bournesea. “We have added a bonus for each of you in your pay this quarter and we are distributing funds early.”
A quiet, yet delighted cheer went up from everyone. Nick continued. “In addition, you may consider this next week a holiday because your tasks will likely double once you arrive at Bournesea Manor. Your presence there was sorely missed as you will soon see.”
They all laughed softly and exchanged knowing looks. Emily imagined they fully expected to find Bournesea in a state of chaos when they arrived. She almost wished she had left it so in order to show them they were needed. Everyone should feel needed. She certainly missed feeling that way.
Nick reached for her hand and pulled it through the crook of his elbow, so they stood arm in arm. “Lady Emily and I wish you Godspeed and will join you as soon as the Season is over.”
Emily smiled and nodded.
She would wager the old earl had never been so generous with them. Many sent her inquisitive looks as if they were wondering whether these rewards were her doing. Suddenly she was sure Nicholas meant for them to think that was so. He should know that one could not buy loyalty. However, done was done and they did seem happy. Even the usually dour Mrs. Waxton wore an expression that approximated pleasure.
Nicholas squeezed Emily’s hand insistently as if he expected her to say something.
She cleared her throat. “Safe journey to each of you. Enjoy your holiday to the fullest and please give my regards to my father and brother when next you see them.” There were muted utterances of appreciation and assurances that they would. Nick then turned her from the crowd of servants and ushered her back toward the side entrance that led through the conservatory.
Behind them, she could hear excited murmurs and the rustling of bags and baggage as the coaches were loaded.
Nick led her inside where they stood and watched through the glass wall. “That seemed to go rather well,” he remarked.
“You were very generous,” she said. “Are you perhaps treating them too well? Like friends and equals?”
“No, as valued employees. There is a difference. There must be a distance, Emily, that is all I was trying to tell you. Are you still angry about that?”
She sighed. “No. I am aware there is much for me to learn. If I put a foot wrong, you should tell me.”
“I would rather warn you before you do so. By the way, I have arranged for a dressmaker to outfit you with a new wardrobe. She will be here just after noon with patterns and fabric samples.”
“I have an entire wardrobe, Nick. This is an unnecessary expense.”
He smiled at her, obviously pleased by her economy. “Mother’s clothes become you well, Emily, but they are a decade out of date. You should have new ones. Allow me?”
“If you like,” she said, regretting that she must relinquish the comfort and confidence of the countess’s clothes. At least she would still have the ring. She turned it on her finger and smiled.
“How is the accounting coming along?” he asked, changing the subject. Or maybe he wasn’t changing it at all, only exploring another facet of her ineptitude.
“We shall see,” Emily told him, feeling defensive. “You thought me presumptuous to order it,” she guessed.
He hesitated a moment too long before saying, “No, not at all. You must do as you think best with the household affairs, but if you have questions or doubts, please come to me—”
“And ask your permission,” she said curtly.
“Please stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Finishing my sentences.”
Yes, she thought, he was going to be difficult to live with, but she would persevere. “We should go in. Would you like your interview with Rosie now?”
“I said nine o’clock,” he reminded her, then relented, “but now will do just as well, I suppose. There’s much to do today and getting that behind me will give me an early start.”
Emily nodded and headed for the stairs to find her maid.
“Wait,” he ordered, halting her in her tracks. “You should use the bellpull and send someone for her.”
“Oh. As you wish,” Emily conceded. It simply had not occurred to her, she was so used to doing things for herself.
For a moment there she had almost lied and said she had business to attend abovestairs. Pride was a terrible thing and she’d always possessed too much of it.
She reached for the embroidered, tasseled strip of fabric and gave it an angry jerk. They were close enough to the kitchens to hear the jangle.
One of the tweenies came rushing to the hall, stopped short before Emily and bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, mum?”
“Please fetch Rosie for me, Brigid. Tell
her to come to the study posthaste. His lordship wishes a word with her.”
When Brigid had scurried away, Emily looked up at Nick and raised a brow. “Satisfied?”
“Yes. Now if you will excuse me?” How polite he was. How cool and formal.
“Certainly,” she replied in kind, wishing they could simply talk to each other the way they used to do without considering their words so carefully and picking the responses apart for hidden meanings.
More than anything, she wanted to hear Nick laugh without reserve, to have him tease her and ply her with those heated gazes of intense longing and promise he had offered so long ago.
But Nick was no longer that young man she had known any more than she was a green girl living off wishes and dreams. Still, at odd times she saw glimpses of what she’d believed existed between them then.
Despite his lie about the betrothal to Dierdre, Emily knew in her heart Nick had loved her a little in spite of himself. He had left off before he’d dishonored her completely, hadn’t he? She must give him credit for that.
Perhaps now and again Nick also yearned for what might have been. It could still be if he were not so pigheaded and high-handed. She was perfectly willing to change herself to suit him. He could jolly well change to suit her. That was only fair, she thought.
The first thing he needed to do was to understand that she would not share him under any circumstances. Somehow, she must summon the courage to make this perfectly clear.
His evening on the town last night would be his final foray into debauchery. She had already forgiven him that because he had been denied her bed since they married. Fair was fair. But if he thought he was in for an hour’s dalliance with Rosie in the study this morning, he had best think again.
With unhurried steps, she followed him, but remained outside the study door, waiting for Rosie. Whatever he had planned for her maid, Emily meant either to prevent or to witness firsthand. One thing for certain, there would be no further unlawful congress between them. She would see to that.
When Rosie arrived, they went in together.
Nicholas set aside the letters he had been going over and looked up when the door opened. “Good morning, Rosie.” His gaze flew to Emily’s. “Do you wish something of me?”
She nodded and added a smile for good measure. “Yes. I wish to attend the interview.”
“Not necessary,” he said pleasantly. “I can handle it.”
“I daresay you could. Nevertheless, I shall stay.”
He shot her a dark look, just as she had expected he would. “There must be other matters for you to attend. The accounting, for instance?”
She took a seat in the arm chair that faced his desk. “Well in hand, my lord. Not to worry.” She made a small flourish with her fingers. “Do proceed.”
His glare should have pinned her to the wall or sent her running, but she was used to it now. An earl thing he had adopted from his curmudgeon of a father, only he never carried through with the threat implied in it. She endured it with some amusement now, thoroughly enjoying his discomfiture.
“Very well,” he said at last, and turned his attention to Rosie who stood before him like a penitent. “This shan’t take long. Rosie, I want to confer with you about your new position as lady’s maid.”
“Yes, m’lord. I welcome the honor. She’s a love to look after.” Rosie tossed Emily a fond glance of appreciation.
Nick uttered a wordless sound of disapproval and ran a hand over his face as if he’d lost the ability to speak.
His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Please understand that this is no reflection on your prior performance, Rosie, but I have doubts as to your qualifications.”
He threw up a hand to silence Emily when she would have voiced an objection. “Be that as it may, Lady Emily has chosen you, so you must apply yourself with all industry to this. It is critical that she present herself at her best at all times. Her appearance and personal comfort are now your primary responsibility.”
“Oh, I know that, sir! I do. May I speak free?” Rosie asked enthusiastically.
“I suspect you will,” Nick replied with a sigh of resignation.
“Sophie Turnatter what serves Lady Carstairs could teach me. I could ask her if she would.”
“Very enterprising, but I would as soon keep this within our own household. I shall order the Godey’s Magazine so that you can examine the latest fashions, what is worn with what and so forth. There will be hairstyles in it to copy. Have you ever done hair for anyone?”
“I can tend my own, thank you,” Emily interrupted, resisting the urge to pat down her coiffure. “What is wrong with it?”
Nick seemed to realize his defeat and simply shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
She suspected this whole interview had been contrived on the instant, anyway, to conceal his real intention for having Rosie come here this morning. Emily thought him rather quick to improvise it.
He rose from his chair. “Have you any questions, Rosie?”
“None, m’lord. I’ll manage Lady Em just fine, don’t you worry none.”
Nick addressed Emily then in a tone that brooked no argument. “Leave us for a moment. I have a rather personal matter to discuss.”
“No.” Emily stayed right where she was. Rosie needed her protection and Nick needed a lesson in husbandly behavior.
He looked ready to explode, though he seemed to understand she would not be moved by any display of temper on his part. “Stay then,” he snapped and turned his attention to her maid. “Rosie, I merely wished to ascertain whether Mr. MacFarlin has spoken with you at all.”
She grinned, toying with one of the red curls that had escaped her mobcap. “He has.”
Nick nodded. “I see. Well, if he causes you any bother, you are to let me know. I will speak to him if his attentions trouble you in any way.”
“No trouble so far, m’lord. Percy MacFarlin’s a gem of a bloke. Got manners and all.”
“Well, then, that’s settled. You may go now.”
She bobbed an impudent curtsy to Nick, repeated it for Emily, and took her leave of them.
“You don’t approve of Wrecker’s courting her,” Emily observed.
“It’s not that I don’t approve, but I will not have her tolerating his attentions just because she fears consequences if she turns him away.”
“A right good explanation for one who must have instilled those very fears in her seven or eight years ago!” Emily snapped as she leaped to her feet to face him down.
Lord save her, she had not meant to confront Nick about this, but she could not abide a hypocrite. It disappointed her that he was one.
“Exactly what do you mean by that?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. And angry, standing there with his hands on his hips looking down at her.
“Exactly what you think I mean.” In for a penny, in for a pound. She would finish this.
“You believe Rosie and I…? So that’s why you wouldn’t leave the room,” he said. “For your information, I have never—”
“What? Tupped a maid in your service?” she demanded. “Go ahead and tell me that if you dare.”
He all but snorted fire. “It is none of your affair whom I have or have not tupped, as you so indelicately put it!”
She poked him hard in the chest with one finger. “It certainly is my affair if you ever intend to tup me, my lord!”
“That doesn’t seem all that likely at this point, to be perfectly honest! I’m not altogether certain I still wish to!”
“Then set your mind at rest at once!” she declared, “I do not require it! Nor will I allow it!”
On the verge of tears and violent behavior, Emily took to her heels and fled the study in all haste.
She had made hash of it all, she thought, desperately fighting to regain her composure and not run weeping up the stairs to her room.
Worst of all, she realized that she had not forgiven Nick at all and probably never wo
uld. The feelings of anger she thought she had vanquished seemed to have taken on a life of their own.
Chapter Thirteen
Late that afternoon Emily nursed a headache so annoying it deserved a name of its own. Madame LeCroix had hatched it, that was for certain. The prim, birdlike woman and her covey of plump-breasted, chirping assistants had invaded the countess’s chamber and molted samples of cloth and pattern books like gaudy, excess feathers. Finally they were gone.
Emily lay on her bed, a cold cloth upon her brow, exhausted and exasperated.
Rosie, who had shown the women out, returned bearing a tray. The scent of strong tea and orange-flavored biscuits promised a bit of relief. Emily sat up.
Behind Rosie came Nicholas, elegant in his town clothes, dressed to go out. Or perhaps he had only just come home. Did it matter? At the moment she cared little what he’d been up to these past few hours. She only wished he would leave again, especially if he meant to continue their last conversation. She only wanted to forget about that.
“I’d not thought the woman would spend the entire day,” he commented, sounding a bit vexed. He filched one of the biscuits off her tray and took a bite. “Madame LeCroix informs me that you chose only a few gowns and but two of those she brought ready-made. According to what she related, you made excellent choices, however—”
“You spoke with her?”
“Of course,” he admitted freely. He popped the remainder of the biscuit into his mouth as he bent to retrieve a square of silk that had somehow escaped LeCroix’s sample case.
Emily watched as he straightened, testing the supple material with those long, strong fingers of his. With an effort, she tore her fascinated gaze away from his hands and fastened it on the tea tray Rosie placed upon her lap.
Beside the cup lay the paper of headache powder she had requested. She dumped it in the tea and stirred, risking another glance at Nick as she did so. “So, you felt you had to approve them.”
He dismissed Rosie with an inclination of his head. “The fabrics should prove quite complimentary to your coloring and the styles are perfectly acceptable.” He smiled at her. “But you will need more of them if we are to introduce you to Society.”
