Always Come Home (Emerson 1)

by Maureen Driscoll

  “Fear not, Miss Conway. I only wish to know what I’m up against. I would hope that no matter how desperate I become for a wife, that I would not sink to marrying a chit still in the schoolroom. The twins are but children themselves.”

  “I believe no one would mistake either of the girls for children, Lord Ridgeway. They know how to dress to look older than their years.”

  “Then I thank you for warning me about them. Though I will, of course, keep that to myself. You may put your mind at ease, Miss Conway. I am in need of a rich wife, but will not go angling about for one here. I still plan to be on my way on the morrow if at all possible.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “A less self-assured man could take that as an insult, Miss Conway.”

  “Forgive me. Though I have a feeling you are self-assured enough to not be offended.”

  That made him grin. “Touché, Miss Conway. Now, may I escort you back to the main hall? I fear my wit is no match for yours. Say farewell to your friends.” He indicated the portraits.

  Then the saucy minx dipped another curtsy to Clayton’s ancestors and left with Colin.

  *

  Having dressed Lord Ridgeway and assured him he could get through the evening without murdering their host, Stemple arrived in the kitchen to find all the other servants were already eating.

  They had set a place for him at the end of the table.

  The butler, Ferguson, looked at him disapprovingly from his seat at the opposite end. “You’re Lord Ridgeway’s man?”

  “Yes, Mr. Ferguson.”

  “I understand his lordship has his pockets to let,” said Ferguson.

  That made the others at the table look up from their meal.

  “I do not gossip about my master,” said Stemple.

  “That’s not exactly a denial now, is it?” said the housekeeper.

  “It is not a confirmation, either,” said Stemple. “I do not talk about my master. And it is no one’s business what his state of affairs is.”

  “I guess we won’t be getting vales from his lordship,” said one of the maids.

  “I will do for his lordship,” said Stemple. “None of you will have to do any work for him.”

  “Other than laundering his sheets, lighting his fire and emptying his slop bucket, you mean?” asked the same maid. “That sounds like work to me.”

  “I will gladly do all of that if it will put an end to this conversation.”

  “It’s obvious his lordship is up the River Tick,” said a footman. “He can’t even hire a proper valet. Don’t walk the halls tonight mates, you might run into this bloke and scare yourself to death.”

  Stemple’s only response was to look at the man.

  “That’s enough,” said Ferguson. “It’s no use putting anyone off their food.”

  “Then maybe he shouldn’t eat with us,” said a maid.

  “Perhaps, he shouldn’t,” said the housekeeper. “You can eat your meal in the pot room, Mr. Stemple. Someone will bring you your supper.”

  Stemple remained there for a moment more, looking at those around him.

  The housekeeper had the grace to look away, but added, “Go along now.”

  Stemple left the room not bothering to look offended. He was used to this treatment. He’d been receiving it – and worse – since returning from the war. It was one of the reasons he looked forward to travelling to Lord Ridgeway’s estate. It would be better in the country. You didn’t encounter as many people there. He could find a quiet corner of the estate and work the land. Or he could work in the stables. He liked animals and they didn’t seem to mind him. He’d had a dog, Max, when he lived with his parents. Max had been a great source of comfort in the months when he’d been recovering from the worst of his burns.

  In the early days, his mother and sisters could not look at him without crying. His father’s attempts to be brave were even harder to bear. But Max had been there every step of the way. Sitting on his lap, staying by his side. Licking his hand and even crying with him during the worst of the pain.

  It had broken Stemple’s heart to leave home. He knew he would miss his parents, though the only way to save their business had been to leave since his presence had kept customers away. But it had almost killed him to leave Max. However, he could not afford to keep a pet. He could barely afford to survive as it was.

  He found the small table in the pot room and waited for his supper. He was thankful to have a hot meal and he once again thanked the good Lord above for leading him to Lord Ridgeway. Of course, his lordship had problems of his own. But he’d provided Stemple with the one thing he hadn’t had in a long time: hope.

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I gave you a bit of everything.”

  Stemple looked up to find a woman in her early twenties standing before him, holding two plates. She had dark blonde hair pulled back under her cap and hazel eyes. She looked to be a cook’s assistant. And she was smiling at him. He angled himself so the scarred part of his face was away from her.

  Then he remembered his manners and stood. “Thank you, Miss...?”

  “Not ‘Miss,’ just Maude. And please, sit down again. You can’t very well eat standing up.” She placed the two plates on the table.

  “You brought two dinners?”

  “One for you and one for me,” she said, as she took the seat opposite him. “You’re going to want to tuck in. Mr. Ferguson will call an end to the meal soon and any food that’s left will be given to the dogs.”

  Stemple watched the girl gather her cutlery.

  “Aren’t you going to sit?” she asked.

  He sat.

  “Your Lord Ridgeway seems to be an interesting man,” said Maude. “He came upon my friend Miss Conway earlier and they had a nice chat. Not that we gossiped about your master at all. Is it true you came on the mail coach? That’s what Lord Clayton was telling his cronies.”

  “Miss Maude…”

  “Not Miss Maude. Just Maude.”

  “Maude. You do not have to eat with me. I would not wish to spoil your dinner.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you listened to that nonsense. I’ve never worked with bigger fools in my life than in this house. You mustn’t mind them. Unless you’re telling me I should go because you don’t want to eat with me.”

  Stemple could hardly comprehend this conversation. Unless….was this some sort of jest?

  “Well?” she asked. “Do you not want to eat with me?”

  “Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Then like I said. Eat up or the dogs will get it.”

  They ate in silence for a moment, Stemple still unsure of what was going on. But now she was staring at him. And the more he tried to hide the right side of his face, the more she craned her neck to look at it.

  “What do you put on that?” she asked.

  Ah, that was it. The morbid curiosity. Well, at least she was polite about it. “I often wrap a scarf about my face, though it’s more difficult in the summer.”

  “I don’t mean that, you daft soul. I meant, what kind of salve do you put on it?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t put any salve on it.”

  “Then it must hurt terribly. And I imagine it cracks in winter, does it not?”

  Stemple spoke to very few people about his injuries, but he nodded.

  “What you need is some salve with lavender oil. It worked for my sister. She was badly burned from scalding oil when she was just a tiny lass. But we had a good healer in our village who immediately began applying salve. It helped with the pain, but it also kept the skin moist. Even after the burn turned into scars, we’d put it on her three times a day. She still does it. I think it could help you.”

  “The surgeon gave me some salve in the hospital, but it has been several years since then. Is it not too late to start now?”

  “I don’t rightly know. But it couldn’t hurt to try.”

  And it certainly helped to know someone cared.
“Can you write down a list of the ingredients? I’ll see if I can make this salve once we get to his lordship’s estate.”

  She blushed. “I can’t…I can’t write. Ava – Miss Conway – is teaching me. But I could tell her and she could write it down for you.”

  “I am sorry. I did not mean to embarrass you.”

  She smiled. “Pay it no mind. And I can make you some before you leave. For your trip.”

  “Thank you. For everything.”

  They heard the housekeeper calling for Maude.

  “I have to go clean up. Better eat quickly or…”

  “The dogs will get it. Yes.”

  Maude got up to leave, then turned to him. “What’s your name?”

  “Victor Stemple.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Victor. I’ll get you that list and the salve as soon as I can.”

  Then she was gone. And Victor was embarrassed to wipe a tear from his eye. For while he’d long ago grown used to cruelty, he had been wholly unprepared for such kindness.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Colin waited as long as he’d dared before going downstairs to dinner. And it still had not been long enough. For as soon as he arrived, Clayton, who was standing next to Nigel Hemsworth – who was a shade under five feet four inches tall – called everyone back into his study for another round of drinks.

  “Ridgeway, you remember our old friends, don’t you?” asked Clayton.

  Their “old friends” consisted of a dozen of the meanest boys ever to attend Eton. If there had been one advantage to having a father who routinely beat his children, it was that Colin had learned from an early age how to defend himself. His father had liked it when his sons tried to fight back, though it had been mostly useless against his much greater size and strength. But after fighting his father, the bullies at Eton had been no match for him. Clayton and the others had even asked him to join their gang. But Colin had known too much violence in his young life and certainly had no desire to inflict it on anyone else. So, instead, he made a point of defending other boys from Clayton’s gang.

  By the time they’d reached Oxford, Colin had found his own friends, including Edward Kellington, the brother of the Duke of Lynwood, who was two years ahead of them in school.

  Even when he’d spent much of the past few years living at house parties, he’d avoided Clayton and his cronies whenever possible. They were now older but by no means grown up. However, now he could not escape their company, at least for the evening.

  “Ridgeway, is it true you were on the mail coach?” asked the height-challenged Hemsworth. “When Clayton told us, we could hardly believe it. Are things that bad?”

  “Certainly not. Riding the mail coach brings back memories of being punished at Eton. I figure a certain amount of torture is good for the soul. May I?” he asked Clayton, even as he poured himself a drink.

  “How did we ever get through Eton?” asked Ian Maplewhite, the third son of the Marquess of Bromley. “It gives me nightmares even now to think of what the headmaster would do when he was displeased. My eldest brother will send his son off next year. I almost feel sorry for the little bastard.”

  “Nonsense,” said Clayton. “It’ll make a man out of him. And if he makes the right friends, he won’t have to worry about punishment, even from the headmaster. These days, a well-placed bribe does wonders. Though in poor Ridgeway’s case, a bribe would be out of the question. Not that he’ll have the chance to send his sons to Eton unless he snags the heiress he’s so desperate to catch. If not, mayhap he can have the vicar teach them. How goes the matrimonial hunt, old boy? I can only assume not well, given the mail coach.”

  “I have not yet found the right lady,” admitted Ridgeway. “I will begin again in the new year.”

  “And how impressive it will be as you arrive in London on the back of a farmer’s cart,” said Hemsworth, who then laughed at his own jest, after looking to Clayton for approval.

  “Yes, well, at least I shall be able to see over the sides of it,” said Ridgeway. His comment drew genuine laughs from everyone except Hemsworth. “Clayton, shouldn’t we go in to dinner soon?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re so poor you can’t afford to eat,” said Clayton. “I had planned to linger over drinks, but I wouldn’t want you to swoon from hunger. And if you want to take some food back to your room for your journey tomorrow, pray be my guest. I’m sure we won’t laugh about it above a day or two. Just how are you getting to your estate, Ridgeway?”

  “I wanted to speak with you about that…”

  But before he could continue, the doors opened and Clayton’s twin sisters entered the room. At least, Ridgeway assumed that’s who they were, though neither of them looked to be sixteen. Miss Conway had the right of it; neither dressed as a young girl should. They wore gowns that showed altogether too much décolletage. He couldn’t imagine what Clayton was about to allow it.

  Especially since the girls had the leering attention of every other man in the room.

  One of the girls tapped Clayton on the shoulder with her fan. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your newest guest, brother?”

  Clayton smirked. “It would be my pleasure. Lady Angelique, may I present Colin Emerson, Earl Ridgeway. Colin, this is the older of the twins.”

  “By only a quarter hour,” she said with a simper, as she held out her hand to him. “But that does make me more experienced than my sister. An admirable trait, is it not?”

  Colin took her fingers in his and was startled by the vise-like grip with which she latched onto him. “I am charmed, my lady.” He tried to pull his hand back, but it was as if his fingers were in the jaw of a particularly stubborn dog.

  Clayton introduced his other sister, who was looking at Colin with some distaste. At least he wouldn’t have to fight off both girls because it seemed Miss Conway once again had the right of it. Only Lady Angelique appeared to be on the hunt for a title.

  Colin cleared his throat to divert attention from yanking his hand away from Angelique. “Clayton, you said dinner would be served at some point before Christmas?”

  “That’s right. I forgot about your empty stomach. Angelique, don’t get your heart set on Ridgeway too quickly. He’s poorer than a church mouse.”

  “Yet he still has much to recommend him, I am sure,” said the girl as she raked Colin with her eyes.

  Colin thought longingly of the mail coach.

  As they finally went into dinner, Lady Angelique attached herself firmly to his arm. She also brushed the side of her bosom against him and it was all he could do to keep from shivering in revulsion. She was sixteen years old. And Clayton’s sister.

  He dutifully held her chair for her, then made his escape three spots down the table. He could almost feel her temper rise. He hoped he would not be the cause of yet another servant being struck by a hairbrush later that evening.

  “Where’s that governess?” asked Viscount Raffington.

  Clayton looked around. “Yes, Ferguson, where is Miss Conway?”

  “She asked for a plate to be sent to her room,” said the butler.

  “Well, we can’t have that. Go collect her. Dinner shall not be the same without her.”

  “If your governess wishes to eat in her room, Clayton, perhaps you should allow her to do just that,” said Colin.

  “But she’s ever so entertaining and I must think of my guests.” Clayton waved Ferguson off to retrieve her.

  “Wait ‘til you hear her beliefs,” said Raffington. “She’s quite the bluestocking with a wardrobe to match. ‘Tis a pity, since she might have a tasty little body beneath those drab clothes.”

  “Clayton!” said Colin. “Are you going to allow your governess to be publicly maligned?” As an afterthought he felt compelled to add, “Not to mention that Miss Conway’s form is in no way a suitable topic to discuss in front of your sisters.”

  “But we quite agree with the viscount,” said Lady Anastasia. “She’s simply dreadful. You should hear some of th
e things Conway says to us. She’s always trying to get us to learn sums and read books about history.”

  “What about when she natters on about science?” asked Lady Angelique. “She once tricked me into listening to a story about Sir Isaac Newton. I only did so because I thought I might meet him at a ball in London, even if he was only a Sir and not even a baron. But it turns out the man is dead. And has been dead for quite some time!”

  “And the way she dresses!” said Lady Anastasia. “It’s like something a charwoman would be buried in. And here she is now.”

  A decidedly unenthusiastic Miss Conway entered the dining room. Colin was the first to rise to his feet and he had the strongest desire to have her sit next to him. Unfortunately, she took a seat at the end furthest from Clayton.

  He mentally applauded her good sense.

  “Miss Conway,” said their host. “How good of you to join us.”

  “I do not believe I had much choice in the matter, my lord.”

  “Yet it is still nice to see you. You have not yet met the newest arrival to the party, Colin Emerson, Lord Ridgeway. He came by way of the mail coach.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” said Miss Conway.

  Colin understood why she did not admit to their earlier meeting since it would have been deuced hard to explain what she’d been doing in the portrait gallery. “The honor is all mine, Miss Conway. I understand you are the governess here, are you not?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I am sure it is quite interesting. Do you teach geography, Miss Conway?”

  “I have made attempts.”

  “We studied quite a bit of it in school. Our host was particularly adept at it. Refresh my memory, Clayton. Where would I find the Andes Mountains, again?”

  Unfortunately, Miss Clayton had chosen that moment to take a sip of wine. She was now choking on it. A footman stepped forward to pound on her back.

  “Steady on, girl,” said Hemsworth.

  “Really, Miss Conway,” admonished Lady Anastasia. “Choking is most unappetizing for the rest of us.”

  “My apologies,” said Miss Conway, as she darted a quick glance and a smile at Colin.

  He could not prevent his answering grin.