Tempting the Earl

by Wendy May Andrews

  The work felt progressively harder, and Emily was beginning to suspect she was not going to make it, when her nemesis showed up to survey her accomplishments. His wizened old face gave away little of what he was feeling, and Emily held her breath to see what he would say. He grunted his approval at the amount of work a tiny female had been able to get done and told her to report back to him early the next morning. Emily gratefully slipped away to the kitchen to beg a snack from the cook's helper before searching out Mrs. Simms to see what she was to do next. It was a very exhausted young maid who slipped gratefully into her bed early that evening, and a deep, dreamless sleep claimed her as soon as her head settled onto her pallet.

  Emily's mind and body soon adjusted to the routine of gardening with Henri in the mornings and working in the library under the direction of Mr. Dale in the afternoons. Her cheeks were soon blooming with a healthy color reminiscent of the roses she tended under Henri's gimlet eye. Emily discovered that the cranky old gardener had a soft spot under all that crust, and they came to an understanding of each other. He soon forgot she was one of the hated she-people he so distrusted and accepted her into his circle of friends. Emily, in turn, was delighted by his gruff sense of humor and basked in the joy and camaraderie she found among the staff at Yorkleigh. No one asked too many questions-it seemed many had secrets of their own-but they were a close-knit group nonetheless, and Emily found that the bruises on her heart were slowly healing. As her body adjusted to the heavy workload, her mind recovered from the ordeal and turmoil she had been through.

  Her previous joie de vivre returned, and it was an open, happily smiling face that confronted Philip as he entered his library upon his return to his estate after an absence of some days.

  Lord Philip was in the nearest thing to a rage he had ever experienced before, preoccupied with the unexpected emotion as he entered his previously male sanctum. He had been in London for a week-and bored. This was becoming a problem. In his entire life he had never before experienced such an overwhelming sense of ennui, and it seemed to be worsening. He had always been content, aware of his blessed lot in life and all that it entitled him to. He had been comfortable with his position in the upper ranks of society that his wealth and title granted him, as well as the way lesser mortals toadied to him because of that position. He had enjoyed the freedom of having every exalted door opened to him, most men envying him and most women being available for his entertainment. But it was all beginning to pall, and he was finding the experience unnerving. His regular associates were becoming bores, the endless round of social engagements, sporting events, balls, routs, and parties bordering on deadly dull, and he was angry that his previously excellent existence was no longer quite so excellent.

  The only thing that interested him of late was being on his estate looking after all the varied business connected with the earldom, which he had previously left in the hands of the solicitors. Now he found himself wanting to take more control. I am becoming staid, he thought with disgust. Next he would be wanting to set up his nursery and bounce babies on his knee! The thought made him shudder in revulsion, then set off an interesting reverie about just such a situation. Of course, he reasoned, he did have to secure his succession someday. Maybe he should set up his nursery. Thus was his disheveled state of mind as he entered his library, only to come upon the cherubic face of his charming maid.

  Emily's mind was elsewhere, and she yelped in surprise when his lordship walked into the room. His face was a study in contradicting emotions, and she was surprised to see him actually displaying feelings, since her previous impressions of him were of coldness and pride, despite the kind gestures he had shown her. The last thing she would have expected was to see him looking so angry and yet somehow sheepish. What a contradiction the man is, she sighed to herself as she straightened from the obligatory curtsy she had executed upon his entrance.

  What can he possibly have to be so grumpy about? She wondered as she waited expectantly for the earl to say something. The two stared at each other, nonplussed, for a moment that felt like an age to Emily. She grew uncomfortable with the silence and had to break it. "Welcome home, my lord. Was your journey successful?" she inquired politely.

  "No, it wasn't," he barked. Philip felt foolish for snapping at his maid but couldn't seem to stop himself from taking out his bad humor on her. He had never experienced feeling unsure of himself in all his twenty-nine years, and the experience was one he would quite happily do without. Not wanting to prolong his exposure to the unsettling maid while in his current state of mind, he attempted to rid himself of at least one irritant.

  "What are you doing in my library, might I ask?" he questioned haughtily.

  Not appearing at all put out by his attitude, Emily replied, "I am working on the catalogue of your library for Mr. Dale and attempting to figure out an acceptable order for your volumes of poetry. I'm debating between writer and subject classification. What do you think, my lord?"

  Taken aback at being questioned about literature by a servant, Philip mumbled incoherently in reply while wondering how to get rid of the unwanted distraction. He rolled his eyes at himself in disgust at his own wishywashy behavior.

  I am the earl in this house; I make the rules! I can just tell her to leave, he reminded himself before he suited thought to words.

  Emily was surprised at the pique she felt at being told to leave the room and found herself bristling in response, but she managed to restrain her lips from uttering any of the thoughts bouncing through her head. She contented herself with "As you wish, my lord," as she curtsied and let herself quietly out of the room.

  Philip was disappointed not to be more pleased to have the library himself. He realized he was acting irrationally but had no idea what to do about it. He concluded he needed a drink. That ought to solve everything, he thought self-derisively as he settled into his chair by the grate and filled his glass. He rolled his eyes once again at his own foolishness as he tossed the first one back, realizing it was going to be futile.

  Several weeks went by, and Emily grew more confident. She had many discussions with Philip's secretary, Mr. James Dale, as she reported to him regularly on her progress in the library. They sometimes discussed various works of literature or the research she had come across recently, and James soon forgot to be uncomfortable in the surprisingly knowledgeable young woman's presence.

  Lord Yorkleigh was surprised to see his normally reserved secretary engaged in animated discussion with the maid when he walked into his library. His entry must have been silent, as neither noticed his presence. Philip stood quietly enjoying the spectacle before him. James had removed his spectacles and was gesturing emphatically with them, while Emily's flushed countenance and gleaming eyes showed her enjoyment of the debate.

  Philip had again been absent from the estate for a couple of days and had missed the routine he was growing to enjoy so much as he took up more of the workings of the earldom. And, he regretted to admit, he also missed the disturbing presence of the beautiful young thing now in heated debate with Mr. Dale. It was obvious that the two had grown quite used to each other and were enjoying the mental stimulation they each caused the other. Philip was fascinated by what he was hearing.

  "But surely, Miss Emily, you cannot really think Sophocles is better than Shakespeare!" Mr. Dale demanded incredulously while raking a hand carelessly through his ever-unruly hair.

  "I can, and I do!" Emily declared emphatically. "Actually, if you think about it, Mr. Dale, they are really quite similar. Both wrote for the common people. And while Mr. Shakespeare managed to suit his plays to multiple levels of society, when you read Sophocles in his original language, you can see that his turn of phrase is really quite superior to that of Mr. Shakespeare" Emily had not given any thought to how much she might be revealing about her education and was startled when Philip spoke from where he was standing near the door.

  "You read Greek, Emily?" he asked in obvious amazement, instantly regretting interruptin
g the tirade he had been so enjoying.

  Emily jumped in surprise, then let out a squeak as she whirled around to face him and hastily executed her curtsy.

  "Just a little, my lord," she answered shyly while searching for a way to extricate herself from the latest mess she had gotten into. "I suppose your lordship will need some privacy to speak with Mr. Dale. Good day, my lord, sir" And she curtsied herself from the room in a rush.

  Mr. Dale and the earl looked at each other and burst out laughing. "What a strange girl she is! How many of the servants even know who Sophocles was, do you think, James, let alone have an opinion as to his scholarly abilities?" asked the earl.

  "I doubt if any of them would, my lord," admitted James. "I wonder why she contents herself with digging in your gardens and dusting your shelves when she could be a teacher or governess somewhere. I find I am dashed curious about her background"

  "As am I, James. However, only time will tell if the evasive Emily will ever admit her secrets. But she is certainly right about one thing: We have much to do. Let us get on with the work for the day"

  "Good day, my lord," Emily called out with a smile as she teetered on a rickety old chair in the attic one day later that week. "Whatever are you doing up here in the attic, my lord? You are going to get yourself dirty!" she admonished just before sneezing at the cloud of dust she had disturbed.

  "Emily, get down from there this instant! Why, pray tell, am I forever finding you in some death-defying position? To answer your query, I happen to own the place. I might ask whatever you are doing up here?" Philip was merely teasing, but he was delighted to watch a blush steal into Emily's cheeks as she struggled to pull a crate down off the high shelf she was reaching for.

  "My lord, I assure you, I am supposed to be up here," she began earnestly before she caught the glint of amusement in the earl's eye. "But I'm sure you knew that, didn't you?" she continued with a bit more spirit as she stuck her tongue out at him cheekily. "I was told by a reliable source that there is a whole trunk filled with interesting things that should be in the library. I had just about gotten it before I was so rudely interrupted."

  Philip smiled in good cheer at her pluck. "Well, if you must break your neck, be sure to do it on your own time. I wouldn't want the maids to have to clean up after you."

  Emily gasped in mock outrage and threw her rag at him as they both broke into laughter. While Emily was still giggling, Philip reached up and grabbed her about the waist to help her down. As his hands closed warmly around her, the laughter died in her throat, and her mouth went dry as unfamiliar feelings coursed through her. A long moment ticked by as they both felt they were falling into the depths of the other's eyes. He held her in midair as though frozen before gently setting her on the floor. Emily felt a tingling, shivery sensation rush through her as her entire body broke out in gooseflesh. She gazed in wonder at the earl, filled with new and amazing feelings she could not put a name to. For an unguarded moment Philip felt such a powerful attraction to the young woman that he could barely take a breath. As used as he was to such things, he was surprised at the intensity of his feelings and could only stand there gazing in wonder at her. Emily cleared her throat uneasily and stepped back. Philip dropped his hands as though burned.

  "Yes, well, thank you for your concern, my lord," Emily began awkwardly. "I will just continue with my search for that trunk" And she turned her back on him.

  After a moment of stunned disbelief, Philip commanded her harshly to get the help of one of the footmen before he turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

  Philip got back to his library in a distracted state. He was at a loss to know why he was so drawn to the strange young woman. She was such a contradiction, he mused. She was distractingly beautiful, and he had to struggle to keep his thoughts about her under control. And then there was her obvious intelligence; he could see that she had been educated. It came through whenever she spoke, both in her refined speech and her extensive knowledge. The chit knows Greek philosophy! he thought in amazement. But what was she doing in the carriage boot, dressed in rags, and now dusting his shelves? he wondered. He had never taken up with any of his servants, and he was surely not going to start now. Still, it disturbed him to be so drawn to her.

  A few days later, despite his best intentions, Philip found himself once again roaming about, looking for his beautiful maid. This time he was searching the extensive gardens. He finally came upon her in a back corner of the rose garden wearing the gloves and hat he had brought her weeks ago, singing a beautiful French melody in perfect pitch and accent. His French was not by any means perfect, but to his ears hers sounded as if it was. He again marveled at the perplexing package that was his new servant while he took a moment to enjoy the scene she made and her melodious singing. When she came to the end of the song, he began clapping, which startled Emily into whirling around in apparent fright. Despite her newly found comfort on the estate, she still had nightmares and often started at sudden noises.

  "Oh, you scared me, my lord!" she pronounced as she began to blush, realizing he had been witness to her warbling. "Were you standing there for long?" she asked shyly, hoping he had not.

  "Are you embarrassed, Emily? You have no need to be, let me assure you. You have a most beautiful voice"

  Emily was delighted with the compliment but unsure how to respond, since she had no way of verifying its accuracy.

  Before the silence became uncomfortable, Philip continued. "Where did you learn such perfect French?" he asked, trying to find out more about her.

  "Oh, here and there," she responded vaguely as she turned back to her weeding.

  Frustrated, refusing to be dismissed by a maid, Philip decided to question her further. "Why do you never admit any information about yourself? What are you hiding? Why all the mystery, Emily? Where do you come from, and why are you a servant when you have so obviously been well educated? You could easily hold a much higher, more comfortable position"

  Emily had stiffened noticeably. "I am perfectly comfortable just as I am, my lord. Thank you for your concern," she responded in an icy tone.

  She was quite obviously not going to reveal anything about herself, and Philip was annoyed, unaccustomed to being denied.

  Despite his annoyance, though, he could not ignore his steadily growing attraction to her. It was a constant source of dismay and confusion. He had never been attracted to one of the lower classes nor taken advantage of anyone in his employ, as so many of his counterparts were prone to do. Maybe all this country air was addling his brain, he thought in wry amusement as he walked away.

  As the days passed, Philip found himself wandering the house, keeping an eye out for Emily, "bumping into" her wherever her various assignments took her in the vast manor. He would engage her in conversation and delight to see her face light up animatedly as she enthused over whatever subject they were discussing. He would puzzle over why her face suddenly lost its glow and she would excuse herself politely as she returned to her work.

  One such example was the day Emily had been assigned by Mrs. Simms to polish the furniture in one of the bedrooms in the guest wing. Due to her work in the gardens and the library, Mrs. Simms used Emily only for extra projects, rather than her having a regular assignment each day. Because of this, if Philip was interested in checking on her, he was required to either ask the housekeeper or wander until he found her himself. His pride rarely allowed him to ask Mrs. Simms, so it often took him a while to find Emily. He reasoned that this was an excellent way to keep informed of the goings-on in his house, to remain aware of the state of all his chambers.

  On this particular day it had taken an inordinate amount of time to nonchalantly find the beautiful young woman. Of course, she had no idea he was searching for her as she vigorously rubbed the ornate old furniture with the special concoction Mrs. Simms had provided for her use.

  As Philip approached the room Emily was working in, he could hear her singing an old nursery ditty. He chuckled at th
e memories the melody conjured up. When he reached the open door, he joined in with Emily's singing. She jumped in surprise at his deep baritone but quickly recovered and finished the song with a flourish.

  Clapping with gleeful abandon, Emily grinned at the earl enchantingly, completely forgetting the obvious difference in their stations. "Well done, my lord. How do you know the song? My nurse assured me it was a special song just for me," she complained teasingly.

  The earl quirked an eyebrow at Emily's reference to her nurse, a luxury only indulged by the higher stations, but for the sake of their camaraderie he chose to ignore her involuntary revelation. "My nurse must have been friends with your nurse, since she told me the same thing when she sang it to me," he said drolly, enjoying the sparkle in Emily's eyes.

  While they were talking, Philip had stepped into the room and sat upon the bed as Emily continued polishing the fireplace mantel on the other side of the room. She had grown more accustomed to his visits, and as she rubbed the waxy concoction into the fine wood, they chatted about other songs and stories they remembered from childhood.

  As always Emily was oblivious to the effect she was having upon Lord Yorkleigh. Had she realized, she would, no doubt, have been quite uncomfortable, but as it was she was blissfully unaffected. Philip, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he watched her working and laughing and talking so naturally. His attraction to the beautiful young maidservant was getting out of hand, and despite his enjoyment of her company, he found it angered him to be affected so.

  Philip decided to try to find out more about her. "What was your nurse's name? Mine was Mrs. Brady," he said casually.

  Emily must have realized she had revealed too much in her relaxed conversation and tried to disengage. "Oh, my lord, I really should get this room finished. Mrs. Simms shall have apoplexy if I am not finished soon. And I have to meet with Mr. Dale very shortly. It has been ever so nice reminiscing with you," she said in not-so-subtle dismissal.