Emma tore at the wax seal and perused the earl’s words.
Miss Ainsley,
I might suggest, as my stay inside the city might surely be of an extended duration, that we employ your lad Langdon to carry notes back and forth. He can make use of a different mount each trip—good exercise for the horses—come and go as his other chores necessitate, and you needn’t then worry about the tuppence put out for each letter sent.
Yesterday was frightfully long and tortuous. At one point, Sir Lionel of the Tories spoke non-stop for over six hours. I understand how important some of these measures and debates are, but still I was hard-pressed not to cry out that he could have managed his entire argument in four sentences. A more harried, pointless, and overdone speech, I vow I have never sat through.
I hope the parcel found its way to you as well. Do not, for my sake, scrimp on the words to save the paper. I look forward very much to your exceedingly entertaining news from the Daisies. (Honestly, I neither chose nor approved the parcel-ed item, only gave direction as to what was necessary to keep my sanity while ensconced and enslaved in the city.)
Shall I send down ink as well? New pens?
Until next time.
L
Less curious, and more convinced that she knew what the package might contain, Emma tore through the brown paper and found as she’d suspected, as his words had hinted—a box of stationery paper, in the softest shade of blue imaginable. She hugged the package to her chest, though wasn’t sure why she should be so excited over a box of paper.
Dear Lord Lindsey,
I thank you, genuinely, for the gift of the stationery and, as you see, have set aside the old to make good use of these fabulous sheets. Is it me, or does the ink flow more easily over this paper?
When I was very young, when my mother lived, she read to my sister and me quite often. But honestly, since mother has been gone, I cannot remember that I’ve read a book in all those years. But I have, just yesterday. Bethany was napping, and the Smythes had gone to Benedict House to visit with Mrs. Conklin, as she’d invited them to make use of the dairy next to your fine kitchens for butter making. So there I was, all alone, and had already written a letter to you, that I hadn’t anything to occupy me. And then I considered the books, offered so prettily upon the shelves of the study. Oh, and what a wonderful way to spend a rainy summer day, tucked into the parlor, and with a cup of hot tea to chase the chill, and with a book called Robinson Crusoe. What a fabulous hero! What a wonderful adventure!
Do you enjoy reading, My Lord? For pleasure? If you were trapped in an empty house, no work to be done, might you find yourself digging your brain and your time into some dusty old tome? It seems to me you are not the sort to be idle, though I shouldn’t think exercising your brain with words is truly useless. But then I do not know you very well at all, do I?
Emma Ainsley
Emma,
I do enjoy reading. When I have the time.
What else would you like to know?
Apologies for my brevity. Busy morning and back in session now.
L
My Lord Lindsey,
Seems more like cheating, if I only ask things I might wonder about, and you answer promptly and succinctly. Some things might be nice to discover, slowly, over time, much the same as I learn something new about my darling Bethany almost every day. She will be two and a half next week. I cannot believe either that I’ve been blessed for so long with her in my life or, sadly, that my sister has been gone for that long. Yet, there are times that it seems only yesterday Gretchen was braiding my hair and telling me tales of my father that I was too young too recall.
We had a fine dinner last eve. Nothing at all like that pitiful stew I once tried to feed you. Perhaps you’ll allow me another attempt, as Mrs. Smythe has now given me regular and perfect instruction, that suddenly pies and pastries and gravies seem not so inaccessible after all. Our neighbor, Mr. MacKenzie joined us, and Langdon had returned from London, that we had a fine full table and used the formal dining room for the first time. You will likely scold me for sitting to dine with what you assume are the Daisies staff, but you may not. I will not allow it (penned with no animosity, my lord, but only as a reminder) as the Smythes and Langdon, and now Mr. MacKenzie, are my friends.
Closing here as Mrs. Conklin has come now to begin to teach Mrs. Smythe and myself some needlework that hasn’t anything to do with mending. I’m picturing embroidered table linens when next we have company.
Emma
Emma,
Young Langdon surprised me, arriving earlier than expected, and now the poor lad must sit and wait. Ah, but something is afoot, I begin to imagine, as the boy runs straight to the kitchen, even when no scent of cakes or scones can be detected, so that I think he’s quite taken with one of the Lindsey maids in the house. Hence, his early arrival and never seeming to mind the hours he sometimes must idle away awaiting my return post. Perhaps he is not idling, but working his...charm? That word doesn’t seem to fit the boy, though I can find no fault at all with his occupation and temperament.
As it stands, we’ve still a week or more to go inside the present session. Currently, it will please you to know that my yesterday was plagued by eleven hours of dubious discussion of the Protest Against the Silver Coinage. Scintillating, I assure you. Lord save me, for having heard the word ‘metallic’ spewed and sputtered no less than one hundred times then.
Should we think about employing a nurse for Bethany? Lady Marston assures me it is too soon for a governess.
Yours,
L
My Lord Lindsey,
Scintillating, indeed, as I saw your argument, type-set in the Times that came today with Langdon. ‘Lord Lindsey assisted the protest, reminding his fellow and fine MPs that “the bill endorsed a plan for the future regulation of the metallic currency for this country, yet was founded on erroneous views.”’ Is that, then, one hundred and one instances of the word metallic? (Now 102? Dear Lord.)
Just this morning, Bethany quite out of the blue, asked where you were, and when you might visit again. Of course, I feel completely inept, and the words seem useless to a child of not-quite-three, telling her you are very busy with important (dare I say, scintillating?) work. Nevertheless, I offer that to remind you that you have an admirer, less so a hindrance, I should hope. But no, I see no reason to employ a nurse, as I am happy to care for her myself. And we have years yet, until we need to consider her schooling and what that might entail.
That is very fine news to hear about Langdon, though he has made no mention of any sweetheart up at your London house. And just yesterday, we spent several hours together, walking to and from Perry Green, and yet he mentioned no London love at all. Regardless, I had wondered if the nearly everyday trips might be too taxing for him, even as he’d assured me that in traveling at not quite a full gallop had him in one direction in less than an hour. Hmm, even as I write now, he has come to collect this letter, seeming quite anxious to be on his way. I wonder that he can stand to wait all the time it will take for the ink to dry.
Emma
Sometimes, she re-read his letters, even the very briefly penned ones, not quite sure what she was looking for, yet imbued with a sense that indeed she did search for something in his words. Which then had her questioning what she might be wanting from the Earl of Lindsey. And then one day, when he’d been gone for nearly a month, and they had by now exchanged at least a dozen letters, telling only of trivial and daily amusements, Langdon came to the Daisies just in time for dinner, and handed a small envelope to Emma, who hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron and snapped the wax seal and read the very few scrawled words. Few indeed, though their impact was huge.
Emma,
Are you, as I am, ever plagued, tortured, or otherwise accosted (often most happily) by memories of our shared kisses?
L
Emma gasped, not quite noiselessly. Mrs. Smythe jerked around from the kettle over the fire, her cheeks flushed, her
concern swift. “Aught amiss, my dear?”
Emma shook her head, covered her mouth with her hand, and used the other to press the paper to her chest.
“Oh, but you’ve gone as white as a ghost, Emma,” Mrs. Smythe persisted, leaving the wooden spoon inside the boiling pot and coming to Emma’s side.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Emma blathered, smiling awkwardly. “Unexpected news, that is all,” she added, when Mrs. Smythe remained skeptical and alarmed. “If you’ll excuse me just for a moment...?” She saw that Langdon had sat down at the kitchen table with Bethany, where Emma had been perched while she and her daughter trimmed beans for dinner.
She ran up the stairs, went into her bedroom, and locked herself within. Leaning against the door, she held the letter very close to her face, using two shaking hands, and read the words again. Are you, as I am, ever plagued, tortured, or otherwise accosted (often most happily) by memories of our shared kisses?
Oh.
Oh, my. Lowering one hand, she settled it against her belly to calm the butterflies that had taken flight.
She did not answer his question for three full days.
Lord Lindsey,
Maybe. Sometimes.
E
Emma,
I rather think about it, and them, and us all the time.
L
Lord Lindsey,
Is that wise?
E
Dear Emma,
Possibly no. Unless I were to know it was to be repeated.
I might dwell upon it then. With greater effect and time than even now.
L
Lord Lindsey
Repeated? To what end?
E
My Dear Emma,
There is so much more I want to show you, to know with you.
L
Lord Lindsey,
As you have important work to be about in these last days of parliament’s session, we must needs retire the preceding discussion.
Hopefully, we might return to our very dear former manner of corresponding, which had seen you grousing with growing annoyance for the behavior of your esteemed peers of the realm, while I surely bored you to tears with tedious anecdotes of my little country life.
(Nevertheless, I shall continue.) Dear Langdon has begun, or is trying, to teach me how to ride one of your fine mares. I cannot say I am unafraid, or truth be known, even very interested, yet the Smythes and Langdon have convinced me it might serve as a useful skill to have. The whole side-saddle arrangement makes me feel firstly, very small and precarious upon the large beast, and then, in a constant state of fright that I will topple straight off the horse. Oh, what a long way down that would be.
Perhaps it is best that Bethany receive her introduction and instruction at such a young age, that she grows up with no fear, but only ease whenever near the beautiful animals. Assuming you might continue this time with her upon your eventual return, I thank you for your assistance in this regard.
There was a fire in Perry Green just yesterday. The sawmill at the edge of town went up in smoke, which was visible to us even two miles away. We all—the Smythes and Langdon, and Bethany and Mr. MacKenzie and myself—headed into town to see what the rising black plume of smoke was about, and if we might have been of any help. We were not, though it took many hours for any control of the blaze to be gained. Sadly, the entire building and contents were lost. There was a group taking up donations to help out the Prescott family, who have owned the mill and contributed to the community for many generations. I gave willingly, as not two weeks ago, old Mr. Prescott, whom we regularly passed on our way in or out of town, offered a whittled horse figure to Bethany when we’d stopped to chat with him.
You needn’t fear that that my donation should have me begging an increase from you, as I have budgeted the remainder of the month quite cleverly to do without the humble sum I could afford to give. I have your father to thank for that, for my ability to help out another person. I was so pleased to be able to do so, and mayhap I finally understand your father’s constant wish to aid and assist me. It simply feels good.
Closing now, to attempt to put Bethany down for a nap. Of late, she resists more and more, and I’ve had to employ new and different tactics almost every day.
Emma
My Dear Emma,
Apologies to you, for my rudeness.
I skimmed over your most recent missive, looking only for some hint, some response to the robust clue of my desire to repeat our kiss and more.
I’ll read your letter properly when tonight’s session is done.
Yours,
L
Of course, there would be no more letters from London, as Zach expected tonight at the earliest, and tomorrow night at the latest, for this session to be finished finally. He stared at her words once again, in her last correspondence. Indeed, he thought her neat little curly script as darling as the letter writer herself and was only mildly disheartened that she’d not truly answered his initial revealing query about their kisses.
In other regards, her letters truly had been a blessing, Zach having committed so many of her words to memory. Her sometimes mention of that bounder, Mr. MacKenzie, had startled and angered him at first, until she’d at least answered that she sometimes thought of their kisses. With those words, he’d known, she was his still.
Her words, to which he eagerly looked forward each day, admittedly being disappointed if he received no visit from Langdon, had truly served to keep him grounded and sane, this particular session having worn on him so much more than in recent years.
Leaning back in his desk chair, he lifted the letter and perused it casually once again. If he hadn’t already been in love with her, he would have been easily wooed by the tales of her life down there at the Daisies and the very clever way she treated a letter much as she would a conversation. She was engaging, didn’t take herself too seriously, and showed so much of her true self, which he’d previously suspected their fragile affiliation might have scared away. There hadn’t been a day, not since he’d left her, that he hadn’t thought of making love to her, as they had, and as they would. He was beyond anxious to return to her, and finally, satisfyingly, straighten out this mess between them.
Chapter Seventeen
“But my dear,” said Mrs. Conklin, giving Emma that familiar frown that tipped her head downward, highlighting her disagreement, “you must glass the fruit if you care to preserve it properly.”
“But I haven’t enough glass jars, Mrs. Conklin, and the Smythes and I wondered what other vessel might be employed.”
The housekeeper was shaking her head even before Emma had finished her statement. “’Tis no other that will do. Now we’ve spares, to be sure. But you’d be needing to return on the morrow, as I couldn’t put my hands on them right at this moment.”
“You are very kind, Mrs. Conklin,” Emma assured her, “but I cannot continue to forage and gather right here at Benedict House. Yet Perry Green doesn’t seem to stock or sell them that I can find. I only wondered what else might substitute.”
“You fret too much, my dear,” said Mrs. Conklin. “We’ve plenty to share and when you do eventually locate some for purchase, you’ll return the borrowed ones.”
“You are too good to me.” Emma kissed the old woman’s cheek and said she must be on her way. “But you won’t forget about dinner Sunday, will you, Mrs. Conklin? We’re very excited to have you and Mr. Thurman as our guests. Mama Smythe will dazzle you with her pike with the pudding in the belly.”
The housekeeper’s eyes lit up. “Oh, we’ll be there. Looking forward to an evening of ease and fine company.”
Emma waved and left the kitchens, trotting up the steps to the main floor, coming into the foyer just as Thurman was pulling open the door.
Lady Marston was welcomed into Benedict House, which saw Emma frozen just near the grand staircase, so stunned was she by the woman’s presence. Emma would not have said the woman showed an equal surprise to find her here.
&
nbsp; “Just the person I was looking for,” Lady M intoned, removing her gloves and flapping the pair into Thurman’s hands. “We’ll take tea, for two, in the drawing room, if you please, Thurman.”
Recovering, Emma gave a quick and mediocre curtsy. “Pardon me, my lady, but I’m not dressed for tea, and must get back to the—”
“Nonsense. I just sat uncomfortably in an ancient carriage for more than an hour. You can spare twenty minutes.”
Ignoring then both Emma and the butler, who lifted his brows to Emma, though showed no exact emotion, Lady M mounted the stairs, using both the cane and the bannister to see her further up the steps.
Her shoulders fell, but she could not refuse, and so Emma followed the lady and joined her in Benedict House’s impressive drawing room. She glanced down at the thick Aubusson carpet, where the earl had entertained Bethany. Or had it been the other way around?
Lady M sat nearly at the edge of one of the more-pretty-than-comfortable side chairs and Emma took the other. Hoping she wouldn’t be delayed too long, she swept the hat from her head, laying the pretty, wide-brimmed article on the arm of her chair.
“I cannot imagine why you should have sought me out,” Emma said, when the lady only stared at her with that familiar, not entirely enjoyed, pinched look about her lips.
Lady M did not squander any more words than necessary. “I hear you’ve met, on more than one occasion, with Hadlee.”
“I have,” Emma answered, exhibiting some hesitation. Was this woman, like her godson, about to tell her whom she may or may not befriend?
“About some confounded letters, I am to understand.”
“Yes.” As Lady M’s tone was indicative of her mood, and her tone was prickly, Emma would leave off giving more than asked, having no idea why the subject should concern her.
The Lady’s thinning brows bent further over her sharp eyes, possibly unappreciative of Emma’s short replies.
“Did he mention me?”
This confounded Emma yet more, certainly as the query was attended by so hesitant a voice, something Emma was sure not many could claim to have heard. “Um, he said only that you were acquainted with Caralyn Withers, but...but that you hadn’t any idea where she might have gone.”
If I Loved You (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 2) Page 24
