Chapter Eleven
When Emma woke the next morning, she was alone, the bed empty. She brushed her hand over the pillow that lay beside her and felt the slight indent where Jon’s head had rested. His scent—so bold, masculine, and enticing—lingered faintly, but he was long gone.
Had he slipped from the chamber the moment she had succumbed to sleep? Or had he slept by her side?
Did he want to maintain their closeness or was he indifferent to it? Was it purely a physical act for him? For her? Her heart was not fully engaged, but she had certainly felt some very intense emotions that went beyond pure satisfaction last night.
The chamber door opened. Emma rolled over and raised her head.
“Good morning, my lady,” Dory said as she drew back the curtains.
A dull light flooded the chamber. Sitting up, Emma ran her fingers through her tousled hair, telling herself she was not disappointed to see her maid, instead of her husband.
“What time is it?” Emma asked.
“Half past eight.”
Emma smiled at the irony of waking up at her usual time, despite all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. The body truly was most resilient, even as the mind and emotions were in turmoil. Accepting with thanks the robe Dory held out to her, Emma shrugged into it. She walked across her bedchamber and went behind the screen, relieved to find a pitcher of hot water waiting there, along with clean clothes and towels.
Grateful for the privacy, Emma washed away the soreness between her legs. She noticed streaks of blood on the cloth and was thankful that Dorothea had warned her of that possibility.
She heard the sheets being pulled from the bed and hoped her young maid would not be alarmed when she saw the bloodstains.
With Dory’s help, she dressed, tactfully declining the maid’s offer to arrange her hair. Pleased that she was able to find her way to the dining room without assistance, Emma hesitated before entering, bracing herself to see Jon.
She strolled through the doorway with her head held high, but her fluttering nerves were for naught—the room was empty. A single place was set on the polished wood table, the chair in front of it facing the window.
“Has Lord Kendall come down yet?” she asked the stoic footman who stood at the sideboard waiting to serve her.
“Yes, my lady,” the servant replied as he pulled out a chair for her. “’Tis his lordship’s usual custom to have his morning meal very early.”
“Oh, I see.” Emma sat in the offered chair, wishing she had stayed in her chambers. She rarely ate in the morning and had only come down with the expectation of seeing her husband.
“May I bring you some coffee? Tea? Chocolate?” The footman looked at her expectantly.
“Chocolate, please,” Emma said, deciding she needed something hot and bitter this morning.
A second footman appeared. He was younger than the first, with an eager expression proclaiming his desire to please. Hastings, she thought. Or was his name Howard?
“Shall I prepare a plate for you, my lady?” he asked. “Or would you prefer that Cook make something else?”
Emma glanced at the sideboard that fairly groaned under the weight of so many silver covered chafing dishes. It seemed inconceivable that Cook had somehow left out any possible item one could consume in the morning.
“A small serving of eggs and a slice of bacon would be lovely, along with toast and jam,” she replied, taking a sip of the hot chocolate.
“Coddled or scrambled?” the footman inquired.
Gracious, so many damn decisions! “Which do you recommend?” she asked.
“Everything Cook makes is delicious,” the footman stammered, his cheeks reddening.
“Then I shall have a small portion of both,” Emma declared.
She nodded her thanks when the footman placed a plate of hot food in front of her. Then he bowed and tactfully withdrew.
Thank goodness. It was going to be difficult enough choking down half the food on her plate without having an audience. Honestly, she really needed to see about getting a dog. A large one, with an even larger appetite.
Emma looked out the window as she buttered her toast, but saw little through the swirling mist. Her mind was occupied with her wayward husband. It had not occurred to her that Jon would desert her this morning.
After the night of passion they had shared it was going to be challenging enough facing her husband with calmness and serenity. The longer she waited, the more frayed her nerves would become.
Knowing there was little she could do about it, Emma turned her attention to her meal. After stuffing herself with as much of Cook’s very tasty eggs as possible, Emma conceded defeat. Dismayed to see a quarter of the plate was still full, she piled the rest of the eggs and bits of bacon on a slice of toasted bread and topped it with a second slice. She then wrapped the food in her linen napkin, shoved it in her pocket and left the dining room.
A stroll was certainly in order—if she kept eating like this, the seams of her gowns would be strained to the point of bursting.
As Emma walked down to the terraced gardens, the breeze fluttered her skirts. It was turning into a fair day, as the morning sun was quickly burning off the fog and mist. Setting off at a brisk pace, she wandered down the sloping lawn, squinting against the sunshine.
There was no one about. She assumed the gardeners and groundskeeper were busy working on another part of the estate. Maintaining a property of this size surely took a large staff and endless hours of hard work.
A movement far in the distance caught her eye. She squinted. A horse and rider cantering across the open fields? Jon? Emma’s heart skipped a beat. She raised her arm to block the sunlight and strained her eyes for a better look.
Nay, there was no one atop the beast.
And it wasn’t a horse.
It was a dog. Black as midnight, with a sleek, muscular body, long legs, and a large head. It moved much like a horse, gaining ground swiftly as it raced across the field. For an instant she envied the freedom and delight it exuded.
Suddenly, three men appeared from a copse of trees and the animal quickly changed direction. Shouting and waving their arms, the trio chased the beast, who was now running directly toward Emma.
She felt a moment of sheer panic as it approached, having nowhere to take shelter. Hoping the large beast was friendly—or at least disinterested in her—Emma took a deep breath and stood her ground.
The dog sailed past her with barely a glance, keen on escaping the men who were chasing it. Emma turned to see where it would go, but it abruptly skidded to a halt, raising its massive head. She could see its black nose twitching.
Emma looked back down the hill. The three men were getting closer.
“Run!” she commanded to the animal. “Or they will catch you.”
At the sound of her voice, the dog’s ears lifted. Cocking its head, the animal trotted toward her, nostrils flaring. Emma stepped back in fear, but the beast’s dark brown eyes moved upward to meet her own.
They were gentle and sweet and she soon realized that she had nothing to fear.
“Aren’t you a handsome fellow,” Emma exclaimed. “Whatever have you done to get those men so angry with you?”
Coming closer, the dog sniffed, nudging its head against Emma’s side. Startled, she stepped back. The dog followed. Then he sat, looking up at her expectantly.
Clearly, he was begging. For what? She had nothing to give him. Oh, gracious! With a smile, Emma pulled the napkin from the pocket of her gown. The dog’s tail began wagging so swiftly Emma swore she felt a breeze.
“Would you like some breakfast?” she asked, breaking off a piece of toast, bacon, and egg.
The dog’s eyes grew wide with excitement at the sight of the food. He moved closer, yet remained politely sitting. Cautiously, Emma fed him, watching the large bite disappear in a single gulp.
“You really should chew your food,” she admonished, giving him another piece.
“You
’ve caught him, Lady Kendall! Well done!”
Gasping for breath, the three men finally reached her. She recognized them from the line of servants she had met yesterday. The man who had spoken was the head groundskeeper, the other two were his assistants. Unfortunately, she could not recall any of their names.
Emma stared at the trio. “Do you know this animal?”
“He’s been pestering us for months, digging up all the new plantings,” the groundskeeper explained.
“And that’s not all he’s been doing,” another man grumbled.
The groundskeeper poked him in the side and the man lowered his gaze.
Emma was intrigued. “Oh? Please, tell me of his other crimes.”
The groundskeeper, a short, stout fellow with graying hair at his temples, rubbed his red cheeks. “That mongrel has gotten himself into our kennels. One of his lordship’s prized hunters whelped a litter of pups last week. Her coat is pure white, but her pups are all black, with paws as big as my fist. There’s no doubt who sired that bunch.”
They all gazed down at the dog. As if sensing he was the subject of their conversation, he began wagging his tail again.
“Well, aren’t you the little Romeo,” Emma said with a laugh.
She petted the dog’s large, square head, stroking its long, silky ears. The animal’s eyes closed in delighted bliss and the speed of his wagging tail increased so much that it now turned in a circle.
“Who is his master?” Emma asked.
“He has none, as far as we can tell,” the groundskeeper replied. “Cook’s been feeding him scraps and if he’s around, he gets a meal when we feed the other dogs.”
“We know he wasn’t likely to leave if he was being fed, but . . .” The groundskeeper shrugged.
Emma nodded approvingly. She was glad to hear that even though he had been a pest, the staff had shown the stray animal kindness.
“You did the right thing, Mr. . . .”
“Collins, my lady.” The groundskeeper touched the brim of his cap respectfully.
“I should like to keep him, Mr. Collins,” Emma decided. “Just this morning I was telling myself that I truly need a dog, a large dog in fact, and now he has appeared. I believe he will make a perfectly splendid pet.”
The groundskeeper scratched his head. “His lordship had a pup when he was a lad, but he wasn’t nearly this large.”
“I doubt there are many dogs that can compete in size with this noble beast,” Emma concluded. “Fortunately, the manor house is vast in size. He shall fit in quite nicely.”
As if knowing he had found a champion, the dog licked the top of Emma’s hand. She scratched behind his ears and he nuzzled closer.
The groundskeeper hardly seemed convinced. “He’s not a proper pet for a lady, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“But that’s part of his charm,” Emma said. “He’s large and awkward and most loving, precisely the type of dog that I require.” Seeing that the groundskeeper was hardly convinced, Emma added, “You will come to find, Mr. Collins, that I am unlike other ladies.”
She thought of the fat, spoiled lapdogs that were the fashion among noblewomen. Pugs and toy poodles carried around on pillows, sporting jeweled collars. No, that was not the kind of canine companion that she desired.
“He’ll need a bath if you intend to bring him inside the house,” Mr. Collins observed.
“An excellent point. Do you have time to take care of that for me? Or would you prefer that I ask one of the footmen?”
One of the younger men snickered and Emma assumed he was imagining a neatly dressed footman containing and washing the dog in a tub of soapy water.
“We’ll clean him up for you, my lady,” Mr. Collins said. Then casting a stern eye at the dog, he added, “He won’t give us any trouble.”
“I’m sure you shall do an excellent job,” Emma said. “Once he is presentable, please bring him to me.”
Mr. Collins whistled for the dog to come. The beast sat back on his haunches and leaned into Emma. “Go along now, like a good boy,” she commanded.
The dog lay down by her feet, crossed his paws and rested his big head upon them.
“He must know we intend to wash him,” one of the younger men whispered.
Emma stifled a smile at his earnest manner, doubting the dog had any idea they planned on giving him a thorough washing. Then again, who knew exactly what the animal understood.
“I agree that he certainly is a clever fellow,” she said in an idle tone. “I shall call him Sir Galahad, as he was the noblest of King Arthur’s knights. My sister Dorothea has a dog named Sir Lancelot, but Galahad was renowned for his gallantry and purity.”
Sir Galahad opened his mouth wide and yawned, appearing unimpressed with his lofty name. All eyes turned to the massive beast, who looked even larger in repose. Mr. Collins frowned, while his two assistants looked perplexed. With a smile, Emma unwrapped the remainder of her breakfast scraps and handed them to one of the younger groundskeepers.
He nodded in understanding, extending his palm. Smelling the food, the dog bounded to his feet and approached.
“He’ll follow me now,” the young man said, slowly leading the dog away.
“He does seem especially fond of bacon,” Emma agreed.
“I think that you are far more clever than your dog, my lady,” Mr. Collins declared as he and the other assistant hurried away.
Emma smiled, then waited until they had faded from view before returning to the manor. Finding the dog—Sir Galahad—had proved to be an entertaining distraction and had succeeded, for a time, in taking her mind off the fact that Jon had disappeared without a word to her this morning.
Why had he not waited to have breakfast with her? Or left a note, explaining where he had gone?
The answer remained elusive and thinking upon it was giving her a headache. It was going to take time to establish a comfortable relationship with Jon—she needed to be patient and practical.
In the meantime, she would occupy herself by becoming acclimated to her new role as Lady Kendall and getting her new pet settled in the household. The dog’s large size and exuberant manner were sure to cause some distractions among the staff.
With a slight smile, Emma wondered what her husband’s reaction would be when he met Sir Galahad, and she freely admitted that a wicked part of her hoped he would be thoroughly annoyed.
* * *
Late morning dragged into early afternoon. Emma met with Cook to consult over the week’s menus, received a tour of the manor house from attic to cellar from Mrs. Fields, and attended to her correspondence, which consisted of a single long letter to her sister Gwen.
She spent a pleasant hour wandering among the lush foliage in the solarium, remembering that her first conversation with Jon had taken place there—the afternoon of his aborted wedding. Disheartened by that memory and having no desire to return to her lonely bedchamber, Emma settled herself in the drawing room.
Though formally decorated, she liked the vast openness of the chamber and the floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed the sunlight to stream into the room.
The furnishings were tasteful and expensive, yet still comfortable. The drapes were gold, as was the upholstery on the furniture, the rugs scattered on the polished wooden floors done in patterns of gold, green, and blue.
A flurry of noise outside the drawing room saved her from complete boredom. She rose from the writing desk and opened the door. Mr. Collins stood on the other side, his arms straining to hold the length of leather cord that was looped around Sir Galahad’s neck.
“It took three of us to get it done, but the dog’s had a proper bath. He likes to run, so I thought it best to keep him on a lead when I brought him into the house,” Mr. Collins explained.
“A wise idea,” Emma agreed, as the dog strained forward to reach her. “Though he doesn’t appear to like it.”
“He’s got a strong will,” Mr. Collins said with a grunt, digging in his heels as he struggle
d to hold the dog.
“I admire it,” Emma replied. “However, I am confident Sir Galahad will soon be tamed.”
Mr. Collins raised his brow skeptically. Ignoring it, Emma took the leather leash, expressed her thanks, and closed the door. Miraculously, Sir Galahad didn’t pull her across the room. Instead, he sat on her foot and leaned into her body.
Emma rewarded him with a friendly pat on the head. She removed the lead from his neck and the dog immediately began exploring the room, sniffing the floor and furniture, even going behind the long silk drapes. Enjoying his antics, Emma sat on the silk brocade settee and watched.
After taking in every inch of the chamber, the dog approached her. He scrambled onto the settee beside her, sat upright and rested his back against the arm of the sofa, his head higher than her own.
Gracious, you are a large beast.
Emma scratched his snoot and rubbed his long, silky ears. Sir Galahad inched closer, then stood, turning several times in a circle before plopping down and settling himself. With a contented sigh, the dog closed his eyes and laid his head in Emma’s lap.
Absently, she stroked his head, finding an odd sense of comfort and serenity. She was relaxing, book in hand, when the door opened and Jon entered.
He was dressed casually in tan breeches that hugged his muscular thighs, knee-high black boots, a navy-blue jacket that accented the width of his broad shoulders, and a silver waistcoat. Emma felt her breath hitch.
Damn, he is handsome.
Seeing him evoked the memories of being in his arms last night, how the feel of his kisses and caresses had so completely stoked the fires of desire deep inside her. With great determination, Emma somehow managed to quash the blush that threatened to redden her cheeks.
Though she didn’t want to admit it, Emma knew she was changed by the physical bond that had been forged between them. She was not so naïve as to think Jon had experienced the same, but she hoped he might feel some kind of connection to her, beyond what duty dictated.
She caught the hint of a frown on his face when he spied her. Good heavens. I guess he intended to avoid me as much as possible. Miffed at the notion, Emma lifted her chin.
Every Bit a Rogue Page 14
