The Courting Campaign. Regina Scott

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      At least Sir Nicholas didn’t scrimp when it came to material things, Emma thought as she followed. The main room of the nursery boasted its own rose-patterned china and crystal glasses, low shelves crowded with picture books and bright building blocks, one trunk full of clothes and accoutrements for Alice’s dolls, another full of outside toys like balls and skipping ropes and a dollhouse large enough to suit even the most extravagant tastes. Why then was he such a miser when it came to spending time with his daughter?

      As Emma reached the table where Alice took her meals and her lessons, Ivy leaned closer to whisper, “Bless you, miss, for saving us all. Dorcus told me how you’re going to marry the master. Without a wife, we’d be stuck with Mrs. Dunworthy forever.”

      Emma recoiled to glare at her. “That is entirely enough of that sort of talk.”

      Ivy quailed, hanging her blond head while bobbing a curtsey. “Of course, miss. Sorry, miss. I’ll just go help Mrs. Jennings with supper.” She scurried out of the nursery.

      Emma took a deep breath to calm herself. Dorcus must have overheard the conversation with Mrs. Jennings. So even now the maids knew the cook expected Emma to turn the master up sweet. Well, they were all doomed to disappointment. He had no time for courting; he had no time for his daughter! And she refused to marry a man with the ink of science running through his veins.

      Alice was regarding her solemnly, and Emma could only hope that nothing of what she was feeling showed on her face or in her actions as she smiled down at her charge.

      Alice held up her doll. “Lady Chamomile missed you.”

      Emma curtsied. “My deepest apologies, your ladyship. You know I would never keep you waiting unless it was very important.”

      Alice giggled and pulled the doll close once more. “She says you are forgiven, but you must ask her permission before leaving the room again.”

      So now she was even taking orders from a doll! Emma shook her head and held out her hand. The soft touch of Alice’s little fingers reaching into her grip reminded her of her purpose here, and it certainly wasn’t to charm the master.

      “Let’s have tea,” she said to the girl as she led her to her chair. “I’m sure Lady Chamomile would enjoy that. Mrs. Jennings sent up biscuits.”

      “Oh, biscuits! Do you hear that, Lady Chamomile?” Alice climbed up to her seat and set her doll in a chair nearby. Emma sat and began to lay out the tea things.

      But even going about such a routine task, her feelings betrayed her, for her hand trembled on the pot. She set it down carefully. Perhaps she should be honored that Mrs. Jennings thought her capable of winning the master’s love. She was sure some nannies would jump at the chance to rise in position. She wasn’t one of them. And did they think she merely had to dress in fine muslin and bat her eyes, and he would fall on his knees to propose?

      She supposed she could wear colors that made her hazel eyes look green or gold instead of a drab brown. She could cover her work-reddened hands with silk or fine leather gloves, just as she wore long sleeves to cover the small scar of a burn on her arm. Unfortunately, she thought she stood a better chance of gaining his attention by dipping herself in whale oil and lighting herself on fire. At least then he might take the time to observe how long it required for her to expire!

      “Lady Chamomile is very hungry,” Alice announced. She swung her feet against the rungs of her chair, hands clasped in her lap. From the chair next to her, her doll cast Emma a baleful glance.

      “A lady knows how to wait,” Emma replied. And when waiting will never solve anything, she silently amended. A shame Mrs. Jennings didn’t understand that.

      Emma poured the tea through strainers into the cups. Between leaving it to rescue the master and carrying it up the stairs, it was no longer hot enough to steam. But Alice didn’t mind. After Emma added sugar, Alice puffed on her cup as if to make sure the brew was cool enough to taste, then did the same with her doll’s cup.

      Sitting across from Lady Chamomile and next to Alice so she could help if needed, Emma could only smile. Alice was a darling child. How could Sir Nicholas be so determined to stay away? Many of the orphans who had been raised with her for a time in the asylum had gone on to loving homes, their new parents caring for them. Then, too, she’d heard of families in which the children were raised entirely by servants. She wouldn’t have a position if the Rotherfords didn’t need someone to oversee the child. But if Alice had been her daughter, she would never have left her solely to the care of others.

      “And the biscuits?” piped up a hopeful voice.

      “Oh, yes. Sorry!” Emma passed the plate to Alice, who selected a treat for herself and one for her doll. Emma took the plate back and set it down. She needed to stop thinking about Sir Nicholas—his deep brown eyes; the way he moved, purposeful, intent. She had found a good position at the Grange. She was safe here, from memories and from an uncertain future. She was not about to jeopardize that because the cook feared the master needed something besides his work to console him.

      “And what have we here?” Mrs. Dunworthy said, coming into the nursery.

      “Auntie!” Alice cried.

      Emma stood out of respect for her mistress. Alice started to do likewise, but Mrs. Dunworthy held up her hand to keep the girl from climbing from her chair.

      “Don’t let me upset your tea, my sweet,” she said to Alice, long face breaking into a smile. “I know how you love your biscuits.”

      Alice held one up. “We’ll share.”

      Her aunt glided to the table and leaned down to hug her niece. “That’s very generous, but perhaps another time.” She straightened to eye Emma, and some of the warmth evaporated from her look. “May I have a word with you, Miss Pyrmont?”

      She knew about the incident in the laboratory. She was here to tell Emma she had overstepped her role. Emma was certain of it. Funny. She would never have taken Sir Nicholas for a babble-mouth. She should have kept her own mouth shut, remembered she was merely a member of the staff, but she just couldn’t stand his reckless disregard for his own life. Did he care nothing for Alice? Didn’t he understand what could happen if he died? Emma remembered all too well the helplessness and fear when she had been orphaned, the pain of thinking no one cared about her. Please, Lord, spare Alice that fate!

      Aloud she said, “Certainly, Mrs. Dunworthy,” and followed her employer to the door of the nursery.

      Mrs. Dunworthy stopped on the corridor side, far enough away that Alice couldn’t overhear their conversation but close enough that Emma could see and attend to her if needed. Mrs. Dunworthy knew her business. She ruled over the household, yet somehow she never looked like a housekeeper. An elegant woman, tall, slender, with long fingers and etched features, she dressed in fine silk gowns and often put ribboned caps over her auburn hair. Now her gray eyes were narrowed, her mouth tight.

      “Sir Nicholas,” she said, “just informed me of a change in plans.”

      Emma nodded. She was going to be discharged. There went all her dreams of self-sufficiency. How could she find another post so far from London? She hadn’t even earned enough yet to take the mail coach back to the city!

      “He would like Alice to join him for dinner tonight,” the lady continued.

      Emma СКАЧАТЬ