The Courting Campaign. Regina Scott

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      “Interesting.” He fiddled with his silver fork as if the movement helped spur his thinking. “I don’t recall anything approaching a castle in Dovecote Dale.”

      “Unless you count the Duke of Bellington’s country estate Bellweather Hall,” Mrs. Dunworthy pointed out. “Of course, Bell is still in London I imagine, wrestling with some weighty matter in Parliament while his mother and sister lead the social whirl.”

      Bell. They could speak of a duke with such familiarity. Even though dukes had been known to sponsor her foster father, she felt the gulf between her and this family widening.

      “Then you visit Lady Chamomile often?” Sir Nicholas asked, obviously intent on discovering the truth about the matter.

      “Most every day,” Emma assured him. “Isn’t that right, Alice?” She glanced at her charge.

      Alice nodded again. “And she sleeps with me at night.”

      His black brows shot up.

      Mrs. Dunworthy laughed, a silvery sound that surprised Emma. “Oh, Miss Pyrmont, have pity on my overly logical brother-in-law and explain about Lady Chamomile before we perplex him any further.”

      He turned his gaze to Emma’s, dark, directing. Oh, but this was too good an opportunity to forego. Emma offered him her sweetest smile. “Lady Chamomile,” she said obligingly, “is a very grand lady and Alice’s favorite doll. We shall have to introduce you to her, Sir Nicholas. Perhaps you could join us for tea, tomorrow.”

      She had only meant him to spend more time with Alice, but Emma knew she’d overstepped her position again by the way Mrs. Dunworthy’s smile faded.

      “I hardly think that’s necessary,” the lady said.

      Emma swallowed and dropped her gaze to her plate. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”

      “No offense taken,” she heard Sir Nicholas say, and she wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or his sister-in-law. “I only regret my work keeps me so busy that I must decline your invitation to join Alice and Lady Chamomile.”

      Alice sighed.

      Emma’s hand clenched on her fork, and she could not bring herself to pick up a mouthful of the meal. Too busy! He was too busy to spare his daughter a moment for tea. What was so important?

      It wasn’t material need that motivated him—the amount of silver, from the cutlery to the candelabra, said the Rotherfords had more than enough income. He didn’t seem to be studying anything that would immediately save lives, like Dr. Beddoes and Mr. Davy used to do at the Pneumatic Institute in Bristol, where they used gases to help people fight off consumption. He didn’t even seem to have a sponsor or patron who expected results from an investment; at least she’d heard no word of it in the servants’ hall. Why couldn’t he find time for Alice?

      “As I cannot join you tomorrow,” he continued, obviously unaware of her frustration, “perhaps you could be so good as to answer a few questions now.”

      Her anger melted as quickly as it had come. This was what she had feared. Emma swallowed though she’d eaten nothing. “Questions?” She glanced up at him.

      His warm smile would have assured her in other circumstances. Now she thought it stemmed from having something else to observe and study. “Yes. A very wise woman recently suggested that I should know more about the person who cares for my daughter.”

      He meant to learn all about her. That was the way of natural philosophers. Still, she could hardly blame him. After all, she’d been the one to exclaim over the fact that he didn’t know his daughter’s nanny.

      “I like Nanny,” Alice announced. She took a big bite of asparagus and made a face.

      Mrs. Dunworthy seemed equally prepared to defend Emma. “I assure you, Nicholas,” she said, “I reviewed Miss Pyrmont’s credentials thoroughly before I employed her.”

      “I’m certain you did,” he replied with a nod of approval, slicing through his lamb with brisk efficiency. “I’d merely like to hear about them myself.” Before his sister-in-law could argue further, he turned to Emma. “For instance, Miss Pyrmont, where were you born? Where were you raised?”

      He could not know the position in which he had placed her. When Mrs. Dunworthy had made her nanny, the lady had ordered Emma not to speak of her background.

      “There are some in this household,” Mrs. Dunworthy had said then, looking down her long nose, “who will never appreciate the plight of an orphan. I would prefer not to burden you with their disdain.”

      Was Sir Nicholas one who would judge her? She glanced at her mistress for guidance, but Mrs. Dunworthy’s gaze was fixed on her brother-in-law, and her mouth was set in a tight line. It was up to Emma. She took a breath and told him the truth.

      “I’m an orphan, Sir Nicholas,” she admitted. “I don’t remember much about my parents. I was a fosterling at the asylum in London.”

      She thought she might see curiosity or dismissal in his gaze, but his look softened. “I’m sorry. It couldn’t have been easy to find a proper place in the world with that start. I commend you for rising above it.”

      Tears threatened, and she dropped her gaze to her plate once more. I’m only here because of Your grace and strength, Lord. I know that. Thank You!

      “Do try some of the trout, Miss Pyrmont,” Mrs. Dunworthy said kindly. “It’s quite good.”

      Emma knew. An angler brought fresh fish to the Grange almost daily. Mrs. Jennings made sure they all ate well. Did Mrs. Dunworthy think otherwise, or was she giving Emily time to compose herself?

      “London is a long way from Derby,” Sir Nicholas said to Emma as if his sister-in-law had never spoken. “How did you come to find yourself here?”

      “Because she answered my advertisement in the newspaper, of course,” Mrs. Dunworthy said. It was the truth. Emma had asked to read her previous master’s discarded newspapers before they were used for cleaning. The request for a nanny all the way up in Derby had been a Godsend, for it took her far from all those who might seek to bring her back under control.

      “So you were looking for a better position,” he surmised.

      Emma nodded and was thankful that the maids entered just then to clear the first course and bring in apple pie, trifle and ice cream. Alice started squirming again.

      Emma didn’t think Sir Nicholas would let the matter drop, so she wasn’t surprised when he took up his questioning again the moment the maids left.

      “Why Derby?” he pressed, spooning up a bite of trifle and holding it before him.

      “Oh, Nicholas,” Mrs. Dunworthy said with a sigh, “stop quizzing the girl!”

      “I merely wish to know her better,” Sir Nicholas protested. “Alice’s recommendation carries great weight with me,” he smiled at his daughter, “but a gentleman needs to deal with facts.”

      Of course. Facts, never feelings, were what a natural philosopher relied on. He had to observe, chronicle. The well-being of his subject СКАЧАТЬ