The Courting Campaign. Regina Scott

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      Chapter Three

      Here she was, being escorted to dinner by the master as if she were a guest in this house. How silly! She should have refused his arm. But Emma had seen Mrs. Jennings peering into the room a moment before the cook had scurried back to her work overseeing the serving. The smile on Mrs. Jennings’s broad face said she was delighted beyond measure to see Emma with Sir Nicholas. Emma simply couldn’t bring herself to discourage the kind woman.

      So she walked beside him through the salon with its tall alabaster columns holding up the soaring ceiling, and down the black-and-white marble tiles of the central corridor. Sir Nicholas looked almost presentable in his evening black, a silver-shot waistcoat peeking out from his tailored coat. So he knew how to dress for Society. He simply chose to avoid Society as he avoided his daughter.

      “Mrs. Dunworthy tells me I have inconvenienced you,” he said as they headed for the dining room at the front of the house.

      And why should he care if he had? That was his right as her employer. “Nonsense,” she said. “I’m very glad you wanted Alice with you tonight. Thank you.”

      A crease formed between his midnight brows, as if he wasn’t sure why she was thanking him for paying attention to his child. “And how is Alice getting on here?” he asked.

      “Fine,” she assured him as they reached the door of the dining room. “Though it is a little quiet, when you aren’t catching things on fire.”

      He chuckled, and the warm sound sent gooseflesh skittering across her arms.

      Oh, no! She was not about to be charmed by this man. She would put her reaction down to the wonder of dining in such style. And wonder was entirely warranted.

      The Grange dining room was as large as the withdrawing room, with an elegant white marble fireplace on one pale green wall and three windows looking down the valley on the opposite wall. A cloth-draped table that could likely seat thirty ran down the center, with four places set at one end in fine china, sparkling crystal and gleaming silver. Candles in silver sconces glowed along the walls; lilies in a jade urn adorned the table. She’d never seen anything like it.

      Mrs. Dunworthy was already seated to the left of the head, with Alice on the right. Sir Nicholas escorted Emma to the seat next to her charge and then went to take his place at the top. As he sat, his sister-in-law gazed at him expectantly, and he frowned a moment before bowing his head and asking the blessing. It seemed he was so rusty at being in Society he’d forgotten how to say grace!

      A portion of the wall in one corner swung open from the warming room, and Dorcus and Ivy in caps and aprons carried in porcelain platters of dressed lamb and trout with mushrooms, followed by macaroni in a creamy cheese sauce and asparagus. Emma tried to ignore her host and focus on Alice, selecting small portions and plainer foods from the abundance offered. Alice alternated between squirming in her chair over every new experience and staring about her with wide eyes.

      “And how are you this evening, Alice?” her father asked after all had been served and the maids had withdrawn.

      Emma relaxed a little. If he spent the meal talking with his daughter, everything would be fine. She glanced at Alice, who was examining her trout as if she expected it to start swimming about the table.

      “Lady Chamomile is very unhappy,” she told the fish.

      Emma frowned. She’d figured out her first day at the Grange that the doll’s feelings generally mirrored Alice’s. What was causing her charge concern?

      Sir Nicholas frowned, as well. “I hadn’t realized you’d visited our neighbors. Which estate is Lady Chamomile’s?”

      Emma bit back a laugh. So, he didn’t know about the doll. She was fairly certain Alice wouldn’t explain. In fact, the girl was returning his frown as if giving the matter great thought. Emma couldn’t help herself.

      “I believe Lady Chamomile owns a castle,” she offered, hiding her smile with a dab of her napkin.

      Alice nodded solemnly. “A big castle.”

      “Does she indeed?” Mrs. Dunworthy said, but Emma could see she was trying not to smile, too.

      “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.”

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