Regina Scott (22 page)

Nick must have returned his prototype to the laboratory, for Emma could see it sitting on the worktable. The fact that the lamps remained burning told Emma that he intended to come out and work later, as well.

In the golden light, Alice stood beside Nick’s worktable, a glass flask in one hand, Lady Chamomile in the other. Emma recognized the oil of vitriol immediately by its pale yellow color. She knew the danger to Alice, had lived through it herself. Her arm still bore the brand. Just touching the chemical could burn the girl. Drinking it would be fatal.

“Alice,” she said gently, moving forward carefully so as not to frighten the child, every muscle demanding that she move, she act. “Put that back on the table.”

“Why?” Alice asked, giving the flask a shake. “It is very pretty. I want to do an experiment like Papa. And Lady Chamomile wants to take a sip.”

Emma edged closer. “Please tell her ladyship it would make her very sick. Put it down, Alice.”

Alice frowned, but she reached obediently toward the table with the vitriol. Then her face broke into a grin. “Papa!”

The bottle tipped off the edge, the spout turning toward Alice. Emma dove forward.

* * *

Nick stood in the doorway, terror holding him in place. There was Alice, gripping one of his most virulent chemicals. It seemed Emma had recognized the danger as well, for she had been about to talk Alice into setting it down. Then Alice started toward him, and the flask began to tip.

Nick ran.

He grabbed Alice with one hand and Emma with the other and pulled them both away from his worktable. The flask hit the floor, spilling the vitriol in all directions. He smelled the scent of burning leather from his boots. He scooped Alice up and drew Emma around the table and out the door.

Emma shut the door behind him and leaned against it, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Alice said, lower lip beginning to tremble. “I made a mess of your laboratory.”

“Oh, Alice.” Emma knelt beside her and held her tight. “Please don’t leave the house without me again. You could have been hurt so badly!”

Nick knelt as well, wrapping his arms around both of them. “It’s my fault. I should never have parted the two of you. I should have locked the door, put the chemicals away. I...”

“Hush,” Emma murmured, and he felt her hand stroking his hair as if in benediction. “It’s no one’s fault. Accidents happen. Thank the Lord this time nothing bad came of it.”

Yes, Lord, thank You. What would I do without them in my life?

His prayer brought tears to Nick’s eyes. What a fool he’d been! All this work, only to lose those most precious to him—his daughter and the woman he loved.

Why had he thought he could be whole without Emma? She helped him be a better man, with Alice, with her. He was thankful for her patience when he struggled with concepts of forgiveness, particularly his own. When he’d seen that flask tipping, he’d feared for Alice, but he’d feared for Emma just as much. Emma had already been forced to sacrifice—her childhood, the chance for a mother and father who would have loved her. At that moment, he would have done anything to spare her more pain, even if it meant losing his own life.

“Nicholas!” Mrs. Dunworthy came running from the house, Charles dashing along beside her to hold the umbrella over her head. Nick blinked, feeling the rain on his cheeks for the first time, washing away his fears, his guilt and his tears.

Thank You, Lord. I can see You’ve been patient with me, as well. And You sent Emma to make sure I knew of it. I will honor You and her all the days of my life.

He gave Alice and Emma a hug before rising. “It’s all right, Charlotte. Alice is safe, thanks to Emma.”

“Thanks to Emma?” His sister-in-law stopped in the rain, head so high the footman struggled to keep her covered. “How can you say that? She has neglected her duty, letting Alice wander about on her own!”

“Emma was with us this afternoon, if you recall,” Nick pointed out. “She is not to blame for this.”

“There you go again!” Charlotte cried. “How can you continue to take her side after this? I will not have it!”

Emma rose, Alice held in her arms, the little girl’s dark head pressed against her chest and Lady Chamomile dangling from one small hand.

“I must get Alice inside,” Emma said, voice firm with conviction. “We can settle this later.”

“How dare you speak to me in that manner!” Charlotte raged, but Emma pushed past her for the house. “Do you hear her, Nicholas?”

“Get out of the rain, Charlotte,” Nick advised. “Give everyone a moment to calm. Then, I promise you, we will talk.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

E
mma dried Alice thoroughly and put her to
bed with a warming pan at her feet. Very likely Mrs. Dunworthy would insist on
discharging Emma, but she would not shirk her duty while it was hers. Besides,
she was still worried about how Alice’s little adventure would affect the
girl.

“Your father works with some very nasty things,” she explained
to Alice as she sat at her bedside. “Because he is very clever, he knows exactly
what to do with them. You will be as clever one day, but right now, you may only
enter his laboratory if he is there with you. Do you understand?”

Alice nodded, dark hair splayed against the white of the
pillow. “I’m sorry. I was just looking for him, and I thought I could
experiment.”

“Right now, experiments are a game to you,” Emma replied. “But
those chemicals aren’t something to play with. They could make you very sick or
hurt your skin.”

As she had with Sir Humphry, she pulled up her sleeve to show
Alice the puckered skin on her arm. “Here’s what happened when I encountered one
of those chemicals.”

Alice put a finger on the skin, and her lip trembled. “Lady
Chamomile was the one who thought of it.”

It was one thing for Alice to use Lady Chamomile as she
struggled to express her feelings. It was another to blame Lady Chamomile for
her actions.

“You are responsible for Lady Chamomile,” Emma countered. “You
must explain to her what is safe. If she cannot understand, then I cannot allow
her to leave the nursery.”

“I’ll tell her,” Alice promised solemnly, hugging her doll
close. “It was very bad of her to think about drinking Papa’s mixtures. She may
have no biscuits for a week.”

“A fitting reminder,” Emma agreed. “So long as you remember, as
well.”

“Perhaps we should all forego biscuits for a week,” Nick said
from the doorway. He had changed too and now wore a cinnamon-colored banyan over
his waistcoat and trousers. His boots had been replaced with shoes, and Emma
couldn’t help wondering whether his former footwear had been ruined by the
splash from the vitriol.

And if that had been Alice’s skin... She shuddered just
thinking about it.

“Were you naughty, too, Papa?” Alice asked as he came into the
room.

“I have made quite a few mistakes,” he qualified. “And you and
Emma have been very patient with me.” He pressed a hand against Emma’s shoulder,
the touch warm, kind. However, she saw the frown come over his face.

“What’s this?” he asked, bending lower.

Emma realized her sleeve was still pushed up and quickly
reached for the edge to start to tug it down. He caught her hand.

“When did that happen?” he murmured, bending lower still as if
to examine it.

Emma felt her face heating. “A long time ago. You need have no
concern. I was just explaining to Alice what could happen if she played with
your chemicals.”

“I doubt that happened while you were playing,” he said. Like
Alice, he traced the mark with his finger, the touch gentle, sweet, raising an
ache inside her.

He drew back and straightened. “Your shoulder is still damp,”
he said as if explaining a natural law. “It appears you haven’t changed
clothes.”

She hadn’t wanted to let Alice out of her sight. “I was busy,”
she said with a smile to her charge and a deep breath to recover her
composure.

He stepped back to give her room to rise from the bed. “Go.
Change. I’ll stay with Alice.”

“But your guests, Mrs. Dunworthy,” Emma protested, rising.

“Are far less important,” he replied. “Go.”

Emma went. The rain had not soaked through her gown, so she
only had to manage the outer layer instead of her petticoats and chemise.
Indeed, the brown wool of the fresh gown had never felt more comfortable. Still,
her arm tingled where he had touched her, as if he accepted this scarred part of
her just as she was learning to accept his way of dealing with emotions. Her
fingers were still trembling, but she managed the fastenings on the front
herself and hurried back to Alice’s room.

The sight of Nick sitting beside his daughter pulled her up
short. The light from the fire etched the planes of his face, highlighted the
wonder in his look as he gazed at the dozing Alice. Her heart melted. Why had
she ever doubted she could love this man?

Emma tiptoed to his side.

“To think I might have lost her,” he murmured.

Emma bent and put an arm around his shoulder. “But you didn’t.
You kept her safe.”

“We kept her safe.” He pressed her hand to his shoulder as if
to hold her beside him. “You have consistently worked for my daughter’s behalf,
my behalf, Emma, and how have we repaid you? With accusations and
recriminations. You deserve better.”

He dropped his hand, and Emma straightened. “I could argue
there is nothing better than being with Alice.”

He smiled as if he agreed, then rose and drew her out into the
nursery, away from the slumbering child. “I’d like to see if I might change your
mind about that and provide you with something more. If I send Ivy up to watch
her, would you join me in the withdrawing room?”

The withdrawing room? With her gloating foster father and the
disdainful Mrs. Dunworthy? She’d had entirely too much of them for one day.

“I’m not good company this evening,” Emma tried. “Perhaps after
your guests leave.”

He peered closer. “I will honor your wishes, of course, but
know that Sir Humphry has returned to the inn and the Frederickses have already
gone. They found a sudden desire to be back in London.”

In London? Only one thing could make her foster father dash off
so close to nightfall.

“Oh, Nick!” She clung to his hand. “I’m so sorry! He’s gone to
claim your design for his own.”

“Perhaps,” Nick replied, straightening. “But I can deal with
that matter another time. Join me this evening, Emma. There’s much I must
discuss with you.”

His hand covered hers again, and she imagined she could feel
the urgency, the fervent hope that she would agree. His day had been as
difficult as hers, and she could only hope that Sir Humphry’s report would stop
her foster father’s plans. Why shouldn’t she grant Nick this small favor?

“Very well,” Emma agreed, and he bowed and left.

Ivy arrived a short time later, walking into the nursery in
such a decidedly odd manner that Emma jumped from her seat in the rocking chair,
her knitting tumbling to the floor.

“What’s happened?” she cried, rushing forward. “Oh, Ivy, please
tell me Mr. Fredericks didn’t strike you over an imagined slight to his
wife!”

“Oh, no, Miss Pyrmont,” the maid said, straightening now and
pressing a hand to where her apron bloomed over her belly. “They were ever so
nice to me, probably because they realized what I might see.” She put her other
hand behind her back and began tugging at her apron strings.

“What you’d see?” Emma asked with a frown.

“Yes, miss. This.” She pulled off the apron to reveal a brown
leather binder she’d strapped against her middle. “Mrs. Fredericks had Sir
Nicholas’s notes.”

Emma stared at the binder as Ivy held it out to her. “
Mrs.
Fredericks?”

“Yes, miss, though surely it was for her husband. I was getting
her dinner dress ready in the dressing room when she came in with this. Mr.
Fredericks arrived right after. As soon as she told him she had it he decided to
leave for London, and I got the task of packing. She slipped it into her trunk
right in front of me, like I had no idea what it was. I didn’t know what to do,
so as soon as she left the room to bid Sir Nicholas goodbye, I went for Mrs.
Jennings, and she advised me to lighten the Frederickses’ luggage.”

“So you brought the binder to me,” Emma concluded.

“Well, you were accused of stealing it,” Ivy said, mouth turned
down at the injustice. “Seems only right you should be the one to hand it back.
And this time, Mrs. Jennings and I will both stand behind you. I only wish I
knew how Mrs. Fredericks got it to begin with. It’s not like she was hanging
about the Grange when it was taken.”

She hadn’t been, but someone else had. To Emma, there was only
one person who knew the value of Nick’s work, had had easy access to the
laboratory and was so friendly with Mrs. Fredericks as to be willing to give the
woman the notes. But she had no evidence. Would Nick believe her if she told him
her suspicions?

She accepted the binder from Ivy. “I’ll see it returned to its
proper place, Ivy. Thank you, and thank Mrs. Jennings.”

Holding the binder close, Emma went to meet Nick.

He was in the withdrawing room, standing by the window as if
watching the twilight steal over the peaks, hands clasped behind his back. Mrs.
Dunworthy was seated on the sofa, book open in the lap of her lustring gown. By
the way her head was bowed, she seemed to be studiously avoiding him. Emma
didn’t do more than glance her way before moving to Nick’s side.

“Ivy saw this among Mrs. Fredericks’s things and thought it
should be returned to its rightful owner.”

Out of the corners of her eyes, Emma saw Mrs. Dunworthy raise
her head. Nick accepted the leather binder from Emma with a frown, opened it and
thumbed through a few pages as if to confirm it was his own work.

“It seems to be all here,” he marveled. “So Fredericks did
steal it. It seems you were right, Emma. He wished to claim my work for his own.
But why? Surely he had his own ideas on the matter.”

“Fewer than you might think,” Emma said. “And I’m not sure he
acted alone.” She paused. If her suspicions were wrong, she would malign an
innocent person. But if she was right, surely Nick deserved to know. But perhaps
she should let him draw his own conclusions.

“How do you suppose he was able to lay hold of them?” she
asked. “He was in London until recently, well after they disappeared.”

“Charles thought your foster brother might have been in the
woods,” he returned, but she knew by the tapping of one finger against his
banyan that he was already analyzing other scenarios. “I think he was wrong. How
could Jones have subsisted until now? No, Fredericks must have had another
accomplice closer to hand.”

“Someone he could trust, someone you would trust enough to
allow access to your work,” Emma agreed, watching him. It was almost as if she
could see his thoughts, sorting through possibilities, rejecting theories. She
knew the moment he had a hypothesis. His face tightened, and he turned to eye
his sister-in-law.

“Charlotte, what do you know of this?”

She had dropped her head again and now turned the page of her
book as if she had been only half listening to his and Emma’s conversation. The
firelight glowed against her sleek hair. “About what, Nicholas?”

He strode to face her and held out the binder as if to show her
the evidence. “About the theft of my notes, the prototype. You had access to the
laboratory and a good friendship, it seems, with Mrs. Fredericks. But why you
would want to hand Mr. Fredericks my work is beyond me. You knew how he’d
accused me.”

She raised her head once more, then carefully closed her book.
“Yes, I knew. I thought it a shame the Royal Society didn’t take more drastic
action than asking you to leave. You should have been called before the Prince,
your knighthood revoked. You deserved ruination for what you did to Ann.”

He paled, and Emma had to hold herself still to keep from going
to him. “Charlotte,” he murmured, “you know I would have done anything to save
her.”

Charlotte rose to face him, regal, majestic. “Anything? Rather
say nothing. You left her alone, you never even noticed she might be ill until
it was too late. Your negligence killed my sister!”

Emma could stand it no longer. She moved to Nick’s side, put a
hand on his arm in support.

“No,” she told Charlotte. “Consumption killed your sister. She
was a grown woman, capable of contacting a physician. Certainly she must have
been capable of getting her husband’s attention if she wished it. Perhaps she
didn’t recognize the signs, perhaps she was afraid to learn the truth of her
condition. But no one kept her from seeking help.”

“Be silent,” Mrs. Dunworthy hissed. “You know nothing about my
sister.”

“And I begin to think I knew her little, as well,” Nick said
with a shake of his head. “Certainly I didn’t know you, Charlotte. I can
understand why you would blame me, for until recently I’ve certainly been
blaming myself. But I can’t understand why you would do something that might
affect Alice, as well. Or hadn’t you considered her future when you tried to
destroy mine?”

Charlotte raised her chin. “I would have protected Alice. I
love her, which is more than I can say for you. You barely noticed her existence
until this—” she waved dismissively at Emma “—this servant brought her to your
attention.”

“You encouraged me,” Emma protested. “I thought you wanted to
do the right thing and bring them together.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I wanted him to suffer, to feel the loss of
a loved one as I had, but that would mean he’d actually have to care. And you?
You were supposed to be blamed for all this. Why else would I hire you?”

Emma stared at her. “And you say you care about Alice!”

“Indeed?” Nick frowned as if Charlotte’s answer did not add up
in his carefully constructed equation either. “You claim to love Alice, but my
destruction would only have harmed her. You have no income of your own. Your
station comes from being my chatelaine. If I am ruined, how would you fare?”

Charlotte leaned toward him, as if to impart a secret. “I’ve
saved quite a bit from the household fund, scrimping on servants’ wages here, on
food there. You didn’t care. You didn’t even notice. That income would have
allowed me to fare with great fortitude, knowing I’d avenged my sister and rid
the world of one more man who cannot be bothered to see to the needs of his
family.”