Regina Scott (3 page)

She didn’t bother to accept his arm as they descended the stair, her chin set as firmly as those of the men and women in the gilt-framed portraits they passed. “Yet you are determined to embarrass our new nanny by insisting she dine with us. The poor thing doesn’t even own a dinner dress. How could you be so cruel?”

Nick’s smile faded as they took the turning of the polished wood stair and started down for the main floor, where alabaster columns lined the corridor that ran through the center of the house. Scientific pursuit was hardly cruel. He needed to observe a phenomenon to build a hypothesis about its usefulness. Relying on secondhand observations, such as Charlotte’s, could result in a flawed analysis.

“She needn’t feel compelled to dress for dinner,” he pointed out. “This isn’t the Carleton House set.”

“It certainly isn’t,” Charlotte quipped as they reached the bottom of the stair. “And you are not the Prince Regent. But by failing to dress as we do, Miss Pyrmont makes it all the more evident she doesn’t belong at the table. She’s a sweet girl from a good family, Nicholas. You cannot expect her to like the fact that she must work for her supper.”

Now there was a bit of data, if lamentably secondhand. He had found little sweet about Miss Pyrmont this afternoon, with the exception of her smile. He would have placed her closer to the acidic end of the scale. And it was not uncommon for women of good family to take positions as an upper servant. Charlotte would know. His sister-in-law had married poorly and been left a destitute widow. If he hadn’t asked her to come preside over his household, she would be serving in some other house, likely as a governess or companion.

“If you are determined she needs a gown,” he said, “give her one of Ann’s. Someone ought to take pleasure from them.”

Charlotte stared at him, her skin stretched tight over her long nose. “Have you no respect for her memory?”

Guilt wrapped itself around his tongue and stilled it. A day didn’t go by that he didn’t think of Ann, her quiet insights, her dry laugh. He still didn’t understand how he’d so failed to misread the evidence of her illness until it was too late to save her. But he’d realized he couldn’t linger over his grief or he’d go mad.

As if his guilt had shouted into the silence, Charlotte patted his arm, face softening. “Forgive me. I just miss her so.”

Nick touched her hand. “We all do. But you know she frequently donated her time and her gifts. I suspect she wouldn’t mind someone else using her things.”

Charlotte nodded, but she moved ahead of him to enter the withdrawing door near the foot of the stairs first.

Nick came more slowly. He knew Charlotte grieved the loss of her sister. But life was for the living, and holing himself up with his regrets would not solve the problems facing him.

Nor would it help him understand his daughter’s nanny. She was waiting for him in the withdrawing room, and despite Charlotte’s concerns, he thought Miss Pyrmont looked as if she belonged there, even in her plain brown wool dress. Perhaps it was the way she held her head high or the smile on her pink lips. Perhaps it was the way she clutched Alice’s hand as if to protect her. She met his gaze with an assessing look that made it seem as if he had strayed into her withdrawing room rather than the other way around.

For some reason, he wondered what she thought of the space. The withdrawing room wasn’t nearly as fussy as some he’d seen when he’d spent time in Society. Everything was neatly done in geometric shapes, from the gilded medallions on the walls and ceiling to the pink and green concentric circles of the carpet that covered the hardwood floor nearly from wall to wall. The white marble fireplace provided sufficient heat, the wall of windows and brass wall sconces sufficient light. The furniture was arranged in groupings, but a chaise in the corner provided rest for a retiring lady, or so Ann had always said.

He thought Miss Pyrmont would never be so retiring. But that hypothesis remained to be tested.

“Ladies,” he said with a bow. “Thank you for joining me this evening.”

Miss Pyrmont curtsied, and Alice copied her, a tiny figure in her red velvet gown. Charlotte smiled at her niece with obvious fondness.

“I believe Mrs. Jennings has dinner ready to be served,” she said. “Shall we?” She didn’t wait for his answer. She accepted Alice’s hand from her nanny and strolled toward the main door, which led into a salon and then the corridor.

Nick held out his arm. “Miss Pyrmont?”

For the first time, she looked uncertain. She glanced at his outstretched arm, then up at his face as if trying to understand the gesture. If she was from a good family as Charlotte had said, she should have been escorted in to dinner more than once. And even if she hadn’t, surely the master of a house could be expected to act with chivalry on occasion.

He could see her swallow against the high neck of her gown. Then her gaze darted past him, and she straightened her back as if making a decision. She marched to his side and put her hand on his arm. Despite the determination in her stiff spine, the touch was light, insubstantial, directly disproportionate to her temperate. It was almost as if a butterfly accompanied him to dinner.

Shaking his head at the fanciful thought, he led her from the room.

Chapter Three

H
ere 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.”

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 was never a consideration.

Well, if it was facts he wanted, she could certainly provide them.

“Allow me to elaborate, then,” she said, setting down her own spoon. “I had three younger foster brothers of whom I was given charge when I was nine, so I’ve more experience than you might expect caring for children. All of us were adopted by a gentleman in London, and I was given care of his two daughters, as well. I attended all the same lessons they did, so I know how to read and write in English and some Latin, and I’m good with numbers. Immediately before coming here, I worked for an apothecary and his family, where I learned a bit about diseases and how to prevent and cure them.”

“Exceptional,” he said, and she sat a little taller. Alice sat up, as well. Emma thought even Mrs. Dunworthy looked a little more confident about the outcome of this conversation.

Until he said, “Who taught you Latin?”

He had to pick that one. She should have left it out, but some part of her had wanted to impress him.

“Nicholas,” Mrs. Dunworthy said, “you are starting to browbeat the girl. Miss Pyrmont has volunteered her accomplishments. Be happy with that and enjoy the rest of your meal.”

His smile of apology was more like a grimace. “Very well, Charlotte. Forgive my inquisitive nature, Miss Pyrmont. It is part and parcel with the way I work, I fear.”

She thought her smile was just as strained, for she very much feared the same thing.

Mrs. Dunworthy began asking Alice questions, then, and as they chatted, Emma found herself watching Sir Nicholas. Much of his food remained untouched on the plate, his long-fingered hands resting on the tablecloth beside it. His right hand was twitching, one finger beating time on the damask to sounds only he could hear. Though he answered any question put to him readily, his gaze no longer focused on the people around him. His body was present in the room, but his mind had already wandered.

Anger pricked her. Alice deserved a father who would love her. Emma was certain they existed; she’d read about them. In fact, as soon as she’d learned to read, she’d devoured stories about families. In the books she loved, fathers were kind and wise, and mothers firm but loving. Men and women married because they were deeply in love, enough to overlook all fault of upbringing or misfortune. As an orphan, Emma had been denied such a family. Why should Alice face the same fate, when her father was very much alive?

Alice said something clever, and Sir Nicholas smiled in obvious appreciation. For a moment, his gaze lit on his daughter, and those analytical eyes warmed, his angular features relaxed. In fact, he had rather expressive lips, the bottom more full than the top. Now they smiled in such a way as to cause a hitch in her breath.

Emma blinked. Why, it seemed he had potential! Perhaps he’d invited Alice to dinner for more than a chance to question Emma. Perhaps he truly cared about his daughter.

What if she could encourage him? What if she could bring him and Alice closer? Mrs. Jennings seemed to think he needed a mother for his child. Perhaps what he really needed was to learn how to be a father.

She smiled as she attacked her apple pie with enthusiasm. She knew exactly how to solve Mrs. Jennings’ problem, and her own. She would indeed start a campaign to court Sir Nicholas, for his daughter.

* * *

Nick was surprised to hear the clock on the mantle chime eight even as they finished the last of the second course. It appeared dinner had passed more quickly than it usually did.