by Abby Ayles
“What is that?” Rowena asked, pointing to a smaller building toward the back of the grounds.
“That is where all the gardening and groundskeeping tools and supplies are kept,” Francis said.
“Can we go inside?” Winston asked.
“I suppose we can,” Francis said. “Although, I suspect that you will not find much of interest to either of you.”
He was wrong, however. When they reached the storage shed, the children were fascinated by each pair of shears and trowel, and all the other tools stored inside. There were some that even Francis had long forgotten, and the children loved hearing him explain how each one was used.
He cautioned them against picking up any of them or playing with them, however, because many of them were too dangerous. The children complied, content to browse and look at everything.
After a few moments, the children were ready to continue. The three of them exited the shed and they continued walking at an even, leisurely pace.
They came upon a large, flat clearing, surrounded by beautiful wildflowers, located just beside a trail leading into a small section of forest on the back half of the property. The children were, of course, enthralled by the clearing, and rushed ahead of Francis to reach it.
The clearing had always been their favorite place to have family picnics. Even though he had not brought the children out here since Caroline died, the groundskeepers had kept the spot well-tended and trim.
Francis felt a sense of relief that they had cared enough to not allow it to become overgrown, even though he knew that he had neglected to instruct them to ensure as much.
The sun was just beginning to set, and the forest was growing dark, so the children were not very interested in exploring it. Francis gave a small, sad sigh.
Before Caroline’s death, the children had been more adventurous, as all kids were. Now, they were a bit more cautious and wary, and Francis knew it was because they had been so directly impacted by death far too young.
However, they did express an interest in something else.
“Do you think we could go riding on the trail someday?” Winston asked. “Like you and Mother used to do?”
Francis’s eyes widened. The children had never mentioned learning to ride the horses. They were only just getting to an age where they could take lessons, but they had never expressed an interest in doing so.
Although Francis had rarely had the time or the desire, Caroline had loved the horses and riding. Francis wondered if the children remembering that was the reason for his son’s sudden request.
“I do not see why not,” Francis said with a smile.
“Can we go see the horses now?” Rowena asked.
Francis’s smile widened.
“I do not believe that our tour would be complete unless we did,” he said, leading the children to the stables.
As they walked, the children skipped a little ahead of Francis. He watched their playful banter and listened to their laughter and merriment.
It made a part of him sad because it brought back so many memories of Caroline and family walks and picnics they had had. But it also warmed his heart.
Despite the sadness the children had been feeling over the loss of their mother, they still found pleasure in simple things in life and were still able to find wonder in the world around them.
Francis smiled sadly, envying his children for that gift, one felt sure that he would never again have himself.
Tarrance George, the head stable hand, greeted them as they approached.
“Good evening, Lord Ashfield,” he said.
His smile was cheerful, but his voice carried a tone of wariness. Francis refrained from wincing. He thought, as he often did those days, about how harsh and cold he had behaved toward his staff since Caroline’s passing.
“Good evening, George,” Francis said, smiling warmly.
The stable hand visibly relaxed.
“Would you like me to saddle a couple of the horses for an evening ride?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” Francis said. “Not this evening. We just came to see the horses.”
“Very good, milord,” George said. “I shall be cleaning up the end stalls. Just call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you, George,” Francis said, his smile widening as he bowed.
Once the stable hand had left, Francis took the children’s hands and walked them slowly to each stall. The children looked positively enthralled, and even Francis had to admit that the beauty of these strong, gentle beasts was awe-inspiring.
“Can we pet them?” Rowena asked, her hand already poised in midair in front of a lovely white mare.
Francis’s heart ached, but he nodded. Rowena placed her hand gently on the mare’s nose, and the horse accepted the affection greedily. Francis supposed that the horse might be missing her mistress, which made him sadder still.
“That was your mother’s horse,” Francis said. “Her name is Mona.”
“Really?” Rowena asked.
“Indeed,” he said. “I do not think that she has been ridden in some time.”
Rowena thought for a moment.
“Mona,” she murmured. “I like that.”
“Could we start with her, when we begin riding?” Winston asked.
“I think that would be a fine idea,” Francis said.
Rowena squealed again. To Francis’s surprise, it did not startle the mare. In fact, the horse tried to edge closer to his daughter, seeming to beg to be petted again. Kind and docile, just like her mistress, Francis thought.
“She can be my horse,” Rowena announced proudly.
“Says who?” Winston asked, indignant. “Why should she be your horse?”
“Because she is a girl, and I am a girl,” Rowena said.
“So?” Winston said defiantly. “Boys can ride girl horses.”
“Perhaps,” Rowena said. “But she likes me best. See?” she punctuated her point by petting the mare again, who softly whinnied and raised her head as if in agreement.
Francis opened his mouth to interrupt the argument, but another horse caught Winston’s attention. It was a chestnut-colored steed, fully grown, but younger than the rest of the horses. He was craning his neck to look at the trio as they stood in front of Mona.
Winston walked over to the young horse. As he approached, the horse stamped a hoof gently on the ground. Francis and Rowena followed Winston, but the horse paid them little mind. His gaze was fixed on Winston.
“What is his name?” Winston asked.
Francis thought for a moment. He could not remember exactly how long they had the young horse, let alone whether he had been given a name.
“I suppose you would have to ask George,” Francis said.
Winston ran to the furthest stall. After a moment, he came running back to his father and sister.
“George said he does not yet have a name,” Winston said. “Can I call him Lester?”
Francis laughed at his son’s enthusiasm.
“I do not see why not,” he said.
“Can we saddle them up today?” Rowena asked.
Francis laughed.
“You must learn to ride properly before we can just saddle them and put you on them,” he said. “Besides, it will be supper-time soon. Why do we not go get dressed for supper, and you can tell Miss Baker all about them?”
The children nodded eagerly to one another. Then, they raced each other to the house, leaving Francis alone with his thoughts, which had once more turned to all the positive influence she had had on their lives.
Chapter 21
With a heavy heart, Emma stepped back inside Blackburn Manor.
“Oh,” Emma said, sounding breathless. “Good evening, Lord Ashfield.”
Francis bowed, and Emma thought he looked relieved.
“Good evening, Miss Baker,” he said. The smile he gave her was kind, but a strange tension rested just beneath it.
Emma studied his face fretfully.
“I trust that Margaret spoke with you,” she said hesitantly.
Francis nodded.
“Yes, she told me you would be out for a while this evening,” he said. “I do hope all went well.”
A shadow crossed Emma’s face, but she hid it quickly. Before she could answer, the sound of pattering feet beat heavily on the stairs. Francis and Emma looked up in unison to see the children bounding down the stairs toward them.
“Miss Baker,” Rowena said, wrapping her arms around Emma. “We took a walk with Father.”
Emma smiled brightly at the little girl, completely forgetting her woes for the moment.
“Did you, now?” she asked.
“Yes,” Winston answered. “He taught us all about a lot of stuff here on the grounds.”
Emma looked at Francis, pleasantly surprised. She smiled and nodded at him approvingly. Before he broke her gaze, she thought she saw him blush, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Very good,” she said, clapping her hands together softly.
“Can we stay up a little longer tonight, so we can tell you all about it?” Winston asked, hopeful.
Emma raised her eyebrows inquisitively at Francis. He looked at the three expectant faces and nodded.
“Just one extra hour,” he said.
The children cheered and hugged their father.
Emma watched Francis, who looked down at his children, seemingly surprised. Then, he reached down and put his arms around his children and smiled.
Emma reached for the children’s hands, smiling fondly. Francis ducked his head to try to hide his own emotional expression.
“Come, children,” Emma said. “Let us go find Margaret and get you ready for supper.”
“I will call for her,” Francis called quickly. “I would like to have a word if you do not mind.”
Emma froze. Was the tension she saw on Francis’s face displeasure at her having taken off work without notifying him directly?
“Of course, my lord,” she said nervously.
Francis called for the nanny, who came almost immediately.
“Please, get the children ready for supper,” he said. Emma noticed that he smiled warmly at Margaret, unlike his usual cool, stoic demeanor with all his staff.
It seemed that Margaret noticed, as well. The nervous expression she had had when she answered his call vanished, and she returned his smile.
“Yes, milord,” she said.
As Margaret ushered the children up the stairs, Emma turned back to face Francis, nervous. His eyes were brilliant, and when he saw Emma looking at him, he quickly turned his head. Despite her current troubles, his affection for his children filled Emma with immense pride.
Francis looked at Emma again. His eyes still looked a bit damp, but he was composed, and his expression was unreadable.
“Miss Baker,” he said, taking a step toward her. For a moment, Emma thought he was going to try once again to kiss her, and she tensed. He did not, however.
He stopped after just a single step and pressed his hands together at his chest. “I really must apologize to you.”
Emma looked at him, momentarily confused. Why would Francis wish to apologize to her? Shouldn’t it be her who apologized to him for not following protocol for her afternoon off?
“Whatever for, my lord?” she asked.
Now, it was Francis’s turn to look confused.
“For what happened,” he said, giving Emma a meaningful look. “Really, it was not proper of me—”
“My lord,” Emma said, stopping him midsentence.
“No, please,” he said. “I really must say this now.”
“And I must insist that you do not,” Emma said firmly, silencing him.
It was Francis’s turn to be shocked. However, she felt fairly certain that he would not scold her for her obstinance. If he had only wished to try again to apologize to her, then he obviously was not upset with her for sending Margaret to relay her message.
“Please, my lord,” she continued. “I cannot talk about this right now, or I fear that I will cry.”
Francis’s expression instantly changed to one of deep concern.
“Why?” he asked. “What has happened?”
Emma gently raised her hand and shook her head.
“I cannot discuss it just now,” she said. “I feel as though I have done nothing but cry since I have arrived here, and I do not wish to do so anymore. At least, not today.”
Francis took another step toward her. He did not reach for her, but his face told Emma that he very much wanted to. The knowledge both comforted and terrified her.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
Emma smiled softly at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, she wanted to kiss him for it.
She gave herself a mental shake. Thoughts like those would do her no good, especially just then.
“Simply understand that it has been a very hard day and that I cannot bring myself to talk about it right now,” she said, her words more a question than a statement.
For a moment, Francis appeared as though he would insist that she tell him what was wrong. Emma could see him second-guessing himself, however, and at last, he merely nodded.
“Very well,” he said, not without disappointment. “On one condition.”
Emma could not help a small smile.
“And what might that be?” she asked.
“That you inform me at once if there is something I can do,” he said.
Emma considered repeating that the only thing he could do was just let her be. But the worry in his eyes and the urgency in his voice stopped her before she could. Instead, she simply bowed her head, still smiling wanly.
“I will, my lord,” she said.
Francis nodded. He did not look completely convinced, but his face relaxed minutely.
“Very well,” he said. “You must be exhausted. Why do you not go rest before supper?”
Emma nodded, happy to do just that.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said.
Francis bowed, and she quickly made her way up the stairs.
She could feel his eyes on her until she was out of sight. Once she was safely in her room with the door closed, she sagged down onto her bed, feeling quite tired indeed, and very much defeated. She knew she would be unable to take a nap, however, so she just sat thinking in silence for several moments.
She thought about how she had told Francis how near tears she had been. She had not meant to be so blunt about her emotions but saying that had been better than being forced to tell Francis about how her world was crumbling around her, more so every day.
She still could not bring herself to tell Francis about Marcus’s illness, and earlier that morning, she had truly believed that she might never have to. However, after the disappointing visit with Lucius, Emma had come to a terrible, but clear, realization.
There was the very real probability that Marcus would never recover.
She cursed herself for not realizing that Marcus’s mind must have been slipping when he started speaking of ships their father owned. And, if his mind was, indeed, slipping, he would never remain mentally well enough to cope with the physical ailments that went along with his illness.
She further chastised herself for believing that such an asset might exist, and for upsetting Lucius so by questioning him about it. She still doubted that Lucius had forgiven her for doubting his professional skills, and she feared that he might never.
As terrifying and heartbreaking as it was, she knew she had to face reality. She had to accept that Marcus’s time was limited and that one day very soon, she would likely be facing the world all alone.
Granted, she would not be entirely alone. Francis had been good to her. He had given her a good, well-paying job, a place to live while she was in his employ, and it was apparent that he cared for her. Whether it was merely as his employee or something more, Emma was no longer sure.
Not that it mattered much. Emma was
beginning to also reconcile herself with the fact that all Francis would ever be able to be to her was her employer. But she at least knew that she would have him in some capacity, which would be a great comfort if Marcus did die.
And he had just told her that he would do something to help her if he could, if only she would tell him what it was she needed.