The Education of Mrs. Brimley

by Donna MacMeans

  The vehicle hadn’t the shine and sparkle of one of Nicholas’s well-kept carriages, but held more of the country sturdiness that defined Northern England. Nicholas climbed up next to Emma, clicked the reins, and engaged the horse in a brisk trot back through the arch and over the stone bridge spanning a nearby river.

  Emma stared at the back of an unfamiliar bay. A million questions bubbled from her brain, but the one that raced to her lips surprised even her. “Why are you leaving your horse?”

  “I rode him hard to reach you in time. He’s gaining a well-deserved rest while we put some distance between you and your uncle,” he said, expertly guiding the bay away from the inn.

  “You intend to return?” Bile rose in her throat. Was this to be a temporary reprieve?

  “In due time, of course, but only after the threat from your uncle has been dispensed. I must return the gig, Emma.”

  Nicholas directed the horse to turn onto a side road.

  “I can’t go back to Pettibone,” Emma stated, panic near the surface. “I fear the Higgins sisters know that I am not, and never was, a widow. I’m afraid their opinion of me has been irreparably altered.”

  She remembered the look in Beatrice’s eyes when Emma acknowledged Uncle George. He obviously told them he was seeking his innocent, unmarried niece. Even if her uncle had not mentioned the painting on display in London, and he very well could have while she was unconscious, it would not take long for the two sisters to question, then condemn her visits to Black Oak. Tears blurred her vision, but she hadn’t even the comfort of her mother’s handkerchief to blot them away.

  “Perhaps Lady Cavendish will permit my temporary residence,” she said, grasping at a faint hope. “But even she might turn away a social pariah.”

  “Emma, I swear to you, I never meant for that painting to go on public exhibition,” Nicholas pleaded.

  Emma’s heart softened with compassion, but his sincerity did little to alter her situation. She still had no home. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, half expecting to see her uncle in hot pursuit.

  “I may have begun with that purpose in mind,” Nicholas admitted, “but as I came to know you, to respect you, I planned to substitute another painting for Artemis. I had crated up a landscape for London.”

  The catch in his voice twisted her heart; she placed her hand on his arm. “Your painting deserves the accolades it received,” she said, softly reassuring him. “Your talent belongs on the walls of the Royal Academy. It will be my honor, in the years to come, to say that I knew one of the Empire’s finest talents.”

  She managed a smile for him, even though her world looked as bleak as a Yorkshire winter. His star was rising, even as hers had flamed out. “You have a brilliant future before you.”

  She squeezed his arm in support before she let go, taking a moment to quickly glance over her shoulder. “I, however, cannot seriously be considered a steward of young girls.”

  “Nonsense,” he exclaimed. “You belong at Pettibone. You were meant to teach. Have you not noticed the change in spirit you brought to that school? Have you not noticed how the girls look up to you?”

  He glanced her way. “No, I suppose you haven’t. You’ve been so busy maintaining that false charade of yours that you haven’t noticed how much has changed since your arrival.” He hesitated. “How much you have changed since your arrival.”

  She twisted around again to check the road behind them.

  “You can rest easy,” Nicholas said. “He won’t follow for quite a while. The manager at The George promised to lock him away in his room. That should give us an advantage.”

  An advantage for what? Where could she go? Perhaps if she had thought about her uncle’s solution with her head instead of her heart, she would have allowed that marriage to an old crony might have provided her with at least a home. For that matter . . .

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  “Lady Cavendish sent an urgent message to my father’s house.”

  “Lady Cavendish! My uncle mentioned that she was working to procure a husband for Penelope.”

  “Apparently she accompanied your uncle on a tour of the exhibition and saw his reaction to the painting. She suspected you would need assistance. From what you have told me of your uncle, I had no doubt which direction he would take. Scotland is too close for those on nefarious business to ignore. The George is a frequent stop for travelers. Had you not been there, I would have continued to the next inn until I found you.”

  “You were at your father’s house?”

  He smiled. “One positive result of my brother switching the painting destined for the exhibition is that my father and I are now in accord. He supports my artistic pursuits.”

  “Why, then, did you come? My uncle said your painting was a grand success. Your talents have finally been recognized. By your own admission you have reconciled with your family. You have everything that you have ever wanted.”

  “And you were a vital part of it.” Moonlight caught in his flashing smile. “You were my inspiration. I couldn’t very well let another man cart off my inspiration, could I?”

  Emma felt as if a gaping hole had just swallowed her up. She was no more than a good luck charm, a rabbit’s foot, an evening’s pleasure. Nothing more. Her lips refused to return his smile; her soul cried out in pain.

  “I was miserable in London, Emma.” He spread one arm out toward the orderly hedgerows defining the land. “I missed the gentle peacefulness of the country and your warm engaging conversation. We belong out here where we make our own society.” He subtly glanced over toward her. “Tomorrow, we can head back home. I have in mind a new painting. I think I shall call it Seduction.”

  “Tomorrow?” A note of panic struck her voice. “Where are we heading if not Black Oak?” She tried to remember the direction they had turned after leaving the inn. At the time of actual occurrence, her mind had been too occupied with other thoughts.

  Nicholas glanced at her, a bit pensive for his earlier joviality. “Have you never wondered that the school shares a common boundary with Black Oak?”

  “Miss Higgins implied that Pettibone exists as the result of your brother’s generosity.” Emma vividly recalled Cecilia’s adulations. “This, however, does not explain our destination.”

  “My brother’s beneficence extends only to his appearance at Pettibone’s social affairs. I established Pettibone School for Young Girls so that my reputation would not taint that of my orphaned godchild.”

  “You?” She felt her mouth gape. She wasn’t sure what to question first. “You have an orphaned godchild?”

  Emma mentally dashed through a list of the school’s residents and recalled only one orphan, the student most dear to her heart. “Alice is your godchild?”

  He nodded. “Her mother entrusted her baby in my care when she feared she would not survive the birth. Unfortunately, her intuition proved accurate. She died within one week. I was not equipped at the time to assume the responsibility of rearing a small child, so I established a school to do it for me. In fact, as Alice was coming to an appropriate age, it was my anonymous suggestion to procure someone to teach the girls about intimacy.”

  “You are responsible for my position at Pettibone?” Just as she thought she knew all, Nicholas released one revelation after another. She sat dumbfounded. No wonder he never questioned the appropriateness of the class instruction. She glanced over at him. Just the appropriateness of the instructor.

  He nodded. “In a manner of speaking. But I had envisioned someone older and experienced. You took me quite by surprise.”

  She took him by surprise? She could honestly state that he returned the favor. She had never envisioned upon embarking from London that she would have experienced so much of life in a remote country village.

  “Does Alice know?” she asked, remembering the other unexpected pleasure of her move to Yorkshire, that of gaining Alice’s confidence.

  “About me?” Nicholas’s brows rose
in that boyish expression she loved. “No. As the years passed, I felt it was in her best interest not to be associated with my household. Some people believe I would be a poor influence on the girl and thus limit her prospects for a worthy marriage.”

  “That is ridiculous,” Emma protested. “Only those people who have not bothered to know you would make such preposterous suggestions.”

  “Thank you for your championship.” He tilted his head in a mock bow. “Nevertheless, as the years passed, it became more difficult to broach the topic with the girl. I had become a complete stranger to her. So I avoided her altogether. I have discovered that avoidance is one trait at which I excel.”

  She worried her lower lip. He wasn’t the only one who practiced avoidance. She herself had avoided most of her conflicts with a creative lie, except when it came to Nicholas.

  She hadn’t managed to avoid falling in love with him.

  “But we digress from the issue at hand,” he said. “Given my financial backing of the school, I can assure you of a position at Pettibone as long as you desire it to be so.”

  Emma shook her head. “You can demand that Pettibone retain my services, but you cannot make similar demands of the parents of the students. They will not entrust the education of their daughters to a woman who has removed her clothing for an artist, now matter how exalted that artist may be. Pettibone would become a school without students.” She shook her head. “No, that avenue is closed to me now.”

  “Women disrobe for men other than their husbands every day,” Nicholas protested.

  “But they are not on exhibition in the Royal Academy.”

  “What of extenuating circumstances?” he pleaded.

  “You make no sense.” She shook her head, still shocked at all his revelations.

  “I am serious, Emma. I set out for London in hopes of retrieving Artemis’s Revenge before it was shown to the jury. Throughout the entire journey, I could think of nothing but this: I can create other paintings, but I could never replace the bond that has formed between us. I arrived too late for the substitution, but not too late for the celebration. I couldn’t enjoy the accolades because you were not there to share them with me.”

  “Sir, a lady could never participate in the celebration of the public display of her private person.” In spite of her rebuke, she still felt a warmth spread through her. He apparently missed her, as she had missed him. Still, to think she could have participated in a celebration of Artemis’s Revenge . . . She shook her head. Truly, it was difficult at times to remember that Nicholas was of the noble class. He apparently had forgotten the restrictions and refinements of the privileged society.

  He took the reins in one hand and slipped his free hand in hers. He squeezed. “I was thinking more of a private celebration.”

  Desire knifed through her. Heat rose on her cheeks. He wanted to bed her, and dear heaven above, she wanted him as well. She concentrated on the backside of the horse before them.

  “Every day apart from you made me realize how much I need you,” he said.

  Desire tingled the tips of her breasts, pulling a yearning from her chest.

  “When I received that message from Lady Cavendish about your fate, I knew I had to act.”

  “I am grateful that you did, or I would be bound for Scotland right now,” she said, remembering she had never thanked him for arriving when he did.

  Nicholas’s silence was disconcerting. He stared straight ahead over the horse’s ears as if he could see far into the night. Discomfort settled in her stomach.

  “Sir, where are we going?”

  “To Scotland.”

  “Scotland! But I thought—are you doing my uncle’s bidding?” Shock riveted her to her seat. Of all the possible roads they could take, this was not one she had envisioned. “Are you part of his scheme?”

  “No!” His face twisted in a frown. “How can you suggest such a notion? This is the only way you can be truly safe. If I were to take you back to Pettibone, he would come after you again.”

  “Then take me somewhere else. I have already explained why I cannot return to Pettibone. Were you not listening?”

  “Of course I was listening. And I heard that marriage is the best solution to your problems.”

  “And who have you arranged for me to marry?” she snapped. Indignation replaced her earlier desire. She had spent so many years alone. Why did every man now feel an urgency to see her wed?

  “Me.”

  She would have been less shocked if he had suggested Thomas.

  “This resolves all your difficulties,” he explained. “It is the perfect solution. As my wife, there should be no outcry over you teaching, nor can anyone object to how I display my wife’s virtues—although I assure you that Artemis’s Revenge will be promptly removed from all public venues.”

  He must be joking. She was a commoner. Hardly the daughter-in-law a duke would welcome into the family, especially one whose assets have already been displayed for all of London.

  “Furthermore,” he continued, oblivious to her shock, “you will be removed from the marriage market, thus rendering your uncle powerless in this regard.” He grinned as if he had just eaten the last spoonful of the brandy bread pudding and was quite pleased with himself.

  Emma sat stunned, not sure if she were more aghast at his proposal or his logic. Granted, marrying Nicholas would mean her wildest fantasy had come true, but for the wrong reasons. As her employer, he wanted to keep a valued employee. And as a man, he felt it necessary to protect her from her uncle, rather than letting her protect herself.

  Nicholas’s smile faded. He clicked the reins in a most agitated manner. “I had thought this solution would make you happy, Emma.”

  “I am, sir,” she responded tightly, “exceedingly happy.”

  “Will you please favor me by calling me by my familiar name.” He scowled. “I confess I find ‘sir’ and ‘lord’ references disturbing.”

  “I am exceedingly happy, Nick . . . Nicholas.” She could not bring herself to call him “Nicky.”

  They rode in silence a bit longer. He continued to glance at her, as if he expected her to break out in tears. Indeed, his expectations may yet prove true, she realized, feeling the constriction in her throat.

  “You will consent to be my wife?” he asked without mirth.

  “Yes,” she whispered. He wanted more, she could hear it in his voice, but she had hoped for so much more herself. She struggled hard to appear at least pleasant while deep inside her heart was breaking. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deep draughts of blooming heather, fertile rot, and Nicholas’s unique combination of exotic oils.

  The horse’s steady gait and the rattle of the harness clapped a rhythmic lullaby. For a moment she wished they would never arrive at a destination. Decisions and painful examination of emotions waited at their journey’s end. For now, she would enjoy the sweet breeze, the spacious accepting landscape, and the freedom to determine her own destiny.

  “WAKE UP, EMMA. WE’VE ARRIVED.”

  Nicholas guided the tired horse to a small black and white cottage with a swinging sign in front. Inviting light from gaslit rooms spilled a welcome to exhausted strangers.

  “We can rest here for the night. I’ll find a justice of the peace in the morning.”

  “My uncle?” Emma asked. She looked about, suddenly alert.

  “If he follows, he will arrive too late. Come now, let’s put you to bed.” He sounded fatigued, more so than she.

  He jumped down from the gig and tied the horse to the post. He walked around to her side and attempted to lift her into his arms. She batted his hands away.

  “That is unnecessary, sir.”

  He raised his brow.

  “Nicholas,” she quickly amended. “I’m not too tired to walk, and your leg may not be up to it.”

  He scowled, then offered his hand to help her down. “You slept on my shoulder most of the way here. Now that I have you in Scotland, I don’t want to chance you disa
ppearing as you did to your uncle.”

  “Oh no. I wouldn’t try such a thing.” Scotland! They were in Scotland?

  “Based on your warm reception to my proposal, I’m not so sure.” He grasped her arm, pulling her tight against him.

  Her heart twisted. If only he loved her the way she did him, then she could entertain his proposal with the enthusiasm he so obviously expected. Perhaps in time, he would learn to love her. But could she promise herself to him knowing he had made no similar promises to her?

  He led her to the room indicated by the manager, then saw her properly inside.

  “I have arrangements to make, but I won’t be far away,” Nicholas said, standing by the door. “Sleep, dear Emma. I’ll be back soon and our problems will be resolved.” He hesitated a moment, then delivered a chaste kiss to her forehead.

  No! She wanted to scream. What happened to the passion he had demonstrated in the stable? The scandalous temptations he offered in the studio? Had he tasted her passion and found her wanting? Was she doomed to a lifetime of chaste kisses?

  “Thank you,” she murmured as manners would dictate. The door closed behind him as he left. She threw herself across the bed, allowing her tears to flow free until exhaustion lulled her to sleep.

  THE SUBTLE CLICK OF A LOCK BROUGHT HER EYES FULLY open. Her mind snapped to attention. The dim light of dawn flowed through the window, bathing the room in a soft gray hue. She was alone. The bed had been disturbed only where she had slept, yet something was amiss.

  Then she saw it. A beautiful long-stemmed rose lay on the pillow beside her, along with a scroll tied with a ribbon. She slipped off the ribbon and carried the paper to the window. The gentle light flowed over a penned verse.

  To Emma, with apologies to Christopher Marlowe

  Come live with me and be my love

  And prove to all and God above

  That love transforms the basest of men

  And brings them back to the light again.