Chapter Four
Emma sat upon the grass at a safe distance from the King’s Arms Inn, Bethany cradled in her lap, and stared with something akin to horror at the smoldering frame of her home, or what remained of it since the fire had decimated the entire place only last night. Her throat was raw and dry from crying, her cheeks and hands sooty from her initial attempts to douse the fire which had begun innocently enough in the kitchens as a small grease fire within the hearth. Sadly, she glanced sideways at Mama Smythe, who felt herself responsible for this misfortune, as it was she who’d set the bacon too close to the flame, the pan filled with perhaps too much of the fatty meat. Mama Smythe, too, sat in the grass near to the stables, her cheeks stained as well with tears and ash, crying still while her husband tried to soothe her.
But there was little any might say to the Smythes or Alice or Emma or Langdon, the stable hand. Their home was gone, their very livelihood burned to the ground so that only the back stairs and one front wall of the establishment remained standing. In fact, though the fire had burned itself out, assisted by a light drizzle which had begun near dawn, the rubble still did smoke and smolder.
The few patrons of the establishment had since removed themselves, the taproom’s local customers gone to their nearby beds, thinking the incident unfortunate but happy they’d not been harmed; and those who’d taken rooms had fetched their carriages and teams and put themselves back upon the road, likely searching for the next posting inn to accommodate them. This left only the six residents of the King’s Arms Inn sitting miserably in the yard.
Emma once again tucked Bethany’s curious head into the crook of her neck, trying in vain to keep the child from becoming too damp from the continued drizzle. While she was infinitely thankful that she’d had no difficulty removing Bethany from the quickly burning building, she was faced now with a new predicament, as everything in the world she possessed had gone up in smoke with the entire inn; they had, literally, nothing but the clothes on their backs and Bethany’s precious doll from Michael.
In the next few minutes, while the Smythes and their employees remained dazed and disoriented, the annoying drizzle became a serious rain and Mr. Smythe suggested gruffly in a hoarse voice that they at least move themselves into the relatively dry stables. They stood as a group, Emma hoisting up Bethany, Mr. Smythe lifting a sobbing-anew Mama Smythe to her feet, while Langdon trudged off with slumped shoulders and Alice spared one last unhappy glance at the King’s Arms. They slopped through the increasing mud of the yard toward the stables just as the sound of an approaching carriage came to them. As one unit, they stopped to stare at the coming shiny carriage, thinking it a hopeful traveler, one whom they’d likely direct to the Feathers Tavern of Lambeth. When it drew up sharply and very near to them, however, and the door opened before the driver might have been of assistance, the carriage revealed a person not unknown to a few of the residents of the former Kings Arms Inn.
Emma inhaled quickly, her surprise great as the new Lord Lindsey stepped hastily from the vehicle, his very gray eyes instantly upon her. He covered the short distance between them in only a few long strides, seemingly unconcerned with the others present. A large and firm hand found her upper arm. “You are unharmed?” he asked in his deep voice, it being unnecessary to inquire of what had transpired, as the still-smoldering remnants told the story. His piercing gaze raked over both Emma and Bethany.
Emma could only nod, stunned at his presence, having thought when he’d left the inn more than a fortnight ago that she’d not see him ever again. Whatever was he doing here? She wondered. She’d made her position, at that time, perfectly clear.
He lifted his eyes from hers, though his hand remained lightly upon her arm, and found the frowning gaze of Mr. Smythe. “Was anyone injured?” At the proprietor’s negative response, Lord Lindsey returned his steely gaze to Emma. “Come on, then,” he said, and it was apparent that he’d learned much from his sire and expected automatic compliance—despite Emma’s previous refusal of him and his rudely put overture.
Emma did not move, shaking her head in confusion. His hand fell from her arm, the warmth it had brought absent then as well. “Come where?” she wanted to know.
He frowned, as if this should be obvious. “I shall take you to Benedict House.”
“Why?” Her own frown mirrored his. Why did he behave, as he had previously, as if he were now accountable for her? She knew him not at all, aside from the few snippets she heard from his gentle father, yet he acted as if he’d some right to a say in her life.
“Why?” He repeated, his tone echoing the one he’d employed at their first meeting. “Because you’ve nowhere to go,” he said, as if he spoke to a simpleton, indicating with a pointing hand the ruins of her home. “Because you haven’t monies, I imagine; because I suspect this man hasn’t a plan for you.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder to rudely identify Mr. Smythe as ‘this man’. “And because it is raining.” He was nearly yelling now, his voice carrying unfavorably over these witnesses.
Raining it might be—Emma felt the chill of the dampness to her core, was aware that her hair was plastered horribly to her forehead, and that her gown clung with growing discomfort to her cold body—but she’d be damned before she accepted the questionable hospitality of this man.
Sheer outrage at his high-handedness made Emma bristle. Shifting a watchful Bethany to her free hip, she leveled this man with her meanest glare. “I’ve informed you already, my lord,” she started, “I am under no obligation to you and likewise, you are not to me. This was my home and these people are my family. So here I will stay.” Having pronounced this, she marched regally to the stables, exhaling nervously, knowing many eyes were upon her at this unprecedented outburst, but feeling the heat of only one particular gaze. She continued stalking away, thankful when she detected movement behind her, assuming her housemates had begun to follow. Just as she reached the stables and lifted her hand to pull open the sliding door that had been closed last night, a hand clamped down bruisingly over her arm once again. She was whirled around, and abruptly tightened her hold on Bethany as she crashed into Lord Lindsey’s chest.
“You little fool!” He growled. “Haven’t you the sense God gave a goat to know when to swallow your pride and accept charity?”
A swift thought raced through her mind just then—this man likely wouldn’t know a gentle tone or kind word if he were smacked upside the head with it. He was absolutely nothing like his dear father.
Emma opened her mouth to protest his callousness once again but Mama Smythe’s voice came to her before she could speak.
“Girl, you ought to go with him,” her friend said sadly, much to her chagrin.
The innkeeper’s husband added, his voice without emotion, “I haven’t a plan for us—for me and the missus—let alone do I know how to help you and Alice and Langdon.”
Emma turned to stare with a gaping mouth at Mr. Smythe before swinging her eyes back to the missus. “Go on, girl. For Bethany, you must.”
A quick glance at Alice proved that she was filled only with her usual steaming animosity towards Emma and Langdon’s visage, as ever, was unreadable.
“I’ll not stand in the rain all day while you determine that you haven’t any options,” Lord Lindsey informed her, and Emma wondered if he’d ever exercised a tone that was not curt or arrogant. She pinned him with a fleeting hot glare, her anger increased when she realized that he seemed, unlike the rest of them, untouched by the rain. His perfectly tailored clothes appeared to wilt not at all; his black as night hair chose not to hold any moisture and thus the thick locks only curled a bit more, but otherwise seemed unaffected; and even his shiny Hessian boots, Emma saw, were troubled not at all by the mud puddling in the yard.
“Go now, love,” Mama Smythe persisted with a small sob when Emma looked as if she’d refuse yet again.
More tears came now as Emma recognized that indeed she hadn’t any other choice. She had Bethany to think of—she coul
dn’t very well house the child in the stables indefinitely. With a wave of fresh tears, she strode to the Smythe and hugged them fiercely. She couldn’t speak, broken as she was now at the thought of leaving the only home and family she’d known for the past nine years. Mama Smythe took up Bethany in her arms, crying more raggedly at the thought of losing the child, and squeezed the baby tightly, cooing fretfully to her.
Alice surprised Emma then by offering her own embrace, and more so when she whispered in her ear, “He’ll take good care o’ you. Just don’t allow him liberties.” With this cryptic warning, Alice removed herself and walked to the stables.
Young Langdon stepped forward to say his goodbye, extending his hand shyly. But Emma had ever retained a soft spot for the stuttering lad and drew him into an embrace that he finally melted into. “Take care of yourself, Langdon,” she cried to him.
“I-I-I will, Miss Emma.” And the lad blushed furiously and stepped back just as Mama Smythe returned Bethany to Emma.
She faced the Smythes again. “But you’ll send for me when you...have figured out what might be done, where we might go? We’ll all be together again?”
They nodded, though without conviction which alarmed Emma. With one last hug, the Smythe’s and Langdon retreated into the stables, leaving Emma to watch them walk away. She stared at the empty and open door for several seconds, crying and wanting so badly to dash inside with her friends.
“Come,” Lord Benedict called from behind her, his tone finally softer.
Emma turned and drew a deep breath, clinging to Bethany as she walked then to where he held open the carriage door. She hesitated only a moment before stepping inside and taking up one side of the vehicle, holding Bethany on her lap. She watched as Lord Benedict folded his enormous frame into the seat opposite her and rapped his knuckles against the roof that the driver might depart. When his dark eyes then met hers, she removed her gaze jerkily, finding greater interest in the scene outside the window, watching as the picture of what remained of the King’s Arms faded from view.
She allowed only one more tear to slide down her cheek, her fearfulness at the coming unknown causing her great distress. This was eased not at all as the cold man across from her made no attempt at conversation and thus the nearly hour-long drive to Benedict House was made in near perfect silence—broken only occasionally by Bethany’s babbling.
Emma maintained a painfully stiff posture, allowing her eyes to find his person only when she was sure his attention was engaged out the window. Peripherally, she was aware that several times, his detached gaze had settled curiously upon Bethany, but still he said nothing. She felt, too, those few instances when those dark gray eyes shifted to include her—she realized the heat of that gaze to her toes.
Shivering a bit, she tried to regard the man sitting across from her without being noticed. She was honest enough to admit she’d thought him incredibly handsome upon the occasion of their first meeting—that is, until he spoke. But it was hard to overlook that rich and dark hair, naturally set into lazy waves, which fell onto his forehead in such a way a girl might be tempted to risk his sharp gaze just to move those locks aside; and one could not disregard the powerful figure of the man, for he was taller and broader than most, and seemed to have no need of the padded surcotes so heavily favored amongst the elite; and then there were those eyes—deep and penetrating, bright with passions that surely drove the man, and undoubtedly able to consume her, if he dared.
In a moment of weakness, she might even admit to herself that the picture of his lips, the hard set of those generous lines, had plagued her for several days after his first coming. She’d imagined them softened by a smile, a small smile of wonder mayhap directed at her, and had felt a weakness in her knees just considering this unlikelihood. One last quick glance at the hard contour of his jaw, set to arrogant disregard, and Emma was able to shake herself completely free of these useless—indeed, dangerous—musings and fret instead over her coming future.
Emma’s first look at Benedict House proved just as unnerving as she’d suspected it might. Located just north of Southwark, the manse sat deep in a wide valley, the light stone façade of the three-story home bright against the green trees and lawn of the well-manicured property. A large and wonderfully maintained drive wended its way around a man-made pond which sat in front of the house. With a tremendous amount of awe, Emma took no pains to hide her expression as she glanced out the carriage window as they pulled in front of a set of huge, polished wooden doors at the top of a wide expanse of steps.
This time when the carriage stopped, Lord Lindsey did await the service of the footman who came without delay from the house to pull open the door and place a small step upon the ground for their use. The earl exited first, then surprised Emma by reaching into the vehicle for her hand as she struggled only a bit with a now sleeping Bethany.
“Thank you,” she murmured quietly as her feet touched the ground. She glanced upward, following the clean lines of the blonde colored stone, taking note of the enormous windows and imagining that there must be fifty rooms inside this home. But the earl afforded her no prolonged opportunity to appreciate his home, his hand still upon the back of her arm guiding her inside the place, where he was greeted with a near reverent bow by an aging but precise butler.
“Thurman,” the earl addressed his man at the door, “fetch Mrs. Conklin, as Miss Ainsley and the child will need to be shown rooms and have baths readied.”
“Yes, my lord,” intoned the butler, and closed the door beside them to see to this task, not forgetting himself at all to even pass more than a cursory glance over Emma and Bethany’s rumpled and soot-ridden appearance. As the old man disappeared down a nearby hall, Emma took a moment to take in her sumptuous surroundings.
The foyer in which she stood was three stories tall, flanked by a double set of stairs sporting a dark red carpet over the expensive Italian marble of the floor of the hall. Portraits, larger and taller than Emma herself, graced the walls on either side of the stairs, invoking earls and family from decades and centuries ago. The walls upon which they hung were papered in delicate shades of robin’s egg blue, having about it a small and scrolling floral pattern in subtle tones. Directly above her head, suspended from several gleaming chains perhaps thirty feet long was a chandelier of sparkling beaded glass and ivory hued candles. There were, all about this ground floor, doors of shiny dark wood, opening to rooms surely as opulent as this foyer, Emma imagined.
She brought her overwhelmed gaze back to the earl, who seemed to be watching her intently—expectantly—with those unsettling gray eyes.
She might have said something then—anything at all to alleviate this general upset he caused her with those severe glances of his—but was saved this endeavor by the immediate arrival of a graying and plump woman, who bore down upon them from further down the hall, wringing her hands hastily upon her not unclean apron.
“Mrs. Conklin,” said the earl to the woman, who was obviously the housekeeper, “this is Miss Ainsley, and the child is Bethany. They will require rooms for an extended stay and baths and a meal immediately.”
The round little woman bobbed her head dutifully and sized up Emma and Bethany in one sweeping but not unpleasant glance. “This way, then, Miss,” she said, and turned already to ascend the left staircase.
“Shall I carry the child for you?” The earl inquired of Emma, his first true attempt at solicitude, she thought. But she refused him with a small shake of her head, possessively snuggling Bethany against her, and took off quickly to follow where the housekeeper had led. She trudged wearily up the stairs, and once upon the second floor where the woman turned down a long corridor, paid little attention to such evident luxury about her until she was brought to a room near the end of the hall.
In all her young life, Emma thought she’d never seen so pretty a bedchamber as this. She was accustomed to cramped spaces and low-slung ceilings and rustic and sparse furniture. She had never seen such extravagance as the
se tall walls and painted and papered ceilings; she had never beheld a room where the windows were taller even than herself, or where the furnishings were nearly twice the size of her. Upon one wall, nestled between two heavily draped windows, sat a four-poster bed tall enough that a small and necessary stool rested near one side. It was covered with a beautifully embroidered coverlet in soft shades of pale yellow and blue and more fluffy pillows than Emma would ever have need of in her entire lifetime. There was a huge wardrobe, the wood embellished with intricate carvings, matching perfectly another piece, this one an armoire, which sat opposite the bed. In one corner of the room was an oversized dressing table, painted gaily with flowers and ribbons, and in another corner a writing table, complete with embossed stationery and an inkwell and quill, was positioned adjacent to more windows, that one might view the gardens below at the north side of the house.
Moving around the room upon the thick and plush Aubusson carpet, Mrs. Conklin opened one of several doors, and showed a small anterior room, equipped with a pretty covered cot and stool. Another door was opened and revealed a dressing room, decorated in similar shades of yellow and blue and having mirrors on two entire walls, and the last door showed another full bedchamber, this one having a huge crib and rocking chair.
“’Tis the nursery,” Mrs. Conklin informed her in a friendly tone and then asked of Emma if she were awaiting the delivery of her trunks.
Reminded again of her sorry circumstances, Emma shook her head. “We were only last night burned out of our home,” she told the housekeeper. “We have nothing.”
Mrs. Conklin seemed unperturbed by this news. “Likely of no concern, Miss. His lordship will see to dressing ye, no doubt. ‘Tis lucky ye are that ye escaped intact.”
“Lucky, indeed,” Emma agreed. “I think I’ll put Bethany in the bed here—I don’t want her to awaken afraid, as this will all be unfamiliar to her.”
If I Loved You (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 2) Page 4