If I Loved You (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 2)

by Rebecca Ruger

  “A good idea, Miss,” Mrs. Conklin said with a nod and she moved to pull back the heavy counterpane of the four-poster bed.

  Emma carefully laid Bethany upon the very middle of the bed, thinking she’d like nothing better than to climb in beside her right now, but imagined that a bath was a more pressing need. She mentioned this to the housekeeper, who was motherly enough to tuck the linens up and around Bethany, who stirred not at all.

  “A bath is just what ye need, Miss. Give me a few minutes to boil the water and have the footmen set up the tub in the dressing room.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Conklin,” said Emma and she closed the door behind the woman as she left the room. Glancing once again about the lovely room with awed appreciation, Emma then stripped herself down to her shift, removing her apron and gown, and serviceable boots and stockings, too. Unable then to resist further the lure of the inviting bed, she thought only to rest herself for a moment while she awaited her bath and so climbed in beside Bethany and laid her head upon the sweet-smelling goose down pillows.

  Chapter Five

  When Emma opened her eyes, it was immediately obvious that evening had come. Startled, she sat up quickly, unable to believe she’d slept so long and soundly. She turned to find Bethany and was distressed to discover that the space beside her was empty. Jumping from the high perched bed, she dashed about the room, calling for the child. Her panic began to increase when there proved not a trace at all of Bethany, in any of the small attached chambers. Frantic after only a minute, she yanked open the tall, painted door and called again Bethany’s name out into the long corridor. Forgetting then her inappropriate attire when there was no response, she forged ahead and ran down the hall in her bare feet, thinking to summon help in the search. Just as she gained the top of the stairs, the lord of the manor appeared at the bottom, holding a giggling Bethany in his strong arms.

  Relief was instant, her hand covering her chest in the hopes of slowing her racing heart. The pair below glanced up then, realizing Emma’s presence at that moment.

  And that’s when she realized that she remained clothed in only her shift, for the dark eyes of the earl scanned her heatedly from head to toe. Heat suffused her, touching every spot his eyes did. Lamely, backing up a step as he began to advance up the stairs, she explained, “I—I couldn’t find Bethany. I didn’t think...I just ran out....” This last trailed off as he reached now the landing, his gaze finally meeting her eyes, though Emma had quite a time trying to keep her own gaze focused, wishing only for the floor to open and consume her.

  Dear Bethany saved her further embarrassment—indeed, further blazing scrutiny—when she reached out cheerily from the earl’s arms, crying, “Mama!” Emma took her from the earl, startling slightly when those powerful hands of his touched briefly the skin of her bare arms.

  “I heard her waken a while ago,” he told Emma, seeming disinclined to remove himself from their presence just now. “I did knock, but when there was no response, I assumed that you might still be asleep—Mrs. Conklin had told me you’d ‘dropped like the dead’—and I thought to remove Bethany before she wakened you.”

  It was awkward, tasted funny on her tongue even, but Emma did tender a grudging, “Thank you.”

  The earl waved this off, and ruffled Bethany’s riotous curls as he said, “Anna and Meredith, two maids here with children of their own, gave her a bath and found this garb for her,” the earl said, indicating the baby’s new clothes. “We were getting to know one another.”

  Bethany was a very inquisitive child—at times downright mischievous—which begged the question, “She didn’t cause any trouble, did she?” Emma could just picture those pudgy little hands upending costly antiques or treasured family heirlooms. She nearly cringed, awaiting his reply.

  He surprised her by giving a short laugh, seemingly amused by Emma’s worst expectations. “She was fine—no trouble at all. We even visited the stables and found her a grand little pony that she might ride one day.”

  Emma thought now not the time to point out to the earl that one day—when Bethany reached an age to actually ride a pony—they would likely have been long gone from Benedict House. Gone, indeed, from the earl’s life altogether.

  With nothing else to say to this man who unnerved her so, Emma then excused herself, and took Bethany farther down the hall to their rooms. She cringed still, imagining the dark eyes of the earl following every step of her barely clad form. Dear Lord in Heaven!

  He would send a bath up to her now, he called from where she’d left him. Emma acknowledged this only with a nod turned vaguely his way before shutting herself and Bethany behind the closed door of her chamber.

  Once there, closeted in rooms that were entirely too opulent to suit her, Emma set Bethany down upon the soft carpet and let her explore merrily her new surroundings. This allowed Emma to again marvel at the insistence of the earl that they come here to Benedict House. True, she and his father had been friendly, the old earl being made of a fine and virtuous essence, but she knew from Michael Benedict himself that he’d not seen his son in months and hence, was possibly not aware of their friendship. She missed Michael terribly—truth be told, at times unable to imagine him gone completely from this world.

  But Emma considered the new earl as unlike his father as the sky was the grass. So why, Emma wanted to know, did he feel it necessary to offer her and Bethany this benevolence? Had Michael Benedict included in his last testament some profound wish that she be housed here, that monies be made available to her that Bethany should know a better life? Michael had offered as much to Emma, and repeatedly. She had politely but firmly refused him, inferring that she and Bethany simply weren’t his concern. She’d loved that about him, however, that he cared for her and Bethany and thought to do this simply because he could. But Emma was ever a proud girl, and she’d never taken a snippet of charity in her life. To be sure, she’d been tempted, for Bethany’s sake; but always she had refused, her pride being a greater thing than her need.

  Yet here she was now, homeless and without a farthing, induced to rely upon the curious charity of Michael Benedict’s son, who displayed not an inkling of curiosity as of yet over the very fact that his father had—in essence—taken monies from him to share with her. He’d asked not one question about the relationship she’d had with Michael. Perhaps, she imagined with little effort extended to afford him generosity, he was so taken with his business of being arrogant and overbearing, he hadn’t additional wherewithal to consider things such as this.

  Shaking her head now at such uncharitable thoughts, she watched as Bethany made to climb up the front of the huge wardrobe and moved to distract the child with some activity less dangerous. She was considering her limited options in this regard, glancing around a room wholly unsuitable for an active two-year old, when a knock sounded at the door. Emma called for entrance and saw Mrs. Conklin enter, bidding her a cheery hello and advising her that she would be directing several footmen with the set up of her bath in the next room. The housekeeper promised to send a maid to help her with this chore but Emma declined—much to the amused horror of the older woman—as she’d not once in her life required assistance for so simple a chore as bathing. She did ask, however, if there might be some articles of clothing to be had—perhaps there was a maid of similar proportions, she suggested—as her gown was likely beyond repair, the soot and smoke of last night’s fire having wreaked heavy damage.

  Again, Mrs. Conklin appeared entirely outraged at such a simple suggestion, her little button eyes nearly bursting from her face. “Oh, my dear, no,” the housekeeper rushed out. “His lordship sent ‘round to the village this afternoon, while ye slept, and procured some garments for ye—yer not to be wearing a servant’s togs.”

  This woman’s agitation over this circumstance only raised more questions in Emma’s mind. With another shake of her head, her confusion presently being a powerful thing, Emma waited silently then while her bath was fully prepared but did accept Mrs. C
onklin’s offer to see to Bethany while she disappeared into the dressing room. Bethany, being a child used to attention from many, went happily along with Mrs. Conklin, who cooed delightedly at such a pretty baby.

  Emma actually luxuriated in the large copper tub filled with steaming and scented water. Never before had she not been forced to hurry through her bath, because Alice needed the use of it, or because Bethany needed her care, or because she was needed at work. She washed her hair with a vanilla spiced bar and her body with the softest cloth imaginable, even as she promised herself she would not—should not—become accustomed to such extravagances. When the chore of the bathing was done, she was loath to give up such a fine position and rested her head on the pillowed back of the tub, closing her eyes in wonder at this magnificence.

  Soon enough, however, the water did cool, forcing her out of the copper and into a dry and fluffy sheet of cotton. She squeezed out as much water as she could from her long hair but knew this would take hours to dry. She left the dressing room, wondering how she would ever manage to empty the water, supposing it would take her many pails and many trips to and from the tub to see to it.

  Upon the bed, laid out prettily for her inspection, was a clean and pretty gown of pale blue. Carefully, she fingered the material with a cautious hand, considering the fine muslin a perfect weight for a cooler spring evening. The cut was modest, perhaps intended for a younger girl than she, the bodice being shirred, and the skirt falling straight from just below the breast line. Next to these lay undergarments; a clean shift of pure white; a straight hemmed petticoat with an eyelet stitching; and stockings much lighter and silkier than anything Emma had ever known.

  A bit of girlish excitement swept over her. Oh, to be sure, she’d not be at Benedict House long enough to get used to such fine things as this, but she was thrilled to have the chance to don so pretty and well-made a gown. Wringing her hair out once again, lest the wetness ruin the gown, she dressed herself quickly and considered her reflection in the tall cheval glass near the armoire.

  She thought she appeared not herself at all, being so accustomed as she was to heavier and darker clothing than this. She lifted her wet hair, carelessly pushing it up as if secured atop her head and considered the view, tilting her head this way and that. She saw her stocking-ed toes peeking out from beneath the hem of the frock and wondered what had become of her sturdy boots—they would do no justice to this pretty ensemble, but they were all she had. In this gown, she appeared taller and leaner than she’d thought of herself, but considered that the straight cut achieved this, her former attire usually being gathered at the waist and flounced from there. She studied the tight-fitting shirred bodice and the high cut of the scoop neckline and again determined this piece had originally been produced for someone much younger than she—but tall, apparently.

  The door to her chamber opened then and Emma whirled around, dropping the mass of her hair as Mrs. Conklin had returned. In her hand she carried a pair of ladies’ slippers, these being a muted silver tone, the tops embroidered with a scrolling pattern of blue thread.

  “These should do ye fine, Miss,” Mrs. Conklin predicted, gesturing for Emma to sit at the dressing table stool.

  “Where is Bethany?” Emma wanted to know, trying not to sound alarmed.

  “Ooh, that little cherub,” Mrs. Conklin prattled. “Off with his lordship again, while they wait on ye.”

  “His lordship waits for me?” Emma asked, her fingers thumping her chest.

  “Dinner was held for ye, Miss,” the housekeeper explained succinctly. “Now SueEllen should be—ah, here she is.” Right on cue, a maid, younger even than Emma entered the chamber, her head bobbing nervously. “SueEllen will tend yer hair, set it nicely for ye and then she’ll show ye to the parlor where his lordship keeps the baby.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Conklin,” Emma intoned, appreciative of the woman’s efforts on her behalf—though she thought them largely unnecessary—but more wary now of her dinner appointment with the earl. Why, it was almost as if she were being treated not at all as a servant, but as a ... lady.

  Zachary Benedict lounged haphazardly upon the thick carpet of the formal parlor, unconcerned that he likely rumpled the evening wear Emery, his valet, had painstakingly readied for him. He watched with growing amusement —and admittedly, with a growing fondness—as his baby sister giggled and repeated her efforts to climb over his prone form. She must think him some mountain to ascend, though he thought she particularly liked the descent, when he assisted a bit, turning his body so that her hands found the floor on the other side of him and she tumbled head over heels off him. She would scramble unevenly to her feet then, her limited vocabulary allowing only for a call of, “Again!” Naturally, when she turned those magnificent blue eyes and that scant-tooth grin upon him, Zach was at pains to resist. ‘One more time’ had been several occasions ago.

  If his peers, those starchy-collared bluebloods he met with in parliament, could see him now, they’d like as not question his very—well, maturity, if nothing else.

  In the middle of Bethany’s latest tumble, he heard the door to the parlor open, and the unmistakable sound of a quickly drawn-in breath. Bethany righted herself once more, clapping her hands with enthusiasm, unaware that her mother watched from the doorway.

  “Again!” Bethany insisted.

  “Good heavens, no!” Emma called out sharply, striding across the room to the pair on the floor. “Bethany, love,” she scolded gently, “you mustn’t...wrestle with his lordship.”

  Zachary laughed out loud, partly amused by Emma’s horrified mien, and partly because Bethany screwed her face up with such distaste over her mother’s reaction. She might not completely understand her mother’s admonition, but she understood the gist of it—she was not to be doing what she had been doing.

  Zach pulled himself easily to his feet, sweeping Bethany along with him in one smooth motion, swinging her out and above him while she giggled yet more until he settled her neatly at his chest. But she was ever her mother’s daughter and reached almost immediately to be taken by Emma. Zach then gave his full attention to his sister’s mother. Her changed appearance had not initially gone unnoticed by him, but his perspective from the floor had not been this engaging.

  Dressed as a lady, Emma Ainsley assuredly rivaled any of the fancy misses of the ton. More intriguing, perhaps, for her complete lack of artifice. She was a natural—an incomparable, the ton would say. Beauty such as this was not bestowed with any kind of regularity, not that Zach had ever seen. She was fresh and lovely and had about her a vitality to her features that was vastly appealing, and Zach once again thought he understood his father’s absorption with this girl.

  At Zach’s prolonged perusal, and his attended silence, she grew uncomfortable and shifted a bit on her slippered feet.

  “My lord, someone seems to have misunderstood something—somewhere,” she said nervously. “I have been given rooms upon the second floor and they appear to be family apartments. And Mrs. Conklin delivered this frivolous piece,” she went on, holding out the very flattering gown she wore, “and I’d not spend a moment upon my knees in this thing; the fabric would shred in no time at all.”

  An electric jolt went through Zach at her words, a tormenting and provoking picture forming in his mind, until she spoiled the craved image by adding innocently, “I haven’t a clue how work should be accomplished in this, my lord. I cannot scrub and dust and such, wearing such fine things as this.”

  Shaking himself mentally, blinking twice to assist in the purging of that image of her upon her knees, Zach drew a deep breath and thought to clarify to her, “Miss Ainsley, the only misunderstanding seems to be your own. You’ve been brought to Benedict House, as my father had wanted, to ascend to this life as it is naturally Bethany’s due.” He considered her a continually perplexing miss—all that she desired, and swindled from his father was within her grasp, yet she balked at every turn. Did she not fear that overplaying her game of innocenc
e might come back to bite her? What fun it might be to acquiesce to what she pretended to want; he might shrug and tell her that yes, a mistake had been made and naturally her rooms were to be below stairs and her workload would be heavy. How might she react to that?

  But for now, it was Emma’s turn to appear nonplused. Absently, she straightened the hem of Bethany’s gown over her arm. “Bethany’s due? My lord, if I might ask, exactly what did Michael’s—excuse me, your father’s—will declare?”

  “All that I have previously mentioned,” Zach explained, having a hearty dislike of discussing finances and trivialities with her. He would have continued, just to have this business out of the way, but Thurman arrived to announce that dinner was served, and Mrs. Conklin was fast on his heels, announcing that she would see to Bethany while they dined, scooping the child out of the girl’s arms and trotting off through the door still held by Thurman.

  Zach watched Emma’s jaw tighten and suspected that she hadn’t a great fondness for the ease in which the child was repeatedly removed from her. He imagined that at the inn, Bethany was rarely out of Emma’s sight, and rarer still, he guessed, were the instances when her care was seen to by someone else. He watched her cross her arms over her bosom, as if she didn’t know what to do with them if she weren’t holding her baby.

  Lightly, he touched his hand to her arm to guide her into the dining room. He’d instructed his staff that they would make use of the smaller of the two dining rooms this evening, the larger being occupied by a table that comfortably sat forty guests, which would prove awkward as there was only the two of them.

  The small dining room—the Paneled Room, his mother had always called it for the rich and dark paneled walls—sat at the rear of the house, overlooking the vast rose gardens for which the Benedicts were known. Inside, Zach pulled out the chair at the foot of the table and watched as Emma uneasily sat herself within it. He moved to the other end of the table—this one sat only twelve and was thus more informal—and took his seat there, nodding to Thurman that he should begin to serve.