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

by Rebecca Ruger

  They sat as one, Bethany climbing up into her usual chair at the middle of the small table while Emma sat at the end near the kitchen. She saw the earl looking eagerly at his full plate and watched him settle his napkin—another courtesy of the previous owner—into his lap. He looked down at Emma and her heart twisted when he raised his glass of lemonade up to offer a toast.

  “To your first home-cooked meal at the Daisies,” he said simply.

  “Cheers,” Emma answered, raising her own glass.

  “Chairs!” Bethany cried, but her small cup was raised directly to her lips.

  Zach and Emma laughed at this and both picked up their forks, yet Emma hesitated, pretending to urge Bethany to eat, though her daughter certainly never needed coaxing in this regard, while she anxiously awaited Zach’s reaction. He speared a carrot and piece of beef onto his fork and put this to his mouth, already considering his next forkful as he looked again to his plate. Emma might have wished for the floor to open up and consume her then when he seemed to struggle with the chewing and actually grimaced as he finally swallowed.

  “Oh, dear Lord in heaven,” she murmured, which brought his eyes to hers. His pained expression—he had to sip largely from his glass to work the piece down his throat—was erased instantly when he found her watching him.

  “A little tough,” he acknowledged—there was no lie he could have told to explain the contortion of his features as he’d swallowed. “It happens. This one will be better,” he said and gamely stabbed another piece of beef onto his fork, along with a chunk of potato, and plopped it into his mouth.

  Emma watched him, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as he made quite a show to chew and swallow with ease this time, even holding up his hands as if to say, “Voila!”

  Unsure if he did this only to avoid hurting her feelings, Emma looked down onto her own plate and tried for herself a bit of the beef. It was not tender, not the way Mama Smythe could have made it, but it wasn’t too tough. Perhaps he’d truly just had a rogue piece of meat. Aside from that, the flavor was good, the butcher having been right about the marjoram and the onions. Convinced then that she’d made at least a decent meal, Emma began to worry—as any hostess might—about the lack of conversation. Aside from Bethany’s near constant babbling between bites, it was silent here at this table.

  “My lord, are you—“

  “I wondered if you—“

  They’d both spoken at once. They smiled, suddenly awkward, as if this need in both of them to fill the silence was a testament to the true unease that suddenly filled the room. Emma made a show of wiping her mouth delicately with her napkin, allowing him to speak.

  “I only wondered what you had planned for the garden,” he said.

  “I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest. Clearing away the debris seemed an obvious chore, but I guess I might like some herbs and perhaps only a few vegetables.” She lifted her glass of lemonade but did not drink immediately from it. “I remember—vaguely, mind you—that my mother had a garden, much grander than anything to which I might aspire.”

  The earl tilted his head at this, his frown curious. “Do you mind me asking what happened to your parents?”

  Emma shook her head and answered, “I mind not at all. ‘Tis no great story. They married young and had a little farm a bit north of here, I cannot recall where. My father died in a hunting accident when I was four and my mother from pneumonia when I was nine. We’d already moved to the King’s Arms after Daddy had died, and my sister was already working alongside my mother. The Smythes took pity on us and allowed my sister and me to stay.” She paused, unprepared for the mistiness that stole into her eyes, but it had been a while since she’d spoken of this. Wistfully, she told him, “Gretchen was beautiful and vivacious... everyone loved her. Perhaps because I depended so much on her, because I’d had her longest, I grieve most for her—and for Bethany, too, for she’ll never know her true mother.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Emma,” he said in a deep and low voice from the other end of the table.

  “You haven’t, really,” she assured him, meeting his tender gaze. “Grieving is good, you know, it helps the heart to heal,” she pronounced with a false smile, thinking to lighten things up a bit. “Now, I wish I could offer you some treat of a dessert, but my knowledge is decidedly limited, and apparently even this needs work.”

  The earl chuckled somewhat at this. “You do yourself an injustice, Emma. You put out a fine meal—“

  “And you are a fine liar, but I thank you all the same.”

  Zachary suggested, “You will need to have some staff here, I imagine. Apologies that I hadn’t thought on this yet.”

  Oh, but that was the perfect opening she needed, she decided. “That may not be necessary, my lord,” she began, her eyes bright. “I wanted to tell you that I found the Smythes—“ at his blank look, she explained, “who owned the King’s Arms Inn? Yes, well I found them in Little Hadham—and Langdon and Alice are there as well!” She said excitedly. “They are all together, my lord, but in poor circumstance. Oh, it was so lovely to find them—even Alice, though she may have since left them for greener pastures, I believe. They seemed very surprised to see me, indeed. I have told you that as they have always taken care of me, I thought to return the kindness. So they’ll be arriving hopefully at the end of the month. Well, not arriving, I daresay, as I need your larger carriage to pick them up.” She rushed all that out in just about a single breath. And waited. Her hands around the napkin in her lap. Why, oh, why did he unnerve her so?

  He seemed then to chew upon this, not with so much effort as he had upon that first bite of her stew, but several long seconds passed before he spoke.

  “There are your servants then, I suspect,” he said. “A butler, housekeeper, and footman—”

  “My lord,” she interrupted, “you seem to be seeking to ascribe some greater worth unto me than the circumstance of my birth necessitates. I am of the working class, same as the Smythes and Langdon. I am not above them, regardless of the boon provided so kindly by your father. They are my family. We will work together, in this house, and likely with occupations outside of the house—”

  He held up his hand and Emma stopped speaking.

  “Emma, I only meant that employing the Smythe’s and Langdon is a logical decision. You will have servants here,” he insisted. And just as she opened her mouth to refute this, thinking of the expense, he added, “Again, the bequest of my father will easily cover their employ. Why would you want all of you traipsing about the villages, seeking jobs, when good and clean and manageable positions are all within the home. The Smythes and Langdon will receive a salary and you your monthly benefit.”

  “But what need do I have of a butler or a footman?”

  Zachary shrugged. “What need do I have of a hundred servants across three properties? The estate can afford it and it offers employment to those who might struggle otherwise. It’s just how it’s done.”

  “But what would they actually do all day?”

  “Whatever you tell them to. Whatever you wish them to do,” this last, with a rather meaningful glance, which Emma determined to mean the positions were more a formality to offer them an income and her, some complacence and company.

  “Oh, I see.”

  “The boy, Langdon, can split time between here and Benedict House, if you want. Plenty of work up in the stables there.”

  “He would enjoy that.”

  Emma rose then to clear the table, taking Bethany out of her chair and into the kitchen to clean her up. She felt the earl enter the kitchen as well, bringing dishes with him. He set the dishes down near the deep sink and pump, very close to Emma. His arm brushed hers as she tended to Bethany. The contact, light though it was, caused them both to stiffen. The earl stilled after his fingers had released the plates. Emma stood motionless, closing her eyes until he moved away.

  His proximity, even with Bethany so near, was as always, a very treacherous thing. She couldn
’t do this, she realized. She couldn’t have him here like this, pretending all was well, pretending she didn’t desire his kisses or yearn for one of his smiles—not when he hadn’t any idea what his very presence did to her heart.

  He won’t marry you.

  He was an earl and she, nothing more than a chambermaid, even if she no longer held that position. There wasn’t anything else for him to desire of her but the obvious. And Emma knew she’d have no part in that. Her heart—indeed, her very soul—could not survive that.

  She turned to him with this dreaded look about her that must have presented itself well to him, for he considered her only a moment before thanking her for the meal and announcing his intention to leave. Even then, it was in her to beg him to stay. But she did not.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was Emma’s unfortunate luck that had the earl repeat his visit to the Daisies on several occasions when Callum MacKenzie was either already there, or just about to leave. Callum did stop by rather regularly, always solicitous of Emma’s needs, several times taking Emma and Bethany into Perry Green in the early morning. She considered this unfortunate because there seemed to be something about the simple presence of her neighbor that brought out the beast in Zachary.

  He could apparently forget all his good breeding at the snap of a finger, for the introduction of the two men was thick with something Emma could not name, but she felt it in the air; and two encounters after that had the earl nearly growling, all but curling his lip as he only nodded a greeting to Callum. While Callum seemed not immune to Zachary’s unmistakable displeasure at finding him again and again at the Daisies, he seemed, on the whole, unperturbed by the earl’s aloofness.

  It was in Emma to inquire of the earl exactly what his intent was—if he visited solely to harass her and her neighbor with his foul mood, she did not then, desire his company.

  On the first day of the next week, when Emma was set to begin her job at the modiste’s shop, the earl arrived as was becoming his habit shortly after the noon hour. Emma herself was just arriving home as Callum had driven her and Bethany into Perry Green to visit the butcher. She stepped out of Callum’s wagon and lifted Bethany down as well, reaching up to Callum to accept her purchases from him just as the earl’s fancy carriage pulled into the small drive in front of the daisies. Emma nearly groaned aloud at this untimely occurrence.

  She gave no thought to the sleek vehicle and fine horses of the earl sitting next to the well-used cart and work team of Callum’s, but did forgo her thought to invite Callum in to luncheon as she’d thought to do, in appreciation of all the assistance he gave her. She only bid Callum yet another ‘thank you’ and ‘good day’ and then rolled her eyes as she watched the two men all but square off, skinnying their eyes at each other before Callum pulled his wagon from the yard and headed down the lane.

  The earl set the brake on the carriage and jumped down fluidly to stand before Emma, taking up Bethany in his arms as she was ever happy to see him.

  “Really, my lord, you must refrain from scaring my company away,” she said as they moved toward the door, waving to Henry, who was out in the orchard, though he appeared to have no tool in hand, and seemed to be about no vocation.

  The earl held the front door open for Emma and followed her inside, to the kitchen. “I don’t like him,” was all he said.

  Pertly, Emma replied, “I don’t care. Callum is a very good friend and he is very kind to us. And correct me if I am wrong, my lord, but I thought I was my own person, who made her own decisions.”

  Having set the meat down, Emma was surprised to find herself spun around by the earl, his huge hand tight around her wrist. He still held Bethany in his arms but spared her not the frustration in his voice.

  “Emma, what the hell are you doing? Are you wanting him or me?”

  “What are you talking about?” Her growing frown matched his.

  “Emma, you cannot go about being courted by two men. Eventually, you’ve got to cut one loose.”

  “Courted? Who said anything about courting?”

  “What, in the name of all that is holy, do you think I’m doing?”

  “You are courting me?” Her tone alone conveyed appropriately the extent of her shock. She stammered and stalled and hadn’t a clue how to answer that, and was peripherally, yet vaguely aware that Bethany was watching them, wide-eyed. Finally she said, “I—I thought you were just trying to....” she didn’t know the polite term for what she’d really thought.

  Zachary lifted his brow, waiting. “What?”

  While her heart flipped and flopped inside her chest, she stalled him by saying lamely, “Well, you have to admit, your technique leaves a bit to be desired. If your idea of courting involves being bossy and controlling and grumpy, then I guess I should have known.”

  “And kissing,” he added. “Don’t forget the kissing.”

  As if she could!

  Something occurred to Emma just then. Perhaps what he called courting—and its ultimate goal—and what she knew courting to be—and her idea of the desired end result—were two different things. Now, this made more sense. Now she understood. Oh, she didn’t doubt that he wanted her. She was not blind to his watchful and appreciative glances, nor a stone to be unaffected by his kisses, but she felt deep inside her that his desires were to be a short-lived thing, and immediately an image of her sister came to mind. Men such as the earl only embarked on relationships with girls like her for one reason. And, as they so often did, Lady M’s cautionary words haunted her just now.

  She met his eyes, her own filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry, my lord. I...I have no desire to be courted by you.”

  His expression did not change. She could well sense that he was trying to read her, while his eyes remained maddeningly inscrutable. A vein in his neck bulged and faded, and then repeated the motion, so that Emma was sure he wrestled internally with something, perhaps holding back words inside his clenched teeth.

  She didn’t have to feign mournfulness, only attempted to project it on to him, and not at herself. “I may have given you the wrong impression,” she lied, “that I...desired or enjoyed...your kiss. I have only my inexperience to blame, and I hope you’ll pardon my lapse in judgment, and certainly anything else I may have done to give you the idea that I would want to be...courted.” Dear Lord! As thrilled as she was to have been able to utter those remarks with some conviction, she was sure no words have ever tasted more grotesquely false coming from her lips.

  He continued to stare at her. Glare, really. He was glaring at her.

  After several moments, when she’d become very afraid that holding her breath so frantically as she was might prove deadly, the earl stepped forward and passed Bethany over to her. Surprised, Emma received her daughter, and then felt immediately a modicum of peace, that the child created a bit of a barrier, to which she clung.

  The earl strode to the door, his steps measured and stark. He turned and said to her, “Of course, you are lying to me,” which shattered any peace she might have gained. “But I’ll give you time to get used to it. Cut MacKenzie loose, Emma. You are mine.”

  It wasn’t right that a man could do that—woo you with promises he hoped you’d believe, and all in an effort to effect your own demise, in the end. She would not be a party to her own downfall.

  At six-thirty in the evening, Emma and Bethany set out on foot for Perry Green, Emma having dressed Bethany in her nightclothes, assuming the child would fall asleep before they returned home. They had barely started down the lane when Callum MacKenzie pulled up alongside them.

  He didn’t bother to pretend that he was here for any other reason but to drive Emma to her job. She smiled happily at him—he truly was a fine gentleman. “Honestly, Callum, you are too good to me,” she protested as he lifted Bethany up onto the seat next to him. “I don’t expect you to cart me around everywhere.” She climbed up as well, and Callum gave a “Git on,” to his team and they were off.

  “I don’t like the
idea of you walking into Perry Green even at this hour, Miss Emma.”

  Emma laughed, holding her hat in place as it was a bit windy tonight. “Callum, when are you going to drop the ‘miss’ and just call me Emma?”

  If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the big man sitting on the other side of Bethany actually blushed before he answered, turning his sheepish smile upon her. “That depends on you, I guess.”

  “On me? I’ve already given you leave to do so.”

  “It’d not be any of my business, Miss Emma, but exactly what is the fancy earl to you?”

  Emma removed her eyes from him, just the smallest hint of guilt coloring her own cheeks. “He is nothing to me,” she said and knew, even as she spoke the words, that they were false. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Methinks she doth protest too much,” Callum said gently. “Frankly, Miss Emma, if you were mine, I’d call you Emma. But I’ve a feeling your heart lies elsewhere.”

  She suspected as much as well, dreadful as the very idea was to her. She cast her misting eyes to Callum, who watched her carefully with a wan smile, and could do nothing more than shrug, that one motion expressing a wealth of turmoil and sadness.

  They pulled up in front of the modiste just then and even before Emma could move, she felt his hand upon hers in her lap. “I’ll be here at ten,” he said.

  Emma shook her head. “You needn’t be. I don’t want you to think—“

  He squeezed her hand. “You’re still my friend. True, I’d wish more, but I can see that your affections are otherwise engaged.”

  Sadly, Emma nodded, “And that, I wish otherwise.”

  “Can’t tell the heart whom to love,” he said sagely and let go of her hand.

  Emma entered the shop on High Street just before Madam Carriere might have locked up for the night. The little French woman was coming down the stairs of the beautifully appointed shop, a tape measure thrown around her neck, and a plump pin cushion cinched at her wrist. She stopped, near to the bottom of the stairs, staring at Emma with a confused expression on her face.