The Courting Campaign. Regina Scott
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to his child. “And how is Alice getting on here?” he asked.
“Fine,” she assured him as they reached the door of the dining room. “Though it is a little quiet, when you aren’t catching things on fire.”
He chuckled, and the warm sound sent gooseflesh skittering across her arms.
Oh, no! She was not about to be charmed by this man. She would put her reaction down to the wonder of dining in such style. And wonder was entirely warranted.
The Grange dining room was as large as the withdrawing room, with an elegant white marble fireplace on one pale green wall and three windows looking down the valley on the opposite wall. A cloth-draped table that could likely seat thirty ran down the center, with four places set at one end in fine china, sparkling crystal and gleaming silver. Candles in silver sconces glowed along the walls; lilies in a jade urn adorned the table. She’d never seen anything like it.
Mrs. Dunworthy was already seated to the left of the head, with Alice on the right. Sir Nicholas escorted Emma to the seat next to her charge and then went to take his place at the top. As he sat, his sister-in-law gazed at him expectantly, and he frowned a moment before bowing his head and asking the blessing. It seemed he was so rusty at being in Society he’d forgotten how to say grace!
A portion of the wall in one corner swung open from the warming room, and Dorcus and Ivy in caps and aprons carried in porcelain platters of dressed lamb and trout with mushrooms, followed by macaroni in a creamy cheese sauce and asparagus. Emma tried to ignore her host and focus on Alice, selecting small portions and plainer foods from the abundance offered. Alice alternated between squirming in her chair over every new experience and staring about her with wide eyes.
“And how are you this evening, Alice?” her father asked after all had been served and the maids had withdrawn.
Emma relaxed a little. If he spent the meal talking with his daughter, everything would be fine. She glanced at Alice, who was examining her trout as if she expected it to start swimming about the table.
“Lady Chamomile is very unhappy,” she told the fish.
Emma frowned. She’d figured out her first day at the Grange that the doll’s feelings generally mirrored Alice’s. What was causing her charge concern?
Sir Nicholas frowned, as well. “I hadn’t realized you’d visited our neighbors. Which estate is Lady Chamomile’s?”
Emma bit back a laugh. So, he didn’t know about the doll. She was fairly certain Alice wouldn’t explain. In fact, the girl was returning his frown as if giving the matter great thought. Emma couldn’t help herself.
“I believe Lady Chamomile owns a castle,” she offered, hiding her smile with a dab of her napkin.
Alice nodded solemnly. “A big castle.”
“Does she indeed?” Mrs. Dunworthy said, but Emma could see she was trying not to smile, too.
“Interesting.” He fiddled with his silver fork as if the movement helped spur his thinking. “I don’t recall anything approaching a castle in Dovecote Dale.”
“Unless you count the Duke of Bellington’s country estate Bellweather Hall,” Mrs. Dunworthy pointed out. “Of course, Bell is still in London I imagine, wrestling with some weighty matter in Parliament while his mother and sister lead the social whirl.”
Bell. They could speak of a duke with such familiarity. Even though dukes had been known to sponsor her foster father, she felt the gulf between her and this family widening.
“Then you visit Lady Chamomile often?” Sir Nicholas asked, obviously intent on discovering the truth about the matter.
“Most every day,” Emma assured him. “Isn’t that right, Alice?” She glanced at her charge.
Alice nodded again. “And she sleeps with me at night.”
His black brows shot up.
Mrs. Dunworthy laughed, a silvery sound that surprised Emma. “Oh, Miss Pyrmont, have pity on my overly logical brother-in-law and explain about Lady Chamomile before we perplex him any further.”
He turned his gaze to Emma’s, dark, directing. Oh, but this was too good an opportunity to forego. Emma offered him her sweetest smile. “Lady Chamomile,” she said obligingly, “is a very grand lady and Alice’s favorite doll. We shall have to introduce you to her, Sir Nicholas. Perhaps you could join us for tea, tomorrow.”
She had only meant him to spend more time with Alice, but Emma knew she’d overstepped her position again by the way Mrs. Dunworthy’s smile faded.
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” the lady said.
Emma swallowed and dropped her gaze to her plate. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”
“No offense taken,” she heard Sir Nicholas say, and she wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or his sister-in-law. “I only regret my work keeps me so busy that I must decline your invitation to join Alice and Lady Chamomile.”
Alice sighed.
Emma’s hand clenched on her fork, and she could not bring herself to pick up a mouthful of the meal. Too busy! He was too busy to spare his daughter a moment for tea. What was so important?
It wasn’t material need that motivated him—the amount of silver, from the cutlery to the candelabra, said the Rotherfords had more than enough income. He didn’t seem to be studying anything that would immediately save lives, like Dr. Beddoes and Mr. Davy used to do at the Pneumatic Institute in Bristol, where they used gases to help people fight off consumption. He didn’t even seem to have a sponsor or patron who expected results from an investment; at least she’d heard no word of it in the servants’ hall. Why couldn’t he find time for Alice?
“As I cannot join you tomorrow,” he continued, obviously unaware of her frustration, “perhaps you could be so good as to answer a few questions now.”
Her anger melted as quickly as it had come. This was what she had feared. Emma swallowed though she’d eaten nothing. “Questions?” She glanced up at him.
His warm smile would have assured her in other circumstances. Now she thought it stemmed from having something else to observe and study. “Yes. A very wise woman recently suggested that I should know more about the person who cares for my daughter.”
He meant to learn all about her. That was the way of natural philosophers. Still, she could hardly blame him. After all, she’d been the one to exclaim over the fact that he didn’t know his daughter’s nanny.
“I like Nanny,” Alice announced. She took a big bite of asparagus and made a face.
Mrs. Dunworthy seemed equally prepared to defend Emma. “I assure you, Nicholas,” she said, “I reviewed Miss Pyrmont’s credentials thoroughly before I employed her.”
“I’m certain you did,” he replied with a nod of approval, slicing through his lamb with brisk efficiency. “I’d merely like to hear about them myself.” Before his sister-in-law could argue further, he turned to Emma. “For instance, Miss Pyrmont, where were you born? Where were you raised?”
He could not know the position in which he had placed her. When Mrs. Dunworthy had made her nanny, the lady had ordered Emma not to speak of her background.
“There are some in this household,” Mrs. Dunworthy had said then, looking down her long nose, “who will never appreciate the plight of an orphan. I would prefer not to burden you with their disdain.”
Was Sir Nicholas one who would judge her? She glanced at her mistress for guidance, but Mrs. Dunworthy’s gaze was fixed on her brother-in-law, and her mouth was set in a tight line. It was up to Emma. She took a breath and told him the truth.
“I’m an orphan, Sir Nicholas,” she admitted. “I don’t remember much about my parents. I was a fosterling at the asylum in London.”
She