Regina Scott (12 page)

Or so he assured himself as he escorted her and Alice back to the safety of the Grange.

Chapter Twelve

E
mma’s heart was swelling as she watched Nicholas help Alice down the stairs, the mangled kite tucked under his arm. Her foster father and brothers would never have taken such care of a makeshift kite. If they’d found her crying over it, they’d either have laughed at her for taking the thing so seriously or scolded her for wasting precious time. Precious time, ha! What was precious was spending time with Alice. Surely Nicholas was beginning to understand that.

He escorted them all the way back to the nursery. Alice ran to the table. “Come on, Papa! Let’s fix it now.”

“I fear it will take more than the work of a moment, Alice,” he said. “Let me see what I can do and return it to you.” He bowed to his daughter, then to the doll propped up on the chair next to hers. “And a very pleasant day to you, too, Lady Chamomile.”

Alice gave him an approving nod. “You can stay for a biscuit, Papa.”

The hope in her voice touched Emma. But if Nicholas felt a similar longing, he didn’t show it. “Not right now, Alice, but thank you. Emma, may I have a word?” He nodded toward the door, and Emma moved to join him.

“Will she be all right?” he murmured in the doorway, gaze on Alice where she was telling her doll about their adventure.

“Most likely,” Emma assured him. “So long as you keep your promise.”

He inclined his head “I’ll do my best. But I will hold you to your promise, as well.” His gaze met hers, dark, probing, as if he would learn her deepest secrets.

Emma licked her lips. “Promise?”

“To help me with my experiment.”

His experiment. Of course. Always it came back to that. Her smile felt stiff. “Certainly, sir. I’d be delighted to help, so long as it doesn’t affect my other duties.”

He nodded and excused himself, but she wasn’t sure he’d actually agreed with her. Well, if he thought she was going to put his work before Alice, he had better recalculate.

She smiled to herself as she helped Alice out of her pelisse and half boots and into slippers for the evening. What would her foster brothers think if they saw how bold she had become, telling the master the error of his ways! She had never dared argue with Mr. Fredericks. None of them had. She still remembered the first time Jerym, the oldest of her foster brothers, had talked back.

Jerym had been ten when they’d all been sent to live with the Frederickses and already big for his age. He’d been assigned footman duties, fetching and carrying for the household from before dawn until after the family had retired for the evening. One night Mr. Fredericks had finished in his laboratory late, leaving a simmering batch of materials that stank.

“See that you clean that up before you go to bed, boy,” he’d ordered Jerym.

“I wouldn’t know how, sir,” he’d sneered. “Me being a stupid orphan boy and all.”

The blow from the back of Fredericks’s hand had dislodged a tooth; the fall had strained a muscle in his leg. Emma hadn’t known how to save the tooth when her foster brother had limped into the attic room he shared with the other boys that night. Little Barty had come to fetch her. She’d cried to see the bloody hole in Jerym’s mouth.

His grin had still been cocky. “It’s all right, Emma,” he’d said. “I was never all that good-looking to begin with. One less tooth isn’t going to hurt matters.”

The memory now pulled the smile from her face. They had all suffered under Mr. Fredericks. Boys eager for love and approval had become sullen, fearful or resigned. She’d been the only one to escape when she’d reached her majority at twenty-one. If only her foster brothers had left, as well! They had ended up believing Mr. Fredericks that life anywhere else would only be worse. She wished she knew how to prove otherwise, but not everyone was cut out for service, and certainly Mr. Fredericks would never have given them any kind of reference to obtain another position.

I know You can reach them, Lord. Help them find a better way!

She had hoped the kite would take first priority that evening with Nicholas, but his calculations must have proved too tempting because dinner arrived with no further sign of him. Emma shook her head as she sat at the table with Alice. What would it take to get through to the man? She clasped her hands and said the blessing, then began serving up the ragout of lamb Mrs. Jennings had sent up with fresh-baked bread and butter.

As if she knew Emma was fuming inside, Alice reached out to pat her hand. “It’s all right that Papa didn’t come, Nanny,” she said, little face serious. “He must be still working on our kite.”

Emma smiled at her. “I’m sure you’re right, Alice. I was just hoping your father could join us for dinner.”

Alice gave a gusty sigh. “Me, too.” She glanced at Emma through her thick lashes. “I wanted to play more games with him tonight. I’m good at games.”

“Yes, you are,” Emma agreed, smile deepening.

Alice appeared about to say something more, but she looked up, and her face brightened. “Papa!”

Emma stiffened, then pasted on a smile and turned for the doorway, as well. Nicholas was striding toward them, but the look on his angular features was more determined than welcoming. In his arms he held a kite. Unlike the kite Emma and Alice had made, this one was constructed of a blue fabric bowed over its struts. Emma wouldn’t have been surprised to find that every angle had been precisely calculated.

Alice slipped out of her chair with a cry and ran to meet him.

He stopped just short of the table to avoid a collision. “Good evening, Alice, Emma,” he said with a nod. “I believe the kite is ready for its next flight.”

Alice bounced on the balls of her feet. “Can I have it?”

“In a moment.” He bent to show it to her. “I made a few changes,” he explained as she gazed longingly at it. “See the wood here? Mr. Wilson, our head gardener, located it for me. It’s willow, light and supple, less likely to snap. And Mrs. Jennings supplied a few more rags for the tail. That ought to help keep it away from chimney pots.”

“Oh, Papa!” Alice said breathlessly. “It’s beautiful!” She grabbed his hand. “Let’s go try it now!”

He chuckled but didn’t allow her to tug him toward the door. “I’m afraid we’ll have to wait at least until tomorrow. That’s no wind for one thing, and for another I need to talk to Emma.”

While she knew it was too late to go fly a kite, Emma still wasn’t willing to let him retreat again so soon. Perhaps if she kept him talking, she might think of another way to connect him with Alice that evening.

“Come finish your dinner, then, Alice,” Emma said, patting the seat. As Alice hurried back to the table, Emma turned to Nicholas. “And what did you wish of me, sir?”

He set the kite on one of the chairs and fished in his waistcoat pocket to draw out a scrap of parchment which he offered to Emma. Easy enough to take it, but easy was too good for him. She eyed the paper, then returned her gaze to his, brows raised in question.

Alice wiggled into her seat. “What is it, Papa?”

“My specifications for a very special wick to use in my lamp,” he replied, gaze on Emma’s. “I need your nanny to create something to these precise dimensions.”

Emma laughed despite herself. “I fear you have never knitted,” she said. “It may not be so precise an art.” Still, she took the paper and began to review the numbers on it.

“Then you can’t do it?”

His disappointment shouted from every syllable. Glancing up, she saw that his mouth had sagged. So had his shoulders. Odd. She’d never known even her foster father to put so much hope into his work.

“I didn’t say it was impossible,” Emma hedged, glancing down at the numbers again. “Simply taxing. Do these dimensions have any tolerance?”

His fingers were tapping at his thigh again, a tattoo that had a distinctly militant air. Perhaps the movement helped him think. There were times she was certain she thought better with her knitting needles moving in her fingers.

“Perhaps an eighth of an inch in either direction,” he said.

Emma clucked her tongue. “You set a high standard, sir. How many of these will you need?”

He rocked to the heels of his boots and back. “A dozen to start.”

A dozen? That might take her a few hours. Very likely she could work on the things in the evenings while Alice played with Lady Chamomile, but she’d have preferred to spend her time reading with the little girl. If Nicholas wanted that much of her time, it was only right that he give his daughter the same amount.

“And have you the appropriate yarn available?” she asked, making sure that Alice was eating her dinner.

“Charlotte assures me she can supply your every need,” he replied, taking a step back from the table as if the matter was settled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Oh, no. She was not about to let him get away. If he’d been so busy with the kite and his calculations, he likely had foregone dinner, as well. Food had helped them once. Why not try again?

“But I have questions about your dimensions,” she said, pushing out one of the chairs with her foot. “Why don’t you sit and help me understand?”

He returned to sit with a sigh, as if resigned to his fate. “Very well. What more do you need to know?”

Emma lifted the lid of the tureen, which was still half full, and let the savory aroma of the ragout waft toward him. By the flare of his nostrils, she knew he’d caught the scent. He leaned closer.

“An interesting set of dimensions,” she said, giving the ladle a stir. “However did you devise them?”

He scooted the chair closer to the table. “It was a matter of fuel and oxygen, just as you surmised. Would you have any extra of that?”

“Oh, I’m certain we have a bowl around here somewhere,” Emma said. She rose to go fetch one from the cupboard. “So am I making the fuel?”

“Its conduit, to be sure,” he said.

“Bread, Papa?” Alice asked, offering him the basket.

He smiled at her, and she glowed. “Thank you, Alice.” He selected a piece and took up the knife from beside the pat of butter to begin spreading the creamy yellow on the bread.

“So I’m making the wick,” Emma said, returning to the table with a porcelain bowl. She began ladling the ragout into it.

“Exactly,” he said, watching her. Indeed, his gaze made her aware of every movement, every breath. When she handed him the bowl, her fingers were trembling.

“Thank you,” he said, and she wasn’t sure whether it was merely the food he meant. As if he realized the tension in the air as well, he dropped his gaze to his bowl and continued his explanation.

“I believe by varying the width and length of the material, I can keep the lamp burning brightly enough to shed sufficient light but not so hot as to ignite the flammable air.”

“How interesting,” Emma said, pouring him a glass of lemonade. She followed with one for herself and kept her fingers against the cool of the glass.

“What’s flammable air?” Alice asked.

He spent the next bit explaining the gas to Alice as they ate their ragout. Emma took a deep breath before sipping at her lemonade. Why had his glance so discomposed her? A brief moment in his company, and she was nearly giddy. She tried to focus on his words, the way he carefully defined the terms and used examples Alice would understand. But her gaze seemed to be fixed on his lips, moving slowly, surely.

She turned her head, smiled at Alice. That was where her mind should be, on this dear little girl. Alice was nodding earnestly, listening to everything her father said. Emma was certain she’d be hearing some of those phrases coming off the child’s lips in the next few days. Alice soaked up knowledge just as she soaked up her father’s attentions. Emma knew the same longing. How lovely to talk over dinner with a husband, her children at her side! To share confidences, hopes, dreams. To work together to make those dreams reality.

But not with Nicholas Rotherford. Even if she convinced him of the joys of spending time with Alice, he would not be the man for her. He was too cold, too calculating. He would never understand her dreams, and they could never be as important to him as his own. She would do what she’d come to do—be Alice Rotherford’s nanny. Nothing more. She tipped back the glass and drained it.

* * *

Nick was surprised to find his bowl and glass empty. He’d only intended to remain in the nursery a few minutes to hand Emma her instructions and deliver the kite. He hadn’t expected to prose on like an Eton don over lectures.

But Alice was an appreciative audience, and Emma was an interested one. Dinner was surprisingly pleasant taken with the two of them. He was quite satisfied that he’d insisted on the matter with Charlotte.

But now there was work to be done. He needed to modify the lamp he’d devised to better fit the wicks Emma would be knitting. He should double-check the oil he meant to use, ensure that it contained no impurities that might affect the burning. He set down his spoon and rose.

“Thank you for dinner, Alice, Emma. When may I expect to see the fruit of your labors?”

Alice giggled. “Silly Papa! Nanny doesn’t have fruit. Trees have fruit.”

Emma smiled, and he felt the oddest sensation in his stomach, as if a muscle was spasming but far more pleasant.

“Ah, but your father expects me to bear fruit, too, Alice,” she said. “Little white fruits made of wool.” She turned her smile on him and that sensation intensified. Was this what people meant when they spoke of butterflies in the stomach? His seemed an uncommonly large variety and rather determined.

“To answer your questions,” she said, “I believe I could complete six of the items a few days after I receive the yarn.”

He felt his own face tightening. “A few days?”

Her smile seemed tighter as well, and the butterflies in his stomach appeared to have fluttered away.

“I’m afraid so,” she replied. “My other duties must take precedence.”

Nick was ready to argue. Oh, he had no doubt that her duties with Alice were important, but surely someone else could be found to help his daughter so that Emma had time to knit. But a movement in the doorway caught his eye, and he realized that Charlotte had arrived.

“Did I hear something about your duties, Miss Pyrmont?” she asked, moving into the room with that skirt-swinging walk of hers. He wondered that they needed anyone to clean the floors the way Charlotte was forever sweeping about.