Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon (21 page)

Sir Henry was already walking across
the lawn toward them and slid into place behind Morgan. “We can
start as soon as Miss Hathaway convinces this Kingley to join
us.”

Emma put her hands to her mouth in
order to do just that, but then Sir Henry held up a hand to stop
her.

“
On second thought, perhaps
you three ought to go inside and have your maids assist you in
changing into something more suitable. There’s no call for you to
ruin such lovely gowns.”

And he didn’t even know about the one
she and Mr. Cardiff had destroyed just last night. Emma nodded and
fought back her blush, hoping no one would notice. “Right you are.
In we go, ladies.”

Fanny had insisted she could repair
last night’s gown, but Emma held sincere doubt on that score.
Nevertheless, the lady’s maid had pulled it from Emma’s hands
before she could toss it in the fire and run off with it. Heaven
only knew where she’d taken it or what she’d done with
it.

Half an hour later, they reconvened on
the lawn wearing more serviceable frocks they’d borrowed from
Vanessa. Not one of the three had thought to bring anything of the
sort with them, but then again, none of them had been planning to
spend their afternoons frolicking with a dog.

“
Kingley!” Emma called as
they made their way back over the field to join Sir
Henry.

He wasn’t alone—Lord Muldaire, Lord
Trenowyth, Lord Burington, and Mr. Deering had all taken up seats
beneath a shade tree, watching over the scene. Several of the
ladies from the party had gathered together, as well, seated
together on a blanket spread over the lawn with several parasols
shading them from the sun. A great iron tub had been carried out
and waited on the ground beside Sir Henry, and a series of footmen
were carting out buckets of water to fill it. He held a piece of
soap in one hand and waved them forward.

If they were to bathe the dog today,
they should all thank the heavens they had changed their gowns.
Emma was more thankful than before that Vanessa had been able to
spare some for them to borrow.

Before they reached Sir Henry’s side,
Kingley had bounded around the side of the great house from the
direction of the woods, racing straight for them with a series of
happy barks.

Emma held out a hand to him, and he
shoved his head into it in an effort to both nuzzle her and smother
her with affection. It seemed he loved her even more each time she
saw him. Soon, he’d be the same way with Morgan, since she would be
the one giving him time and attention.

“
Right, then.” Sir Henry
took off his coat and rolled back the sleeves of his shirt. “Miss
Hathaway, Miss Weston, if you two will stay with Lady Morgan off to
the side, I’ll give Kingley a bath to rid him of his
fleas.”

Emma felt a twinge of disappointment
that she wasn’t allowed to participate in every aspect of today’s
lessons, but she grudgingly nodded her assent. She had no intention
of doing anything that would cause Sir Henry to change his
mind.

He tried to take Kingley by
the scruff of his neck and guide him into the tub.
Tried
being the important
part of that sentiment, because Kingley would have none of it. He
growled low in his throat and snapped his jaws menacingly at Sir
Henry each time the baronet made an attempt to move closer to the
group of them. Within moments, Kingley had situated himself between
the three ladies and Sir Henry, and barked warning after
warning.

“
Oh, dear.” Emma hadn’t
expected this sort of reaction. She reached down and drew her hand
along Kingley’s back, trying to calm him.

Again, he nuzzled the palm of her
hand. How odd, that Kingley could be so gentle with her, and yet so
menacing toward Sir Henry. She chanced a glance over to Lord
Trenowyth and the other men and couldn’t help but notice the looks
of apprehension upon their faces.

They didn’t think this would work,
blast them. Emma straightened her spine and steeled her
nerves.

Well, most of them appeared to feel
that way. Mr. Deering gave her a brief nod, his kind smile as
apparent as ever. Then he started across the lawn to join
them.

Emma turned back to Sir Henry, and she
noted the same disdainful expression deep within his eyes. Blast,
but she refused to let them make a mockery of her. Not now. Not
when it was something that could mean such a difference for
Morgan.

She gritted her teeth and straightened
her spine, determined now, more than ever before, that she would
teach Kingley to aid Morgan—with or without Sir Henry’s assistance.
“I think it might be best if I assist you, sir.”

He started to shake his head, as
though he would refuse her, but Emma snapped her fingers and
started forward. Sure enough, Kingley came along right by her side,
as did Serena with Morgan on her arm.

“
I’ll assist as well,” Mr.
Deering said confidently. And, oddly enough, Kingley stopped
growling when the barrister came near.

Emma nodded, then bent down and put
both arms beneath Kingley, one near his front legs and the other
near his hind legs. She straightened her legs to lift him, buckling
slightly under his weight. Mr. Deering added his arms to the job,
and Kingley allowed him to do so. Moments later, the dog was in the
tub and shaking, spraying the lot of them with water.

Morgan gasped, but then laughed with
true joy. “Kingley, you rascal.”

When Emma looked up again, Sir Henry
stared down at the scene before him, slack-jawed. “Well then.” He
bent with his soap and started to lather it upon Kingley’s fur, but
stopped with the growl that came from the animal.

Serena held out a hand, and Sir Henry
placed the soap within it.

A chorus of laughter echoed over to
them from the direction of the other gentlemen.

Emma and Serena set to work scrubbing
Kingley all over while Mr. Deering kept him in the tub. The dog
tried to climb out on multiple occasions, but Mr. Deering managed
to keep him inside the confines with Morgan’s help. She had knelt
on the ground beside the tub and scratched him behind the ears
while talking nonsense to him, which seemed to keep him fairly well
occupied and entertained.

It was only right that she should take
part in this, after all. He needed to come to know her and care for
her. To trust that she would take care of him in return.

Growing the bond between them,
creating the degree of trust that would be required on both their
parts, was quite possibly the most important thing they needed to
do in terms of training Kingley and teaching Morgan how to work
with him.

Not that Emma was any sort of an
expert on these things. She just had a sense for the outcasts of
the world. They seemed to always flock to her like sheep. She ought
to know them better than most; she was one of them.

Several minutes later, Emma, Serena,
Morgan, and Mr. Deering were each easily as wet as Kingley, but he
had successfully been scrubbed and rinsed. Once freed from the
restraint of the tub, he raced over the lawn like something was
chasing him, trying to dry his fur in the wind he created. Thank
goodness the air was not too chilled.

“
Now, Sir Henry?” Emma
turned to him even as she tried to dry her hands on her gown, but
with it being wet also, her efforts were essentially pointless.
“What is to be our next step?”

He gave her a wry grin. “Now we teach
him to obey. But I thought you might have already known that…since
you seem to be the one leading today’s lesson.”

A flush raced up her cheeks, but it
might not have been noticeable due to her exertions in bathing
Kingley. Perhaps no one had noticed.

Nevertheless, she called for Kingley
again and he raced back to her side, looking up at her with his
tail wagging so hard that water flung out in all
directions.

Emma sincerely doubted training
Kingley would be half as difficult as Sir Henry seemed to believe.
Already, the dog would do anything she wanted. She scratched him
behind the ears, and Serena and Morgan followed suit.

Now she just had to determine what she
wanted him to do, so she could convince him to do it.

The light in the hermitage had begun
to dim faster than Aidan was prepared for. The whole day couldn’t
have already passed him by, could it have? But when he looked up
from the angel and scanned the horizon out the window, he knew he
only had limited daylight left. He’d need to return to the main
house soon.

Not that he doubted his abilities in
navigating the dark, but it wasn’t ever a good idea to go off
traipsing through the woods without a lantern.

Still, he was loath to stop working
now. In just the single day, he’d begun to shape the angel’s face
into something recognizable, with penetrating eyes seeking
something off in the distance and high cheekbones and a narrow
nose. He could see her, not only in his mind, but also in the
marble.

And in the all-too-familiar blisters
covering his hands. If he’d never stopped sculpting, the blisters
wouldn’t feel so unnatural. They’d just be part of him, like the
calluses and scars, the cords of muscle formed by years of his
labors. But now they were new and fresh, and bloody
painful.

They only made him want to continue—to
build new calluses and break new skin, all in the name of creating
the masterpiece he knew was buried within tons of
marble.

Yet, if there would not be enough
light for him to safely return to the main house, there certainly
would not be enough for him to see his creation. He couldn’t risk
making a mistake with his chisels—digging too deep, striking too
hard with his hammer. This was a delicate part of the work, where
each motion added character and depth. Take off too much here,
angle the chisel slightly wrong there, and his angel would
permanently bear the wrong expression. It would be tantamount to
ruining the whole piece, and he might as well scrap it entirely and
start over, should that happen.

A cursory search through the hermitage
revealed no lanterns, no candles—not even a tender box. If he
didn’t leave now, he’d be stuck here alone all night, whilst
incapable of working even, or he’d be forced to attempt the
ill-advised journey along the not-yet-familiar path with nothing to
guide his way.

With that in mind, he cleaned up the
mess he’d created as best he could while still leaving his supplies
in a manner in which they’d be ready for a new day’s work, and then
he closed the door behind him.

The next time he came, be it tomorrow
or some other day, he’d have to be certain to bring the key with
him. He doubted anyone would stumble upon the hermitage and do
anything to harm his work, but there was no point in risking it.
Particularly not since he knew Muldaire had found the place. If he
had, Lord only knew who else might.

He hated to be disturbed while he
worked. Disruptions splintered the mood in his work space,
shattering the muse in his mind.

As he traversed the woods, heading
back toward the main house, he sorted through several possible
excuses he could offer Niall as to why he would become scarce for
the remainder of the house party, ever hopeful he could stumble
upon one which would satisfy his brother’s moral
compass.

Not an entirely simple prospect.
Niall’s moral compass always pointed true north. There was only one
option in any situation that was right, and thousands which were
wrong. To him, they were all guests, and therefore must always take
part in every activity offered by their host and hostess for the
guests. To Niall, David’s suggestion that Aidan begin sculpting
again would not fit within those confines. That would be one of the
many grays in Aidan’s world, but for Niall it was pure
black.

Nothing had truly struck him yet by
the time he exited the woods and started across the open expanse of
the yard—and then he found himself incapable of thinking of such
things entirely.

Morgan was wearing some ill-fitting
gray gown that looked in dire need of laundering, alongside Miss
Hathaway and Miss Weston, each in similar attire. Sir Henry Irvine
and Mr. Deering were with them—as was that damned mutt Miss
Hathaway had been feeding and coddling and treating like a
pet.