Regina Scott (20 page)

* * *

Emma hardly slept that night. For one thing, her pillow kept getting damp despite her best efforts not to cry. She knew why Nick’s dismissal hurt so much. She had begun to build dreams about him.

She’d had dreams fall down before—when she’d been adopted only to find she wasn’t to be part of her new family, when she’d heard a gentleman was interested in courting her only to learn her foster father was using her as a bargaining ploy, pretending she mattered to him to ensure his colleague’s loyalty. Those had been terrible disappointments, but the Lord had helped her through them, and she’d never stopped dreaming.

Oh, but Lord, this one hurts more!

She hadn’t experienced the love of family, so she’d been able to persevere without it. She hadn’t known the man who was interested in her, so refusing his courtship hadn’t mattered all that much. Now she knew the challenge of Nick’s company, the pleasure of his kiss, the joy of seeing him rise to the role of Alice’s father. This time it would be harder to let go.

She also wasn’t sure Mrs. Dunworthy would let the matter go. She’d been so sure of Emma’s guilt, so positive that Nick was blind to it. How would the lady react when she heard Nick intended to keep Emma on as nanny?

Ivy evidently had the same concerns.

“I’m very glad to see you this morning, Miss Pyrmont,” she said when she came to help Emma dress. “The Grange wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Mrs. Jennings said similar things when Emma came to fetch Alice’s breakfast tray. The cook went so far as to enfold Emma in a hug. “Never you mind Mrs. Dunworthy,” she murmured. “You are the best person to set foot in Alice’s life in a good many years. I can see the difference you made in Sir Nicholas. Don’t let that woman drive you away!”

Emma smiled as they disengaged, but it was harder to smile when Mrs. Dunworthy came to the nursery later that morning with Dorcus in tow. After greeting Alice, she left the maid to watch her niece then ordered Emma to join her in her suite for a private word.

Emma walked silently beside the woman through the main corridor of the Grange. She’d never thought such grandeur would be hers to manage, but the thought of leaving it behind under such conditions hurt. Mrs. Dunworthy led her into the suite, then shut the door behind Emma. Even Charles was absent, as if Mrs. Dunworthy wanted no witness to the conversation. She went to her desk and took her seat behind it, picking up her quill as if to note Emma’s shortcomings on paper.

“I do not agree with Nicholas’s decision to keep you on,” she said to the paper. “What did you say to him last night?”

Too many things, though she regretted none of them. She only regretted his decision to lock away his heart.

“I merely explained my innocence,” Emma replied.

The quill continued moving. “You told him everything? About your father, your experiences in London?”

Experiences? Emma sucked in a breath. She’d never told anyone about her foster father’s abuse. Had Mrs. Dunworthy somehow learned of it?

“Experiences, madam?” she hedged.

Mrs. Dunworthy waved her quill. “Your work there. Didn’t Mr. Jones say the two of you had been involved in your father’s experiments?”

She made it sound as if Emma had been a natural philosopher, too. Emma shook her head. “I don’t know what Jerym said, madam, but I assure you I was little help to science.”

“Do not attempt to sway me with humility.” Mrs. Dunworthy raised her head and met Emma’s gaze. “You owe your position to my good graces. However, if I find you have been derelict in your duty to Alice, you will be discharged immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dunworthy,” Emma said, wanting to retreat and fight for her position at the same time. “I didn’t take Sir Nicholas’s work, and I’m glad for the opportunity to remain Alice’s nanny.”

“For now,” Mrs. Dunworthy said, and she waved a hand to dismiss Emma.

Emma walked quickly back to the nursery. The woman obviously held her in contempt. Why else bring her all this way only to warn her? With Mrs. Dunworthy’s enmity, the possibility of a governess and her own feelings for Nick, she would be wise to look for a new position. Yet she couldn’t help feeling that, despite everything, her place was here.

If only she knew what place that was.

Chapter Twenty

N
ick was almost glad when Charles came to his study that night to confirm that the staff had found no trace of his notes. Re-creating his efforts would take Herculean effort, but it might be the only thing that would keep him too busy to think about Emma. He’d hurt her badly; he could see that. But allowing her to think something further could come from their companionship would have hurt her even more. Better that she knew now and could find someone who would love her as she deserved.

However, the footman had other news.

“You asked me to report anything unusual about that Mr. Jones, sir,” he said as he stood at attention before Nick’s desk.

Nick leaned back from the piles of books and frowned. “Mr. Jones was a member of the staff for less than a day.”

“Indeed, sir.” Charles’s face never changed, so Nick could not be sure whether the matter distressed or pleased him. “I was present when he tendered his resignation and Mrs. Dunworthy gave him a note to take back to London.”

A note? Very likely a reference. Charlotte had been in a generous mood. “Then what is the problem, Charles?”

The footman went so far as to lick his lips. “The other day, when we were up at the mine, Ivy fetched Miss Rotherford’s kite back from the woods. She told me she thought she saw someone out there. I wondered whether Mr. Jones actually left, sir, especially considering the theft tonight.”

Charlotte had intimated as much. She seemed to think Samuel Fredericks, and by extension Emma, was behind the theft. Was it possible Fredericks had sent his son to rob the house, steal the notes? Why leave the prototype behind in the nursery? The pieces of data continued to multiply; they simply did not add up.

One thing Nick knew: his best defense against additional claims of plagiarism and miscalculation was to prove the worth of his prototype, before any other natural philosopher constructed one of his own. He would put his mind to re-creating his notes and try to forget about the woman upstairs who had captured his heart.

* * *

Emma saw Nick rarely the next few days, catching glimpses of him through the kitchen window. Alice continued to take dinner with him, though Emma was excused, and often he shared the evening with the girl. At least he still spent time with Alice. She’d been afraid he would corner himself in his laboratory until he’d completed documenting his work. Still, she found herself missing him.

The one time she saw more of him was at services that Sunday. As before, she made it a point to try to see him over and around the other parishioners. But the sight of him brought no comfort. His broad shoulders seemed to sag; his dark head was bowed. Was he speaking to his Savior about some worry, or had he lost hope?

Please, Lord, help him. You always gave me more to hope for, to strive toward. Show him how to resolve whatever is troubling him.

Unfortunately, she left the services feeling just as troubled. She had no doubt that, having solved the problem once, he could do so again. But she knew how important a natural philosopher’s notes were to him. Without the painstaking documentation of trial and effort, it was more difficult to prove the advancement of knowledge. Certainly creating a paper to be read at a Royal Society meeting would be more challenging. Failing that, how would he regain his reputation with his peers?

He was so much on her mind that she could not be surprised when he showed up at the breakfast table in the nursery the following Wednesday.

“No biscuits today,” Alice told him with a sorrowful face.

Nick’s smile tugged on Emma’s heart. “I’m sure whatever Mrs. Jennings sent up will be delightful,” he assured her. “And I’m not here for biscuits. I thought you and Miss Pyrmont should know that my lamp will be tested tomorrow.”

Emma’s delight slipped out despite herself. “Oh, Nick, that’s wonderful!”

His smile deepened as if he were as pleased by the matter, but she couldn’t help noticing the circles under his dark eyes, the pallor of his skin. It seemed he’d been going without food and sleep again.

“May I come?” Alice asked.

Nick shook his head. “No, Alice. It may be dangerous. However, it appears that two of my colleagues from London will be joining us.”

“Thank the Lord,” Emma said, relief palpable. “You’ll have your vindication.”

He did not look nearly as glad. “I was hoping you’d still be willing to attend the demonstration, Miss Pyrmont.”

He said it carefully, politely, but something in the way he held himself told her the matter was important to him. It was easy to answer him. She wanted to see him succeed, to have others acknowledge his worth.

“Certainly,” she said. “So long as Ivy cares for Alice while I’m gone.”

He took a deep breath as if she’d relieved a burden. But still his look didn’t lighten.

“There is another matter,” he said, body as stiff as his words. “And it may affect your decision. One of the members of the Royal Society who will be attending the demonstration and staying here at the Grange is your foster father, Samuel Fredericks.”

Emma stared at him, feeling as if the chair had sunk under the table. “Mr. Fredericks, here?”

“Lady Chamomile doesn’t like him,” Alice said, though Emma was certain she’d never mentioned her foster father in front of the child.

“As I have said before,” Nick replied to Alice, “Lady Chamomile is very wise. I’m not overjoyed by his presence either. However, we should let Miss Pyrmont decide whether she’s willing to receive the gentleman.”

Receive him? The familiar dread at the sound of his heavy footstep on the stair came back to her, the anger when she’d bandaged the latest burn or bruise on one of her foster brothers.

Yet she wasn’t that little girl anymore. She had a position, a future that didn’t revolve around her foster father. So long as Nick wrote her a good reference when she was finished here, and she continued to choose jobs outside London, Samuel Fredericks could only do so much to affect her life.

Thank You, Lord!

“If he asks after me,” she said to Nick, “I will meet him. But please don’t expect more.”

He covered her hand on the table with his. Emotions flooded her, threatening to swamp her. She pulled back from his touch.

He rose, face all tight angles once more. “I’ll send word when we’re ready to leave,” he said, and he left before she could think what to say. She only prayed that Fredericks would leave her in peace.

She couldn’t help feeling some trepidation, however, the next morning. Knowing how Mrs. Dunworthy felt about Emma borrowing her deceased sister’s clothes, Emma had returned the apron dress and the ball gown. So she was wearing one of her brown wool gowns that afternoon when Dorcus brought word Emma was wanted in the withdrawing room.

“Where’s Ivy?” Emma asked quietly after making sure Alice was occupied with changing Lady Chamomile into a new gown Emma had made from fabric Mrs. Jennings had supplied.

“Pressed into service as a lady’s maid,” Dorcus griped. “Mr. Fredericks brought his wife, but no lady to attend her. Ivy must help her change for every occasion and see to her room between times.”

Emma knew the pattern. What lady in London saw to the Fredericks women now that Emma was no longer there, she wondered. She instructed Dorcus about the activities she’d planned for the next few hours in case she was to accompany Nick to the mine immediately and made sure Alice was comfortable before going downstairs.

To her surprise, Nick was waiting outside the withdrawing room door. As on the day of Alice’s ball, he was dressed like a proper gentleman in navy coat and fawn trousers tucked into polished boots. The memory of that day, dancing beside him, sent her spirits even lower.

As if he felt the same, he came to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. As when she’d last seen him in the nursery, his features were so tightly controlled she knew he was masking strong emotions.

“Fredericks insisted that I invite you down,” Nick said. “I have done so. But that doesn’t mean you have to face him. I can offer your regrets.”

“I’m not so fainthearted,” she assured him.

He nodded. One hand moved, as if he longed to reach out to her again, but otherwise he held himself still.

“Neither did I think you were,” he said. “But your description of Fredericks seemed to imply that he had done you a disservice. It would be understandable if you preferred not to meet him.”

Understandable but not the woman she wanted to be. “It’s all right, Sir Nicholas. Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

In answer, he held out his arm to escort her. His cocked head told her he wasn’t sure she’d accept. Her hand did not tremble as she placed it on his. Together, they entered the withdrawing room.

Her foster father was seated on one of the upholstered chairs, his shoulders and paunch straining the fine fabric of his russet-colored coat and satin-striped waistcoat. Both hands were braced on the ebony walking stick planted before him. Her foster mother, in a demure muslin gown trimmed with lace, her graying blond hair set in ringlets, sat on the sofa next to Mrs. Dunworthy, who looked equally fashionable in her gray lustring gown.

Mr. Fredericks stood as Nick led Emma into the group. “Emma! How good it is to see you!”

Mrs. Fredericks rose as well and rushed forward to embrace Emma, pulling her away from Nick. “Oh, Emma, darling! How we’ve missed you!”

Emma held herself still, stunned. Tears glistened in her foster mother’s blue eyes as she disengaged, and her usually rosy cheeks were pale. The woman who had spoken to her only when needed to issue commands seemed genuinely touched to see her. It made no sense.

Nick must have seen how shaken she was. “Won’t you sit down, Miss Pyrmont?” he said, holding out a chair for her. Emma sank onto the seat and was glad when Nick stood beside her. Mr. Fredericks and his wife returned to their seats, as well.

“And how do you like these mountains, eh?” her foster father asked as if she’d merely gone on a sightseeing jaunt after leaving his household.

She prayed for the strength to be polite, as well. “The Grange estate is lovely,” Emma replied with a look to Nick. “Alice and I love walking in the woods.”

She turned back in time to see Mr. Fredericks frown. “Alice?” he asked.

“My daughter,” Nick offered, laying a hand on Emma’s shoulder as if to protect her. “She is very fond of Miss Pyrmont.”

“And who isn’t?” her foster father said, face brightening in a grin that widened his jowls. He thumped his walking stick against the geometric pattern of the carpet as if to prove it. “Very clever of you to steal a march on her other suitors, Rotherford, and invite her to visit. Nothing like keeping the belle of London all to yourself.”

The belle of London? What was he doing? She’d never had a London Season. He hadn’t even allowed her to accompany his daughters on their Seasons, as if she was an embarrassment to the family. Jerym must have told him she was working at the Grange, not lounging on the chaise comparing impressions of the latest styles with Mrs. Dunworthy.

That lady was quick to correct the impression. “Miss Pyrmont isn’t a visitor,” she said with a smile Emma thought to be as false as Mr. Fredericks’s. “She is employed as Alice’s nanny.”

Mrs. Fredericks gasped and clutched her generous bosom. Her husband scowled. “I say, Mrs. Dunworthy, I know you and Mrs. Fredericks have been great friends since you were girls in London, but that’s a rather poor joke, our Emma working.”

Emma could stand it no longer. She rose, forcing Mr. Fredericks to his feet, as well.

“What must be more humorous to you, sir,” she said, voice choking, “is that someone would actually pay me for an honest day’s work after I served as a slave in your household for more than a decade. I wish you both well, and I thank you for giving me room and board. But please stop pretending I am more to you.” Head high, she picked up her skirts, sweeping toward the door as elegantly as Mrs. Dunworthy ever had. It was a rather satisfying feeling.

Unfortunately, it was short-lived. Mr. Fredericks pushed past her to intercept her. “Emma! How can you say such things to your own mother and father?”

Blocked from the door, Emma met his gaze defiantly. Though his face was slack as if from great sorrow, there was no mistaking the cunning gleaming from his pale blue eyes.

What was he up to? Why was he so determined that Nicholas and Mrs. Dunworthy think Emma his beloved child? Was he afraid how his colleagues would react if they suspected his cruelty to the children he adopted? Before meeting Nick, she’d assumed they would have been in agreement with him: any sacrifice for the expansion of knowledge.

“My mother and father died when I was six,” she replied. “I have repaid any debt I owed you a dozen times over. I won’t hear otherwise.”

“What did I tell you, Charlotte?” Mrs. Fredericks lamented, drawing out a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. “You see how stubborn she can be? Oh, the stories I could tell you, Sir Nicholas.”

“Yes, your family seems particularly adept at storytelling,” Nick said, going to join Emma. Everything about him was calm, composed, yet she could see the finger moving beside his thigh. What was he calculating now?

“But take heart,” he continued. “It seems Miss Pyrmont learned well from her time with you. She’s been wonderful with Alice and invaluable in my work.”

“Your work?” Mr. Fredericks drew himself up, face reddening. “Emma, tell me you did not share my discoveries with this man.”

That was it! That was her foster father’s game. Whether through Jerym or some other servant, he must have stolen Nick’s notes, and he intended to pass off the work as his own, claiming Emma had shared the secrets.

And the worst of it was, Emma had shared information, the things she’d gleaned while working in his house. She’d been the one to direct Nick toward material properties, to create the new wick. If she was called before the Royal Society to testify, she knew how they’d rule on the matter. And Nick would never reclaim his reputation!

“I have nothing further to say to you,” she answered, voice shaking. “I am a nanny in this house. Nothing more. Excuse me, sir, madam. I must return to my duties.”