Where Love Dwells (15 page)

Emma glanced at Mark and Catherine before responding, as if reinforcing her position as the one person responsible for handling Wryn and her behavior. “Whatever the reason, you're still late for supper. If you'll wait for me in your room, I'll speak to you—”

“But I need to speak to you now,” Wryn insisted.

Emma cocked her brow. Responding to Wryn's demand and leaving her supper to cool while she dealt with whatever Wryn had to say was not the way she wanted to handle this confrontation, and she remained in her seat.

Wryn shrugged her shoulders. “Fine. I'll wait for you in my room until you finish your supper. You might want to stop by your office before you come upstairs to see me, but for now, I'll just stop there on my way upstairs to let the person waiting for you know
that you're more interested in eating your supper than you are in common courtesy,” she offered before disappearing from view.

For the second time that day, Emma deferred to Wryn, a pattern to their relationship that she definitely needed to correct before it became the norm. Curious about who might have come to call, she rose, caught Mother Garrett's disapproving glance, and walked out of the dining room.

Wryn was waiting for her at the bottom of the center staircase. “I met someone today on my way to the Glenns' and brought her back to Hill House.”

“Why?” Emma asked hesitantly.

“Because she needs help. Legal help.”

Emma shook her head. “I'm not a lawyer. Why would you even think I could—”

“I know you're not a lawyer, but you're going to marry one and you could speak to Mr. Breckenwith on her behalf.”

“Despite the fact that you think he's ‘ill-informed'?” Emma charged, using the very words Wryn had used at supper last night.

“He's apparently competent in some areas, given the document he just drafted on my behalf,” Wryn argued. “Besides, he'd be putting his legal experience to good use by helping someone who really needs his help rather than interfering with my life.”

“Mr. Breckenwith is away on business, or had you forgotten that fact?” Emma countered, reluctant to involve herself in something she suspected would only widen the estrangement she felt growing between herself and the man she had agreed to marry.

“She doesn't want to speak to him directly, which is why I brought her here. I promised you'd speak to her, but beyond that, I really don't want to say anything more about her predicament.
Do you want me to introduce you to her or do you still want me to wait for you in my room?”

Grateful to be given a choice, Emma nodded. “I'll meet with her and talk to you later. Does this caller of yours have a name?”

“Her name is Morning,” Wryn replied with a grin and scooted up the stairs.

Shaking her head, Emma opened the door to her office. Fully prepared to tell the woman that Wryn had overstepped her place by promising her anything, Emma was taken aback when she saw a young woman barely into her twenties sitting in front of her desk and toying with the small canvas bag resting on her lap. She had stored her cape and bonnet on the chair next to her. Dark curls framed her thin face, and her gaze was clearly troubled. “I understand you came to see me, Morning,” Emma offered before taking a closer look. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“We haven't been introduced, Widow Garrett, but I serve tables at Gray's Tavern. You might have seen me the day you and Mr. Breckenwith came to see Mr. Gray a few months back. My name is Morning Drummond.”

Emma nodded as she closed the door behind her. “Yes, I may have seen you there,” she said as she took her seat behind her desk.

Morning blushed. “I hope I haven't come at a bad time, Widow Garrett, but Wryn insisted—”

“You met Wryn at the tavern today?” Emma asked as she took her seat behind her desk, worried that Wryn had only used the Glenns as an excuse to gad about town and ended up, quite inappropriately, at a tavern of all places!

“No, not at all,” Morning gushed. “I was on my way home from work when I met her. I have a room at Mrs. Sweeney's, but I was hoping to see Mr. Breckenwith on my way home. I . . . I
have a few questions about a . . . a problem I have,” she said, pausing to swipe at a tear. “I must have walked by his house three or four times, but I didn't even have the courage to stop and knock at the door. I'm afraid I'd gotten myself into a bit of a state. That's when Wryn came along, comforted me, and invited me here to see you. Since you and Mr. Breckenwith are betrothed, she was certain you'd be able to help.”

“I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding,” Emma offered gently. “If you have a legal problem, Mr. Breckenwith is the one you need to see. Obviously, I'm not a lawyer. I'm sorry, but Wryn misspoke. I don't believe I can help you, and I'm afraid Mr. Breckenwith is away on business.”

When tears welled and spilled down the young woman's cheeks, Morning swiped them away with the back of her hand. “I'm sorry I bothered you. I shouldn't have come. I can see myself out,” she whispered and turned to pick up her cape and bonnet.

Touched by the girl's distress, Emma let out a sigh. “As soon as Mr. Breckenwith returns, I'll send word to Mrs. Sweeney's for you to stop and make an appointment with him.”

Morning paused and shook her head. “No, please don't. I don't want anyone to know, especially Mrs. Sweeney. And . . . and even if I had enough coins to speak to him, which I probably don't, I'm not even sure I could talk to him or to any lawyer. Not directly.”

“But you wanted to speak to me?”

She nodded. “Wryn told me she was living with you now and that you were going to marry Mr. Breckenwith and that you might be able to help someone like me with a legal problem too . . . too delicate to discuss with a man, even if he is a lawyer. I thought meeting Wryn was the answer to all my prayers. Apparently, I was wrong.”

Emma swallowed hard and offered a silent prayer for guidance.
Trusting He had led this woman here to Hill House through Wryn, she also trusted He would lead the way He meant for Emma to follow. “I'm not a lawyer, Morning. I couldn't be a lawyer, even though I've always wanted to be one, but I can certainly be a good listener. Sometimes, I think just talking to another woman helps more than anything else.”

When Morning managed a smile, Emma knew she had said the very words He had wanted her to say, although it would have been easier all around if He would help her to do the same with Wryn.

Half an hour later, after listening carefully to the young woman tell her tale, Emma drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. Your name isn't Morning Drummond after all. It's Josie Matthews. You're not from Candlewood but from Bounty, and you're married, not single, and you want to get married again to someone else,” she said, certain no one but Wryn could bring home someone with such a convoluted story.

The young woman blushed. “Yes. When I left Bounty two years ago, I was worried that someone . . . I wanted to leave everything behind me when I moved to Candlewood. I was . . . I was so stupid to agree to marry Thomas in the first place. But his mother had been very kind to me when I was working for her, and since it was her dying wish that her son end his days of bachelorhood, it seemed like the right thing to do. She passed away the following day, and Thomas told me to leave. Since we never celebrated our union as husband and wife in . . . in the flesh, I just assumed the marriage wasn't valid, but now that I've met someone I'd like to marry, I need to be certain.”

“How much of this have you told this young man who wants to marry you?” Emma asked.

“Everything, including my real name. But he's the only one who knows the whole truth, except for you, so please call me Morning.”

“Your husband, Thomas Harrison, whose name you've never used at all, knows,” Emma murmured before she let out another long breath. “I'll talk to Mr. Breckenwith as soon as he returns, but at some point he'll want to speak to you directly so he can tell you exactly how this matter can be resolved,” she offered, hoping Zachary would confirm her suspicion that this young woman's marriage would have to be legally dissolved, perhaps with an annulment of some kind, before she would be free to marry again.

Morning dropped her gaze. “When I speak to him, you'll be there, too, won't you?”

“If you want me to be there, I will be,” Emma promised.

When Morning looked up again, her eyes were filled with tears. “Thank you. I don't know what I would have done if you didn't offer to help me get my problem resolved.”

“You're a bit far away from fixing the mistake you made,” Emma cautioned. Intrigued by the legal quandary the young woman found herself in, she opened the top drawer of her desk, took out a tablet of paper, and placed it on top of her desk. “I'm going to the kitchen to fix a pot of tea for us. While I'm gone, I'd like you to write down all the details, including exactly when and where you were married. That way, Mr. Breckenwith will have all the facts at hand when he actually meets with you,” she suggested without mentioning the possibility that she might be able to investigate what this young woman had told her on her own.

“How will I know when he's ready to meet with me?” Morning asked.

“I can send word with Wryn to Mrs. Sweeney's,” Emma said.

“No, I-I'll get in touch with you next week, if that's all right.”

“That's fine,” Emma replied and headed to the kitchen. Whether or not Zachary would approve of her getting involved seemed almost irrelevant, given his mood when he left last night. Emma had been far too independent all of her life, however, to be intimidated into changing her nature or her interests by a man who was supposed to love her and cherish her for the woman she was, not the woman he thought her to be.

Unless he was not the man she had assumed him to be after all, which was something she needed to discover before she actually married him—even if it dashed all of the hopes and dreams his courtship had resurrected from the deepest recesses of her heart.

Two days later, blessed with an unusually warm day, Emma left Candlewood at first light with plans to be back home before sunset. To avoid gossip, she chose not to take a packet boat; instead, she chose to ride to Bounty on Mercy, the mare Zachary had given her. The scowl Mother Garrett was wearing when Emma left was still fresh in her mind, but so was the respect she had seen in Wryn's expression when she learned where Emma was going and why. Mark, as always, was supportive, and Emma's only regret was that she was missing a full day with her grandchildren.

Hopeful she would not run into Zachary, if only to avoid facing the possibility of yet more of his disapproval, she arrived in Bounty at midday, tired but exhilarated by the challenge of actually trying to help the young woman Wryn had brought home to her.

Two hours later, with little information that was helpful to Morning, Emma was ready to admit that her trip to Bounty had been a total failure when Mercy added to the day's frustration by
throwing her shoe. Due to the local blacksmith being called away to a nearby farm, Emma's horse would be forced to stay overnight in the livery.

Frustrated and upset with herself for not planning on such an ill-fated eventuality, Emma had no provisions for herself to spend the night. With only a few coins in her purse, which would barely cover the cost of having Mercy reshod, Emma accepted the fact that she had no other choice. She had to seek out Zachary Breckenwith and ask for his help, which undermined any hope she might accomplish her goals today without running into him.

Following directions to his home that she got from the blacksmith's wife, she managed to find it easily enough. The single-story house itself was much smaller than his home in Candlewood. A redbrick structure, it was surrounded by towering trees about to burst into full foliage and appeared homey and inviting, although she had no idea of what kind of reception she would receive once he learned her purpose for traveling there.

She set her reticule on one of the benches on either side of the narrow porch, paused to shake the dust from her cape and riding skirt, removed her riding gloves, and wiped her face with her hands before taking a huge breath and knocking on the door. When no one answered, she knocked again. And again. Still no answer.

With no place else to go and no idea how to find him in a strange town, she sat down on one of the benches to wait for him. Rather than waste time thinking about what he would say when he finally arrived home or how worried her family back in Candlewood would be when she did not arrive home tonight, she folded her hands and did what seemed like a much better idea—she prayed.

“Emma? Is that you?”

Startled, Emma turned about in her seat, saw Zachary approaching his home, and waved. “Yes, it's me, I'm afraid,” she called, the sight of his striking image causing her heart to gallop.

He quickly covered the distance between them and set down the package he had been carrying on the bench across from her. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

She smiled, hoping to ease his troubled expression. “Other than the fact that Mercy threw a shoe earlier, which forces me to stay in Bounty overnight because the blacksmith can't re-shoe her this afternoon, everything is fine.”

“You rode here from Candlewood? All alone?”

She stiffened her back. “I often ride alone, although I much prefer your company on an outing. Might I trouble you for a cup of tea?” she asked, mortified when her stomach started to growl the moment she caught a whiff of something delicious coming from his package and realized she had not stopped to eat anything since she had left that morning.

He frowned before unlocking and opening the door. “Apparently, you need more than a bit of tea,” he noted, snatched up his package off the opposite bench, and ushered her into the house. “I don't keep a live-in housekeeper here. Mrs. Lott comes by once a week or so to freshen up the place, so it's always tidy enough. Fortunately for you, I planned on eating at home today instead of taking my meal at the hotel. There's more than enough for us to share. The kitchen is straight ahead. I'll lead the way.”