If I Loved You (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 2) Page 2

  This small activity within the room must have woken Bethany, for the child at that moment sat up in her crib and began to cry. Occupied as she was with the doctor—and wondering, too, how she might even lift the child presently—Emma called out in a cooing voice that all was well, hoping the baby might immediately go back to sleep. But these strangers in her room, and tapers lit to afford the doctor better lighting, pulled the toddler into complete wakefulness and in another minute, Bethany was standing up in the crib to survey the scene.

  Lord Lindsey surprised Emma yet again, this time by striding over to the crib and picking up Bethany into his arms, seemingly unconcerned with baby drool and a possibly wet nappy spoiling his fine garb. Emma watched expectantly, waiting for the inevitable strangeness to grab hold of Bethany and bring about another cry. Yet the earl’s tone had taken on a sing-song quality while he soothed her and bounced a bit and Bethany made no sound of protest at all. In fact, she appeared rather taken with this stranger as her fingers delved sleepily but curiously into the earl’s finely knotted cravat.

  “I think she likes me,” the earl said then with a childish zeal and increased his efforts to entertain Bethany, who began to giggle at the rising tempo of his bounce.

  Emma considered the earl’s delight in her child and thought straight away that this man must be lonely. She didn’t know how she reached this conclusion, having known him for so short a space of time, but she knew it to be true.

  While the doctor set her finger into a small but well-crafted splint, Emma continued to watch the dancing pair and she knew somehow right then that they would be seeing more of this man, the earl.

  Chapter Two

  “One more bite,” Emma cajoled, trying to get Bethany to finish her breakfast. They occupied a table in the empty dining room, the hour being so early and the inn being nearly vacant, that Mrs. Smythe had invited them then to dine here instead of in their cramped and small room. While Bethany carelessly chewed her eggs and porridge, Emma considered the hand holding the baby’s spoon. The splint remained, the doctor having directed her to keep it on for at least three weeks; but the swelling had lessened, and the pain had definitely receded. She thought she might suffer no lasting impairment after all, as she was quite heartened by this small improvement after only one week.

  Bethany babbled and chewed, her hands occupied by small wooden toys—a crudely carved pair of horses—made for her by Langdon, the shy young lad who tended the stables and yard. In another few minutes, when she had finished eating, Emma imagined she might be able to take her out of doors, as her duties for today would likely be small, with only two rooms let presently.

  Emma lifted her head as the main dining room door opened, thinking that if guests were now coming down to breakfast, she would need to take herself and Bethany out of this room. When she saw instead the figure of the Earl of Lindsey step into the room, she knew she was only slightly surprised by this; she’d as much as expected him.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she greeted him warmly, as without his aid that night last week, her finger might indeed be in poorer condition.

  “Good day to you as well, Emma,” the earl said with a pleasant smile. He approached the table, his bearing tall and sure. “I thought I had given you leave to call me Michael.”

  “You had,” she admitted with a smile, “but I’ve not reconciled in my head yet that this is at all appropriate. Please sit—have you broken your fast?”

  The earl took the chair next to Bethany. “I have, thank you. And how are you, young miss?” He asked of Bethany, his voice rising an octave while he tousled her blonde hair.

  Bethany babbled happily now to the earl, apparently recalling him though she had spent only one short—and sleepy—instance with him. The baby watched curiously as the earl took up one of her horses and pretended that it galloped about the table, landing with a high jump upon Bethany’s arm. This sent her into fits of giggles, and she shoved the other piece at him that he might do the same.

  “I hope that I expressed my thanks well enough last week, my lord,” Emma said while he continued to amuse Bethany.

  “Michael,” he corrected, seemingly automatically. “And you did—endlessly. How is the finger, by the way?”

  Emma lifted the digit for his perusal. “Much better already though it still pains me to bend it even slightly. But I’ve two more weeks with this very annoying splint.”

  He nodded at this and then met her eyes, and she thought, in the light of early morning, the gray was nearly blue, actually. “What brings you back to our little inn, my lord?” She asked with a pointed grin at the earl, still uneasy referring to so fine a person by his given name.

  He smiled in return, shaking his head at her stubbornness. “I was curious as to your recovery.” This answer seemed only half the truth and so Emma was not surprised when he added, “I dislike the idea of your arrangement here—you and the baby living and working in a common inn where incidents such as have befallen you might be a regular circumstance.”

  “You are very kind to consider our state of affairs so thoughtfully and with such concern,” Emma allowed. She had never encountered a member of the elite who had shown such interest—let alone, care—in her very existence. “But you should know that it is unlikely I will see the inside of the taproom again. Mama Smythe was quite distressed when she’d heard of the incident and,” Emma informed him with a small smile, “gave Mr. Smythe quite a time of it, as if it were his fault.”

  “But it was,” the earl contended firmly and with little charity for Mr. Smythe, “though I came here not to castigate the man.” Again, he trotted the figure of the horse over Bethany’s arm, smiling delightedly at her thrill. “I came here to offer you a better position.”

  Emma promptly stiffened, her eyes suddenly wary. Instantly, her sister Gretchen’s circumstance, her very hopes surrounding so many interested males, came to mind. She’d not have thought of this kind man—

  The earl held up a hand to stop the unpleasant direction of her thoughts. “No, my girl, I offer nothing nefarious—only a betterment for you and Bethany.” Upon gleaning that Emma remained cautious, nearly ready for outrage, he clarified further, “I only thought to put you up in a small house—no, no, dear, not for those purposes. You had mentioned that was a hope of yours, to have your own home. Expecting nothing in return but perhaps a friendship, I would like to give you that.”

  Emma was stunned. Still guarded about his true intent, but more shocked than anything. “Why would you want to do that?” She asked what was foremost in her mind.

  “Because it would please me to do so,” he said with a shrug, as if it were that simple. “Because, my girl, it unsettles me to consider what might further befall you, and one day this beautiful child, should you remain here. Sure, the Smythes would try their best to prevent any misdeed from happening, but you—I think you have no idea how your type of...innocence draws such attention, truth be told. I think you haven’t any idea that one day a man or men will not be able to resist the very temptation you present. I’m shocking you, I know. But, Emma, I sat at that table in the taproom and I watched as they ogled you. Their fear of your Mr. Smythe will only protect you so far. One day, someone will risk Smythe’s wrath and you will be hurt.”

  He was frightening her. In truth, Emma rarely stepped foot inside the bar that she was able to count these occasions on only one hand since the beginning of this year. She had an inkling of what he inferred but hadn’t any real idea of the complete calamity that might become of it. “My lord, I appreciate that you are anxious over my circumstance here, but I insist that I am in no danger, truly.”

  “You are naïve if you believe that.”

  “I’ve spent half my life here,” she told him, trying to dissuade him from this notion of impending catastrophe. “In all those years—while Gretchen lived, and since—I’ve not encountered any more trouble than I might find at any residence or position.”

  The earl shook his head sadly. “It seems to m
e, my dear, that you’ve only been fortunate, but that this luck cannot continue. I only wish to circumvent the possibilities.”

  Emma placed her hand over his, sitting on the tabletop. “I don’t know a more generous soul than you—to offer this when you know me not at all. I truly do thank you for your thoughts and your desire to help us. But I must still refuse, as I never intend to rely upon another for my very well-being.”

  Michael Benedict seemed not so much angry at this, as he did resigned to her obstinate insistence upon self-reliance. Almost as an afterthought, he added softly, meaningfully, “You know, my dear, what happened to your sister is also a possible consequence—if you weren’t careful.”

  Emma responded to this very thoughtfully. “I mourn my sister daily, my lord. But I have never looked upon Bethany as a misfortune or a misdeed. She was simply meant to be.”

  The dining room door opened again and this time it did admit several guests of the inn and Emma was then forced to excuse herself and Bethany, bidding a polite goodbye to the earl.

  Only two days after that, the earl returned to the inn, this time inviting Emma and Bethany out for a drive in his fine carriage. The day was sunny and mild for early May and the earl confessed to Emma—when she hesitated while considering his invitation—that his Landau carriage, with its removable top, was new and he was quite proud to show it off a bit.

  Emma, believing this to be a falsehood, supposing that the earl hadn’t a self-important or conceited bone in his body, accepted anyway as Bethany looked once again as if she had taken quite nicely to this man. And so Mama Smythe gave her leave to depart for the afternoon and the earl bundled Emma and Bethany into his vehicle, sitting across from them on the very comfortable leather seats. They headed into Lambeth, where on Saturdays, there was always the open market in the square, and the earl was delighted to usher Emma and Bethany about, carrying Bethany himself most of the time. Dismissing Emma’s admonitions, the earl purchased a baby doll for Bethany from an over-priced vendor, the figure’s head and body being made of porcelain and the clothes of greater cloth than her new owner. He bought them lemon ices to enjoy and laughed when Bethany finished hers so quickly she began to eye Emma’s.

  They were three hours gone to Lambeth that day, and Emma had to admit she hadn’t ever in her life partaken of so frivolous an afternoon, nor had she ever enjoyed herself more, and so she said as much to the earl when they’d taken again to the carriage and made to return to the inn.

  “My dear,” he said in his always friendly tone, “cease with your ‘thank yous’ and such. It gives me pleasure, as I enjoy greatly the company of you ladies.” On this return trip, Bethany had wanted to sit with the earl, and he held her securely in his lap while she remained enthralled over her pretty doll.

  Over the next few weeks, and then months, Emma saw more and more of the earl. He was always solicitous, always engaging, and never improper. After a while, it did occur to her that Michael Benedict really was just a lovely person who hadn’t much companionship. He’d told her he had only one son as family, his wife having passed four years ago, and that his son’s business concerns and seat in parliament kept them apart more often than not. He spoke effusively and with a fatherly pride when talking of Zachary, his son, telling Emma that Zachary was much like him, but she thought there was not a person in all this world who might resemble Lord Lindsey in kindness or goodness.

  Michael and Emma had their first—and only—intense argument after almost four months of visiting when she inquired of Mr. Smythe who the new man might be, now employed by the inn. He seemed to have no other occupation but to guard the taproom, only on rare occasions having to prove his usefulness by having to remove an unruly patron or such. Aside from that, he appeared otherwise unoccupied, standing at the door to the taproom, which met with the open space where the front hall and registry desk were located.

  Mr. Smythe harrumphed at Emma’s question, confusing her until he enlightened her that this man was not particularly an employee of the inn, but rather hired by “that earl of yours”. Frowning over this bit of news, it didn’t take Emma long then to consider the man’s true purpose and the reasoning behind it. She had to wait three days to be visited by the earl again to let him know that she did not care at all for this circumstance, that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and that it was insulting to Mr. Smythe to imply that he certainly could not. She told him all of this when he entered the inn, the two of them standing in front of the registry desk in the front room.

  Michael Benedict did not refute the man’s purpose, nor his part in his presence. In fact, the earl looked for a moment rather sheepish when he admitted, “My girl, I also tried to hire a nanny for the baby, that when you work you needn’t drag her room to room with you, and that you might have a little more freedom in your life.”

  With her hands on her hips, exposing her outrage, Emma could only stare at the earl, as if he’d grown another head.

  At her inability to speak, her amazement being that great, the earl continued, “Your Mr. Smythe, however, is a stubborn and proud man though I think I’ll wear him down yet. I’ll be interviewing prospective nannies at the end of the week.”

  Further aghast, Emma felt an instant and harsh anger. “My lord, I must resist—I will resist. Enough is enough. I cannot let you do this.”

  Untroubled by her upset, and firm in his own stance, the earl asked, “Can you give me one very good reason why I should not?”

  “The greatest reason,” Emma replied without hesitation, “is that I like having her with me. If I didn’t have Bethany with me while I tended the rooms, I’d see her not much at all.”

  For all the thought the earl apparently put into the betterment of their lives, he obviously had not considered this simple reasoning. But he was ever rational and open-minded, and it was easy for him to concede. “In truth I hadn’t contemplated this. I only thought to help you.”

  Emma relaxed her rigid stance and softened her tone. “And I thank you, Michael. I truly do.” To appease him somewhat, and because she considered him after all these months her friend, she did occasionally make use of his name as he wished. Yet, their friendship did not give him leave to run her life. “Might we reach a compromise, my lord?” At his raised brow, she suggested, “I promise if I have a need, I will come to you. And you will promise that you will not guess at my needs and act before consulting me.”

  “Fair enough, Emma dear.” He gave her then that smile that she’d grown to love, the sheepish one which appeared wholly out of place on this seasoned and respectable gentleman, when he said, “Of course, this would all be so much easier if you just let me have my way.”

  Emma made a face at him, “Funny, my lord, I was thinking the exact same thing.”

  The earl grinned and then Mama Smythe was heard at the top of the stairs and only brief seconds later, she was coming down, bearing Bethany, fresh from her nap, in her arms. The older woman laughed happily at Bethany’s excitement over the earl’s presence and handed the child over to him when she’d reached the ground floor.

  “She sure enough takes to you, milord,” Mama Smythe observed, having not her husband’s distrust of the earl. She put Bethany’s doll into the earl’s hand as well, as Bethany was once again taken with the buttons upon his surcote.

  “I’ll be getting to the back parlor in a moment,” Emma told Mama Smythe. “I see the Throckmortons have finally vacated it.”

  Mama Smythe waved a pudgy hand. “No worry, dear. It’s early yet. I’m off to bake the bread. Good day, milord.”

  “Good day to you, Mistress,” the earl returned. Bethany had grown tired of his buttons and began to reach for Emma. The earl kissed her round and pink cheek and pushed her into Emma’s waiting arms. “Go to Mama.”

  “Mama,” Bethany repeated instantly, as she often did these days.

  Emma stared, first at Bethany, then at Michael, her jaw nearly dropped. She should correct the child immediately but hadn’t thought o
f this situation before now. “Maybe Auntie,” she suggested, looking to Michael for confirmation.

  He only shook his head. “Mama will do.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “But you are, my girl,” Michael insisted. “In her little life—all her life—you are the only mother she will know. Let it be.”

  Wracked with indecision, Emma felt a tear escape. The profound effect that one simple word had on her was startlingly strong and she hugged Bethany tightly to her. Michael chuckled over her high emotions and kissed Emma’s forehead. “Let it be, my girl,” he insisted again, and Emma hadn’t the will or the desire to gainsay this.

  Chapter Three

  Zachary Benedict tipped up his tankard, finishing the remaining ale within. He’d sat here at the King’s Arms Inn for the past hour, watching with ever-increasing anger as the tart with the red hair served up more than simply food and drink. He thought of his father and his well-mannered lifestyle, his attention to decorum, his very fastidious nature, and wondered how the hell he’d ever wound up consorting with the likes of this chit.

  Glancing around yet again, happily taking his eyes from the young woman, Zach took in the whole of the establishment. The inn was orderly and well-kept, decidedly cleaner than many an inn he’d seen in his life, so it rather surprised him that it employed so base a creature as this girl.

  Emma Ainsley, Zachary thought with a sneer, observing the girl again as she allowed a patron to lay a hand on her bottom.

  The old man must have indeed been lonely in his last years, if this were the company he’d kept. Shaking his head, Zach wondered to what extent his father’s lows had actually reached; if he had begun to take common serving wenches as mistresses, what other madness might he have practiced.

  Since the day more than a week ago when he’d been informed of his sire’s sudden death, Zach’s world had been turned upside-down. He been close with his father, having all his life looked up to the man, who had—to his previous knowledge—never so much as walked on the wrong side of the street. True, Zach’s own enterprises of the past few years had kept them apart more often than not, but this only added to his grief when he’d received the awful news. But his sadness was then compounded by confusion and a bit of anger when he’d been read the will and learned of this Emma Ainsley, and the tidy monthly stipend she’d been afforded by his father. Zach’s interest was only further piqued when he learned of the hired man set to work at the same establishment as this woman.