Page 2 of If I Loved You
“Send a man to fetch my coachman from up the north road,” he instructed the attentive proprietor. “He’ll be found with the three-wheeled carriage. Tell him to fetch immediately Doctor McNair—rouse him from his bed, if need be—and convey him here posthaste.” He withdrew several notes from his pocket and handed them to Mr. Smythe. “Here, this should get it done quickly enough.” He then removed his attention from Mr. Smythe, considering the task under way, and focused again on Emma. He had set her hand carefully onto her lap and now placed a hand at her shoulder, which drew her gaze again to his. “Where do you reside, child?”
Emma lifted her good hand to point toward the ceiling. “I have a room abovestairs.”
“Then let us get you there to await the doctor.” With that said, he made to scoop her up in his arms but Emma was quick to protest. She jumped off the stool and proclaimed herself fit to walk, though spared a moment to wonder if this elderly man, despite his still strapping appearance, could have actually borne her up the stairs in his arms.
Gingerly holding her hand, she began to leave the taproom, aware—only somewhat nervously—that this very solicitous man was following her.
“Have you family about?” The gentleman asked as they reached the door to Emma’s room.
Opening the door, listening for any sign that Bethany was awake, Emma answered, “I only have Bethany.” She held the doorthat the man might follow her inside, deciding cautiously to keep the door wide open, and then indicated the crib at the far corner of the small room. She watched his eyes widen before he moved nearer to the baby’s bed to glance down with something close to wonder at the sleeping tot.
“You’ve a child,” he said, turning to Emma to consider her, “and yet you don’t seem much more than a child yourself.”
She detected something in his tone but could not say if this were censure or surprise. She normally did not explain her situation to strangers, but there was about this kind man an air that invited her to make clear her circumstance. “Bethany is my sister’s child—Gretchen died giving birth to her. We haven’t other family, our parents having been gone now for nearly ten years, so ‘tis only Bethany and I that remain.”
This news seemed to take him aback. “And the child’s father?” He asked expectantly but seemed not shocked by her response.
Emma shrugged to indicate she hadn’t a clue whom that man might be and watched the man nod in acceptance of this. After a moment, in which time he passed a cursory glance around the meager accommodations, the man said, “Seems not an ideal place to raise a child.”
As her finger began to throb in earnest, Emma again cradled her left hand to her bosom. She knew he spoke truth, in fact had considered this often herself, but she hadn’t yet figured out a way to advance her circumstance. And, too, the Smythes and the King’s Arms Inn was truly the only family and home she could ever recall. The Smythes were good to her and expected little more in return than a hard day’s work; and they adored the baby and were helpful and tolerant in all regards to Bethany’s care.
In response then to his voiced concern, Emma said wishfully, “I would hope one day to have quarters of my own, perhaps a little house for just the two of us, or rooms taken in an establishment that might see less...um, traffic and such. But for right now, this suits us fine.” When his thoughtful eyes remained on her fixedly for another moment, Emma said nervously, “You needn’t stay, sir. It is very kind of you to send for your own doctor but he might be a while yet. I’d hate to keep you from your own bed.”
“Emma, girl, ‘tis no trouble to me. I’d rather wait and be assured that your finger is set properly.”
She guessed he might have said as much. “Please sit, then,” she offered, and joined him at the small table where Bethany and she often took their meals. “I—I don’t even know your name and you have done such a kindness for me. I have some monies saved—I will repay what you’ve put out to fetch the doctor and—”
But he waved a hand in refusal of this. “My girl, I am Benedict, the Earl of Lindsey, though I insist you call me Michael, and your monies should be saved for your plans for you and that beautiful child.”
Emma nearly gasped at such informality—the very idea of addressing a lord by his given name seemed so preposterous—but he chuckled over this, his dark gray eyes seeming to lighten.
“I’ve reached an age, Emma, where titles and wealth seem to have little meaning if you’ve not the character to back them. What makes me so remarkable a person that you must address me as ‘my lord’? Nothing, I say, but what society deems my illustrious birth.” He spared a moment to gauge her reaction, but Emma sat mutely and he continued. “And wealth—what of it?Why should I not visit some helpfulness upon you? Clearly I can afford to summon a doctor with coin, and you cannot. It seems a small thing to do to assist you when already I can attest that you are a good and charitable person. So satisfy an old man’s need to do good finally and let it be.”
Emma thought him charming, his tone level and agreeable and not at all preachy. She didn’t like the idea still of accepting his money but thought somehow that he seemed to need to do this and then could only think to say, “You are not old.”
He laughed outright at this but was prevented from commenting upon her remark as Mr. Smythe appeared then in the open doorway and announced to Emma that the man who entered behind him was Doctor McNair. Mr. Smythe delivered this news while keeping a watchful and suspicious eye on the earl.
Lord Benedict stood and greeted the doctor, who set his black bag upon the table where Emma sat. The earl explained what had happened and instructed the doctor, who seemed very professional and not at all what Emma was used to in the country doctors she knew, that he wanted the finger set properly that she might have no lasting or damaging effects from shoddiness.
Doctor McNair gave no indication that he was insulted by the earl’s near-insinuation that any of his previous efforts might have ever been less than satisfactory. He went to work immediately, examining the injured finger over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles.
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 babymight 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,” EMMAcajoled, 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.
