Page 21 of If I Loved You
“Life, I suppose. I went off to Eton and Cambridge, and Mr. Fellows moved onto to another lucky young man, who perhaps now laments that he wears a wig and listens all day to political blowhards hurling polite ridicule at each other while so few agendas are truly ever met, rather than ducking under the beekeeper’s helmet and stepping into the beautiful buzz of thousands of honey bees.”
“But why don’t you have—keep? Is that the word—bees now? You’ve the means, and—oh, does it take up so very much time? You are gone often and regularly.” But even this, she waved off, “But you’ve servants that you might train to help.”
“I’ve thought about it. Seems to lose some of its allure, if I’m only to be paying a person to do the job—and that would be all it was to them, a chore, labor.”
“You’re a fairly clever man,” she said, “so I must admit to some surprise that you wrestle with this. My lord, parliament is not in session all year round. So find the perfect person, perhaps among the staff, who shares the passion. And when you’re available, you enjoy all the benefits that come with doing something that you love, and when you are otherwise engaged, you have faith that whomever you’ve entrusted with the chore will give it the same passion as you.”
“Having no dreams, what might you know ofall the benefits that come with doing something that you love?” He wondered, not at all immune to the charm of Emma Ainsley, who declared she hadn’t her own dreams but now smartly demanded he make his come true.
“I have Bethany, so everyday I have something I love.”
He allowed this to be her response, even as they both knew it was unrelated, and mused, “But now your circumstance has changed. You will ever have a roof over your head and needn’t worry about any occupation—despite your claims to the contrary—so have you the luxury now of dreams?”
Mildly, with a ponderous tone, she said to him, “I shall have to give some thought to that and return an answer to you at another time.”
Zach raised a brow to this and was sorry that she stood now and returned the tidy pack of letters to the drawer. He sensed about her some inner debate, to leave or to stay, to speak or to not, and he reluctantly aided this, by offering her escape, “I will see you at dinner this evening.”
It appeared she released her breath at these words. Without looking at him again, she bobbed a hasty curtsy and with a bare, “Good day,” exited the room.
Zach lifted a knee and draped his arm over it, considering Emma Ainsley just now, rather than the substance of the time they’d just shared. It wasn’t easy to separate the woman from her beauty, but then he decided that even as she appeared to have no idea of the spell she cast, her physical loveliness was as much a part of her as was that tender heart, as was her innate sense of responsibility, as was her belief that she was so undeserving of dreams.
He sighed, not without some frustration. He couldn’t deny he was attracted to her, couldn’t deny he wouldn’t mind exploring the fascination. But the allure had been born when he believed her so much less innocent than he now knew her to be. And his present desires merited no more time in his head, as they were now judged inappropriate, and ultimately would prove ruinous to Emma, if acted upon. When he’d kissed her previously, he questioned why he should feel poorly about it. And even as he knew the answer now—that he had no business dallying with so unsophisticated a creature, that the attraction would fade as had so many others before—he was teeming still with a desire to know more and show her more.
Ah, but that would be a dangerous thing.
She would leave soon, take that cottage as her own, be away from him. He wondered how a little nobody like Emma Ainsley would get on in the not quite sleepy town of Perry Green. It did not sit well with him, her living by herself. He thought it imprudent and dangerous, thought her too naïve and too soft. But he hadn’t cause to gainsay her, or his father’s will. She couldn’t stay on at Benedict House, not without causing ruin to herself as an unattached young woman. This short-term arrangement was acceptable, but if extended, it would only bring her trouble.
If she’d been reared within the city limits, if she had even a scrap of the stained and spoiled mentality of any person, nobility or otherwise, so necessary to escape life uninjured, he’d feel less uneasy with her being on her own. He should take her to London, give her a good dose of what people were really like, surprised she wasn’t more jaded, having grown up in a traveler’s inn. Credit to her mother and her sister, and even the Smythes then, for having recognized the pureness of her heart that she had been kept sheltered.
Take her to London?
Jesus, but it was perfect.
He could conceivably kill the proverbial two birds with one stone. He could introduce her to a larger population, one not always kind—but only briefly, as he’d not be happy to see her lose her untainted perception of people and things—and give her just enough of a taste of the true character of so much of the public. She would then be perhaps better equipped to live life on her own, and he would feel as if he’d had some part in preparing her better for the role.
In addition, the other bird in need of killing might be tackled, if he could convince Miss Ainsley to help him out with a rather frustrating issue he’d been dealing with of late.
Chapter Nine
“I WANTED TO ASK A FAVORof you,” the earl said to Emma, across the length of the dining table that evening.
“Me?” Her surprise, determined so easily from both her tone and her arched brows, did nothing to diminish how absolutely entrancing she appeared tonight. This, then, must be the best of the lot, from the gowns Mrs. Conklin had acquired, under his instruction and from the dressmaker in Perry Green. While simple, as necessitated by their country setting, the pale blue of the gown was a perfect backdrop to the creaminess of her skin, and the luster of her dark hair.
Zach grinned. “Yes. You.”
“I cannot think of anything you might need from me.” This, with tremendous wariness.
Ah, if only she knew. Zach consulted his plate, pretending a great interest in the lamb cutlets. “I have a dinner party to attend in London. I would like you to accompany me.” He speared a piece of lamb onto his fork and raised his gaze to her.
She stared blankly at him. Almost comically void of any expression, save for her gaping jaw. He had decided to be candid with her when issuing the invitation. Candid, as it were, about one of his goals. “The dinner is at the home of a senior member of parliament, whose support is vital to a bill coming up for a vote in the very near future. A bill I have sponsored.”
She closed her mouth and swallowed. “But why would I attend? I know nothing about bills put before parliament or dining in fine company. I haven’t the wardrobe to do justice to such an occasion, despite how generous you’ve been thus far.” Shebegan shaking her head. “I would only embarrass you. I know nothing of mingling in...those kinds of circles.”
Sorry as he was for her near distressed state, he persisted, “Miss Ainsley, you do yourself an injustice. I assure you, you can more than hold your own.” Meeting her gaze steadily, he admitted, “I asked it as a favor, as the invitation has an objective. May I explain further?” This had been planned as well, having expected her refusal. He’d learned a few things about Miss Ainsley, one of which was that she could not resist giving aid to a person in need. He would exploit that now, and without shame.
She nodded, a small frown coming for his asking permission, he was sure.
“The host and parliamentarian, Lord Kingsley, has a daughter.” Her frown deepened, her mind surely whirring at the speed of light, he believed. “The daughter is—I can think of no kind words, sadly—a hindrance to my goal of speaking to the man in a setting and in a mood that might find him more agreeable to the policy I hope to explain more persuasively.”
