Page 3 of If I Loved You
“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 halfthe 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 me, 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 AFTERthat, 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 leaveto 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 muchlike 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.
