Page 44 of If I Loved You
“They are no different than you,” Emma clarified, “but I remain situated well below you.”
The earl leaned forward across the table. “My mother taught me from a very young age that we all put on our pants the same, one leg at a time.”
This caught Emma off guard, and she fastened her bright eyes onto the earl. “Your father subscribed to that truism as well.”
“Ah, then mother’s work paid off at last,” Zachary remarked.
A woman appeared at the table then, dressed finer than any server at the King’s Arms had ever been, and set before them a mug of lemonade for Emma and one of ale for Zachary. She announced her name quite boldly as Molly and trained her eyes appreciatively upon the earl. “If you have any other need, my lord, please ask for me,” she offered before sashaying away from the table.
“What if I were in need of something?” Emma asked, before she thought better of it, a quirky grin teasing her face.
Zach’s shoulders shook as he chuckled at this bit of nonsense. “Then I would imagine you could ask any gentleman present and likely they would jump to do your bidding.” There was only the slightest hint of reproach in this remark. He sipped briefly of his ale and then surprised Emma by taking up her mug of lemonade to offer it to Bethany, helping her sip easily of the fruity brew.
They were then amused by Bethany for quite a while, as she had taken a serious liking to the drink and was persistent in her efforts to have more of it. Soon, however, their meals were delivered, a mutton stew for Emma and roasted duck for Zach, Emma vocally lamenting the fact that she might never cook like this.
Something he’d said just a bit ago played in her mind. She thought to tell him, “You probably know this already, and firsthandas well, but I always liked how your father talked of your mother. He cherished her, didn’t he?”
She’d surprised him, she gathered from his next expression, a light frown. He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.
“He spoke to you of the countess?”
Emma nodded, unsure how she should—orifshe should—proceed.
“He spoke of you, as well, always with boundless pride.”
Zachary seemed still thoughtful. After a moment, having only stared at Bethany in that time, he lifted his dark eyes to Emma. “I wish I had spent more time with him these last few years. I miss him.”
“I do, too.” She thought it must seem odd to him, to hear her say that. “I know you haven’t any siblings,” Emma continued, “But you do have family, very dear cousins, if I remember....Your father told me of his sister, Augusta, and her charming children—Edith and Giles?” She thought she recalled correctly, and knew she had when Zachary rolled his eyes at the mention of their names. “Hmm, not so charming?” She teased, and then sympathized with him, “How awful to have grown up with such disreputable cousins! And always blaming you for the troubles they gotten themselves into!”
Zachary’s head tilted curiously at this last statement. “Father knew?”
“That it was rarely—if ever—your fault? Yes, he said it was a favor to you to have you punished instead of them. First, by sending you off as punishment, it took you away from your cousins, which is what you wanted anyway. And too, he thought you strong enough to handle the censure of any family or staff who might have witnessed your reprimand. Made you a better man,he said,” she delivered this last part slowly, the words sinking in to her just now. When Michael had ever talked of his son, she’d been able to truly put no face to him, and the anecdotes and tales had lesser meaning. Now, knowing his son, all Michael’s stories took on new significance. Her lips tilted upward, rather thoughtfully, thinking of this insight she was afforded, even as it contradicted so much of what the earl had shown to her, today’s delightfulness aside.
After a moment she lifted her eyes to Zachary to find him watching her attentively.
“I’m looking forward to hearing more stories Father may have shared with you,” he said, his brow knitted slightly. He wiped a napkin rather distractedly across his mouth and returned the linen to his lap.
Emma lowered her head, pretending a notable interest in her food, having no idea how to interpret so negligent a remark. It hinted at future meetings between them, causing her to wonder how much of his attention was merely him keeping a fair eye on her as the recipient of his father’s boon. Or was keeping company with her merely a by-product of visiting with Bethany, whom Emma was quite sure he still believed might be his half-sister?
Whatever the case, whatever the reasons behind his suddenly affable attention, Emma knew it would behoove her to keep their relationship on a neutral, unthreateninglevel. He was, after all, a man, and as Mama Smythe had reminded her on many occasions throughout her life, some men just thought the entire world and everything in it was theirs for the taking. Lady Marston’s speech to her had lent credence to Mrs. Smythes words. The earl’s kisses offered further proof that there was some merit to the caution issued by both women.
With this in mind, she searched for a suitable and impersonal topic of discussion, and thought to ask him about the current session in parliament over the last week, but he surprised her by asking instead, “What was your sister like?”
A very personal topic indeed, but one that Emma was happy to talk about.
She smiled prettily. “She was wonderful. Honest to goodness, you’d have thought she swallowed sunshine, she was so cheery. We looked nothing alike, Gretchen being this willowy and perfect blonde-haired beauty. She was just so...brave. Nothing frightened her.” She fed several more spoonfuls of stew to Bethany, and thought aloud, “She wasn’t overly alarmed by her predicament, being unwed, and already responsible for me. We played games to help her decide upon a name. She spent her free time knitting and making little baby clothes. And it slowed her down not at all—she worked just as hard right up until...this little darling arrived.” A bittersweet smile came, watching Bethany chew her stew while using her chubby little forefinger to touch the buttons on the earl’s coat sleeve.
Her eyes moved from Bethany’s tiny hand to his, over his long fingers, over that sparse showing of dark hair at the top of his wrist before the sleeve showed no more of his arm. She let her gaze wander further, up his forearm and along the line of his bicep, the size of it pronounced by the sleeve of his perfectly fitted jacket, and across one wide shoulder to his face, to find his dark eyes upon her. Her perusal had been slow, and as he had apparently been watching her, Emma blushed and attended the stew once again.
“How is your duck?” She wondered, after a moment, and when the silence only seemed awkward because she knew hisgaze was still settled upon her. She lifted expressive eyes, raising a brow for his response.
And found his gaze now attentively set upon her lips.
“Delicious,” he said.
Emma blinked.
Thankfully, the kitchen girl returned to break the spell and dismiss whatever Emma might have made of his possibly nuanced reply. The server inquired of the earl if everything was too his liking. He assured her it was so, and she departed, inciting a bewildered laugh from Emma, as the lovely Molly had not bothered to ask if her meal, too, was acceptable.
