Page 24 of If I Loved You
The earl had not been far off the mark when he’d mentioned that his city housekeeper, Mrs. Downing, was certainly not warm and fuzzy. The woman was tall and lanky, her face long, her mouth drawn down at the corners, not even lifting at Emma’s pretty greeting. Emma was glad then that she’d not brought along Bethany, as she couldn’t imagine being at ease leaving her daughter in this woman’s care.
“Dinner is prompt, at seven o’clock,” the woman said, or rather called over her shoulder as she led Emma up the stairs while the earl remained in the foyer, looking immediately at messages and letters that had piled up since last he visited. Upon the second floor, still walking stiffly ahead of Emma, the woman asked, “Where is your maid, Miss Ainsley?”
“I haven’t one.”
This, now, turned the starched woman around, so suddenly that Emma nearly crashed into her.
“No ladies maid?” All of the abhorrence of a hundred faces seemed crammed into only this woman’s.
Emma’s initial thought was to reply that she’d never had her own maid, that in fact she was a maid. But recalling what they were about here in the city, and her role, she shrugged as casually as she supposed the woman’s frigid glare would tolerate and brushed it off. “By necessity, the poor dear was forced to remain...at home,” was all she could think to say.
She was rewarded for her lie with a harrumph which suggested she was not believed at all, or that if she was believed, she was thought a ninny. Emma wondered if she would know, by the woman’s expression—so far she’d been witnessed to only two, her frown and her heavier frown—what she thought of the earl’s houseguest. Deciding she didn’t care, she thanked her for showing her to her room and received only a curt reminder of the dinner time. Emma closed the door after the woman and made a face, which properly revealed her own opinion of so cold a fish.
It was just past four now, so she imagined she might have a lie-down before supper and so removed her shoes and jacket.
She imagined a footman might deliver her small, borrowed valise with her pitiful few belongings that she might hang the only gown likely to pass muster with Mrs. Downing’s critical eye for dinner.
When Emma had stepped from the carriage in front of the townhome, she’d thought to gather the valise then, but had recalled from the hundreds of carriages that had stopped at the King’s Arms Inn that a lady never carried her own luggage.Emma was sure that however she might get through the next few days in the city, she would rely heavily upon what she had witnessed of the upper class that had graced the rooms of the inn over the years. The ladies held their chins high and behaved with an air about them that all their needs should be met before they had been voiced. Mostly, Emma and all the employees of the inn were invisible to the nobles, man or woman. This had suited Emma perfectly and it was usually a sad day when she was not unseen, as this had indicated that the person had homed in on her as their own personal fetcher and getter, as she and Gretchen used to say. People were rarely outright nasty, but they never let it be forgotten on which side of the coin she was on.
As it was, Emma would make good use of her many years in service to the inn, as she was fairly certain she might be able to successfully emulate a fine lady. Or at least a poor cousin of a fine lady.
A rap at the door bade her call for entry, expecting a footman. She was surprised when the earl pushed open the door. He was followed by a footman, however, who quietly bobbed his head at Emma and set her lone valise onto the bed.
“My lord,” she said to the earl, without a hint of cleverness.
He frowned. He was always frowning. She hadn’t any idea what this moment’s cause might be. Ignoring him, she opened her valise and began to withdraw her few possessions.
“I was going to take you for a ride through the park,” he said, his gaze passing over the bed where lay her jacket and then the floor where sat her slippers.
“Oh, well, I hadn’t known—but you still can,” she amended quickly when the brow did not unfurrow. Having no inkling then that she was making a grievous misstep, she sat on the littlestool which later would be used to climb into the bed and put her small heeled slippers back on. She swept the skirts of her gown out of the way, up to her knee, and tied the ribbons tightly as the shoes were, truthfully, one size too large. Placing her hands on her knees, she pushed herself to her feet and caught sight of the earl’s expression. Still glowering.
Thumping her hands onto her hips, and with no small amount of impatience, she wondered, “What now? Why are you frowning?”
He opened his mouth twice, but no words came forth. On the third try, he managed in a tight voice, “Miss Ainsley, do not ever dress yourself—any part of yourself—in front of a gentleman. In front ofanyman!”
She rolled her eyes and reached for her pretty long-sleeved spencer of blue cotton.
“I wouldn’t have done so in front ofanygentleman,” she defended, donning the jacket, and closing the three buttons at her chest.
“Am I not any gentleman?” he wondered, less affronted than still annoyed with her lack of decorum, she decided.
“You are different,” she said vaguely and faced him again. “You’ve seen me in my shift, And on several occasions, my lord. I’m sure the sight of my stocking-ed shins needn’t send you into a dither.”
His expression changed. First his mouth lost its scowl and soon enough the darkness left his gaze, and his brows relaxed. She liked him so much better when he wore almost anything but that scowl of his.
“You’ll need a hat or bonnet...or something,” he suggested.
“Must I?”
“Absolutely. It would be akin to appearing at dinner without a dress to go driving in the park without a hat.”
“Oh, bother.” She grabbed up the closest one, atop the pile of clothes she’d unpacked, and quickly plopped in upon her head and tied the strings beneath her chin. Seemingly satisfied, the earl offered his arm, through which Emma threaded her hand.
They left her chambers and Emma wondered, “My lord, is it appropriate for you to be inside my bedchamber?” And before he might have answered, she went on, “Seems a larger crime than me baring my ankles to you.”
“Touché, Miss Ainsley.”
The earl’s fancy carriage stood at the ready just off the curb from his front door. A different coachman, this one aged and portly, sat patiently atop the driver’s seat. Emma allowed the earl to hand her up into the barouche, whose hood remained lowered, and took note of the high-quality horse team attached to the rig.
