Page 49 of If I Loved You
All within the sturdy black pot looked good, and Emma only hoped it tasted as good at its appearance promised. She thought the earl might like a glass of wine with dinner but hadn’t any to offer, and then felt embarrassed for this lack, saying as much to him. He was polite and insisted that he was more interested in her stew. Emma laughed and told him that was exactly what she was afraid of.
Carefully, she ladled two large plates full of the stew, having thickened the broth just as the butcher had instructed her earlier in the week. She spooned out a smaller portion onto a tiny plate for Bethany and carried these three dishes into the dining room, while the earl held the door for her. Emma set the plates down, putting the earl at the head of the table, though she didn’t know why, but guessed years of servitude had dictated this move.
They sat as one, Bethany climbing up into her usual chair at the middle of the small table while Emma sat at the end near the kitchen. She saw the earl looking eagerly at his full plate and watched him settle his napkin—another courtesy of the previous owner—into his lap. He looked down at Emma and her heart twisted when he raised his glass of lemonade up to offer a toast.
“To your first home-cooked meal at the Daisies,” he said simply.
“Cheers,” Emma answered, raising her own glass.
“Chairs!” Bethany cried, but her small cup was raised directly to her lips.
Zach and Emma laughed at this and both picked up their forks, yet Emma hesitated, pretending to urge Bethany to eat, though her daughter certainly never needed coaxing in this regard, while she anxiously awaited Zach’s reaction. He speared a carrot and piece of beef onto his fork and put this to his mouth, already considering his next forkful as he looked again to his plate. Emma might have wished for the floor to open up and consume her then when he seemed to struggle with the chewing and actually grimaced as he finally swallowed.
“Oh, dear Lord in heaven,” she murmured, which brought his eyes to hers. His pained expression—he had to sip largely from his glass to work the piece down his throat—was erased instantly when he found her watching him.
“A little tough,” he acknowledged—there was no lie he could have told to explain the contortion of his features as he’d swallowed. “It happens. This one will be better,” he said and gamely stabbed another piece of beef onto his fork, along with a chunk of potato, and plopped it into his mouth.
Emma watched him, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as he made quite a show to chew and swallow with ease this time, even holding up his hands as if to say, “Voila!”
Unsure if he did this only to avoid hurting her feelings, Emma looked down onto her own plate and tried for herself a bit of the beef. It was not tender, not the way Mama Smythe could have made it, but it wasn’t too tough. Perhaps he’d truly just had a rogue piece of meat. Aside from that, the flavor was good, the butcher having been right about the marjoram and the onions. Convinced then that she’d made at least a decent meal, Emma began to worry—as any hostess might—about the lack ofconversation. Aside from Bethany’s near constant babbling between bites, it was silent here at this table.
“My lord, are you—“
“I wondered if you—“
They’d both spoken at once. They smiled, suddenly awkward, as if this need in both of them to fill the silence was a testament to the true unease that suddenly filled the room. Emma made a show of wiping her mouth delicately with her napkin, allowing him to speak.
“I only wondered what you had planned for the garden,” he said.
“I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest. Clearing away the debris seemed an obvious chore, but I guess I might like some herbs and perhaps only a few vegetables.” She lifted her glass of lemonade but did not drink immediately from it. “I remember—vaguely, mind you—that my mother had a garden, much grander than anything to which I might aspire.”
The earl tilted his head at this, his frown curious. “Do you mind me asking what happened to your parents?”
Emma shook her head and answered, “I mind not at all. ‘Tis no great story. They married young and had a little farm a bit north of here, I cannot recall where. My father died in a hunting accident when I was four and my mother from pneumonia when I was nine. We’d already moved to the King’s Arms after Daddy had died, and my sister was already working alongside my mother. The Smythes took pity on us and allowed my sister and me to stay.” She paused, unprepared for the mistiness that stole into her eyes, but it had been a while since she’d spoken of this. Wistfully, she told him, “Gretchen was beautiful and vivacious... everyone loved her. Perhaps because I depended so much on her, becauseI’d had her longest, I grieve most for her—and for Bethany, too, for she’ll never know her true mother.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Emma,” he said in a deep and low voice from the other end of the table.
“You haven’t, really,” she assured him, meeting his tender gaze. “Grieving is good, you know, it helps the heart to heal,” she pronounced with a false smile, thinking to lighten things up a bit. “Now, I wish I could offer you some treat of a dessert, but my knowledge is decidedly limited, and apparently even this needs work.”
The earl chuckled somewhat at this. “You do yourself an injustice, Emma. You put out a fine meal—“
“And you are a fine liar, but I thank you all the same.”
Zachary suggested, “You will need to have some staff here, I imagine. Apologies that I hadn’t thought on this yet.”
Oh, but that was the perfect opening she needed, she decided. “That may not be necessary, my lord,” she began, her eyes bright. “I wanted to tell you that I found the Smythes—“ at his blank look, she explained, “who owned the King’s Arms Inn? Yes, well I found them in Little Hadham—and Langdon and Alice are there as well!” She said excitedly. “They are all together, my lord, but in poor circumstance. Oh, it was so lovely to find them—even Alice, though she may have since left them for greener pastures, I believe. They seemed very surprised to see me, indeed. I have told you that as they have always taken care of me, I thought to return the kindness. So they’ll be arriving hopefully at the end of the month. Well, not arriving, I daresay, as I need your larger carriage to pick them up.” She rushed all that out in just about a single breath. And waited. Her hands around the napkin in her lap. Why, oh, why did he unnerve her so?
He seemed then to chew upon this, not with so much effort as he had upon that first bite of her stew, but several long seconds passed before he spoke.
“There are your servants then, I suspect,” he said. “A butler, housekeeper, and footman—”
“My lord,” she interrupted, “you seem to be seeking to ascribe some greater worth unto me than the circumstance of my birth necessitates. I am of the working class, same as the Smythes and Langdon. I am not above them, regardless of the boon provided so kindly by your father. They are my family. We will work together, in this house, and likely with occupations outside of the house—”
He held up his hand and Emma stopped speaking.
“Emma, I only meant that employing the Smythe’s and Langdon is a logical decision. Youwillhave servants here,” he insisted. And just as she opened her mouth to refute this, thinking of the expense, he added, “Again, the bequest of my father will easily cover their employ. Why would you want all of you traipsing about the villages, seeking jobs, when good and clean and manageable positions are all within the home. The Smythes and Langdon will receive a salary and you your monthly benefit.”
“But what need do I have of a butler or a footman?”
