Part 7 (2/2)
”My wife wouldn't have to know,” he hedged, thinking about Fae and those charms that she had perfected to a fine art. Of course, it had been some time, really, since he had truly enjoyed them. Of late, he had started to find her boring, but there was no need for Emma to know that. ”I would keep Fae a secret.”
”Then you must be planning to marry someone really stupid, Lord Ragsdale,” Emma murmured. ”And who's to say your children will have any intelligence whatsoever, if there aren't brains on at least one side of your family?”
”d.a.m.n your impertinence, Emma!” he shouted. ”Does reform mation mean I must give up everything that is fun?”
Emma was silent for a moment, contemplating him. He almost made the mistake of taking her silence for acquiescence, but decided that might be premature. Now what, you baggage? he thought.
”I am sure you will correct me if I am wrong, my lord, but I don't really think you are having any fun.”
If his Irish servant had been a barrister in a wig and gown, she could not have trussed him up more neatly. He stared at her, then down at the bills in his hand, at a total loss for words. In a moment, she returned her attention to the list in front of her and continued with the entries, unconscious of the fact that he was opening and closing his mouth like a fish.
He watched her, noting how her rich auburn hair was coming loose from the knot she wore it in, and how her eyes closed occasionally. You slept on the stairs last night, he thought, and I was glad. That was a bit churlish of me, no matter how pointed my dislike. And yes, yes, you are quite right, although I will never tell you. I'm not having much fun these days.
”You think I should give up Fae?” he asked, keeping his voice offhand.
Emma nodded and rubbed her eyes.
”I'll consider it,” he said. ”Go to bed, Emma. You're about nine-tenths worthless right now.”
She left the room without another comment. He sat down in the chair she had vacated and looked at her neat list, and the column of money owed. He totted it up in his head, going from page to page, all the while thinking of David Breedlow, chained to the wall in Newgate. I could have loaned him twenty pounds, he thought. I could have concerned myself with his family's trials. I could have behaved as my father would have behaved. Why didn't I?
He yanked off his eye patch and threw it on the desk, rubbing his forehead. ”d.a.m.n the Irish,” he said, remembering his last view of his father before he stumbled, fell back, and disappeared in a clatter of pikes and swords. ”And d.a.m.n you, Emma Costello, you and all your murderous Irish relations.”
Lord Ragsdale went to bed, longing for at least a gla.s.s of sherry, and determined to throw a boot at Emma if she tried to bother him before noon. To his dismay, he woke up at nine, alert, hungry, and ready to go another round with Emma Costello. Han-ley, who seemed to have appointed himself valet, brought him tea and stayed to help him shave and dress. He smelled ham and bacon and followed his nose to the breakfast room, where his mother and cousin were just finis.h.i.+ng.
Lady Ragsdale looked at him in amazement, then took out her little pocket watch and tapped it. ”Are you just coming in, John?” she asked finally as he filled a plate from the sideboard.
Lord Ragsdale had the good grace to laugh. ”Mama, you know I am not! I think everyone ought to eat breakfast occasionally.” He peered at the scrambled eggs and found that they did not disgust him. ”So chickens still lay eggs?”
Lady Ragsdale laughed. ”How clever of them!” She glanced at Sally. ”My dear, perhaps we can importune your cousin into escorting us to the modiste for a male opinion as we attempt a wardrobe for you.”
Oh, G.o.d, not that, he thought as he took a bite of scrambled eggs. He wanted to chew awhile and give himself time to think up an excuse, but eggs did not require that sort of exertion. To his relief, Emma came to his rescue yet again. He swallowed and smiled at his mother.
”My dear, you will think me a dreadful put-off, but Emma and I must visit the bank today. You should see how neatly she has the bills organized.”
To his relief, his mother did not press the matter. ”Very well, son, we will excuse you again.” She looked at her niece. ”Come, Sally, let us see what damage we can do by ourselves. Our bills will be yours, son, so if you wish an opinion on how we spend your money, this is your last chance.”
Lord Ragsdale finished his eggs and waved his hand in a generous gesture. ”Just give the bills to Emma when they come in. I'm sure she will have a file for everything.” He took a sip of tea as his mother rose from the table. ”Mama, you can do something for me at the modiste's.”
His mother turned wary eyes in his direction, and he thought again about Emma's advice that he discard his mistress. ”Could you order a warm cloak for Emma? Make it dark brown and serviceable. No telling when spring will actually arrive this year.”
”A fur collar? Silk frogs?” his mama teased.
Mama, if you had seen her s.h.i.+vering in Newgate, you wouldn't quiz me, he considered thoughtfully. ”Oh, no. The key word is serviceable. Now that I think of it, perhaps a wool dress, too. Something with a lace collar.” He glanced at Sally, who was regarding him with astonishment. ”She's about your size, isn't she, my dear?”
Sally nodded, too surprised at his unexpected generosity to speak.
”Well, there's your template, Mama. Cousin, if you don't mind the observation, she's a bit thinner in the waist and shorter by an inch or two. Make that two dresses, Mama. A secretary ought to have a change of clothing.”
He was still smiling as his mother left the room. I should have asked her to pick out a bonnet, too, he thought. Careless of me. I wonder if Fae could be induced to part with some of those gloves I have been buying for her. I mean, a body only has two hands. He got up for another cinnamon bun and stood eating it by the sideboard. No, no. Too much at once might make Emma think I had declared a truce or something. She can do without gloves and bonnet.
Feeling pleasantly full, Lord Ragsdale strolled to the book room, where Emma was gathering the bound bills into a satchel. She looked up and smiled at him.
”Good morning, sir,” she said, and continued her business. ”If we get these to the bank and straighten out your affairs, I promise not to bother you for the rest of the day.”
He raised his eyebrows at her and helped pack the bills. ”Emma, why the magnanimity? Can it be that you have a heart?”
”Of course I do,” she replied promptly. ”I also intend to retrieve your balance books from the banker and spend the afternoon making entries.” She closed the satchel.
”I have a better idea,” he said, taking the satchel from her. ”I want you to visit Fae Moulle and see how the wind blows.”
”My lord!” she exclaimed, unable to hide her dismay.
Aha, he thought, I surprised you. He waited a moment until he was sure he would not smile, then continued. ”I have been thinking about what you said. Perhaps it is time she and I ended our arrangement. I want you to see what terms would be agreeable. It is your duty as my secretary,” he added, when that now-familiar obstinate expression settled on her face.
”Very well, my lord,” Emma said, and the doubt in her voice made him want to shout, ”Got you!” He did not. Just the knowledge that he had ruffled her equanimity was pleasure enough for the moment.
”I will probably spend this evening at Almack's with my mother and cousin,” he said as they drove to Fotherby and Sons in his curricle. ”I should be an occasional escort, and besides, I must contemplate this Season's beauties.” He nudged her in the side. ”Tell me, Emma, how can I pick out a smart one?”
To his delight, she laughed out loud. She had a hearty laugh, and it startled him at first, because it was something he was not used to. It was no drawing-room t.i.tter, no giggle behind a fan, but a full, rich sound as genuine as it was infectious. He laughed, too.
”I have it, Emma,” he said. ”I will begin reciting a Pythagorean theorem and see if she can complete it.”
She laughed again. ”Then a canto from La Divina Commedia, my lord.”
He reined his horse to a stop in front of his banking establishment. ”Emma, there's obviously more to you than meets the eye.”
He wished he had not said that. He might have slapped her, for all the gaiety left her eyes and that invisible curtain dropped between them again. She looked again like a woman devoid of all hope, the Emma of the taproom, waiting for her future to be decided by the turn of a card. It was a transformation as curious as her good humor only moments ago.
She said nothing more, but stared straight ahead between his horse's ears. As he watched her, she drew her cloak tighter around her, sighed, and then reached for the satchel at her feet. He took it from her.
You could talk to me, Emma, he thought as he followed her into the building and then led the way down the hall to Amos Fotherby's office. While it is a well-doc.u.mented fact that I have no love for the Irish, you interest me. And while it is also certain that there is less to me than meets the eye, that is not the truth, in your case.
Fotherby quickly recovered from his initial surprise when he introduced Emma, and the banker realized that she knew her way around a double-entry ledger. The banker's reserve melted further when Emma pulled up her chair, pushed up her sleeves in businesslike fas.h.i.+on, and pulled out the bills and her list. Fotherby hardly glanced up as Lord Ragsdale backed out of the room.
”I'll be in the vault, Emma,” he said. ”Join me there when you're done, as I need an opinion.”
She nodded, as preoccupied as the banker. Lord Ragsdale smiled to himself, thanking a generous G.o.d that there were people on the earth who actually cared about a.s.sets, debits, and accountings. He watched her a moment more, wis.h.i.+ng he had asked his mother to get Emma a deep green cloak instead of a brown one, then sauntered down the hall to the vault.
Emma joined him there an hour later, her glorious auburn hair untidy. He noted that it was coming loose again, and chuckled.
”Emma, do you realize that when you concentrate, you tug at your hair?”
She blushed and tucked the stray tendrils under the knot again. ”Your accounts were such a mess, my lord. Some tradesmen have applied to Mr. Fotherby for payment, and we had to go through the whole lot, so as not to pay anyone twice.”
”I trust you have me in order now?”
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