Page 70 of Dukes Do It Better
“Wouldn’t it be awkward for you? To toast at my wedding when you’re…”
“A burnt-out husk of a man, pining after her friend? No, I would rather celebrate your happiness than mourn my loss.”
Simon was quiet a moment. “I’ll see you soon, my friend.”
Taking his leave, he called his thanks to Wilson one last time, then headed down the stairs to the foyer. The butler offered his hat, and soon, a disturbing breeze brushed his neck where his queue usually lay.
Perhaps it was cowardly, but all Malachi desperately wanted was to get out of London until the trial. In Olread Cove, he could smell the sea instead of the ripe scents of the city. As he flagged a hack, he was seized with a longing to bury his face in vanilla-and-sugar-scented softness, making him wonder if the need for vanilla skin would ever fade.
Indeed, it was time to head to the coast. Check on the condition of his house, make note of anything he’d need to do before moving in, look in on his cave, and try not to turn every corner hoping to see Emma’s smile. With the whole of England open to her, as well as her family’s many properties, he doubted she’d returned to the Cove.
As quickly as she’d overtaken his senses and captured his heart, she was gone. Disappeared like a ghost.
* * *
“Mrs. Shephard, why is there a goat in the sink?”
“He’s licking the dishes. It keeps him occupied, and out from under foot,” the cook said. “Otherwise, he nibbles my hem while I’m baking. I’ve already stepped on the rascal twice this mornin’.”
Leonard’s two adorable babies hopped everywhere, stole into the house at every opportunity, and had yet to be convinced they weren’t humans. Alton had named them Billy and Lily, but Emma could never remember which was which. She thought the one licking breakfast crumbs from her stoneware was Billy. Maybe.
Mrs. Shephard had fashioned little nappies for Billy and Lily out of rags. When Emma and Alton arrived home, they’d been greeted by a baby goat wearing a scrap of floral tablecloth, sitting on the sofa as if it owned the place. That was when Emma knew she didn’t want to leave any of this.
Charles the footman fit in fine after a few days, and he now had the duty of diapering goats several times per day, since the duties within his normal purview simply didn’t exist in this house. They didn’t stand on ceremony in the Cove, so it took little convincing for him to leave the livery behind and settle into country life. Powder blue livery trimmed in silver braid would always be a poor fashion choice when goats were involved.
Leonard and her mischievous twins, Mrs. Shephard and her unflappable adaptability, Polly and her cheerful smile—all those things made a home as much as the cottage itself. During the first evening back in her room, listening to the surf crash against the rocks below, Emma had written to Cal and proposed the idea of finding a different property close to Olread Cove to purchase. It was either that, or somehow lure Mrs. Shephard all the way to one of the Eastly properties—which would be hard. No matter how modern a kitchen Emma promised, it couldn’t compare to living near grandbabies. But staying in Olread Cove proper held no appeal if she’d have Mal as a neighbor. Even thinking his name sent a twist of emotion through her chest. Not longing or anger. More a sick sort of indigestion brought on by regrettably satisfying orgasms and poor choices.
That man had played his part like he’d been born to the stage instead of a coronet. Even knowing the duplicity he’d undertaken, it still didn’t sit entirely right that he had betrayed her so entirely. The mark of a true liar, she supposed. When one could convince someone so thoroughly of one thing that, even when presented with evidence, they didn’t wholly accept it.
“Can I help with anything?” Emma asked.
The older woman glanced over her shoulder, then blew a hank of gray hair off her face before it fell right back where it was to begin with.
“May I?” Emma asked, then tucked Mrs. Shephard’s hair back under the white cap she wore.
“Thank you, dearie. I wondered when you’d show up.” Mrs. Shephard pushed a bowl down the counter toward Emma. “Crust for meat pies.” Which was cook code for “Get to work and spill your guts.”
Emma smiled gratefully and went to the sink to wash her hands. She’d been in the garden collecting greens. No one wanted soil in their pie crust. “Pardon me, Billy. Carry on with your important work, but we need to share the space for a moment.” The goat sniffed suspiciously at the soap, then returned to the waterlogged tea leaves he’d found on the bottom of the sink. When she splashed water over her hands his attention wandered back to her, so she filled a heavy earthenware mug with water and set it beside him. Today’s nappy was a blue striped material and used to be an apron, if Emma wasn’t mistaken. “Mrs. Shephard, have we considered putting Billy back outside?”
The cook placed the salt and a bin of flour next to the bowl she’d offered Emma. “Oh, he can leave anytime. Hops out of there easy as anything. But he likes the sink. If we throw him out, he’ll find a way in again. We can either let him lick the dishes or gobble my roses.”
Emma eyed the—frankly adorable—goat as he chewed tea leaves and then happily lapped water from the cup she’d given him. A sigh escaped. “Fine. Where are Leonard and Lily?”
“Playing with Alton. The boy will need new shoes soon, missus.”
“Because he’s growing like a weed, or because the goats ate them?”
Mrs. Shephard shot her a wry smile. “Both, I think.”
Sinking her hands into the tub of cool flour, cutting in the lard, sprinkling in a bit of salt and water—all of it soothed Emma on a soul-deep level. It had felt as if she were carrying around a chest full of shattered glass since she’d found the journal in Mal’s room. Pie crust came together in the bowl and she couldn’t help feeling it glued some of those sharp emotions within her back into something close to normalcy.
“You seem gray around the edges since you came home, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Mrs. Shephard handed her the rolling pin.
“I met a man,” Emma admitted.
The cook rolled her eyes at her. “It’s always men, innit?”
“I trusted the wrong one. Then, the owner of this house wants to live here. We have a generous timeframe to move, but it pains me to think of leaving. Now I’m digging through the corners of this place, and I’m overwhelmed. How have we managed to collect so much stuff? Odds and ends and broken toys I never fixed. Why do we still have those? And the clothing! I meant to make a quilt out of Alton’s baby clothes and never actually did it.” A wail crept up her throat as she blurted, “I thought I had time. I thought he would grow up in this house.”
