Page 33 of Reforming Lord Ragsdale
He sighed inwardly, dreading the idea. “I am sure you are right, Mama. I am bound to develop a little polish.”Perhaps I can even get my secretary to tolerate me, he reflected.
Lady Ragsdale came closer and held out the cloak to him. It was brown, quite plain, but heavy. “The first fewitems have arrived from the modiste. I believe you wanted this for Emma.”
He took it from her, pleased with the weight of it. “This is almost warm enough for a London spring that refuses to come.” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks, m’dear. Emma and I are off to the banker’s again. She is determined to organize me.”
Whether she will speak to me during the ride to the City, I cannot tell, he thought as he went to the book room and peered inside.
Emma sat at the desk now, her head bent over the ledger, copying entries. She looked up at his entrance and rose to stand beside the chair, as Breedlow always used to rise when he came into a room. He expected such deference from Breedlow, but coming from Emma, it seemed strangely out of place.You do not wear servitude well, he thought as he watched her.Emma, what were you before you came here?
He almost asked her outright but stopped himself before he committed that folly. One didn’t inquire of servants’ personal lives, for it was the one thing they were entitled to keep to themselves. He chose a less dangerous subject.
“I see you found this morning’s correspondence,” he said, indicating the pile in front of her. “Please be seated, Emma.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied. “I will have a letter to your bailiff ready for your signature this afternoon,” she offered.
He came around the desk to look over her shoulder. She knew how to write a letter, he had to admit. Her writing displayed just the proper firmness and tone of command, exceeding even Breedlow’s skills. “Sounds about right,” he said. “Tell him I’ll be there in a few days.”
She looked up at him, surprised, then favored him with a slight smile. She made a notation about the letter, then finished her entries in the ledger as he sat on the edge of the desk and watched her. When she blotted the book and then closed it, he held out the cloak to her.
“Here. I can’t have my secretary shivering every time the wind shifts.”
He noted with a certain unholy glee that she was at a loss for words.Feeling bad for ragging on me this morning?he thought to himself as she took the cloak from him.Blushing a tad from guilt, are we?he considered as she stood up and draped the cloak over her shoulders.
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured.
“You’re quite welcome. Now, please have Hanley burn that rag of yours,” he ordered. “It still stinks of Newgate.”
She nodded. “It will be burned at once, my lord.” She ran her finger over the finely textured wool as though it were satin and smiled at him.
He searched her face for some sign of irritation with him, but there was none at the moment. She was a child with a new present, looking for all the world as though she wanted to hunt for a mirror and twirl herself around in its reflection.How changeable women are, he thought.It’s just a cloak, and not a very attractive one, at that, but if it gets me out of the doghouse, so much the better.
“Are you ready to go to my banker’s?” he asked. “I think one more trip ought to be enough to familiarize yourself with the business, and then you can do it alone.”
She nodded and put the bills in her reticule, then pulled on the kidskin gloves that must have come from his mistress’s collection. A bonnet would have been nice too, something to set off her green eyes and the attractive way her auburn hair curled around her face, but that was beyond his powers of both interest and philanthropy at the moment. Too much largess would only make her suspicious of his intentions, he reckoned.
~
There was a long silence in the carriage as the horses clopped along London’s busy streets. He managed a glance at Emma out of the corner of his eye, and she looked asthough she was on the edge of comment several times. He realized she was working up to an apology and chuckled inwardly.
She finally came out with it as the coachman slowed the horses in front of the bank. “I am sorry for the way I spoke to you this morning,” she said, the words all tumbling out in a breathless rush. “I was inexcusably rude.”
He nodded. “You were. It’s a bit disconcerting for an Irish chit of no consequence to tell me my business with my tenants. And no one’s wished me to blazes lately, except myself. That’s not really your department.”
She winced but was silent, looking straight ahead as the coachman let down the steps and opened the door. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice so low that he had to strain to hear it. “Mama always told me that I should think before I speak.”
“Your mama was a wise woman,” he agreed. He touched her arm as she leaned forward to take the coachman’s hand. “But I should take better care of what is my own, Emma. Let us leave it at that,” he finished when they were both on the sidewalk.
She nodded, too shy to speak, then followed him into the bank, staying several steps behind, as a good servant should. He thought he heard her sniff back tears as they passed single file down the long hall. An hour ago, he would have been glad to know that she was crying, but now he just wanted to clap his arm around her shoulders and tell her to forget it.I can’t do that, he thought.A little remorse won’t hurt the chit.Instead, he reached inside his overcoat, drew out his handkerchief, and handed it to her behind his back as the porter hurried them along. She blew her nose loudly, and he grinned; not for Emma a dainty dab at the nostrils.
In no time, the matter of Fae Moullé’s demands was signed and sealed, with the banker’s promise to deliver the draft that afternoon. “Unless you wish to do that in person, my lord,” the banker suggested.
“Oh, no!” Lord Ragsdale stated, leaning back in his chair. “I’m through with that one. When Fae vacates the premises, you may tell my real estate agent to rent out the property.”
“There, Emma, I am on my way to reformation,” he told her when they stood outside the bank again. “I have finally done Fae Moullé a good turn. Soon I will be a pattern card of respectability. Women will swoon for my good report.”
He looked sideways at Emma, wondering how to get a rise out of her. She almost said something but changed her mind. “Yes, my lord” was the response she settled on.
“Come, come, Emma,” he chided. “You were about to say something much more interesting than ‘yes, my lord.’”
