Page 35 of Reforming Lord Ragsdale
He glanced back at Emma, who remained where she was on the bench, as if afraid to move from where he had put her. He turned to watch her then, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall.
As usual, she paid him no attention. She sat stiff at first, her feet in her poor shoes tucked up under her so they would not show. (I must see to a cobbler, and when are those promised dresses coming?) As she stared at the painting opposite her, her shoulders lost their tenseness and her face seemed to soften. She sighed once, and he could hear it across the gallery. Her eyes grew dreamy, and for the first time in their brief acquaintance, the wariness left her expression.
Emma was looking at one of Raphael’s numerous madonnas, mellowed, as all his works, by a caressing brush and sweetness of expression on the face of Mary. She smiled at the painting of mother and child, and as he watched, she got up from the bench and stood directly in front of the work. There was no barrier in front of the painting, and she reached out her hand, outlining the child.
So you like children, Emma?he thought, wondering at the same time if he was going to have to spend the rest of their association guessing about her past. Presumably one didn’t ask servants their business.We have already established that you do not like me, he thought.I wonder if there is someone you do like. Or someone you love.
He felt a moment’s irrational jealousy, which made him laugh out loud and broke whatever spell Raphael was weaving on Emma Costello. She jumped away from the painting and put her hands behind her back, retreating to the bench, where she sat down again.Serenity, he told himself again as he nodded to her and continued his stately pace about the gallery, hoping she would relax enough again to explore the place herself.
She did not. After a half hour, in which he felt his own frustration growing, he returned to the bench and sat down beside her. She edged away from him slightly and movedforward on the bench, ready to bolt as soon as he said the word. He said nothing, wondering if she would speak first. Finally, she cleared her throat.
“You know, my lord, I could be finishing my perusal of your old correspondence right now and starting on that letter to Sir Augustus Barney in Norfolk,” she reminded him.
“You could,” he agreed. “But isn’t it nice just to sit here?”
She did not answer, and he sighed and stood up. She was on her feet in an instant too, but he took her arm before she could move and held her firmly.
‘‘Tell me, Emma. Is this really a good place to squire a young lady?”
He looked into her eyes, and her expression made him drop her arm and step back. He had never seen such terror before, terror that he was responsible for because he had taken her arm. He looked away and gave her time to collect herself, thinking,So, Emma, you do not care to be grabbed, do you?
His own mind in turmoil, he merely nodded to her and started to leave the gallery at a slow pace. In a moment, she was walking at his side and slightly behind him. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Emma,” he said. “Seriously, what do you think? Should I take a young lady here?”
“No, my lord,” she replied, and her voice was smooth and in control. “She will want to chatter, and you will want to admire, and it will not speed any wooing you might attempt.”
“How well you know your own sex,” he murmured as he climbed into his carriage and made no move to help her. “But, Emma, you were silent as the grave in the gallery,” he insisted. “How can it be that any young lady I would bring there would be a gabble box?”
She pulled her cloak tighter about her. “My lord, if it were someone who returned your regard, she would want to talk with you, wouldn’t she? I mean, I would.”
And so you were silent. Touché, Emma, he thought. He let it go at that, leaned back in the carriage, and closed his eyes.
He did not expect another word from her and was even dozing off when Emma spoke.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but could I ask you something?” she was saying. “It is a favor, in fact.”
“Only if you promise that it will not cause me any exertion,” he teased.
“Oh, it will not,” she assured him seriously, and again he was verbally flogged by her reply.
You think I am in earnest, he wondered. “Say on, Emma,” he stated finally when she hesitated.
He thought for a moment she would not speak, after all.
“Well?” he prompted. “Come, come, Emma, you make me fear that it is an outrageous request.”
“Oh, no, my lord,” she assured him, her expression worried now. “Nothing of the sort. I was merely wondering if you would permit me a day off once a week.”
Is that all?he asked himself, but he did not respond.
“I have some business in London,” she said quickly when he did not speak. “Please, my lord. It is only once a week. I can see that everything is left in order before I leave.” She was pleading now, and he wanted to know what it was she had to do in London.
He almost asked her.
“A half day then, sir? Oh, please,” she was asking now, her eyes on his face.
He felt shame then.I am a churl to make you grovel, he thought as he sat up straight.
“A day, Emma,” he said firmly. “Mr. Breedlow had a day, and it is only fair.” He leaned forward. “And when would you like this day?”
