Page 53 of Reforming Lord Ragsdale
“I have to know, I just have to,” he found himself telling Sir Augustus one night at the Barney estate. They sat together in front of a roaring fire, brandy in hand, watching the flames.
“I could ask why, John,” Sir Augustus interjected as he reached for the bottle.
Ragsdale shook his head when the baronet offered him more. “I know that prison was involved. You should have seen her face when we made that trip to Newgate! The only thing that got her to put one foot in front of another in that dreadful place was her single-minded determination to do my business for me.”
“A rare quality in a woman,” Sir Augustus commented, filling his own glass and leaning back again to stare at the flames.
“I suspect you are right.” Lord Ragsdale leaned forward. “I could make her tell me more, but I honestly think that she would begin to bleed before my eyes. There is something here so terrible. . .”
“Then why do you not just leave it alone?” the other man asked quietly. “You don’t have a reputation as someone who takes much interest in others, John.”
Lord Ragsdale leaned back, finished his brandy, and threw the glass into the fireplace, where it shattered and sparked. “I’m a fool, Gus. Why not just say so?” He touched his companion’s arm. “But do you know something? I am changing.”
Sir Augustus downed his own drink. “I think I see, John. She dragged you into reformation, and it seems to be taking.”
Ragsdale nodded. “Yes. I expect I will be engaged and married before the Season is out, and living here again by summer.”
“Bravo for Emma Costello, then,” the baronet murmured. “Two words of advice, my friend, neither of which you have solicited, but which I offer because I loved your father and miss him too and want the best for you.”
Lord Ragsdale swallowed and felt unfamiliar tears behind his eye. “Say on, sir.”
“In your zeal at reformation, make sure you do not injure beyond repair what you seek to heal.”
Ragsdale nodded. Sir Augustus stared into the flames and sighed. “There is another bit of advice?” Ragsdale asked finally when the baronet appeared to be on the verge of drifting off.
The older man smiled at the flames. “I don’t know, John.”
“Oh, now, you must tell me. I am a big boy now and can probably take it.”
The baronet stood up and stretched. “Well then, chew on this for your ride home. Just make completely certain you marry the right woman. The wrong one will ruin you.”
~
He chewed on that for the remainder of the week in Norfolk, chafing at first that he knew he was becoming remote again and then relaxing in the knowledge that Emma was relieved.She does not want to talk about anything right now, and I am considering Clarissa and have nothing to say either, he realized as they began the return trip to London.She can have her mood and I can have mine, and we won’t bother each other.
It seemed a fair exchange, except that he found himself wondering, as they rode along, just how he might know if Clarissa returned his regard. He glanced at Emma, who was admiring the wildflowers by the side of the road. Spring had come while they were in Norfolk, creating a path of daffodils along the highway. True, the wind was cutting, but theflowers were there, with a ragged determination to stay, no matter what the North Sea threw at them.
“Emma, tell me something,” he asked suddenly. “How will I know if I’m in love?”
She looked at him in surprise, disturbed out of her contemplation. “Well, I don’t know,” she said.
“Come on, Emma,” he teased. “Surely you’ve been in love before. If I’m to redeem myself, and Clarissa seems a likely repository for my affections, I should have some idea, shouldn’t I? What’s it like? I cannot imagine that a pretty woman like you has never fallen in love.”
She blushed becomingly, and he had to admire the way the color in her cheeks brought out the green in her eyes.Emma, you’re a rare one, he thought.Any other man would envy me right down to my socks, riding along with you.
“Confess, Emma,” he said.
She laughed then, and he felt a momentary relief.So this is a safe topic, he told himself and waited for her to speak.
“I suppose I fell in love two years ago in Richmond,” she said finally.
“And?” he prompted.
“He was another of the Claridges’ indentured servants,” she said, her voice soft with remembrance. “A Scot, my lord, a cobbler by trade.” She patted her horse, not looking at him.
“What made you think you were in love?” he persisted.
She flashed her eyes at him then, and it was a look that made his stomach tingle a little.Emma, those eyes are a dangerous weapon, he thought as he felt the sweat prickle his back.Take a care on whom you use them.
