Page 11 of The Soldier
And she still didn’t know, exactly, what that something was, but the earl had it in abundance. The sooner they found Bronwyn a real governess, the better for them all.
“Why do you still wear black?” the earl asked as he ambled along beside her. “Your aunt died several years ago, and one doesn’t observe full mourning for years for an aunt.”
“One doesn’t have to, but my aunt was like a mother to me, so I dyed my most presentable wardrobe black and haven’t had the coin to replace it since—nor much need to. Then, too, wearing black made me less conspicuous to Helmsley and his cronies.”
“You did not respect my predecessor. I suppose you don’t respect many men, given your aunt raised you alone.”
Another pause, but again his hand was lightly at her back, steadying her.
“My mother told me my father tried hard, but he became restless, and she could not find it in her heart to force him to stay.”
“She did not care for him?”
“She did. I never want to fathom a love like that, a love that puts a loved one aside and says it’s for the best.”
“Did she know she carried his child when she wished him on his way?”
“No.” Emmie sighed, feeling his hand at her back as she did. “She was not… she did not have clear indications of her predicament, early on, and by the time she was convinced the unthinkable had happened, her fellow had shipped out for India.”
“Be very, very glad she didn’t follow the drum,” the earl said, something in his voice taking on the darkness. “It is no life whatsoever for a woman.”
“Particularly not when the man ends up dying in battle, and there you are—no man, no means, no home and hearth to retreat to, and babies clinging to your skirts.”
“This is an abiding theme with you, isn’t it?” The earl’s voice was merely curious now, but he was identifying a pattern accurately.
“I have avoided the Rosecroft grounds as much as possible,” Emmie said, her steps dragging. “Helmsley was an eloquent reminder of how dishonorable a titled, supposed gentleman can be.”
“He was a thoroughly disagreeable cad,” the earl agreed. “A more disgusting excuse for a man, much less a gentleman, I have yet to meet, unless it was that porcine embarrassment colluding with him, the Baron Stull.”
“So you met Helmsley?”
“I killed him,” the earl said easily, taking her hand in his. “Watch your step. We’ve reached a rough patch.”
Two
Emmie stumbled again, more heavily, but he caught her this time, as well. His left hand went around her left wrist; his right arm secured her to his chest by virtue of a snug hold about her waist. They stood for a long moment in an off-balance version of a promenade, while Emmie used the earl’s height and strength to regain her balance.
“Well, good,” Emmie said with a certain relish. “The man was in want of killing.” Next to her, she heard and felt the earl exhale, a deep, slow breath, sending air fanning past her cheek. She had the sense he’d been holding it a long time. Weeks, maybe, months—his whole life.
“He was, at that,” the earl replied. “Shall we proceed?” His voice gave nothing away, though Emmie thought he’d call his earlier words back if he could. Not because he regretted taking the man’s life, but because announcing such a thing while escorting a young lady home through darkness wasn’t at all the done thing.
Even a barbarian would know that.
“He made a few tries at me,” Emmie said. She kept hold of the earl’s hand as she walked along, then adjusted her grip as they negotiated more roots, so her fingers laced through his. “It was Helmsley’s attentions the old earl sought to preserve me from.”
“Did Helmsley ever… achieve his ends?” Rosecroft asked, the same foreboding in his voice.
“I am a baseborn girl, my lord. What difference would it have made if he had? He threw more than a good scare into me, and the lesson served me well when I went into service. Beastly nuisance of a man. I am glad you killed him. Glad and relieved. The old earl, much as he loved his grandson, would have applauded you for protecting his granddaughters.”
It was safe, somehow, to speak so openly with him in the darkness, even though holding hands with him this way was alsonotsafe. Not safe, nor smart, not what a prudent woman would do. A prudent woman wouldn’t take such pleasure from it nor speculate about what other behaviors Lord Rosecroft might engage in on a dark and breezy night.
Emmie turned the topic to the details of moving her bakery to Rosecroft, then prattled on about the neighbors surrounding the property and the various tradesmen and farmers in the area. She cast around for topics that were pleasant, soothing, and even humorous rather than make her escort dwell on a past better left in silence. And she did not drop his hand until they approached a stately two-story house, the structure more grand than a tenant farmer’s cottage, but certainly not a manor in itself.
“The old earl put you here?” Rosecroft asked as he led her up wide porch stairs.
“He did. He purchased it as a sort of dower house.”
It was a pleasant place, or so Emmie told herself. Flowers abounded, a small barn with adjacent paddocks stood back from the house, and large trees afforded a shifting mosaic of moon shadows. In sunlight, it was cheery, airy, and gracious.
