Page 26 of The Soldier
“You would take her from Rosecroft?” Her voice was careful, but a load of emotion was being kept in check.
“Sooner or later, children leave home, Emmaline Farnum. I did not expect to spend my life under my father’s roof. Winnie already has the beginnings of a lady’s education. You forget her Aunt Anna will be a duchess. Winnie will be handsomely dowered, she’ll make a come-out, she will have every advantage a young lady of good family deserves. It’s no less than was done for my sister Maggie, who is my father’s by-blow. The duchess insisted on it.”
“You would do this for Winnie?” Emmie asked, and in his arms, the earl felt a tremor pass through her.
“Of course.” She went silent but shuddered again. When it happened a third time, he realized the woman he was holding was near tears, and he forgot all about thunder, artillery, and infantry.
“Miss Farnum?” She burrowed into his chest. “Emmaline?” The crying was still not audible, but her body gave off heat, and when he bent his face to her, his nose grazed her damp cheek. “Hush, now.” He gathered her into his embrace and stroked her hair back from her face in a long, slow caress. “You mustn’t take on. Winnie won’t go anywhere for many years, and you will always be dear to her.”
He pattered on, no longer aware of the storm outside, so wrapped up was he with this much more personal upheaval. Her words came back to him, the words about Winnie’s deserving and not having a papa’s affections, Winnie’s not being able to trust a gentleman’s advances, Winnie’s being sent away.
Winnie, indeed.
He let her cry, and soothed and comforted as best he could, but eventually she quieted.
“I am mortified,” she whispered, her face pressed to his chest. “You will think me an unfit influence on Bronwyn.”
“I think you very brave,” he said, his nose brushing her forehead. “Very resourceful but also a little tired of being such a good girl and more than a little lonely.”
She said nothing for a moment but stopped her nascent struggle to get off his lap.
“You forgot, a lot embarrassed,” she said at length. “I get like this—” She stopped abruptly, and he felt heat suffuse her face where her cheek lay against his throat.
“You get like this when your menses approach. I have five sisters, if you will recall.” He tried without much success to keep the humor from his voice.
“And do they fall weeping into the lap of the first gentleman to show them simple decency?” Emmie asked sternly.
“If he were the first gentleman in years of managing on their own, then yes, I think they would be moved to tears.” He rose in a smooth, unhurried lift and shifted them to the couch.
“My lands, you are strong.”
“An officer should be fit,” he said, letting her scramble off his lap, but only to tuck her in beside him, under his arm. “But if you think this loss of composure is daunting, you should be among recruits when a battle joins. The body, when in extreme situations, has no care for dignity.”
“What do you mean?” She stirred but eventually got settled against his side.
“To be blunt, the stomach heaves, the bowels let go, the bladder, too. And here these young fellows are, worried about dignity when the French are charging in full cry.”
“War flatters no one.”
“Not often, anyway,” the earl agreed, unable to resist the lure of her hair. He brought his hand up and pressed her head to his shoulder, then sifted his fingers through the soft, silky abundance. “Why is your hair not yet braided?”
“I do it last thing. My schedule yet called for drinks with the earl, creation of a dreadful stain on his carpet, and a fit of the weeps like nothing I can recall.”
“You are entitled to cry. Sit forward, and I’ll see to your hair.”
His hands were gently taking down her bun, then finger combing through her long blond hair before she could protest. “One braid or two?”
“One.” Which disappointed him, as two would take a few moments longer.
“Will you be able to sleep now?” he asked as he began to plait her hair.
“The storm is moving on. What of you?”
“I don’t need much sleep.” His answer was a dodge; he took his time with her hair. He hadn’t looked for this interlude with her tonight, but after that exchange with Douglas, it eased him to know he could provide comfort to another.
And it angered him such a decent woman was so in need of simple affection.
“I cannot think of you as Miss Farnum,” he said as he worked his way down her plait. “May I call you Miss Emmie as Winnie does?”
