Page 32 of The Soldier
And all too soon, this kind, lovely man was going to take Winnie away from her, so what in God’s name was she doing, spinning fantasies about him, when she should be steeling herself for the pain he would bring her?
***
Emmie awoke to a particular, pungent scent. One she associated with Winnie’s increasingly rare and unpleasant accidents.
“I hate him.” Winnie glowered from beside Emmie’s bed. “He’s mean and he can just go back to London and Lord Amery can stay here and run Rosecroft.”
“Good morning, Bronwyn.” Having slept heavily and long, Emmie had needs of her own to attend to. “Would you excuse me while I ring for a bath?” The bell pull was behind the privacy screen, so Emmie heeded nature’s call while summoning the requisite reinforcements.
“You should hate him, too,” Winnie stormed on. “He is taking over Rosecroft and you have to bake when he says and you have to look after me and sleep here when it isn’t even where you live.”
Emmie sighed, her sense of well-being quickly evaporating. “You need to get out of those clothes, Winnie, and I am happy to be here if it means I can keep a better eye on you. And he does not tell me when to bake.”
Winnie turned around so Emmie could undo the bows of her pinafore, but every muscle and sinew in the child’s posture bespoke truculence. Winnie in a temper was not a good thing, as the child had been known to disappear for hours when severely out of charity with her life.
“So what has the earl done to earn your wrath, Bronwyn?”
“That awful old Lady Tosten, with the…” Winnie humped her hands way out over her flat little chest. “She found us in the pub and would not stop yammering, even though I was sitting right there. She did not say hello to me, she did not ask me for a curtsey, she did not even smile at me, because she was too busy trying to hog the earl. She didn’t even say hello to Lord Amery until he butted into the conversation, so I butted in, too.”
Emmie hid a spike of her own temper, wondering if the earl’s plan had been to sneak the child into town while she herself slept. Maybe he wasn’t that devious, but cunning was stock in trade for any self-respecting barbarian.
And, my lands, his idea of a good night kiss…
“What did you say?” Emmie asked as she carefully lifted Winnie’s sodden clothes over her head.
“I said I had to pee,” Winnie said, bristling with righteous indignation, “and that was thetruth, but that silly Miss Tosten acted like I’d asked for a licorice. I told her I was supposed to stay with the earl, as that was a rule of engagement, but she looked at Rosecroft likehewas a big licorice. Lord Amery got us out of there, but it was awful, and now they’re going to come calling. I hate him, and I hate those women, and I don’t want them here. I wish Lord Amery was my papa.”
“If they do come to call, they will call upon the earl, Bronwyn. They aren’t coming to see you.”
“Why not?” Winnie shot back. “The earl told Mr. Danner at the livery if the King had written my papa’s something-or-other differently, then I would be Helmsley, like my mama said. He told Mr. Danner I need a pony, and I am under his protection. Then he ignored me when that old biddy came flapping up to him. And I was sittingright there.”
“So you were rude to get his attention,” Emmie summed up. “And he probably did not appreciate your embarrassing him like that.”
“He should have been embarrassed!” Winnie railed. “Lady Tosten was pushing her…”—she waved her hands over her chest again—“right up against his arm, and she’s old, and fat, and disgusting. And I didn’t… didn’t…” Winnie’s voice hitched, and she heaved herself against Emmie’s legs. “I didn’t… get… my… licorice!” The last word was drawn out on a hooting wail of rage and misery and indignation.
Emmie wrapped her in a towel and scooped her up, knowing that a bout of crying would have to be endured before the situation could be addressed any further. A quiet knock on the door heralded the arrival of breakfast, she hoped, so she went to the door with the child still sniffling on her shoulder.
“I beg your pardon.” The earl stood in the hallway. “I was hoping you would be awake and would know where Winnie had gotten off to.”
“She hates you,” Emmie said pleasantly, turning to kiss the child’s crown. “I am not particularly in charity with you either.”
“Nor I with her, but now I know she is safe, I will contain further expressions of displeasure until another time.” He strode off, but not before Emmie had gotten another whiff of eau de accident from his person. She frowned at the child whose nose was buried so innocently against her neck but held her questions until Winnie had soaked herself clean and shared some of Emmie’s breakfast.
“I still hate him,” Winnie decided while contemplating a section of orange. “If I apologize, do you think I can have a licorice?”
“For being rude? You should apologize whether you get the licorice or not.”
“I wasn’t just rude,” Winnie said, suddenly glum.
“What did you do?” Emmie slipped an arm around the child’s waist and hugged her.
“When we got home, but before we got off, I peed on his saddle, but I got him, too,” Winnie said, hiding her face. “I could have held it, but I was too mad to talk to him, so I peed.”
Emmie was holding the child, so she dared not laugh, even silently, but the urge was there. The urge to commend Winnie for being herself, for seeing the Tosten females for the prowling nuisances they were, for spiking the great cavalry officer’s guns with the few weapons available to a child.
But she loved Winnie, so she did not laugh.
***
