Page 7 of The Soldier
“She was ten years older than Helmsley but said, since his mama died when he was young, she suited him.”
“Did you know the late earl?”
“I knew him. When the old earl grew ill about three years ago, I was retrieved from where I was a governess in Scotland, with the plan being that I could help care for him. When his lordship saw I was subjected to unwanted attentions, he established me on a separate property.”
“In what capacity?” The earl topped off her teacup, a peculiarly civilized gesture, considering he was leaving her no privacy whatsoever.
“I support myself,” Emmie replied, unable to keep a touch of pride from her voice. “I have since returned to Yorkshire. On the old earl’s advice, I never rejoined my aunt’s household in the village, hence Winnie doesn’t understand we are cousins. I’m not sure it ever registered with Helmsley, either.”
“Did it register with Helmsley he had a daughter?”
“Barely.” Emmie spat the word. “My aunt did well enough with Winnie, though she was careful not to impose the child on her father very often. Helmsley was prone to… poor choices in his companions. One in particular could not be trusted around children, and so Winnie was an awkward addition to her father’s household after my aunt’s death.”
“And now she’s been appended to your household?”
“She is… she finally is.” For the second time that evening, Emmie smiled at him, but she teared up, as well, ducking her face to hide her mortification.
“Women,” the earl muttered. He extracted his handkerchief and passed it to her.
“I beg your pardon.” Emmie tried to smile and failed, but took his handkerchief. “It was difficult, watching her grow from toddler to child and seeing she’d had no one to love her since my aunt died.”
“One must concede, you seem to care for the child.” The earl regarded her with a frown. “But one must also inquire into what manner of influence you are on her. You aren’t supporting yourself as your aunt did, are you?”
“I most assuredly amnotsupporting myself as you so rudely imply.” She rose to her feet and tried to stuff his damp hankie back into his hand. “I work for honest coin and will not tolerate your insults.”
“Keep it.” He smiled at her slightly while his fingers curled her hand around his handkerchief. “I have plenty to spare. And please accept my apologies, Miss Farnum, as your character is of interest to me.”
“Why ever is it any of your business how I earn my keep?” She resumed her seat but concentrated on folding his handkerchief into halves and quarters and eighths in her lap rather than meet that piercing green stare of his again.
“I am interested in your character because you are a friend of Miss Winnie’s, and she has become my concern.”
“About Bronwyn”—Emmie rose again and paced away from him—“we must reach some kind of understanding.”
“We must?”
“She is my family,” Emmie pointed out, then more softly, “my only family. Surely you can understand she should be with me?”
“So why wasn’t she?” One of his dark eyebrows quirked where he sat sipping his tea. Emmie had the thought that if he’d had a tail, he’d be flicking it in a lazy, feline rhythm.
“Why wasn’t she what?” Emmie stopped her pacing and busied herself straightening up a shelf of books.
“Why wasn’t she with you? When I plucked her off that fountain, she was filthy, tired, and hadn’t eaten all day.”
“I couldn’t catch her.” Emmie frowned at the books.
“I beg your pardon?” The earl’s voice came from her elbow, but she was damned if she’d flinch.
“I said, I could not catch her.” Emmie did peek then and realized the earl wasn’t just tall, he was also a big man. Bigger than he looked from across a room, the scoundrel.
“And I could not run her off,” the earl mused. “It might comfort you to know, Miss Farnum, I am the oldest of ten and not unused to youngsters.”
“You do seem to get on well with her, but I have an advantage, my lord. One you will never be able to compete with.”
“An advantage?”
“Yes.” Emmie said, feeling a little sorry for him, because he really would not be able to argue the point much further. “I am a female, you see. A girl. Well, a grown woman, but I was a girl, as Bronwyn is.”
“You are a female?” The earl looked her up and down, and Emmie felt herself blushing. It was a thorough and thoroughly dispassionate perusal. “Why so you are, but how does this make yours the better guidance?”
