Page 71 of The Soldier
“And that’s all.” She sighed, bowing her head. “I made a mistake with you. It isn’t my first mistake, but I hope it will be my last. I can’t survive another such mistake.”
He was silent, not asking her why it was a mistake. He could guess that.
“I think I’m getting better,” he said quietly. “I go for as much as a week between nightmares, and the last time it rained, I was able to stay away from the brandy. I haven’t had to build a wall now for a few weeks, Emmie.”
“Oh, St. Just.” She rested her forehead on his shoulder. “It isn’t you. You must not think it’s you. You’re lovely, perfect, dear… And youaregetting better, I know you are, and I know some lady will be deliriously happy to be your countess one day.”
He listened, trying to separate the part of him that craved her words—lovely, perfect,dear—from the part of him that heard only her rejection.
“Is there someone else?” he asked as neutrally as he could.
Emmie shook her head. “Again, not in the sense you mean. I am not in love with anybody else, and I don’t plan to be. But I am leaving, St. Just. I have thought this through until my mind is made up. My leaving will be for the best as far as Winnie is concerned, and she comes first.”
“I don’t understand,” he said on an exasperated sigh. “You love that child, and she loves you. She needs you, and if you marry me, she can have you not just as a cousin or governess or neighbor, but as a mother, for God’s sake. You simply aren’t making sense, Em, and if it puzzles me, it’s likely going to drive Winnie to Bedlam.”
He glanced over at her, and wasn’t that just lovely, she was in tears now.
“Ah, Emmie.” He pulled her against him in a one-armed hug. “I am sorry, sweetheart.” She stayed in his embrace for three shuddery breaths then pulled back.
“You cannot call me that.”
“When do you think you’re leaving?” he said, dodging that one for now.
“Sooner is better than later.” Emmie wiped at her tears with her hand, which had St. Just tucking her fingers around his handkerchief. “When can you have a governess here for Winnie?”
“I’m not sure.” He spoke slowly, mentally tallying weeks. If he dragged his feet long enough, it would be winter, and Emmie would be bound to stay. “I’ve started the process for filling a number of positions, and we’ll have to see who comes along. Winnie won’t tolerate just anybody, and neither will I.”
“But certainly by Christmas?” Emmie said. “It’s more than two months away, and you are hardly parsimonious with your wages.”
“Is that why you’re accepting every order that comes along, Emmie?” He brushed a lock of her hair back over her ear. “You are saving against the day you leave here and your business might not be so brisk?”
“I am saving against the day I’m too old to work in the kitchens hour after hour, against the day I turn my ankle and miss a week’s business, or the day when I have to replace Roddy.”
“Petunia is trained to drive.”
“I can’t keep her.” Emmie got up and went back to work with her bowl and spoon.
“Do you mean you cannot afford to keep her or you do not think it proper to keep her?”
“Both.” She shot him an indecipherable look where he sat. “She is lovely, and the gesture was lovely.”
Lovely. He felt an immediate, irrational distaste for the word, but their discussion had been productive on a number of levels. First, he comprehended he had at least until Christmas to change her mind. Second, he understood part of Emmie’s bad mood and skittishness was due to sheer exhaustion, which he could address fairly easily. Third, Emmie had not expected him to react as he had to her lack of virginity. She had anticipated he would reject her for it or judge her, and it was a consequence she was willing—almost eager—to bear.
So he didn’t have her trust—yet. And he did not have all the facts. Emmie was keeping secrets, at least, and if Winnie’s disclosure regarding Bothwell was any indication, Winnie had a few things to get off her chest, as well.
Just like managing a group of junior officers. Always a mare’s nest, always making simple problems difficult, and always needing to be hauled backward out of the thickets they should never have blundered into. Except, he mused as he regarded Emmie’s drawn features, he hadn’t been in love with his recruits, and males were infinitely less complicated than females.
Thank the gods Bonaparte had not been female, or the empire would already have encompassed Cathay.
***
“So where’s your kitchen general?” Val asked as they settled in for a brandy in wing chairs before the hearth in the library. “She missed tea and dinner.”
“She’s asleep.” St. Just had sent a tray up to her at teatime, then checked on her just an hour or so ago. The food was half gone, and the kitchen general was facedown on her bed, one foot still wearing its stocking. He’d wrestled her out of her clothes and tucked her in, all without her even opening both eyes.
“She’s the prettiest kitchen general I can recall meeting,” Val said, toeing off his boots. “And she looks at you like you are the world’s largest chocolate cream cake.”
“She does not.” She might have once upon a dark night, but she was obviously retrenching from that happy aberration.
