Page 73 of The Soldier
“I’ve been back more than a week.” Anna Mae set to mixing up some icing. “I was dying of boredom when his lordship’s footman came by yesterday afternoon. This kitchen is bigger than yours and better laid out.”
“It’s very nice, but how long can you stay?”
“I didn’t come to call, Miss Emmie. I came towork. That wedding cake is going to look a treat, too. Enough to make me wish old Eldon Mortimer might take a girl to wife, you know?”
“The cake!” Emmie whirled, the morning’s deadlines looming up once more.
“It’ll be fine,” Anna Mae assured her. “His lordship has the dogcart hitched to take you over, and the layers are all boxed in the pantry. I’ve put the repair icing in the jar, and you’ll want a cloak, as it’s not exactly warm out.”
Emmie sat at the table and sent a bewildered look at Anna. She wanted to be indignant over matters running so smoothly without her, but her relief at not being behind was just too great. Then, too, she’d gotten more sleep in the past night than she had in the previous three put together.
“And, yes”—Anna Mae set the bowl of icing aside—“you have time for a nice cup of tea before you go. His lordship said he’d be in to fetch you when he had the beastie hitched.”
His lordship… Emmie got up to pour herself some tea. His lordship had taken Winnie off her hands yesterday, retrieved Anna Mae, shown Anna Mae what orders needed to be filled, and was now preparing to escort Emmie and her cake to church. She owed the man a debt of gratitude, one particularly profound given the way she’d treated him yesterday.
And the way she’d treated him the night before. God above, she’d all but attacked him… As she sat sipping her tea—hot, with lots of cream and sugar—the object of her musings appeared in the back hallway.
“I see you woke up after all.” He smiled at her, and Emmie knew with sudden certainty just who had tucked her in and opened her draperies. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Emmie offered a tentative smile. “My thanks for your efforts. I slept like a log, and the rest is much appreciated.”
“You aren’t going to castigate me for being high-handed?” He helped himself to a sip of her tea. “I thought you needed some reinforcements, and Anna Mae seems glad to be here.” Anna Mae winked at him for that pronouncement, and Emmie held her peace as the earl fastened her cloak for her then escorted her out to the gig. Three white boxes sat on the seat, each holding a layer of wedding cake. Caesar stood placidly in the traces, though the air was almost nippy.
“Don’t worry.” The earl handed her up. “I’ve driven the fidgets out of him already, and the church is only a short drive. You look a little less exhausted though.” He climbed up and settled himself beside her.
“Pretty morning,” Emmie said after they’d tooled along for several minutes. “And I really do appreciate your taking a hand in matters. I was about at the end of my rope with Wee Winnie.”
He smiled over at her. “You needed a nap, Emmie.”
“I did. I feel like I could use another one just as long.”
“Then take it. Anna Mae greeted me like I was Wellington himself, and she seems to have matters in hand.”
“What about Winnie?” Emmie frowned even as she stifled a yawn.
“Winnie has me and Val and Mary Ellen, if need be,” he reminded her as they pulled into the churchyard. “I get no end of satisfaction out of watching my little brother take tea with a stuffed bear and a dog. When my sisters played house, Valalwaysgot to be the baby.”
Emmie ushered him into the church hall, which doubled as the local assembly room. While she busied herself with setting up her cake, St. Just was sent to fetch the “repair icing” from the gig. He tarried long enough to release Caesar’s checkrein, allowing the horse to crop the soft fall grass in the churchyard.
“But, Emmie”—Bothwell’s cultured tones drifted through the back doors of the hall—“you know I’ve missed you.”
Emmie’s reply was murmured in low, unintelligible tones, causing St. Just to pause. The damned Kissing Vicar was about to strike again, but as a gentleman…
As a gentleman, hell… St. Just did not pull the door shut loudly behind him, which would have afforded Bothwell a moment to protect the lady’s privacy. He charged into the hall, boots thumping on the wooden floor, jar of icing at the ready.
“Now, Emmie…” Bothwellwaskissing her, one of those teasing little kisses to the cheek that somehow wandered down to the corner of her mouth in anticipation of landing next on her lips.
“Excuse me, Bothwell, didn’t realize you were about.”
“Rosecroft.” Bothwell grinned at him, looking almost pleased to be caught at his flagrant flirting. “I’d heard you were back. My thanks for the use of your stables.”
“And my thanks for keeping those juvenile hellions in shape. You need a horse, man, congregational politics be damned.”
“Maybe someday.” Bothwell’s smile dimmed a little as his gaze turned to Emmie. “But for today, I’ve a wedding to perform.”
And Bothwell had known, probably from experience, Emmie would be bringing her cake over. Absent a special license, the wedding would have to start in the next couple of hours, and St. Just suspected the vicar had been all but lying in wait for Emmie.
“Em?” He brought her the icing. “Shall I go offer up a few for my immortal soul, or will we be going shortly?”
