Page 9 of The Soldier
“Everyconfidence?” Emmie arched an eyebrow and met his gaze squarely.
“I got her into the house.” The earl started counting off on his fingers. “I inculcated basic table manners, I engaged her in civil discussion when she was intent only on repelling boarders, and”—he arched an eyebrow right back at her—“I got her into the bathtub, where she was soaped and scrubbed into something resembling a lovely little girl.”
“You did.” Emmie scowled in thought. “May I inquire how?”
“Nelson at Trafalgar. One can only demonstrate sea battles under appropriate circumstances.”
“Yougave her a bath?” Emmie’s eyes went wide.
“Soap and water are not complicated, but the tweeny is hardly likely to comprehend naval strategy. I’ll provide the child the right bath toys, and my direct involvement shouldn’t be necessary from this point out. You do, I assume, have a grasp of naval history?”
“Naval history?” Emmie all but gasped in dismay.
“Well, no matter. I can teach you a few major battles, and any self-respecting child will take it from there. So are we agreed?”
“On what?” Emmie felt bewildered and overwhelmed, perhaps as if a cavalry regiment had just appeared, charging over the nearest hill, and her all unsuspecting in their path.
“You will be her temporary governess until we find somebody we both approve to serve in that capacity. I shall compensate you, of course.”
“I will not take money for looking after family.”
“And how will you support yourself if you do not take money for services rendered?”
“That’s the other reason I cannot agree to this scheme.” Emmie all but snapped her fingers, so great was her relief. “I cannot let my customers down. If I stop providing goods for any length of time, they’ll take their business elsewhere, and I’ll get a reputation for being unreliable. It won’t serve, your lordship. You’ll have to think of some other compromise.”
“What is your business that your customers would be so fickle?”
Emmie smiled with pride. “I am a baker, my lord. I make all manner of goods… breads and sweets especially.”
“I see. There is no impediment, then.”
“Of course there is.” Emmie gave him a version of the local art-thee-daft look. “I cannot abandon my business, my lord, else I will have no income when we find a permanent governess for Bronwyn.”
“You don’t abandon your business,” the earl informed her. “You merely see to it here. The kitchens are extensive, there is help on hand, and you were obviously prepared to look after your cousin and your commercial obligations at the same time, so you should be able to do it easily at Rosecroft.”
“You would have me turn Rosecroft into a bakery?” Emmie all but squeaked. “This is an old and lovely manor, my lord, not some…”
“Yes?”
“My customers would not be comfortable coming here to pick up their orders. Helmsley was not on good terms with most of his neighbors, and you are a stranger.”
“Then we’ll have your goods delivered. Really, Miss Farnum, the measures are temporary, and I should hope the good folk hereabouts would understand Winnie has lost both father and mother. As her family, we must put her welfare before somebody’s tea cakes and crumpets.”
She met his gaze and sighed a sigh of defeat, because he was, damn and blast him, right. Nobody’s tea cakes, crumpets, or even daily bread could be as important as Bronwyn’s future. And he was also right that Bronwyn did so have family—powerful, wealthy family—who could offer her much more than a cousin eking out a living baking pies in Yorkshire.
“I’ll want your apple tart recipe,” she said, chin up. If she was to allow this man to take from her the child she loved most in the world, then she was owed that much compensation at least.
The earl’s lips quirked. “Dear lady, why wouldn’t I give out such a thing to everybody at whose table I might someday sit? I’ve never understood the business of hoarding recipes. Now, how quickly can we arrange for you to start?”
He was gracious in victory. She had to give him that. He’d also gotten Bronwyn into the tub, and he had the best apple tart recipe she had ever tasted. The picture wasn’t entirely bleak. Moreover, the Rosecroft kitchens might need a thorough scrubbing, but as he led her on a brief tour, she saw the ovens were huge, the counter space endless, and the appointments surprisingly modern and well kept.
“My inventory will have to be moved, and I will need storage for it, as well.”
“Details, and ones I’m sure you’ll manage easily.” The earl put her hand on his arm as they left the kitchen. “As we’ve lost the light, Miss Farnum, I must conclude the hour has grown late. Will you allow me to call the carriage for you?”
“I am not but a half mile up the lane. It will not serve to bother the stables for so paltry a journey. I walked here; I’ll enjoy the walk home.”
“As you wish.” He led her through the house to the front door, where her frayed gloves and ugly bonnet were waiting on a table. “Shall I carry it for you?” He held the bonnet up by its ribbons, her gloves folded in the crown. “It’s not as if you need to protect your complexion at this hour.”
