Regina Scott (19 page)

Emma tensed in his arms. “That’s not true! I told you everything about my circumstances.”

“Oh, indeed you did.” Now Charlotte’s voice was more a sneer. “You told me all about your sad life, orphaned young, adopted by a prominent London gentleman. Did Samuel Fredericks put you up to this or was it your own idea?”

Fredericks? Nick was so surprised he stiffened, and his arm slid off Emma’s shoulders. “What does Samuel Fredericks have to do with any of this?”

“Do you wish to tell him or shall I?” Charlotte challenged.

Emma met his gaze, her own tight and troubled. “I was on my way to tell you when I found the prototype in my room. Samuel Fredericks is my foster father, but I wish no part of him. He has nothing to do with my employment here.”

He heard the words, but they made no sense. He knew Fredericks’s family, had met his two daughters. Neither looked anything like Emma. “Samuel Fredericks, the natural philosopher?” he asked.

Emma nodded. “Yes. He adopted me and three boys from the orphanage. But I haven’t lived in his house for more than a year.”

Nick frowned at Charlotte. “You knew of this?”

She drooped as if she thought she had failed him. “I did. She seemed so sincere in her desire to leave London, to start fresh. How was I to know she was a cozening thief!”

“I’m not!” Emma turned to him, eyes wide. “Please, Nick, you must believe me! I’ve had no contact with my foster father since before I even joined your household.”

“And how inconvenient for him,” Charlotte said before Nick could respond. “Is that why he had to send your brother to pose as a footman? Is that why you sent Mr. Jones packing so quickly, so you could send word to Mr. Fredericks?”

“No!” Emma pushed away from him, each movement frantic. “I told Jerym to leave because I was afraid he was spying for Mr. Fredericks! I’ve only ever protected this family. Surely you see that!”

Everything inside him demanded that he defend her, despite the logic that aligned so neatly with Charlotte’s accusations, his own calculations. He’d thought the culprit had to understand the value of his work. Raised in Fredericks’s household, Emma could have known about the safety lamp and its importance, even before Nick had explained it to Alice in front of her. He’d thought the thief had to know his movements. Emma had been there when he’d made his discovery, was aware he’d be at the ball and dinner with Alice from five until at least eight. If Charlotte was right, Emma’s brother could have waited for a sign from her and then taken everything from the laboratory.

Yet how could he doubt Emma? He’d seen her care of Alice, her delight in a new discovery, her patience with his inept ways of expressing himself. Jennings had told him about the gratitude of the men she’d nursed at the mine. He’d watched her smile, heard her laugh. He’d felt her body tremble in his arms. He didn’t want those moments to be lies.

It was as if he’d been torn in two. Still, the logical, pragmatic part of him could look dispassionately at the emotions tumbling through him to the center of the tumult. It was very simple, really.

He’d fallen in love with Emma Pyrmont.

He’d come to love the clever, canny woman who cared so deeply for his daughter, for his well-being. It seemed some part of him longed to lay his heart at her feet.

And that would be the worst mistake of all. He wasn’t good at love, was far too logical and preoccupied with his work to make a good husband. Hadn’t Ann’s death taught him anything? If he loved Emma, the best he could do for her was to ensure she had a safe, comfortable future and allow her to find a man who could offer her the love and attention she deserved.

“Leave off, Charlotte,” he said. “Your hypothesis is flawed. I suggest you go apologize to the staff. In the meantime, I’d like a few words alone with Emma.”

Chapter Nineteen

H
e believed in her! Emma wanted to throw her hands up in thanksgiving. Those accusations had had a horrible ring of truth to them, for all she knew them to be false. Trust a man of Nick’s intelligence to see to the center of the issue.

But Mrs. Dunworthy was obviously unwilling to let the matter go. She drew herself up, eyes narrowed at Emma.

“I will not leave you alone with her,” she insisted. “I was afraid she’d set her cap at you, but I said nothing to you, for Alice’s sake. But when you insist on parading her in my own dear sister’s clothes...” she choked. “I cannot sit silent.”

“You seldom sit silent, Charlotte,” Nick said, though not unkindly. “And while I have always appreciated your efforts on my behalf, I cannot allow you to continue to accuse Emma when she is innocent. I will not be swayed by her beauty or somehow forget my responsibility to my daughter and you because of her winsome smile. You know me to be a man guided by logic. Trust that and give us a moment of privacy.”

Her jaw worked, but she picked up her skirts and swept from the room.

Nick watched her go. “I am very sorry you had to hear all that,” he told Emma.

“I’m very sorry she felt the need to say it,” Emma replied with a shudder. “I’m glad you believe in me. I would never do anything to hurt you or Alice.”

“That is evident,” he said.

He was so sure of the matter she wanted to hug him as tightly as Alice did. But with Mrs. Dunworthy’s suspicions still hanging in the air, she refused to give him any reason to doubt her. She wrapped both arms around the waist of the soft ball gown. “What did you wish to say to me?”

He clasped his hands behind his back as if considering the matter. “I have a number of questions for you. First, did you see anything different in your room?”

“Besides a great gray box sitting at the foot of my bed?” Emma returned.

“At the foot of your bed, you say?” He dropped his hands, and one finger started a beat against his leg. “Odd place to put it if the thief was intent on hiding it or had dropped it on his way to escaping discovery.”

Emma relaxed her arms. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“And why divorce it from the notes?” He began to pace as well, striding past her on the carpet. “If someone were intent on taking the work as his own, he’d need those notes to prove the point.”

“And so will you!” Emma reminded him, moving to intercept him. “You can’t prove your efforts without them!”

He waved a hand. “The proof will be in the working prototype. I’ll have to re-create my notes, but the observers sent by the Royal Society will have to determine the efficacy of my approach. In the meantime, I’d prefer to determine how this happened. You noticed nothing more that would give us a clue as to the reason for the theft?”

Emma shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. You are very welcome to check my room and the nursery, but I doubt you’ll find anything useful.”

“A necessary precaution just the same,” he replied. He eyed her a moment. “Are you really Samuel Fredericks’s daughter?”

She had not expected the question, but she answered it easily enough. “Foster daughter.”

“Other than the issue of blood, I see no reason for the distinction.”

She smiled grimly. “And that’s where you differ from Mr. Fredericks. In his eyes, there is a great deal of difference between the two.”

He frowned as if trying to see the matter from her point of view, and she hoped he wouldn’t pursue this line of inquiry. She didn’t want to spread gossip, or remember some of her foster father’s worst moments.

“Such a great difference that he’d prefer you working as a servant?” he asked as if he could not fathom it. “You were raised as a lady, Emma. You should be a guest in our home, not Alice’s nanny.”

“I like being Alice’s nanny,” she insisted.

“Working from sunrise to long after sunset,” he countered.

“Having a place where I am useful and respected,” she argued. “There are worse things in life, believe me.”

“Such has being accused of theft,” he said.

Emma sighed. “You said you believed in my innocence.”

His answer was immediate. “I do.”

She couldn’t resist asking the question. “Based on what evidence?”

His finger began moving again, as if he were calculating her worth. “You are strong and clever enough to have taken the prototype and my notes, you understand their value, and you are related to the man who wished to believe I wasn’t capable of creating them.”

Said that way, how could he believe her? “That is your evidence? Why did you support me to Mrs. Dunworthy!”

“That is only half of the equation,” he replied, finger moving faster still. “I must also consider you as a person.”

A novel approach, particularly for him. “Oh?” Emma said, raising her chin. “And what do you conclude?”

“I am not, perhaps, the best student of human nature,” he admitted. “However, if I go by observation alone, I have seen you use your wiles to manipulate me.”

“Oh!” Emma started, but he stopped tapping long enough to hold up one finger.

“I believe we have agreed that was your approach. You wished to make me a better father for Alice.”

Emma deflated. “That’s true enough.”

He took no offense to her acknowledgment that he had been less than a perfect father. “So, you are capable of manipulation,” he said, lowering his finger. “However, I have never seen you use it for your own sake. Indeed, everything you’ve done has been for Alice. Hurting me, even helping Fredericks, would not further that goal.”

“All very logical,” she agreed, but some part of her wanted more. She wanted to hear him say that he believed in her because he thought she was a good person, because he cared about her. It was obviously asking too much.

“Nevertheless,” he said, brows still knit, “this incident changes things. I cannot in good conscience continue to employ you when I know you have better opportunities elsewhere.”

Emma’s head came up once more. “You know nothing of the kind.”

His brows lifted, but Emma stalked up to him. “Let me make this perfectly clear to you. Your hypothesis is flawed.”

“What hypothesis?” he asked, holding his ground.

“That my foster father would care that I work for a living. That he would somehow mind that I support myself rather than living on his largesse. You are wrong.”

“I can see you feel strongly about this,” he ventured. “But I find it difficult to believe that any man would see you struggling and turn a blind eye when he could help.”

And there lay the difference between her foster father and Nick: compassion. Perhaps she’d always known it. Why else attempt to build his relationship with Alice? If he had been the monster her foster father was, Alice would have been better off being ignored. Nick actually cared about the well-being of those entrusted to him: his daughter, his sister-in-law, the miners, even Emma.

“You want to help me,” she said, emboldening herself to take his hand and give it a squeeze, making sure his gaze was held by hers. “I know you mean it for the best. But most of my life I’ve been told how fortunate I was to be adopted by such a fine, upstanding gentleman. That was not my experience. I am thankful for the home he provided me, but I don’t owe him my life or my future. If you will not believe that, discharge me so I can find work elsewhere, but do not presume you have done me some favor by reuniting me with Mr. Fredericks.”

Now his brows came down in a frown, and she saw the telltale finger begin to tap. She had presented him with something he did not understand, and he would not rest until he had probed the matter to its depth.

“Don’t start,” she said, letting go and stepping away from him. “I am not one of your experiments, Nicholas Rotherford. Accept my word—I would be happier if I never met Samuel Fredericks again. So what will it be? Do I work here or not?”

His brow remained furrowed, but his finger stilled. He did not approve of the situation. Like his work, his world was ordered by rules and strictures, and she challenged them.

She thought he would argue, perhaps present additional evidence to change her mind. Instead, he reached out a hand and touched her cheek. “I would like to see you happy. I only wish I knew the best way to accomplish that.”

With his hand warm against her cheek, his dark gaze searching hers, she thought she knew what it would take to be happy. More than being Alice’s nanny, she wished she had his love. But a lady couldn’t say such a thing to a gentleman, and certainly not to an employer.

As if he knew her thoughts, he closed the distance between them and lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her, gently, tenderly. Emma held herself still, drinking in the sensations surging through her. This is what it meant to be cherished. This, not the perfect husband, not the perfect family, is what she had been dreaming of her whole life.

He raised his head and gazed down at her, and she gave him a watery smile, heart overflowing. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “Forgive me.”

A laugh slipped past her warmed lips. “You truly must stop apologizing for kissing me, Nick. Either you want to kiss me or you don’t.”

His smile was reluctant. “Oh, I have no question on what I want. I merely question what is right. By kissing you, I undoubtedly raised your expectations, and now I must lower them. I should ask you to marry me, Emma, but I can’t be the husband you need. That’s why I apologized.”

The warmth seeped away, leaving her chilled. “I see. You care nothing for me, then.”

He took another step back, as if wishing he could escape. “What I feel is immaterial. My work takes all my time. You know I have neglected Alice. A wife, any wife, would get far less attention, and certainly less than she deserved. I’m sorry, Emma, but that is the way it is.”

* * *

Nick watched as Emma’s eyes turned a deep, implacable gray. Her lovely lips were nearly as tight as Charlotte’s less appealing pair. Had she been one of his safety lamps, he’d have been concerned she was about to explode.

“That is the way it is?” she said. “Or that is how you insist on behaving? There is a difference.”

She could not know how many times he’d wondered about the matter. “I have evidence to suggest that that is my nature,” he replied.

She crossed her arms under her bosom. “Such as?”

Would she make him recite the litany of his faults? Surely after her experiences in this house she knew them as well as he did. “I was never close to my parents, and my first marriage did not end well.”

Her arms fell, and her face softened. “She died of consumption, Nick. That was no fault of yours.”

“She died because I failed to notice her symptoms.” Saying it aloud brought the whole horrid matter rushing back at him, and he could not look at Emma. “I am knowledgeable enough to recognize the disease, having heard it discussed any number of times in proceedings of the Royal Society. I helped Davy with some of his calculations on the breathing apparatus that was to help people stricken with the illness. But I was too busy with my work to notice that Ann was suffering, until it was too late to help her.”

He felt Emma’s hand on his shoulder. “Was she simple, your wife?”

The question was so far from his thoughts, and reality, that he turned to face her. “Certainly not. Ann was well read, well educated. She would have been an outstanding natural philosopher had she set her mind to it.”

“Then she was terribly busy raising Alice and managing your home,” she said, hand falling to his arm.

“No,” Nick replied, thinking back. “Charlotte had come to join the household by then. She was always more interested in the running of things than Ann was. And we had a nurse then for Alice.”

Emma gave his arm a squeeze. “Then how is it your wife never noticed her own symptoms either?”

He stared at her. “I...I don’t know.”

She squeezed his arm again. “Perhaps something to consider. If she, educated, with time on her hands, didn’t recognize the symptoms until too late, perhaps you are not to be blamed for failing to recognize them either.”

The burden he’d been carrying since Ann’s death eased, and he felt as if he’d grown two inches. “I will consider the matter further. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “And at the risk of sounding brazen, you might reconsider your stance on remarrying, as well. Alice could use a mother who was more involved in her upbringing.”

He’d thought the same. Yet there went Emma again, considering Alice’s needs before her own. “I fear you have just proved my point, my dear. In making my assessment of my matrimonial future, I thought only of myself. That is not the trait of a man who would make a good husband.”

She puffed out a sigh as if he was vexing her. “But you’ve made progress,” she protested. “Look at the ball today.”

“A ball that resulted in the theft of my work,” he pointed out. “That theft will require me to take the time to replicate my experiments and reconstruct my notes, time away from Alice, time away from friends and family. And when this is over, it will be something else. That’s just the way I am, Emma.”

Emma shook her head. “I can see that it is the way you have determined to be, and for that I’m sorry. I feared you would deprive Alice of a father. Instead, you’ve deprived yourself of love.”

As if she’d realized what she’d said, she clamped shut her lips and turned away from him.

She loved him? The gift, the responsibility, was overwhelming. How could he possibly accept it?

“Don’t love me, Emma,” he murmured. “It will only bring you pain.”

She turned back, managed a smile. “I’m afraid you haven’t studied the vagaries of the human heart, sir. You cannot tell it when or whom to love. However, you needn’t worry about me. I will do my job, as always. Provided that I am still employed in your household.”

What could he say? Having her here, knowing her feelings, would make matters difficult for them both. He could discharge her, make sure she found another position. But if she was happy being Alice’s nanny, then he could not gainsay her.

“Of course,” he said. “Only know that you have my respect and appreciation, Miss Pyrmont.” He bowed, deeply. When he straightened, she was gone.