Regina Scott (7 page)

“Pick up the saucer and hold it up to Miss Pyrmont’s face,” Nick instructed.

“Oh, I say,” Miss Pyrmont started, but she blinked as Alice held the piece of blue china next to her nose.

“There, you see?” Nick proclaimed, leaning closer. “Her eyes look blue, and her skin becomes the color of your mother’s pearls. Try the slipper.”

Alice nodded eagerly, set down the china plate and reached for the slipper. But when she held up the yellow, she frowned. “She’s turning color again. It’s not so nice.”

“Well, I’m very sorry,” Miss Pyrmont said, with a bit more asperity this time, “but it’s a little difficult to control the shade of one’s skin.”

Nick nodded. “Quite true. But even if she wasn’t turning color, Alice, I think you can see that the yellow doesn’t have nearly so pleasing an effect.” He reached for the doll dress and held the satin up to Miss Pyrmont’s face. As he had conjectured, the pink very nearly matched the color of her cheeks, and he thought perhaps the feel of her skin might approximate the softness of the material.

Where had that thought come from? Indeed, where had any of this come from? He’d merely been attempting to teach Alice the rudiments of experimentation. He had no business building an hypothesis of the feel of Miss Pyrmont’s skin.

He dropped the gown to the table and stood, focusing his gaze on his daughter. “Well, Alice, what do you conclude from our experiment on color?”

“Blue,” Alice said. “Nanny looks best in blue.”

“I concur,” Nick said. “You might mention that to your aunt. I believe she’s planning on purchasing new gowns for Miss Pyrmont.”

“New gowns,” he heard Miss Pyrmont say, and he thought the words held confusion. “Why?”

“Because you and Alice will be joining us for dinner again very soon,” he said.

He had hoped for a good reaction, and certainly Alice’s applause was gratifying. But he couldn’t help glancing at Miss Pyrmont to see how she would take his decision. Her grin seemed to make the room brighter, his efforts more laudable. Meeting his gaze, her smile only grew.

As if she saw that his smile answered hers, she quickly bent to gather up the empty plates and stack them on the tray to return to the kitchen.

“And can I help you with your experiments?” Alice asked.

How well she pronounced the word this time. “I’m afraid not, Alice. Mine are not nearly so pleasant as this one. You see, I am attempting to develop a special lamp that boys can carry into the ground so they can see their way.”

Miss Pyrmont gasped. He hadn’t thought anyone outside the sphere of the mining community would be so fascinated by his work to warrant that sort of reaction, but when he glanced her way again, he saw that she had paled.

“Is something wrong, Miss Pyrmont?” he asked.

“No, nothing,” she said, much more quickly than she had said anything else to him. “I simply find it commendable that you would develop a safety lamp. The coal miners certainly need it by all accounts.”

She knew the name of the device without an explanation. Interesting. Though the explosions at the mines were well reported across England—the public having an insatiable desire to read of disasters, it seemed—he did not think the work to solve the problem nearly so well presented. How had a nanny learned of it?

Before he could ask, she rose. “I should return the tray to the kitchen. I’ll leave you and Alice to chat and be right back.”

He didn’t even have a chance to protest before she’d fled the room.

“Odd,” he said aloud in the wake.

“She will return,” Alice promised him as if she thought he doubted. She came around the table to lean against his arm. “Let’s do another experiment.”

He smiled at her eagerness. “Like experiments, do you?”

“Oh, yes, Papa. Don’t you?”

“Very much,” he assured her. “But sometimes we must ask a number of questions before we can start the experiment. Let me ask you some. Do you like your nursery?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes.”

“And your lessons?”

Another nod.

“And your nanny?”

Alice squeezed his arm. “Oh, yes, Papa. Nanny is the best nanny ever.”

She was so certain, her violet eyes wide. She had only one other nanny for comparison. He had had two—Alice’s previous lady and his own. Though he seemed to remember a fondness for his nanny, he did not think he would have been as certain of her place in his affections. Of course, that could have been his failing, not hers. He had ample proof that he was not skilled in matters of the heart.

“I’m very glad to hear that,” he told his daughter. “Such a remarkable nanny deserves our thanks.”

Alice nodded, releasing her hold. “You should get her a present.”

Nick regarded her. “What an excellent suggestion, Alice. I will see to it. Now, let’s see what your maid is up to in your bedchamber. I have a question for her, as well.”

Chapter Seven

E
mma flew down the stairs, heavy tray and all, and pulled herself to a stop at the bottom to catch her breath. That’s why Sir Nicholas kept starting fires! He was trying to develop a material that wouldn’t react with firedamp.

She knew all the theories—the segregation of oxygen from the more flammable air, the lower-heat possibilities of various materials, the properties of tallow and whale oil. This was the same research her foster father had been conducting. She’d thought he and Sir Nicholas might know each other from the Royal Society, but she’d never thought they might be collaborators!

The china was rattling on the tray. She forced her hands to still. Firedamp might react to heat, but at the moment she was reacting from fear. She refused to give in to it. Much as she hated the unwavering logic of these natural philosophers, she had to agree with them that emotions had their place, and not when she was trying to make a sound decision.

Still, her first thought was to run away again, leave before her foster father showed up at the door. But she wasn’t entirely certain he cared that she’d gone or would seek her return. One thing she did know: she mustn’t allow fear to ruin what had been a wonderful position for her.

Even if her foster father still wanted to control her, she had no real reason to suspect that he knew where she was. Despite the fact that he and Sir Nicholas were studying the same problem, she also had no evidence they were collaborating. The colliers around the country had reached out to several noted philosophers, she knew—her foster father, Samuel Fredericks, and the chemist Sir Humphry Davy among them. The owners of the coal mines could easily have sought Sir Nicholas’s help as well, particularly as he had a coal mine on his property, she’d been told.

Of course, her foster father frequently partnered with other philosophers to solve some problem. Sometimes they even competed with each other to be the first to discover the answer. This business of firedamp had intrigued him in particular. She remembered him expounding on it over dinner one night.

“England runs on coal,” he’d told his wife and two daughters by birth as they sat around the cloth-covered dining table. Neither Emma nor her three foster brothers were allowed to eat at that table. They’d been fed in the kitchen when they were small, while the family was dining. As they grew older, they had eaten afterward so they could help with the serving. That day she and Jerym, the eldest of the boys, had been standing along the papered wall, waiting to remove the plates.

Samuel Fredericks had picked up his crystal goblet and gestured with it, like a choirmaster ordering his singers. He was a large man, with heavy jowls and a ponderous nose. When his bushy brows drew down in a scowl, she and her foster brothers knew it was time to disappear for a bit.

“We must have more coal, so they must dig deeper,” he’d told his wife. “And the deeper they go, the more of this noxious gas they encounter.”

“And when you have found a way to protect them from it, you can require that they dig deeper indeed,” his wife had agreed, her graying blond ringlets bouncing in her enthusiasm, “in their pockets, that is.” She tittered at her own wit.

“Now, now,” Mr. Fredericks had cautioned as his daughters snickered, their coarse manners clashing with the finery of their lace-edged silk dinner dresses. “Science can provide a service to the nation, and I am honored to play a part.” He drained his glass and held it up. “Fill it again, boy, and be quick about it.”

Be quick about it. Her foster father had expected instant obedience, to every command. He hadn’t expected her to refuse to marry the man he’d chosen for her or to run away from his suffocating household to work as a servant in another. But if she was to be a servant the rest of her life, it would be on her terms. She had to make sure that no one at the Grange ever told her foster family where she’d gone, just to be on the safe side.

You know I am trying to forgive him for the way he treated me and the boys, Father. But forgiving him doesn’t mean I should give him the ability to hurt me again.

She felt the truth of that statement echoing through her. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and moved into the kitchen to return the tray.

“How did it go?” Mrs. Jennings asked as soon as she sighted Emma.

Emma set the tray on the worktable. “Very well, thank you. In fact, he’s still with her.”

Mrs. Jennings clapped her hands. “Oh, well done, Miss Pyrmont!”

“I didn’t leave him much choice,” Emma admitted, going for a towel to wipe her hands where some of the chocolate had spilled. “And I don’t dare leave him alone with her for too long, or Mrs. Dunworthy will think I’m being lazy.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Jennings agreed, dropping her hands. “But don’t give up on him. He deserves to know his daughter as much as she deserves to know him.”

Emma quite agreed. After the way he’d behaved in the nursery, her confidence was growing that she could convince Sir Nicholas to spend additional time with his daughter. She was more concerned what he’d do if he ever learned she’d come from the house of another natural philosopher, and a leader in the group that no longer welcomed him.

She made sure she’d regained her composure by the time she reached the top of the stairs once more, but it turned out she needn’t have worried. Ivy was helping Alice wipe her face and fingers after breakfast, and Sir Nicholas was nowhere in sight.

“Sorry, miss,” the maid said as if sensing Emma’s disappointment. “I finished with my duties in the night nursery, and the master asked me to watch Alice so he could return to his laboratory.”

“He must work on his experiment,” Alice said with grave concern. “Those little boys need a light.”

Emma was certain he’d called them boys to help Alice understand. Surely children didn’t work anywhere so dangerous as a coal mine. “So it would seem,” she replied. “And we have our own experiment to conduct.”

Alice brightened. “More colors?”

“No, something better,” Emma promised, thinking of her plans. “Though it may take us a day to prepare.”

With any luck, she reasoned, the time between breakfast and their next encounter with Sir Nicholas would give him a few moments for his work. He needed to feel as if he’d made progress before she interrupted him again.

Unfortunately, Emma was the one to be interrupted.

She and Alice had just settled at the table the next afternoon, the big book of letters spread before them. Alice was regarding the letter
B
with such a deep frown that Emma felt compelled to question her.

“I don’t know if I like it,” Alice said, as if she was in charge of determining the shapes and functions of letters.

Emma smiled. “I think you will find
B
a fine letter. But you must mind his tail else he might sting you.” She swooped down on Alice and ticked her on the ribs. Alice squirmed with a giggle.

Just then Dorcus hurried into the nursery. The maid’s head and color were both high, telling Emma the woman had either run half the way or been ordered to do an unpleasant task, or both.

“Yes, Dorcus?” Emma asked, straightening.

“Mrs. Dunworthy would like to see you,” the maid said. “Now. I’m to stay with Miss Alice if Ivy isn’t here.”

“Ivy has gone down to help in the kitchen with the baking,” Emma said, rising and feeling her own color rising, as well. “You can help Alice review her letters.”

Dorcus nodded and moved to the table, but as she passed Emma she whispered, “I never learned how to read, but I’ll do my best, miss. Just watch yourself, now. She’s in a taking.”

The advice only made Emma less eager to obey the summons.

As she left the wing that housed the nursery suite, the quiet assailed her. The Grange had been built to house a large family, with six bedchambers on this story, and two more comprising the master suite on the ground floor. Now Alice was the only child in residence, and she’d been sequestered in the nursery.

The plastered walls of the corridor that ran down the center of the chamber story were decorated with massive paintings of landscapes and sailing ships. No people were in evidence in them either. In fact, Emma didn’t sight another person until she rapped on the door to Mrs. Dunworthy’s sitting room and Charles, the footman, opened the door for her to enter.

Like the rest of the Grange, the room was bright, with pale silk on the walls and multipaned windows opening to a balcony overlooking the peaks. Mrs. Dunworthy sat near the fire at a white enameled desk with long gilded legs, quill posed over parchment. Her day dress was of fine lustring that caught the light as she moved, the neck, sleeves and hem dripping with ecru lace. Circumstances might have brought her to serve as a housekeeper in her brother-in-law’s home, but she remained every inch the lady.

Just as the man with her kept proving to Emma that he was capable of acting every inch the gentleman.

Sir Nicholas rose from the settee on the other side of the fire and came forward. “Miss Pyrmont, thank you for joining us.”

Mrs. Dunworthy’s mouth worked, but she kept her head down and her pen scratching across the parchment.

Why would they both need to speak to her? Had she offended Sir Nicholas by leaving him alone with Alice this morning? She curtseyed, careful to make sure the movement included them both. “Sir Nicholas, Mrs. Dunworthy. I understand you wished to speak to me.”

Still the lady did not look up from her paper. “Sir Nicholas,” she said, “would like to see you gowned properly.”

So he had pursued the matter. She’d thought his experiment with colors was just a game for Alice. Very likely he thought the suggestion no more than a conclusion to his efforts. What good to learn something new if not to share it?

“That is very kind of you, sir,” she said, mindful of the footman standing with his back to the wall behind her, “but I’m sure my dresses will do for my work.”

“There, you see, Nicholas?” Mrs. Dunworthy set her quill into its crystal holder with a gentle wave of the white feather. “Miss Pyrmont is entirely satisfied with her wardrobe.”

That frown had appeared again, drawing her gaze to his lips once more. At the moment, they were compressed in a tight line as if he were considering his response. “That was not the impression you gave me earlier,” he said to his sister-in-law.

Had they been discussing her? Somehow she had thought Sir Nicholas was happily unaware of the household’s workings.

“I cannot be held responsible for how you take my attempts at conversation, Nicholas,” Mrs. Dunworthy said.

His frown grew. “If that is true, then I cannot be held responsible for your inability to understand me. Still I do not remember having such difficulty when Mrs. Jennings ran the household.”

Mrs. Dunworthy rose, slowly, majestically, as if every muscle was held in tight control. Emma would have been tempted to quail before such a look, but Sir Nicholas merely continued to regard her as if he had discovered a change in a well-known element.

“You have made it my duty to see to the staff,” she told him. “I suggest you leave me to it.”

If any other member of the household had dared to speak so severely to the master, Emma was certain that person would no longer be employed at the Grange. But instead of taking umbrage, Sir Nicholas straightened, and his brow cleared.

“You seem to be laboring under a false assumption,” he said as if he had just determined the source of her enmity. “I am grateful for your assistance with the household and Alice. You are welcome to stay as long as you like. But this is my home. I make few requests, as you know. I expect them to be honored unless you have evidence that they are misplaced. I understand your reasoning that Alice cannot dine with us until you have determined an appropriate menu with Mrs. Jennings, but I will expect her and Miss Pyrmont tomorrow evening at the latest.”

Mrs. Dunworthy’s jaw was working again, but he turned his gaze on Emma.

“Miss Pyrmont, I have nothing but respect for your position and the way my daughter holds you in her affections. Surely providing you with a new gown or two and inviting you to join us for dinner as a token of my appreciation is not overstepping my role as your employer.”

Her employer. She must remember that. It shouldn’t matter that she couldn’t remember ever being given a present, much less a gown someone else hadn’t worn nearly through. It shouldn’t matter that his look was kind, that she could see her face mirrored in his warm, dark eyes.

But it did matter, and she felt tears building. Emma bowed her head to hide them and dropped a curtsey again. “Thank you, Sir Nicholas. I’m glad to find my service acceptable.”

She thought that would be all, but as she straightened, he laid a hand on her arm, right over the spot of her burn. He could not know that puckered flesh lay below her sleeve, and the spot had stopped hurting long ago, but she had to keep herself from flinching. Then she realized that the touch was as warm as his gaze.

“Your work is more than acceptable,” he said. “It is exceptional. You’ve given Alice someone to care about.” He released her with a smile. “Besides Lady Chamomile, of course.”

“Of course,” Emma said with an answering smile, hand going to cover the spot, still warm from his touch.

“That’s settled then,” Mrs. Dunworthy said brightly. “I trust we have kept you from your work long enough, Nicholas. I will take care of matters from here.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you, Charlotte.” With a nod to Emma, he left the room, the footman holding the door open for him.

“Leave us a moment, Charles,” Mrs. Dunworthy said, and Emma felt as if a storm was gathering. She heard the snick of the door closing.

“It seems that blue suits you better than brown,” Mrs. Dunworthy said in the silence that followed.

Emma wasn’t sure what to expect from the mercurial lady, but she thought at least she should explain. “That business of blue was part of a game he played with Alice this morning. I’m sure whatever color you choose will be suitable, madam. And I am very grateful for your kindness.”

She hoped she sounded suitably humble, but her words had little effect. Mrs. Dunworthy swept out from behind her desk, auburn head high.