That evening Spence was so clearly fatigued and in pain that she could have worn her oldest rag and she doubted he would have noticed. She claimed she wished to retire for the night immediately after the meal, so that he would not feel obliged to keep her company in the drawing room. She hurried ahead of him so she could fetch Tolley to assist him up the stairs. Emma was too exhilarated to be sleepy. Visions of fashion prints and her many lists flashed through her mind.
Two days later a messenger arrived from London with a letter from Blakewell. The Bank of England verified that the Kellworth capital was intact, still earning money in the 5 percents. The sum of ready cash staggered Emma, but Spence took it in stride.
Blake’s letter went on to say that Ruddock had disappeared. His older brother, the senior Ruddock of the firm taken over from their father, was as alarmed at the idea anyone would find his brother’s dealings in question as he was at the man’s disappearance. The senior Ruddock promised a close examination of his brother’s Kellworth ledgers.
In the meantime it appeared money existed and could be spent, and spent it was. Spence lost no time in arranging for repairs. The former servants were summoned back and workers were hired from far and wide to restore Kellworth to its glory. Emma felt as if a whirlwind had hit, but she surmised Spence would wish things done as quickly as possible so he could leave again.
By week’s end the whirlwind had turned Emma’s world topsy-turvy. Spence spent much of his day in the library closeted with Larkin or Gandy, the gamekeeper, or Boyd, the head groom. He interviewed stonemasons and carpenters and plasterers. The abundance of meat, fish, vegetables, even fruit, made choosing the day’s menu a matter of a few minutes spent, rather than an hour going over with Cook and Mrs. Cobbett how to stretch a scarcity of food. As the former maids, laundresses, and milkmaids returned to Kellworth, Mrs. Cobbett had less need of Emma’s guidance. Organizing the scrubbing, dusting, and laundry was an easy matter when there were workers aplenty.
With time on her hands, Emma donned her straw hat, half-boots, and gloves and walked out to the kitchen garden, only to discover three workers busily weeding and pruning. She wandered over to the farm buildings to check on her pigs. A farmhand was leading one of them away.
“Where are you taking him?” she asked, quickening her step to catch up to the man.
He stopped and tipped his hat. “Beg pardon, m’lady. Mr. Larkin said we could have this one for slaughter and for smoking.”
It was one of the pigs she had been fattening up for market.
“Mr. Larkin said this?”
“He did, ma’am. Said we had need of more meat, ma’am, with all the new workers.”
“You cannot take my pig!” She grabbed the rope from his hands.
With eyes bugging, he let go, and Emma pulled her precious pig back to the sty, the farmhand at her heels. She put her pig back into the enclosure, where the mother and father pigs snorted as they fed on kitchen scraps.
“Leave him in here!” she ordered.
She had seen Larkin enter the library earlier. Storming back to the house, she stopped only long enough to change her shoes and remove her hat and gloves.
She entered the library without knocking. Both Spence, who was seated behind the desk, and Larkin, standing in front of it, looked up in surprise.
She charged right up to the estate manager. “Mr. Larkin, did you order my pig slaughtered?”
He took a step backward at her onslaught. “Why, yes, I—”
“He is my pig. I was saving him for market. You knew I wished to sell him, and you acted expressly against my wishes.”
“I—I—” he stuttered. “I did not think it mattered now we can buy more pigs.”
“But this was my pig!” she cried. She sounded ridiculous, she knew. Of course there was enough money for more pigs, but it was the principle of the thing. The pigs were hers. He ought to have at least asked her permission.
Mr. Larkin gave a curt bow. “I beg pardon, my lady. His lordship and I had been discussing what was necessary to feed the new workers and . . .”
She swung on Spence. “You gave him permission to slaughter my pig?”
Spence looked dumbfounded. He turned to the estate manager. “Larkin, we are finished here. You may go.”
Larkin bowed. “Very good, sir, but what shall I do about the pig?”
Spence said, “Leave the pig.”
Larkin bowed again to Spence and to Emma and left the room with a very quick step. Emma turned to leave as well.
“Wait, Emma,” Spence said.
She looked over her shoulder at him.
His expression was earnest. “Forgive me. I did not realize the pig was your pet.”
Pet? She swung around. “You think I kept pets when I was hard-pressed to feed the people here? The pig was food. Or money for food. And even if I did have the leisure for a pet, it would not be a pig! I would have a dog or a kitten—”
He held up his hand. “Just tell me about the pig then.”
“It was my pig.” She marched to his desk and glared at him. “You had no right to order him slaughtered.”
He nodded. “You have made me realize. What I do not understand is why
you
had a pig.”
“I purchased a breeding pair of pigs,” she explained, trying to use a patient tone. “The sow had her first litter, five piglets. This was the only one left. This pig was to go to market.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Your friends ate the other one I wanted to sell.”
He stood and walked around the desk to stand next to her. “Then I must apologize for my friends,” he said using that warm, low voice that made her insides turn to butter. “You purchased the pigs to raise more pigs?”
She stepped away from him and averted her gaze, remembering where she had gotten the money to buy her pigs.
“It is more complicated than that.” She faced him again.
He raised his brows and leaned against the desk.
She took a breath. “I did not have the money to buy the breeding pair, but I wanted them, because we could make some money from them, raising the piglets and selling them for profit.”
“So how did you buy them?” he asked.
She raised her chin. “I sold a small Worcester bowl and a pair of Derby figurines and Sheffield candlesticks. I know they belonged to Kellworth—hence to you, not to me—but I sold them nonetheless.”
He gave a serious nod. “I see. And how did you accomplish the selling of these items? Who bought them?”
She bit her lip. “I do not know who bought them. I had an . . . an intermediary to accomplish the sale.”
“An intermediary?”
She hesitated, reluctant to divulge the identity of the person who helped her, but she also wanted Spence to know exactly what transpired in his absence.
“Reuben sold them for me in London, to get the best price. But you must not blame him for the scheme. It was my doing. He would not let me do it myself.”
He gave a small laugh. “Reuben?”
“I had to depend upon someone. I confess Reuben was a great help to me. But you must not put any blame on him.” She looked at him with defiance.
He walked over to her again and took her hand in his. “The blame is mine, is it not? I will not be angry at you for showing resourcefulness.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. “What were you to do with the money from the piglets?”
She wished he would not touch her. It brought memories of his arms around her and his lips touching the tender skin of her neck, even though a whole week had passed since he’d held her.
She pulled her hand away. “I was going to buy food. What else?”
He reached out again, but she took a step back. “Oh, Emma,” he murmured in low tones. “This is but more to make up to you.”
That night after Spence retired, Emma was too restless to go to bed so early. She lingered in the drawing room, working on a piece of needlework she’d neglected for more than a year. It was to be a seat cover for a chair in the gallery, one of the rooms that had been closed with dustcovers draped over the furniture. When her eyes began to pain her from the strain of sewing by candlelight, she put it aside and went up to her bedchamber.
Susan dozed in her chair, so Emma tiptoed past her and quietly got herself ready for bed. Susan would be traveling to Dover to live with her sister within a few days, with a nice pension to keep her comfortable. Emma was too relieved that Susan would be settled so nicely to even think of missing her.
She gently touched the old lady’s shoulder. “Time for bed, Susan.”
The maid woke with a snort, blinking in disorientation, then gave Emma a smile. “Did I doze off?”
“Yes, you did,” Emma said. “And I have managed to get myself ready, so there is nothing for you to do but go to your room.”
The old lady nodded and rocked back and forth trying to get herself to her feet. Emma helped her.
“Shall I walk with you to your room?” she asked.
Susan patted her arm. “I can manage, my lady.”
Still, Emma escorted her to the door and opened it for her.
A small cry, almost like a baby, sounded behind her. “What is that?”
Susan grinned, all her wrinkles visible. “Something from the earl, my lady.” She shuffled out of the room.
Emma whirled around, wondering from where the sound had come. There was a basket on her bed. She hurried over to it and peeked inside.
A fluffy white kitten and an equally fluffy black one peeped up at her. The white kitten opened its pink mouth.
“Mew!”
“Oh!” Emma exclaimed, reaching in to pick up the little creature.
They were merely kittens from one of the barn cats. Emma had seen the mother nursing them weeks ago, but so much had happened since then, she hadn’t given the kittens another thought. Someone had cleaned up these two and tied yellow ribbons around their necks. The little black one yawned and licked his front paw.
Emma put the white one back in the basket, climbed on the bed, and, sitting cross-legged, picked them both up again and rubbed their soft fur against her cheeks.
Spence had given them to her, a gift of no monetary value, but one as precious as she could imagine.
They squirmed in her hands and she placed them in the circle of her legs, where they pounced on her nightdress when she wiggled her toes.
She laughed and rubbed her finger back and forth until they knocked into each other trying to reach it.
For all the time of Spence’s absence, Emma had had plenty of people to provide for, to worry over, to take care of. But until this moment, she’d had no creature merely to love.
Tears moistened her cheeks. She picked up the kittens again, cuddled them against her face, and tried not to sob.
T
he next morning Spence woke when Tolley, cheerful as always, entered his room. After Tolley helped him dress and went out the door again, Spence checked the mirror, adjusted his neckcloth, straightened his coat, and again ran the comb through his hair, which now curled over his collar.
There was a rap at the door. “Enter.”
He expected a chambermaid or someone to enter from the hallway, but the door connecting his room to Emma’s opened. There she stood, wearing one of her threadbare dresses. Even so, his pulse quickened.
She carried the basket on her arm. “Thank you,” she said in a tiny voice.
He walked over and peeked in at the two furry creatures peeping back at him. “Do you fancy them? Tolley brought me as many of the litter as he could find. I selected these two. I think they washed up rather well.”
“They are lovely,” she whispered.
He smiled, inordinately glad he had pleased her.
She petted the kittens with her finger. “I am taking them to the kitchen for some cream.”
“I will walk with you.”
He followed her all the way to the kitchen, where Cook broke into a big smile upon seeing him.
“My lord,” she exclaimed. “It does my heart good to see you.”
Cook had aged. All the old retainers had aged. Cook wiped her hands on her apron with the same vigor he recalled from his youth, and in the same voice he remembered as a boy, said, “I’ll be making a special pudding for tonight, now that we have supplies aplenty. I made biscuits yesterday. Do you fancy one?”
“I do indeed.” He could almost taste the buttery biscuits melting on his tongue, and was suddenly as eager for one as when he begged for them as a child. He had forgotten the pleasant times he sat dangling his legs at the long wooden table while Cook fussed over him and Stephen, fixing them a special meal or plying them with sweets.
The memory warmed him. “In fact, if breakfast has not yet been sent up, I would be delighted to eat right here.”
At his words Emma glanced up from where she had been setting out cream for the kittens.
Cook’s grin widened. “Like when you were a lad! You have a seat and I’ll fix you a plate.” She hustled him over to the same stool where he sat as a boy, although now his legs no longer dangled and the stool Stephen sat in was empty. Bustling to and fro, she set a plate of her biscuits before him. He took one eagerly and popped it whole into his mouth.
Emma stood. “I will breakfast here, too, Cook. There is no need to send food to the dining room for just me.”
Cook caught one of the kitchen maids. “Run and tell Mr. Hale, girl, and be quick about it. Breakfast in the kitchen today!” She put Emma where Stephen would have sat, next to Spence. Soon they had plates laden with ham slices, baked eggs, mounds of butter and jam, and a pot full of tea.
Spence speared a piece of ham with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. Stopping himself, he looked to Emma. “Am I about to eat one of your pigs?”
She laughed, the sound as wonderful as Cook’s clanging of pots and clinking of dishes. “No, you are not. My pig, the one your friends partook of, would not have had time to cure. I suspect this ham was one of Mr. Wolfe’s purchases.”
“I confess, I am relieved.” He winked at her and bit into the piece of ham. “I feel some sort of kinship with your pigs.”
She returned a serious look. “I was not attached to the pigs, Spence. They were raised for slaughter. I realize I need not concern myself with them anymore.”
Their eyes caught, but she quickly glanced away.