Regina Scott - The Courting Campaign

But if Alice Rotherford had been conceived in love, how could Sir Nicholas thrust her away now? If Emma had had a smidgeon of such love, she would have treasured it.

“And Alice?” she asked. “Did he have the same degree of affection for her?”

Mrs. Jennings shut her recipe book before answering. “You have to understand,” she murmured, gaze on Emma’s. “Lady Rotherford was never strong. Birthing Alice took a great deal out of her. I think that’s why the consumption carried her off so quickly. I don’t believe Sir Nicholas blamed Alice, mind you. He simply had his hands too full with her ladyship to pay the child much mind.”

Emma hooked her needles into the sock to keep it from unraveling and gathered up her things. “You said her ladyship has been dead for three years. From what I can see, it’s his work that’s keeping him busy, not family concerns.”

“You mustn’t be so hard on him, miss,” Mrs. Jennings protested. “I know he cares for Alice. He’s always made sure she had someone to look out for her, proper food and sustenance.”

“Food and sustenance aren’t the same as love,” Emma replied, rising.

Mrs. Jennings chuckled as she too rose to return to her work. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. More than one of the Rotherfords have found their way to my kitchen over the years when they wanted something to comfort them.”

Emma smiled at her. “I suspect it was your presence rather than the food that brought them comfort, Mrs. Jennings.”

The cook returned her smile as they headed for the kitchen together. “Thank you for that, my dear. I try to make my kitchen a place of welcome, as the good Lord intended. But I know that food can bring comfort as well, something warm, perhaps, to take the chill from life, something a little sweet to cover up the bitter.”

On her way to the servants’ stair, Emma paused to eye the cook. “Was Sir Nicholas ever one of the Rotherfords who came seeking comfort?”

Mrs. Jennings face saddened. “All too often, the poor mite. It wasn’t easy growing up alone in this house.”

“Then I think we have an opportunity before us,” Emma said, mind clicking through options.

Mrs. Jennings cocked her head. “What are you thinking?”

Emma grinned. “I propose we conduct an experiment, Mrs. Jennings. I’ve heard it said that the shortest way to a man’s heart is down his throat. Let’s test that theory.”

* * *

Nick noticed that something had changed the moment he bit into dinner that night. The difference did not appear to be in the eating arrangements. The table had always seemed too long to him, a waste of space. He and Charlotte took up less than one tenth of the length, by his rough estimation. He should probably have simply requested a tray in his study each night, but he somehow thought Charlotte deserved not to eat alone. And after a fruitless day like today, even Charlotte’s judgmental company was to be preferred to the silence of failure.

So if it was not the arrangements or the company that differed, it must be the food. Another bite of the new potatoes confirmed it.

“Is Mrs. Jennings well?” he asked Charlotte, trying not to grimace. Charlotte never responded well to anything she considered criticism of her household.

“I’ve heard no complaints from below stairs,” Charlotte said, lifting a small portion of the trout. “Why do you ask?”

He sniffed the next forkful before tasting it. Yes, something was definitely missing—parsley perhaps? Either way, the food was not to his liking. He pushed back his plate. “It all seems rather bland tonight.”

“I taste nothing unusual,” Charlotte countered, with the supreme confidence of one who knows about such things.

“Perhaps it’s the company then,” Nick said, and immediately regretted it as she stiffened. “Forgive me, Charlotte. I meant no disrespect. I was simply thinking that dinner was more interesting when Alice was here.”

Charlotte’s body settled into her seat. “She is a dear. Perhaps I can advise Miss Pyrmont to have her ready on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Odd logic. “Why only those days?” Nick queried.

Charlotte smiled at him. “I think she is a bit young to join us for dinner every night.”

Was she? He hadn’t been invited to the adult table until he’d returned from Eton at fourteen, but he thought that was his mother and father’s decision, not a general rule of Society. He’d visited the homes of friends where the children of the family were allowed at table as young as six.

“We had no difficulty with Alice last night,” he reasoned. “If she causes trouble in future, we can reconsider the matter. Until such time, I see no reason why she can’t eat with us.”

“How very kind of you.” Charlotte’s praise held an edge, as if she gave it begrudgingly. He felt as if his chair was growing harder. He purposely reached for his glass and took a deep draught.

He could not understand Charlotte. Why was she so annoyed by his request to include Alice? He had never been opposed to the idea. Alice had simply been too young until recently to make the matter practical.

Knowing he needed sustenance for the next few hours, he pulled his plate closer and decided to attempt the trout.

“I suppose you’ll need to do something about Miss Pyrmont’s wardrobe,” he said, remembering the conversation from the previous day. “I’ve never paid much attention to the staff’s attire, but if that brown dress is the best we can do I obviously need to increase your household budget.”

He had taken another sip from his glass and set it back down before he noticed that something else was missing. This time it was the sound of Charlotte’s voice. Indeed, he wasn’t even sure she was breathing. Glancing her way, he saw that she had drawn herself up and was regarding him fixedly. Odd. He hadn’t been aware of a change in his anatomy or clothing.

“Why, precisely,” she said, “do you wish to improve Miss Pyrmont’s wardrobe?”

He hadn’t realized that the hearth was deficient either, yet he was certain the temperature in the dining room had plummeted by at least twenty degrees. “You said she was mortified to take dinner with us last night because of her attire. If we intend to have her to dinner every night with Alice, her mortification must multiply by seven, by my estimation. Surely that is unacceptable.”

“I see.” She lay down her fork with such care Nick could only wonder whether she’d considered another use for it, and one that would result in his injury. “So what you really want is to have dinner with your daughter’s nanny.”

Nick kept his own fork in his hand with a distinct feeling of self-protection. “I am not opposed to dining with Miss Pyrmont. She makes intelligent, some might even say witty, conversation. She is pleasant to look upon. However, my thought was that Alice would need someone to attend her.”

Charlotte’s chin seemed to have shortened. Tightening of the muscles, perhaps? “Then you find me incompetent to assist your daughter in social settings,” she said.

He never had understood why his words were so easily misconstrued. He thought he had a rather good grasp of the English language. Certainly his tutors had never complained. But when it came to Charlotte and even Ann, what he meant never seemed to be what they heard.

“My opinion of your competence should be evident by the fact that I leave all matters in this household to your attention,” he told Charlotte. “As I already trespass on your generous nature by having you manage the staff, I thought perhaps you’d prefer to eat your dinner in peace and allow someone who is paid to see to Alice’s needs assist her through dinner until she is experienced enough to do so herself.”