Amanda Scott (9 page)

“I know he wrote to tell Sabrina that he didn’t care for the tone of your letter to him,” Emily said, interrupting him in turn, “so I can well imagine what he must have written to you, but in this instance, sir, you must certainly concede that I have more experience with boys than you—”

“
What
?” He glared at her. “What can you possibly know about boys?”

“I have brothers, sir, and you do not.”

He grimaced. “As I happen to know that the youngest of your brothers is at least four years older than you are—”

“Five, actually,” Emily said, “but that doesn’t signify in the slightest, for—”

“The devil it doesn’t signify,” Meriden retorted. “If you mean to try to tell me that you ever had the least say in your brothers’ upbringing, I won’t believe you. Furthermore, I have no intention of prolonging this idiotic conversation. The reason I put young Giles off till three is that I have business at the estate office that will occupy me until then, so if you will be good enough to excuse me, I will take my leave.”

A moment later she was alone on the drive, fuming. As she returned to the house, she replayed their discussion in her mind, and she had to admit she had made an error in making such casual reference to her brothers. One simply could not expect a man raised by doting parents and attentive sisters to comprehend how much an intelligent young woman could learn about the proper management of boys merely by observing what went on around her as she grew up and by paying heed to the reminiscences of those involved in raising three of the creatures. Really, she thought, Meriden had a good deal to learn. She had been prodigiously patient with him until now, but this last confrontation had sorely taxed the limits of her civility.

T
HAT EVENING, ONCE EMILY HAD CHANGED HER
clothing for dinner and was discussing with Martha whether she would wear her plaits coiled atop her head or in loops behind her ears, Sabrina entered her room, clearly big with news and just as clearly unwilling to speak before the abigail.

“Pin them up quickly, Martha,” Emily commanded, “and then leave us. Dear Sabrina, do sit down before you explode.”

Sabrina strode to the window instead and waited only for the door to shut behind Martha before she turned and said, “I am sure we never had secrets from her when we were young, but I cannot think it right to speak of such things before her now. Emily, do you know what that wretched man has gone and done?”

“Tell me.”

“He has arranged for Mr. Scopwick to tutor my poor little Giles!” Sabrina exclaimed. “Have you ever heard of anything so brutal as that in all your days? That terrifying man! Why, I just quaked the day he stormed the place to complain to Jack about those dreadful Runners. Putting everyone up in arms, he said. Saying they had accused even the villagers of wishing to steal Miss Lavinia’s jewels and had demanded permission to search people, which they must know they cannot do.”

Emily had not been privileged to witness the vicar’s invasion of Staithes, but she had heard about it. “He was incensed because they accosted his housekeeper,” she said calmly. “Questioning her was certainly a foolish thing for the Runners to have done, for she could have had nothing to do with what happened here. But I must agree that he is not the man to take charge of a sensitive boy like Giles. I will speak to Meriden directly after dinner—that is, if he dines here tonight.”

“Oh, he does, but do you think that wise, my dear? It might be better to consider carefully first what you mean to say to him, to wait until morning—”

“I never put off that which can be accomplished with speed and resolution,” Emily said firmly.

Once again Sabrina looked as though she had conjured up something she knew not how to control, but although she twittered a little and flung up her hands, she made no further objections.

Neither Giles nor Melanie was present at the dinner table, but in Mr. Saint Just’s presence Emily did not believe it proper for her to initiate discussion of Giles’s tutor or to debate the earl’s decision when Miss Lavinia introduced the topic.

“Understand you’ve asked Eustace Scopwick to tutor young Giles,” she said during a lull in the conversation.

“I have.” Meriden glanced at Emily, but she kept her attention riveted to her plate. “He is an extremely well-educated man who comes from an excellent family.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Miss Lavinia. “He had every benefit open to a younger son. Always surprised everyone—being so big, don’t you know—that he didn’t embrace a military career. And then when he chose the church, everyone expected him to advance quickly. His mama was convinced he’d become Archbishop of York at the very least.” She smiled as if at a fond memory.

“But he ended up here instead,” observed Emily, deciding that this portion of the conversation was harmless.

“Didn’t end,” contradicted Miss Lavinia. “Began. The living was free when he took his orders, and Meriden’s papa very kindly awarded it to Eustace. That was more than twenty years ago. Says he likes the people hereabouts.”

Emily looked at her sister. “Then you have known Mr. Scopwick for a very long time.”

Sabrina flushed. “Not really. That is …” She glanced with embarrassment at the interested Mr. Saint Just, then added with a self-conscious gathering of dignity, “You see, we were so rarely at home, Emily, and Laurence didn’t hold with … with …”

“With all that religious claptrap,” put in Oliver helpfully. Then, catching Meriden’s steady, disapproving gaze upon him, he added defensively, “Well, that is what Papa said. I heard him say so more than once.”

“There is no need for you to repeat his words, however,” the earl said gently.

The reprimand brought a flash of anger to Oliver’s eyes. Looking first at Saint Just as though to draw courage from him, he turned back to Meriden defiantly.

Emily’s mouth opened but before she could speak she saw that intervention would be unnecessary. The earl had caught and held Oliver’s angry gaze with his own, and the young man’s defiance evaporated quickly. Painful color invaded his cheeks, and when Meriden finally looked away, Oliver did not so much as glance at Saint Just again.

Unaware of the byplay, Miss Lavinia said musingly, “Letitia had some odd notions of devotion, though I suppose I ought not to say so of my own sister.” Having drawn their attention, she added, “Staithes Priory, you know—daresay she had some idea of bringing it back to whatever grandeur it enjoyed before Henry the Eighth rearranged such matters. Kept her own chaplain, of course—you will remember, my dear.” She smiled at Sabrina.

“Oh, yes,” Sabrina said, giving a dramatic shudder. She looked at Emily. “Although Laurence’s papa had been dead nearly five years when we married—for, like poor Laurence, he died young—his mama lived some ten years longer, three of them here at the Priory before Laurence prevailed upon her to retire to the dower house near Harrogate. There were services every morning and every evening for all the servants and the family while she was here. Laurence hated them, and I must say they were very long and dull. How the servants ever managed to get their work finished between times, I am sure I do not know.”

“But surely,” Emily protested, “you must have gone to church, Sabrina. You did not stay away all those years.”

“Oh, no,” replied Sabrina, more flustered than ever. “I am persuaded that we very nearly always attended St. George’s Chapel in Hanover Square on Sundays when we were in London, for everyone does so. And I daresay we attended any number of private services at winter house parties.”

Emily, catching Mr. Saint Just’s fascinated eye just then, hastily changed the subject to one more appropriate to the company. When Sabrina signed at last for the ladies to take their departure, leaving the gentlemen to their port, Emily said quietly to the earl, “Before you leave for Meriden Park, sir, I would be grateful for a private word with you.”

He raised his eyebrows, but his tone was polite. “I am at your disposal now, ma’am. Shall we go along to the library?”

Sabrina looked wildly from one to the other. “Emily, perhaps you ought—”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Emily, not hesitating to interrupt her. “The library will do excellently well.”

Miss Lavinia smiled at her and turned away with a little shake of her head to say to Sabrina, “Come along to the drawing room, my dear. You promised to show me how to manage that intricate knotting pattern I admired on your French shawl. Dolly shall read to us for a spell until Emily returns.”

Grateful for her assistance in calming Sabrina, Emily did her best to concentrate on what she would say to the earl. He was behind her as she descended the stairway, however, and she was absurdly conscious of his presence. Nerve endings all over her body stood on end, making her feel warm despite the chill of the large hall. The feeling made it hard for her to think, though he said nothing at all until they had entered the library.

Meriden shut the door. “Will you sit down, Emily?”

Nodding, she chose a leather armchair near the huge Chippendale library table in front of a tall window overlooking the lake. She noted as she sat down the elegance of dark-red curtains looped back with gilt cords and the pleasant smell of leather that permeated the room. Books and papers piled on the table as well as on a nearby leather sofa gave her to understand that he must have worked there after his interview with Giles.

Instead of taking the leather chair near the window behind the table, as she had expected him to do, Meriden simply pushed papers aside and sat on the table directly in front of her, his hands resting by his hips, his long fingers curled around the edge just above a carved festoon of flowers. “I trust you remember my warning,” he said gently, looking down into her eyes.

He looked so big, so like a predator poised to spring, and once again he was too close for her comfort. She blinked up at him. “Warning?”

“About interfering. You wish to take me to task over my treatment of Giles today, I suppose. I have been expecting it, of course, so I will endeavor to contain my temper in patience.”

Emily suddenly discovered that she was having difficulty restraining her own temper. Speaking with forced calm, she said, “You agreed to hear my opinions, sir.”

“Not precisely. I acknowledged that I would find it well nigh impossible to prevent your voicing them. But for goodness’ sake,” he added hastily when she stiffened, “let us not haggle over whether I will listen. Say what you must and have done.”

Emily opened her mouth and shut it again, forcing herself to count slowly and silently to ten as the estimable Miss Matthews had frequently counseled her to do during her formative years. Since she accomplished this feat only by not looking higher than his lordship’s polished boot tops, it was with some surprise that she glanced up at last to find his eyes aglint with amusement.

“Finished counting?” he asked.

Stifling the urge to begin again, she said tightly, “It is a practice you might cultivate to some advantage, sir, if you know how to count.”

She regretted the rider when he clicked his tongue and said chidingly, “Don’t be childish, Emily. You don’t really doubt the quality of my education, do you?”

“Of course not,” she said, wishing he would rid himself of his habit of positioning himself so close to her when they talked. “You are being absurd, my lord, and we have strayed from the point of our conversation.”

“I was afraid you would notice that,” he murmured.

Exasperated and tired of feeling dwarfed, she stood, stepping back away from him as soon as she was able to do so, a little surprised, but grateful, too, when he did not also come to his feet. “The point is certainly Giles, sir.”

“You agreed to call me Jack,” he reminded her dulcetly.

“That has nothing to do with this discussion.”

“But it is difficult for me to follow your reasoning,” he complained, “if I must constantly be wondering whether you will next address me as ‘sir’ or ‘my lord.’”

“Will you just once, for the love of heaven, listen to me? Why on earth did you choose that dreadful man to instruct poor Giles?” It was not, certainly, the way she had meant to begin. She had meant to lead up to the point with the utmost tact. But the man was infuriating. He had goaded her past any ability she had to command tact.

His reply was in keeping with all the rest. “I chose him,” he said, shifting his weight and folding his arms across his broad chest, “because he is the right age for the task.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“As well you might.” He crossed one booted foot over the other. “I told you you might repose complete faith in my judgment. Surely you see now that I have done the best thing possible for all concerned.”

“I see nothing of the sort,” she informed him. “What possible importance can his age have with regard to anything? Indeed, I distinctly recall your mentioning that you had instituted a search for a young man to tutor him.”

He shrugged. “I came to my senses, fortunately, before any damage had been done.”

“I do not agree that there would have been any damage done at all,” Emily said with dignity. “A young tutor would be entirely satisfactory, more able than Mr. Scopwick is to enter into those activities that Giles most enjoys.”

“Dolly would certainly agree with you,” he said pointedly, “but I do not, and I have enough on my plate already without adding complications from that direction.”

Startled, she let her gaze meet his. “I see,” she said slowly. “Yes, it was foolish of me not to have considered Dolly. You are very right, of course. Unless … perhaps you could manage to find an ugly young man.”

He chuckled. “Do you think that would put her off? I do not. She practices her wiles on anything in breeches. Saint Just, Enderby, and Bennett no doubt, and even the grooms, I’m sorry to say, do not appear to be immune from her attention.”

“Then age will not deter her either, so—”

“I do not think, however, that the estimable Scopwick will succumb to her wiles.”

Instead of making her laugh, the image he drew stirred her temper instead. “The man is a brute,” she said. “One has only to look at him, to listen to him, to know that much. How you can possibly consider giving a sensitive, innocent little child—”