Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

" M ama, please, can we visit Lady Athol another time?" Emily and her mother rode in the carriage through Brownstone's wrought-iron gate.

"Emily, dear, what has come over you? Since when have you become opposed to visiting Lady Athol?"

Since her nephew attempted to kiss me yesterday, and I almost let him.

"She has been nothing but kind. The least we can do is call upon her and bring more jam and some of Mrs. Hayes's fresh scones as we usually do, especially since she threw a party in your honor. Besides, it's past time I reclaim the salon and we return the canvas to Brownstone Hall. Lord Warren's life-sized portrait keeps frightening Mrs. Hayes." Mama clicked her tongue. "She startles every time she walks in there, thinking there's a strange man in the house."

"Couldn't we have come tomorrow—when I'm to have a painting session?"

Mama flashed Emily one of her that's-enough looks. "If Lord Warren is home, I hope to speak to him. I want to hear more about what he told Papa. Find out his intentions."

Emily swallowed. As much as she wanted to learn Jacob's plans, it just seemed too soon after their near kiss to face him.

Once the carriage rolled to a stop, Emily lifted the hem of her cream-colored muslin walking dress and allowed the Brownstone Hall footman to aid her out of the conveyance. She would have preferred her sturdier frock, but Mama had insisted she choose one of her better dresses. She sighed. It would only encourage Jacob, but she couldn't exactly tell her mother that he'd asked to court her.

Lord Warren. I must stop thinking of him as Jacob .

Heat coursed through her veins. How dare he coerce her into a private meeting and attempt to kiss her? How dare she allow herself to get swept up by his charm and practically fall into his arms? Had she no self-respect? Had she no self-control? No strength to fight temptation?

Like her birth mother.

She tripped up the stone steps leading to Brownstone Hall's front entrance but gripped the railing to impede her fall.

Was that all it had taken for her birth mother? A single moment of weakness? A kiss igniting a passion that led to her assignation?

Mama glanced over her shoulder. "Do be careful. I don't want you spraining an ankle." She tapped the brass door knocker.

The sound of hammering and sawing rang in the background. The workmen had moved from the main house over to repair the stables and west wing.

Mr. Maslow swung the door open. "Good day to you Mrs. Thompson, Miss Thompson." His voice, as usual, was a few decibels too loud as he tugged on the sleeve of his brown livery waistcoat.

"Good day, Mr. Maslow. We've brought scones and jam for Lady Athol." Mama gestured toward the carriage. "And we're returning Lord Warren's portrait so that the finishing touches can be done in the original light. Might you have some footmen aid with moving it inside?"

"Indeed." He waved over two footmen and instructed them regarding the portrait before turning to Emily and her mother. "Lady Athol is awaiting your arrival. Please, follow me." He turned and shuffled down the hall.

Emily followed in a daze. The swoosh of blood rushed in her ears. No matter how hard she'd tried to live a godly life, she was susceptible to the same sins as her mother. Her insides felt like a fallen apple a worm had hollowed out. Her head hung. When it came down to it, she was as easily led astray as her mother.

Lady Athol rose as they entered the salon, her hands tightly clasped in front of her. A timid smile touched her lips, but her eyes sparkled with welcome. "Thank you for coming." She gestured to wingback chairs and sat herself. Her gaze settled on Emily, studying her.

Emily forced her legs to lower her onto the seat.

Mama asked about Lady Athol's welfare, and the women chatted. A shuffle of footsteps outside the door sent a surge of blood through her veins. Please, don't let it be… Her fingers dug into the armrests of her chair.

Mr. Maslow entered, carrying a tea tray.

Thank heavens. She didn't bother to examine the jolt of disappointment. What would she do if it had been Jacob— er—Lord Warren ? She couldn't give him a cut direct or a slap across the face, which would be unspeakably rude in front of her mother and his aunt. Should she pretend nothing happened? Her mind drifted back to the feel of his warm hands on her arms, the nearness of him, his citrus scent overwhelming her senses.

I knew you were someone special … a rare find.

The memory of his words caressed her like the feel of silk.

Special. What tosh.

She'd always believed herself a strong woman. Samuel and Mr. Mathis had taught her to ride, shoot, and defend herself. But after what happened the day before, she knew she was weak—primarily where Jacob Warren was concerned. If only she could forget the man's existence, but she was tied to him because he was Christian's father.

God, make me strong again. Remove me from this awful situation or send Jacob back to London. Without Christian.

"I'm so grateful for my nephew." Lady Athol's voice cut through her thoughts. She passed a cup of tea to Emily.

Thanking her, Emily accepted the china cup with an Aynsley rose pattern.

Lady Athol sat back and sipped her tea. She inhaled a long breath, and her brow furrowed. "I'm certain you've heard, my husband was not a kind man."

Mama patted Lady Athol's wrist.

"Jacob has been a blessing. Because of his kindness and goodness, I've been able to hold my head up once again." She swept one hand out and glanced about her. "My home has been restored, and I can receive visitors for the first time in thirty years. I resisted at first. I'd lived in fear for so long, but Jacob coaxed me out of my confinement. He's taught me how to laugh again. Having him here has been good for these old bones."

Mama leaned in with a sympathetic smile. "We are delighted at the changes we've seen in you and Brownstone Hall. It broke my heart to think of you as a hostage here."

Lady Athol presented a sad smile. "Part of it was of my own making. I wonder if things might have been different if I'd sought help from the church community instead of barricading myself in my gilded prison."

The two footmen carried Lord Warren's painting past the salon's open door to be placed on the easel in the conservatory.

Lady Athol gasped and turned to Emily. "The portrait looks marvelous."

Mama eyed Emily with a proud slant to her lips. "God has blessed Emily with a wonderful talent."

"I must see it more closely." Lady Athol set aside her teacup and rose. "You don't mind, do you, Miss Thompson?"

"I guess not." To see the painting—no. To roam the hall and perhaps be spotted by Jacob—yes, definitely.

Lady Athol led the way, Mama and Emily trailing her. The corner of Lady Athol's shawl dragged along the floor, and Emily's fingers itched to lift and tuck it under her arm, but she didn't dare be so forward. She only wore one shawl today, and Emily couldn't remember her without at least two.

A door creaked, and Emily's gaze darted in that direction. A servant. She released a tiny sigh. She knew the route to the conservatory well. The door to the library hung open. She held her breath as she passed, but no sign of Jacob. A few books rested on the end table beside the sofa. One large tome, which appeared to be a Bible, lay next to a nub of a candle burned low. Was that the Bible Papa gave to Jacob?

Mama chattered about the renovations as they passed the door to the master's study. A stout man dressed in a brown cravat and matching coat sat at the desk, his head down, scribbling notes. He peeked up as she passed and nodded but returned to his writing. Was he waiting for Jacob? No one else was in the room. Something seemed familiar about the man. She'd seen his face before, but where? In town? At church?

Mama's voice bounced off the walls, and Emily wished she would lower her volume to a whisper so as not to draw undue attention.

Lady Athol rounded the corner into the conservatory and stepped aside with a genuine smile.

Mama entered the room and approached the canvas, which rested on its easel. "I do believe it's the largest portrait she's ever done." She grabbed Emily's hand and pulled her forward.

Lady Athol moved for a closer inspection. "You've captured not only his form but his essence. It's the expression he wears when challenged just before he attacks with a witty remark." She clasped her hands at her waist. "After Jacob returns to London, I'll probably be sent to Bedlam for talking to the painting as if it were Jacob himself."

Had he set a date to leave? Jacob returning to London would save her from the temptation of his kiss. She should be overjoyed, but the knowledge only made her feel hollow. Of course, it did. She worried he would take Christian with him. That was all.

While the older women pointed out all the things they liked about the painting, she saw all the flaws. "I still have more detail to add to the hair, the face, and the clothing. I finished the background scenery at home." Emily fiddled with her thumbnail. "Initially, it's best to focus on the areas the—um—model must be present to paint. I need one more session of his lordship's time in the original lighting."

Lady Athol tilted her head. "Do you paint the clothes from memory?"

"My brother constructed a tailor's dummy, so I can borrow the original clothes and dress the wooden man in them so the subject can go about their day."

Lady Athol stepped closer. "The detail is incredible. Especially in his eyes."

Emily had seen that same glint yesterday, that maddening hint of arrogance, just before those blue depths darkened into a smoky gray. His steady gaze, laced with silent expectation, had seized her thinking ability.

Emily closed her eyes to shut out the tempting image of his lips hovering over hers, the sweetness of his words, and the tang of lemongrass haunting her senses. She itched to press her palms to her face and squeeze out the memory, but that would draw Mama's notice.

A baritone voice sounded in the hall, and Emily jolted. The familiar clipping of Jacob's boots on the marble floors drew closer.

Mama and Lady Athol turned to face the door.

Emily slid partially behind her mother. Maybe, if she remained perfectly still, he wouldn't notice her. It was a farfetched plan, but she was out of options.

Jacob and the man she'd seen working in the study strode past, deep in conversation. The man handed Jacob a letter, and he tucked it inside his coat pocket.

He didn't notice. The tight muscles stiffening Emily's spine melted into a relaxed state.

The clipping of his boots stopped.

"Excuse me, Mr. Welsh. I need a moment."

The rich timbre of his voice vibrated through her. He backed up and halted in the conservatory doorway. His buckskin breeches clung to his muscled legs, and his dark umber coat enhanced the blue of his eyes, which panned the room and settled on her.

"Miss Thompson?"

She swallowed.

He stepped inside and bowed a deep, formal bow, addressing his aunt. "You didn't mention we'd be having company." He beamed one of his charming smiles at Mama. "Mrs. Thompson, jolly good to see you, and you, too, Miss Thompson." His assessing eyes lingered a tad too long on Emily.

She forced a smile, but the corners wobbled.

"I was going to pay you a call." His eyes held the same spark of hopefulness as when they almost kissed in the alley. "I have news."

Heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks.

"Good news, I hope." Mama clasped her hand to her bosom.

"Indeed." He moved closer and stood by his aunt's elbow. "I heard back from Lady Kauffman, and she would like to see Miss Thompson's work. She wrote that if it's half as good as what I describe, she'd sponsor her for the academy."

Emily's breath caught. Lady Kauffman wanted to see her artwork? She deflated with an exhale. She couldn't go to London, nor be part of the academy. Someone would recognize her resemblance to her famously painted mother. Why did Jacob have to get her hopes up?

"That's wonderful news." Mama rounded on Emily with a broad smile. "You always wanted to be a member of the academy."

"Indeed." Emily forced cheer into her voice, then bit her lower lip. "But there are costs associated, and we have been saving for Christian to attend Eton."

Jacob raised a brow. "I'm certain something could be arranged."

"Speaking of Christian..." Mama straightened her shoulders, increasing her height by a half inch. "Since you're home, I would like to speak with you, Lord Warren. If you prefer, we can meet in private."

Emily swallowed.

Jacob appeared unfazed. "I'm assuming the vicar spoke to you about Christian?"

"He has." Mama laced her fingers and clasped them at her waist.

"My aunt is aware that I'm Christian's birth father, and Miss Thompson's astute eye began the conversation. It might be best if we all are part of the discussion."

"Agreed." Mama nodded.

"Please, have a seat." He gestured to the chaise lounge and surrounding chairs.

Mama and Emily perched on the chaise while Jacob and Lady Athol took the chairs.

A weary look creased Jacob's brow.

Mama didn't wait to address the situation. "So you are certain that you are Christian's natural father?"

"I am."

"I can see the resemblance. I'd like to know the story. My cousin, Sarah, spoke nothing of the father. We assumed a man had forced himself upon her."

Emily swallowed her gasp. Jacob wouldn't…

"My reputation might not be spotless, but I can assure you that I've never, nor would I ever, force myself upon a woman. I was quite smitten with your cousin. I'm not without blame, mind you. I've come to recognize my mistakes and to own up for my actions, especially my responsibility to Christian."

"Then why has it taken five years?" Mama's voice held a motherly reprimand.

Emily had never heard her mother be so forward.

Lady Athol opened her mouth, but Jacob quieted her with an upraised hand. He launched into the same story he'd told Emily—about his relationship with Sarah and how their friendship had grown to something deeper. About how much he'd cared for her and how brokenhearted he was when she didn't accept his proposal.

His expression grew somber, and his mouth set tight and grim. Despite Emily's misgivings with Jacob, her heart ached for him as he exposed his past mistakes. How many times would he have to bare his vulnerabilities for all to hear?

Would she have been able to endure such judgment?

At the mere thought, she wanted to cast up her accounts. All the more reason for her to be on guard. Another slip-up like yesterday's and she'd be in his spot, publicly professing her sins.

The only difference was that, for a woman, such indiscretions meant societal death.

If Phoebe didn't find a husband soon, she would face shame and public shunning. Her parents would send her away and perhaps disown her.

"Ever since she disappeared to give birth to our child away from society," Jacob said, "I've been searching for him. With the help of an investigator, we traced him here." Jacob ended with his arrival in Sylvanwood.

Mama turned to Emily. "This is what he told you?"

"Almost to the word."

Lady Athol said, "The very same."

"It is also what my husband relayed to me." Mama released a long breath. "Our sins don't have to define us. It speaks to a person's character when they genuinely repent."

"I can't change what I've done." Jacob rubbed his hand over his mouth as if controlling his emotions. "I want what's best for my son."

Mama leaned forward and patted his knee. "Greatness doesn't demand perfection. It demands we take responsibility. Even King David, God's beloved, struggled with sin. He had an affair with Bathsheba and had her husband killed, but David repented to God, saying, ‘Against Thee, and Thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight.' God forgave him. If you ask God, He will do the same for you."

"But there are so many wrongs." Strain lined his face.

Mama flashed a sympathetic smile. "God is aware of all of them. You can't hide anything from an omnipotent father."

"So I should pray…for forgiveness?"

Mama nodded.

"Prayer seems to be the answer to a lot of things."

"It doesn't mean the problem will go away, but a burden will be lifted."

Lady Athol squeezed her nephew's hand and smiled.

"I've been praying for wisdom and reading the Bible as the reverend suggested."

"And what has God shown you?" Mama asked.

Jacob shifted to lean on the chair's arm and stared out the window. "I'd always pictured God to be like my father—a tyrannical ruler judging and condemning people. But the more I read"—he blinked and returned his gaze to Mama—"and prayed, the more God seemed merciful, gracious, and forgiving." His eyes shadowed. "My father attended church every Sunday faithfully. We even have our own cushioned pew, but the man the world saw was very different from the man at home. He was often in his cups, and when he was…" Jacob's voice tightened. "He'd lash out in a vile rage at Mama or me or my brothers."

Emily pressed a hand to her stomach. Poor Jacob .

Lady Athol closed her eyes, and tears cascaded over her cheeks.

Mama sandwiched one of his hands between hers. "It's best not to judge Christ by those who claim to be Christians. We are human and therefore fallible. I ask that you judge our faith by the Creator, who will leave the ninety-nine to go after the one lost sheep."

Jacob blinked and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Emily had never wanted to throw herself into a man's arms. Yet everything within her wanted to cling to Jacob and weep. She gripped the side of her seat to stay in place.

"In your time with God," Mama asked, "has He given you any direction for Christian?"

This man, who always seemed to have something to say, fell silent. Mama watched him, waiting. A stranger wouldn't notice it, but Emily saw the lines of strain around her mouth and eyes. She saw fear there.

Seconds passed, and still Jacob didn't speak.

Even the birds chirping outside quieted.

Jacob's lips parted, but he frowned and shook his head.

"God told him to purchase a toy boat to sail with Christian." The words blurted out of Emily's mouth. Her eyes shifted from Mama to Lady Athol and froze on Jacob, whose gaze snapped in her direction. "So he could spend more time with Christian and get to know him."

What was she doing? Advocating for Jacob to take Christian away from her? She bit her tongue. She may be sympathetic to what Jacob was going through, but she needn't aid him.

"A lovely idea," Mama said. "I, too, have been praying and wrestling this out with God. I believe God has impressed the same on my heart as a next step." Mama paused. "Well, maybe not the toy boat precisely, but that you spend time with Christian."

"Then what?" Emily couldn't mask the panic in her voice.

Mama eyed her, love in her gaze. "We wait and continue to pray until God reveals the rest of His plan." She turned back to Jacob. "In the meantime, you may drive Emily home after your painting session tomorrow. Christian will be finishing his lessons then. He'll be delighted to see you."

Lady Athol straightened her shawl. "Jacob, why don't you and Emily take some air while I talk a bit more with Mrs. Thompson?"

Alone with Jacob? Absolutely not.

"You can show her all the plantings you've done by the pond," Lady Athol said. "Stay in view from the conservatory window."

Emily glared at her mother trying to impart her message. Wouldn't she want to censor their conversation?

"Lovely idea," Mama said, and Emily had to clench her teeth to keep her mouth from falling open. "The weather is beautiful today. I believe spring might be on its way."

Jacob rose and offered his arm to Emily. "Shall we?"

Emily sent up a please-save-me prayer to God before she stood and accepted Jacob's arm.

J acob strolled in the warm sunlight, Emily's graceful hand tucked neatly in the crook of his elbow as if she was meant to be on his arm. He hadn't realized how heavy a burden his secrets were to bear until confessing the truth lightened him. Now that she knew his past, would she be willing to be part of his future? She, too, felt the pull between them. He had seen it in her eyes yesterday, but he'd sabotaged the progress he'd made in explaining his heart when he attempted to kiss her. This morning, she'd appeared tentative, but then she had advocated for him after he hesitated on saying he'd heard from God.

His day had been full of pleasant surprises. He'd stolen a moment before he met with his steward to read a missive that arrived from Lieutenant Scar. Lord Benton had indeed been spotted in Bath, and the confirmation of his assailant being a day's ride away allowed Jacob to relax. At least he needn't wonder if a bullet would hit him while his back was turned. At least not today.

The still-murky pond water reflected his and Emily's linked silhouettes. A red-breasted robin hopped on both feet in the yellowed grass, stopping to pluck a juicy worm from the earth. Jacob pointed to the winter aconite, which had started to bloom with a spray of yellow flowers, a sign that life would begin again after a long winter.

His heart lightened from Mrs. Thompson's words. He could be forgiven. There was still hope he could change—perhaps be a father to his son. Maybe even settle down and find a wife.

After Sarah's betrayal, he'd never longed for a wife. Women had only caused him problems. But his aunt proved not all women were conniving like those in Jacob's social circles, and Mrs. Thompson was a lovely woman who didn't shun him for his past, but instead had been nothing but kind and understanding. Maybe there were women whom he could trust with his heart. The idea had planted in the desolate soil of his heart the moment he woke to find Emily had risked her life to save him. Further encounters with her continued to water the belief that she was different. He glanced down at the timid beauty beside him.

She could be trusted with the intimacy of his heart.

Was this what it would feel like to stroll with Emily as his wife? She already knew and loved Christian. Did they have a chance of becoming the family he'd dreamed of but never believed possible? He was comfortable in Emily's presence. He didn't have to maintain appearances or use witty quips as a sword to bolster his defenses. She knew the truth about him and had yet to run away—well, maybe at the mercantile, but she was here with him now.

Only her fingertips rested on his forearm. Instead of brushing against his shoulder or hanging on his arm as most women did, she kept a distance of several inches.

By Jove, she wanted to run.

His steps slowed. Inside, Emily had defended him, and when he'd regarded her, she'd appeared so compassionate. She melted his heart and stirred a protectiveness within him he hadn't felt for any woman except his mother. But what he felt for Emily was different. He longed to hold her, tuck her head under his chin, and rub his thumb against the soft skin at the nape of her neck. He desired to make her smile and hear her laughter.

Meanwhile, she was withdrawn and ready to bolt.

She glanced his way and caught him staring. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing."

She pursed her lips. "Something's bothering you. I can tell by the deep crease between your brows."

Blast, she was observant. He rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger to relax the muscles.

"Are you upset by what Mama said?"

He shook his head.

"What I said?"

"Of course not." He sighed. "It's…it's how you're acting."

She frowned. "How am I acting?"

"As if you want to flee."

She paled.

A loose tendril of hair fell, dangling between her eyes. He reached for it, and she stepped back.

"Did I imagine the feelings between us yesterday?" he asked. "You didn't force distance between us then. What changed? Was it something I said inside?"

"No." She licked her lips and tucked the errant strand behind her ear. "I'm not like other women."

"That's what I like best about you."

She turned away. "We are of a very different class, you and me."

"You're the vicar's daughter." He stepped around to face her. "Born and raised in a genteel manner by a gentleman. You are well respected within the community. I might have been born into the peerage, but I'm a third son. I hardly think anyone would bat an eye at our courtship."

"I have a reputation to uphold."

"I see." His stomach twisted into a tight knot. "You're ashamed to be seen with me." He stepped back, and her hand fell from his arm. "God will forgive my past, but you won't." He forced a calm tone through his tight jaw. "In that case, I'll leave you to finish the walk on your own."

She stayed him with a hand on his arm. "It's not that."

"What is it, then?" Emily's beautiful face was suddenly blurred by the image of his father, the man's disappointment falling upon him like a heavy yoke.

"I'm scared." Her lower lip quivered.

Scared? She was afraid—of him?

His anger melted away, and he stepped closer. "I would never hurt you."

"Not intentionally." She drew back and closed her eyes. "Please don't look at me that way. That is how it begins, and I can't allow it to happen."

He shook his head as though a good shake would add understanding in the gaps her words failed to fill in. "I'm not following."

"Sin. I can't fall into sin." Her chest rose and fell with her quick breaths.

He raised his palms to catch her if she swooned.

"I almost let you kiss me." Her eyes opened, pools of amber glistening with unshed tears. "I wanted you to."

Oh. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he worked hard to keep it from blooming on his face. The temptation to pull her into his arms stole the breath from his lungs.

"I can't. I'll become like my mother."

He glanced at the window behind which Mrs. Thompson sat with his aunt.

She spun on her heel and dashed back into the house.

"Emily. Wait." He jogged after her, but she didn't stop until she was next to the house entrance.

He joined her there. "Explain what you mean."

She didn't—merely slowed her breathing and squared her shoulders, behaving as if what she'd just said made sense. But as far as Jacob knew, Mrs. Thompson's character was beyond reproach.

He didn't understand.