Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

J oshua found himself missing the society of Miss Helena Emerson. He had been occupied with church services the day before, and a spring tea hosted by the ladies of Addersley village. There had been speculation about the progression of the strawberries in the gardens of Addersley Manor, as well as queries as to whether he might resume his mother's old habit of hosting a strawberry picnic and tea in the gardens.

He had a clear sense of the right answer in the view of his tenants. He made the excuse that he could only manage such a social event with the assistance of a wife and was subsequently introduced to a variety of young ladies considered to be eligible in the vicinity.

For once, he had welcomed the prospect of dining alone.

By Monday, however, he was keenly aware of his solitude, particularly in the absence of one delightful lady. A visit to the stables confirmed that Hoskins believed the puppies of an age to go to their new homes. He immediately resolved upon a visit to Bramble Cottage on his way to collect the documents from Newson for Mrs. Lewis.

As he dressed for his ride, his gaze fell upon the waistcoat he had worn the day he had come upon Miss Emerson with her injured ankle. Had she guessed the identity of her admirer? Joshua thought she might have done, the feel of her fingertips upon his chin all too easy to recall. On impulse, he chose the waistcoat, overcoming Reed's insistence that it was too elaborate for a call to his manager.

Perhaps Miss Emerson had need of a little assistance in deriving the truth.

He had a devil of a time getting away from the stables, for Hoskins was filled with advice for the pup's future. The ostler recounted the best feeding times, the best nourishment for the dog, the condition of its bed, and the commencement of its training.

"She might be your own child, off to live elsewhere," Joshua teased when the other man paused for breath and Hoskins grinned.

"They are a fine lot of puppies, my lord. I would not see any of them come to harm."

"Perhaps I should suggest to Miss Emerson and Lady Dalhousie that you might call on the morrow to ensure that all is as it should be for Mischief. Miss Emerson has never had a dog, to my understanding, and might be glad of your advice." Lady Dalhousie seemed to know a great deal about dogs, and Joshua had no doubt that all would be settled admirably, but he wished to reassure his ostler.

"I should like to do as much, sir. It would be no trouble."

"And it would set your fears to rest."

"Only if all is as it should be, sir."

Joshua nodded. "And if it is not, you can offer suggestions to see that it is so. I shall make some of my own today."

Hoskins nodded with relief and scratched the puppy's ears. "Thank you, sir."

"Come along, Mischief. Your new lady awaits you."

The day was overcast, with a promise of rain in the afternoon. As he rode past the copse of trees that surrounded the folly, Joshua could only recall Miss Emerson's demand that he meet her there on the first fine afternoon. His visit this day would give him the opportunity to ascertain the state of her ankle, and better to guess her intentions.

Of course, he knew her intentions. She would go alone to the folly in the hope of a rendezvous. He considered whether he should let her be disappointed or not as he rode toward Bramble Cottage. When he rode through the opening in the rhododendron hedge—now rather wider than it had been—he found Miss Emerson in the yard. She wore a dark blue dress with white edging, one that he knew would favor her eyes.

He was pleased when she looked up and smiled in welcome at him, then turned her steps toward him. He was not surprised when the dog yipped with joy at the sight of her, for he shared that feeling of elation. He dismounted and set down the puppy, which had grown in just a week, and Mischief darted toward Miss Emerson.

She made a great fuss over the puppy. Mischief rolled to her back to have her belly rubbed, then ran around Miss Emerson and barked. Joshua's horse snorted and stood his ground, well accustomed to dogs and not in the least bit interested in them.

"Hoskins has declared it to be time for Mischief to leave her mother," he said.

"Will she miss her mother and siblings terribly?"

"She may, or she may be too enchanted with you and her new life for that."

"Aunt has insisted that she have a bed in the kitchen to begin, for she will have to learn what can be done and where. Aunt says she must learn her manners and that it may take several months."

"It may indeed. Although in my experience, a tired puppy is more inclined to behave."

Miss Emerson laughed. "Then I will be glad it does not rain as yet, for we will play for a while."

"Is your ankle sufficiently healed for such activity?"

"It is!" Miss Emerson smiled as she approached him. The dress did indeed favor her coloring, making her eyes look more blue and her skin more creamy. He watched her gaze linger upon his waistcoat and knew he did not imagine that her gaze had warmed when she looked up at him again. "I thank you for bringing her, my lord. You must have considerably more important affairs to attend."

"As it is, I must ride to Haynesdale village to see my manager today."

"Why is he so far from Addersley Manor?"

"It is not so far as that, and the affairs of the manor have been too simple in recent years to fully occupy the time of a manager. Mr. Newson is a solicitor with other business affairs to manage in addition to mine." He was positively garrulous in this lady's presence. Did she realize her effect upon him?

"I see." She smiled down at the dog again, who was nudging at her slippers. "Not another pair, Mischief," she chided. "You might lose your taste for ribbon roses." She seized a stick from the gardener's trimming and cast it for the dog, who bounded after it.

"Hoskins expressed a desire to ensure that Mischief was well settled here. Would you mind if he called on the morrow, and perhaps made a few suggestions?"

"I should not mind at all. Indeed, I would welcome his advice. Aunt has many views, but your ostler must know so much about ensuring the wellbeing of dogs."

"He does indeed." They both looked down at the puppy, happily rolling in the grass with the stick. "You might acquaint her with the house and grounds today, so that she becomes familiar with it all."

"I will." Miss Emerson eyed him, her manner expectant. Joshua could only think of one thing she must desire of him—his departure.

"I will be on my way," he said, checking his pocket watch as if he did not already know the time. "Mr. Newson will be waiting upon me."

Miss Emerson, to his surprise, walked back to his horse alongside him. "I hope that your affairs are readily concluded," she said. "Have you heard that the duke is expected this week?"

"No, I had not."

That was good, as Joshua could consult with him about the men occupying the ruins. It was less good because Miss Emerson was rumored to have a tendre for the duke. The last thing Joshua needed at this early date was competition for his suit.

He reminded himself that he had already been declined.

"His mother was quite pleased when she shared the tidings after church yesterday."

Joshua considered Miss Emerson, who looked to be indifferent to this news, which made no sense at all. "I expect she would be," he said with care, then reached for the saddle.

She seemed suddenly agitated. "To be sure, sir, it was very kind of you to bring Mischief and I thank you for that favor."

"We are friendly acquaintances, Miss Emerson," he said, thinking it a timely reminder.

"Yes!" she said, her eyes lighting. "And so I would like to take this opportunity to ask your advice."

If she asked him how to win the duke's attention, Joshua did not know what he would say. "Of course," he said, resting his hand upon his horse's saddle.

"I know that you have business and would not delay you from important affairs, but I did wonder, sir, just how you did it." She turned an earnest gaze upon him.

"Did it?"

"You said that your father insisted that you abandon your life as a rakehell and by all accounts, you simply did it. You surrendered the pleasures of dancing and gambling and attending parties. I can only imagine that there was excitement in the fighting of duels and satisfaction in shopping without consideration to expense, in horses and carriages and—" she took a breath "—the company of ladies. Did you truly change it all immediately and completely?"

"I did. Not without some yearning to assume my old ways, but the work my father invited me to share with him was more than sufficiently rewarding. I suspect also that it suited me better than a life of revels."

"Truly?"

"There is satisfaction in believing one's efforts to be of merit."

"Oh, I can believe as much. Perhaps that is the key."

"Is there a matter troubling you, Miss Emerson?"

She clasped her hands together and appealed to him. "I endeavor to change my ways, to be less susceptible to temptation and to think before I surrender to impulse." She sighed. "But it is so very hard. I am curious, particularly it seems to forbidden adventures, and even knowing that much could go awry, I still am willing to undertake the risk to know."

"I see." Joshua looked into the distance, keenly aware that she was watching him, her manner expectant and hopeful. In truth, he would have done anything for her, but knew that such a pledge was not what she sought in this moment. "Perhaps you have need of a distraction, Miss Emerson. I had the task I shared with my father, which was most intriguing and challenging."

She dropped her voice to a delighted whisper. "Were you truly a spy? That is what they say."

Joshua could not halt his smile. He liked that she listened to gossip about him, for it showed a measure of interest. He leaned toward her and whispered in reply. "Not a spy, but one who sought tidings in the messages sent by spies."

"Oh. That would like solving a giant riddle."

"Oftentimes it was."

"But what manner of tidings might you find?"

"A man in a town might send word that a great deal of wine had been delivered to a local address. Another might confide that all the fodder for horses in that town had been quietly acquired. We might assemble a number of such individual indications and thus derive a location where the enemy intended to meet in consultation or even move their forces."

"How very clever!" she said with delight. "But please do not tell me more. I would not jeopardize your confidence."

"The war is over, Miss Emerson."

"But there are always continuing hostilities in one corner of the world or another," she said. "A man of your skills might be needed again and if so, I wager it might be a secret." She frowned and looked away. "I cannot think of a distraction that might occupy me, at least not a suitable one."

Joshua dared to say it. "You might wed. A wife can have many obligations."

She laughed. "But I have foolishly refused the only suitor I had. You see how impulse steers me false?"

Joshua looked at her, unable to believe the encouragement he found in her expression. Had she changed her mind?

Had she guessed that he had been the one to come to her aid?

She smiled a little and reached out a fingertip to his waistcoat, not quite touching it. "What a fine garment, sir, with such delightful needlework."

"I thank you. It is a relic of those days in London, and one I have not worn with sufficient frequency."

"I think it suits you most well," she said, granting him an admiring glance that made him catch his breath. She raised her gaze to his. "Perhaps there are some elements of those days that are worthy of retaining."

"You are correct, of course. There is little to be gained in keeping good garments and boots locked away, for the sake of the memories they provoke."

She sobered then. "I am sorry about the loss of your betrothed."

"As am I, Miss Emerson, and I thank you for your sympathy. It has been many years, though."

"But surely love does not fade so readily as that."

She was watching him closely and Joshua abruptly understood her concern. "Ours was an arranged marriage, Miss Emerson," he said gently. "One settled between our fathers and presented as an ideal solution. It was my duty to wed Miss Havilland and hers to wed me. We would have done as much if she had lived. You must not, however, conclude that my heart was broken forever."

"Oh."

Joshua found himself making an impulsive confession. "In fact, Miss Emerson, Miss Havilland mistook me for my brother. The duel was Gerald's to fight, but he was a poor shot so I took his place as was our habit. She strove to save Gerald, not me. He had claimed her heart and I believe she possessed his."

"You did not know?"

"Not until her demise."

She blinked and looked away, then back at him again, outrage lighting her eyes. "But you would have married her. She would have been your wife, even though she loved your brother."

"Yes."

Her breast heaved with outrage on his behalf. "But that, that is wicked , sir. I did not know Miss Havilland, but I dare to suggest, sir, that she did not deserve a husband of your ilk."

Joshua could only blink in his amazement.

Miss Emerson was flushed with indignation and held his gaze boldly, utterly convinced of her view.

And his merit.

Well.

Joshua cleared his throat, halfway thinking that to take encouragement from this sign might jeopardize his prospects of success again. Curiously, he felt the need to take that chance.

Perhaps the lady already influenced his views.

"I wonder, Miss Emerson, if Mrs. Jameson gave you any notion of when your new slippers might be finished? I would expect that you might wish to wear them to Lady Haynesdale's ball on Friday."

"She said anytime after the morrow."

"I find myself summoned by the dowager duchess to confer with her on Wednesday afternoon on some matter," he said.

"Oh. We heard the duke was expected this week."

"Perhaps then I might also have the opportunity to consult with him." Joshua returned to the subject at hand. "I could offer you conveyance to Haynesdale Hollow, Miss Emerson, if that suited your convenience, that you might collect your new slippers. It would be no trouble at all."

Miss Emerson's smile was dazzling in its brilliance and the sight made Joshua's heart leap with satisfaction. "I should like that very much." She curtsied to him, her eyes brimming with delight. "I thank you for your kindness, sir."

"It will be no trouble at all, Miss Emerson." He bowed to her, accepting her offered hand and kissing its back. Her hand was bare, her skin warm, and he felt her shiver when his lips brushed against the back of her hand. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly on his and he dared to be encouraged anew. He did not realize that his voice dropped low, or even that his eyes had darkened with satisfaction when he glanced upward to meet her gaze. "Indeed, it will be my pleasure to be of service to you." He did hear the lady catch her breath and see her flush.

"Perhaps you might have time to stop for tea on your return home today," she said, her voice breathless, and Joshua was powerless to decline.

Helena's champion was Lord Addersley.

But a week ago, she might have been disappointed to learn that a man she believed to be dull had rescued her with such flair, but now, she saw the error of her conclusions. The viscount had secrets upon secrets, a veritable hidden life. Truly, it would take a lifetime to learn all about him—and when his gaze grew so dark, his manner so intent, Helena could not wait to begin.

Better yet, he had not loved his betrothed. No wonder he had recited the merit of an arranged marriage between virtual strangers—that had been his own circumstance. She could only hope that his words today indicated a significant change in his thinking.

He certainly attributed the change to her, which was more than encouraging.

She spent the day recalling the heady pleasure of his kisses and imagining a future as his viscountess. Curiously, she was less interested in what might be changed about Addersley Manor than what she might experience on her wedding night—as well as the days and nights beyond that.

Never would she decline an opportunity with such haste again!

The rain had begun by the time he returned that afternoon, a gentle drizzle that made the cottage seem cozy and welcoming. Truly, Helena had never spent such a contented interval in that abode as the hour he sat with them in the parlor. Mischief, exhausted from her antics outside, snored on the hearth and Aunt was fulsome upon the conditions and discipline necessary for the proper care of dogs.

Lord Addersley sat politely and sipped his tea as he gave every appearance of listening, his gaze sliding occasionally to Helena, who was similarly attentive. Their gazes clung more than once, and she delighted in noticing a glimmer of humor in his eyes when Aunt made some outrageous claim. She watched his lips tighten slightly in disagreement and saw him straighten with interest at other comments. The man offered a thousand miniscule clues to his perspective, to one who knew how to look.

Helena delighted in her newfound awareness of him.

She wanted to know all about him.

For some reason, perhaps because the viscount asked Aunt's permission for the excursion to Haynesdale Hollow planned for Wednesday, Aunt saw fit to tell him the tale of her brother and wife's demise. She bemoaned the willfulness of Helena's mother and her brother's second wife, that lady's impulsive inclinations and the curricle accident that had claimed their lives too soon. Helena was embarrassed to have this story shared and kept her gaze fixed upon her tea cup, though she knew full well that the viscount was studying her.

Doubtless Aunt meant to remind him that he and Helena were poorly suited.

He made his excuses and rose to leave immediately after the conclusion of that tale.

Helena walked to the door with him, Mischief awakening to follow her, and wondered what he was thinking.

"So, you are said to resemble your mother," he said when they reached the door.

Helena dared to look up. "In all her shortcomings, it seems."

The viscount was dismissive. "I suspect her merits outweighed any such shortcomings, particularly in your father's view."

Helena met his gaze to find him smiling just a little. "Do you?"

"If your merry nature is as hers, I wager she brought joy to his life. My own father missed my mother so severely, I could wish that he might have encountered another lady who prompted his smile."

"But her folly cost them their lives."

"And perhaps they were complicit in events of that evening." He shrugged. "Perhaps it was not folly or whimsy behind her choice. They attended a celebration, your aunt said, so your father might not have been fit to take the reins himself." He nodded. "A curricle, though, is not the simplest of conveyances to govern, and who can say what might have startled the horses at night in town."

Helena smiled at him, liking the suggestion that her mother might not have been completely at fault. "I thank you, sir. I have always been told that she was feckless and that her nature cost my father his life."

The viscount donned his hat. "Your aunt has her view, of course, but she was not there, Miss Emerson, thus her interpretation may not be true." He met her gaze. "If I may be so bold as to speak plainly, if you resemble her so much, I doubt your father had any regrets in taking her to wife."

Tears pricked at Helena's eyes and her heart swelled. Emboldened by his kindness, she dared to make a most audacious suggestion when he turned to the door. "I believe, sir, that you said you do not dance, not that you cannot dance."

She thought heard him chuckle when his face was averted but by the time he turned to her, his expression was inscrutable. She had to look into his eyes to see the faintest twinkle, and she felt immediately that they shared a secret.

Ice in his veins. What a preposterous notion! Only someone so foolish as to decline to look at the man could believe as much.

"I wondered when you might raise that topic, Miss Emerson," he said, his tone indulgent. He watched her closely, such heat in his eyes that she felt warm and keenly aware of him. She recalled those kisses, yearned for another, and felt herself flush.

"Perhaps you could only be so absolute in making those changes dictated by your father because you had a welcome distraction in the labor you shared with him."

The viscount, instead of dismissing her suggestion, gave it consideration. "Perhaps." His gaze lingered upon her as he waited for her to continue.

"And in the absence of that distraction, perhaps you might indulge in one of those activities, perhaps the most innocuous of all of them."

He frowned a little, but Helena knew he meant to tease her. "There are those who would insist that dancing is an introduction to pleasure and thus might readily lead one to surrender to more."

Undaunted, she raised her chin to challenge him. "Was your father one of such people?"

"I have no recollection of him doing as much, to be sure." The viscount smiled, and that dimple sent a surge of triumph to Helena's toes. "He always insisted that he derived no pleasure from it, but I have been reminded that my mother loved to dance."

"You suspect, then, that he might have said one thing but done another?"

"I suspect that any pleasure he found in dancing was lost when she could no longer be his partner." He frowned slightly. "There may have been other considerations as well."

Helena hastened to speak, certain she had saddened him with a reminder of his father, so recently passed. "I have to find such a sign of affection to be admirable."

"As do I, Miss Emerson. I think a marriage more likely to be a happy one when there is affection between husband and wife."

"I thought you did not believe in wedding for love."

His gaze slipped away while he considered this. "It is true that I have held that view, though in recent days, I have come to consider the merit of the opposing perspective. Perhaps it is better for a couple to already have a measure of affection for each other before exchanging their vows, rather than simply hoping for the best in committing to a virtual stranger."

"I would think the likelihood of a happy match might be increased."

He chuckled and this time she had the satisfaction of seeing his amusement. Her heart nearly stopped when the dimple reappeared and his eyes glimmered. "I come to share your view, Miss Emerson." He reached for his hat. "I bid you good day."

"One last query, if you please, sir." Helena smiled, her fingertips brushing his sleeve. Her aunt called from the parlor but it was easy to ignore the summons when the viscount looked at her with such avidity. "I wonder, then, if you might indulge in just one dance at Lady Haynesdale's ball. To indulge in one small amusement might make it easier to adhere to the rest of your father's injunctions. It also would do Lady Haynesdale honor as a hostess if you were to make such an exception." She argued the matter too much and she knew it, but Helena desperately wanted to convince him.

"But none to a partner who so tempted me to dance?" he asked, his voice low.

Helena could not imagine how she had thought this man dull. He was alluring beyond all when he spoke to her thus. "Perhaps a little to the lady in question."

He smiled and bent over her hand. "Perhaps more than a little, Miss Emerson." Once again, he kissed her hand and she felt the slight brush of his mouth upon her skin, a most scandalous and wondrous sensation. He bent further to pat Mischief, then pivoted to leave, sparing a glance at the grey skies before he strode to his horse. Helena waited and watched, not truly surprised when he lifted his hand in farewell, his pose precisely that of her champion.

Would he renew his addresses? She could only hope.

Truly, if hoping could change future prospects, any reticence on the viscount's part had no chance against the vigor of Helena's desire.

Wednesday might have been an eternity away.

When he arrived in Haynesdale Hollow, Joshua asked Mr. Darney to show him the way to Mrs. Lewis' home. When they stood before the plain wooden door, down an alley from the main thoroughfare of Haynesdale Hollow, he spoke. "I would prevail upon you further, Mr. Darney, and request that you remain as my witness for this interview. I will see you compensated for your trouble, of course."

"Your custom at the inn and the occasional favorable word amongst your fellow gentry is all the compensation I require, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Darney." Joshua raised a fist to knock.

The door was opened promptly as if the occupant was already aware of their arrival. A burly man stood there in his shirtsleeves, his expression forbidding. "Aye?"

"I seek Mrs. Lewis. Is she receiving visitors?"

"Receiving visitors," the man said, sneering as he mimicked Joshua's accent.

"Give us no trouble now, William," Darney said. "This will be to your sister's benefit."

"Benefit," the man, evidently named William, muttered, then turned to shout. "Alice! There's a gentleman here to speak with you."

Joshua ignored his tone. The woman he had seen the week before appeared from a shadowed doorway, wiping her hands. Her gaze darted between the men with some concern. "What is it?" she asked as if she feared dreadful tidings.

"I have come about your son," Joshua said. "Francis, who I met the other day. He is the son of my brother, Gerald, is he not?"

She lifted her chin. "He is."

"Not as he ever cared about the boy," William muttered. He retreated but did not leave the room, which was almost barren. He folded his arms across his chest and listened, his expression suspicious.

"Then he has Hargood blood," Joshua said, removing the document from his jacket.

"Hargood blood," William sneered. "Francis is your brother's get and no fancy talk will change that fact."

"I can see that he is my brother's son," Joshua replied. "And I have come to address that fact."

"You cannot take him from me!" Mrs. Lewis protested.

"I have no such intention."

"You all hated Gerald. Your father sent him away. Gerald said he would come back. He said he would marry me."

"Perhaps that was his intention, but my brother will not return home again. I apologize if you were not informed that he died at Waterloo."

"He never did," she said darkly but Joshua could not begin to undermine her skepticism.

"As Francis is my nephew," he continued, "I would see him educated, as befits a member of my family. I see several options."

"You cannot take him from me," Mrs. Lewis repeated.

"I would not do as much. I could, however, offer you a post at Addersley Manor, Mrs. Lewis. I cannot guarantee your acceptance among the staff, though it is possible that your fondness for my brother will find you some alliances. It is equally possible that some of my household will disapprove of you bearing a child out of wedlock, even Gerald's child."

"She cannot leave Haynesdale Hollow," her brother protested.

Mrs. Lewis lifted her chin. "I will only live at Addersley Manor as its mistress."

Joshua blinked in his surprise. He was not about to wed this woman over Gerald's affair. "That is out of the question, Mrs. Lewis. If you are disinclined to accept a post, that is your choice. I have arranged for an annuity that will pay you regular dividends." He presented the document but William snatched it from his hand.

"She cannot read," he said roughly, then opened it to read the details. "It is not sufficient!"

"It is more than I am obligated to provide," Joshua said, recalling Mr. Newson's warning all too well.

"You will have your nephew live like a pauper?"

"He will eat and have shelter, if those funds are managed well, and I am prepared to pay for his apprenticeship, should he choose to learn a trade."

"A trade?" Mrs. Lewis said. "He will be a viscount's son!"

"Best teach him how to dance," William said with a guffaw.

Joshua exchanged a glance with Darney. "I thank you for your presence and your patience in this matter," he said and Darney nodded.

"I have heard the boy say that he would like to become a blacksmith," the innkeeper said.

"He will be one of the gentry!" Mrs. Lewis insisted, and it was clear to Joshua that the unlikely prospect had seized her thoughts to the exclusion of all others.

He could only continue as if he conversed with sensible people. "If he makes such a choice and the tradesman in question is prepared to take him on, then you have only to send word to me or to Mr. Newson in the village to arrange the details."

"You should give Alice the money now."

"And you will take it from me," Darney said. "I can collect it from you in my public room."

"Alice owes me!" William insisted. "Who else has seen to her welfare and shelter? Not her fine man, that is for certain. The gentry care only for their own comforts, and not for the results of their deeds."

Darney clicked his tongue. "I would not be so quick to complain, William, when you have a newfound annuity in your hands."

"It is not enough," that man repeated stubbornly.

Mrs. Lewis cupped a hand over her belly. "What of the next one?" she asked. "He will arrive by September."

"You cannot expect me to provide for all your bastards, Mrs. Lewis."

"This one is your brother's get, too," she said, her eyes a little wild. "I will see provision for the second, as well."

"That cannot be so, Mrs. Lewis," Joshua said. "My brother is dead."

"I will tell everyone that the child is yours!" she threatened, shaking a fist at him. "I will be a viscountess and my children will be raised as gentry, as is right and proper."

"I regret, Mrs. Lewis, that other obligations do not allow me to linger. I wish you a good day." Joshua tipped his hat and turned to leave.

"Ice in his veins," William muttered. "'Tis what they say of him and 'tis all true."

"On the contrary, William," Darney said from the threshold. "The gentleman has set a matter to rights by his own volition, with no obligation to do as much. You should thank his lordship."

"Thank him? For a miserable annuity instead of Alice's due!"

Joshua strode out of the house, having no interest in continuing such a futile discussion. The woman was mad, thinking he would wed her, or that she could extort the care and feeding of a stranger's child from him. He tugged at his gloves, more than a little annoyed by the exchange.

"I shall ensure that everyone remembered you have been gone from Nottingham for the better part of a decade, sir, and only returned two months ago. Whoever the father of that child, it cannot be you."

"I thank you, Darney, for your consideration. I recall that your wife is a good cook. Perhaps I might enjoy an early supper at the inn before riding home."

The innkeeper beamed. "It would be my pleasure, sir, to be sure."

The pair proceeded back to the main thoroughfare, Joshua noting that his boots would have to be cleaned again.

"Sir!" someone called from behind him but he did not turn. "Lord Addersley?"

Joshua glanced back to find the boy Francis hastening after him, his eyes alight. "Is it true, sir? Did you say I could be apprenticed to learn a trade?"

"I did indeed, Francis. If you find a tradesman willing to have you as his apprentice, you have only to speak to Mr. Newson. If all parties are agreeable, we shall see it arranged."

"Oh, sir! I should like more than anything to be a blacksmith."

"Then you must present yourself as a willing candidate to that man, and perhaps work for him for a while to earn his agreement. Mr. Darney can assist you in your address to Mr. Newson, if necessary."

"Thank you, sir!" the boy bowed low before him. "I will watch your horse whenever you come to town, sir. You have only to call me."

"Thank you, Francis."

The boy bowed again, then darted down the street, doubtless headed for the smithy without delay. No matter how awkward the exchange, Joshua knew he had done the right thing, and he believed that Francis would make the most of his newfound opportunity.

The boy also could not be blamed for the nature of his relations, but with this small advantage, he might well escape their influence, which could only be an improvement.

"He is a good lad," Darney said quietly. "Your suggestion is both generous and sensible, sir."

"The boy's conception is not his fault. He should have the opportunity to make something of himself."

"Ah, since he is not to be a viscount," Darney rolled his eyes as he laughed. "Ah well, he will not be the first to have compromised his mother's aspirations." He chuckled and Joshua smiled a little, glad to have the task behind him. "There is beef stew today, sir, and a plum tart. I must say, my Louisa makes a plum tart beyond all others."

"That sounds most excellent, Darney. I look forward to the meal." He would pause to speak to Mr. Newson before returning home.

Then he had the promise of a rendezvous with Miss Emerson at the folly to consume his thoughts. He had no doubt that she would venture there, and the morrow promised to be fine. He looked forward to having all confusion between them cleared, and could only hope to end the encounter with a kiss.

That possibility put a spring in Joshua's step as little else could have done.