They stared and stared, and obviously, she expected him to begin. He’d planned out exactly what he’d tell her, but with her arrival, his speech seemed frivolous and wrong. He couldn’t start.
“You asked to speak with me, Lord Stafford?” she finally inquired.
“Please come in.”
He pointed to the chair across, and she walked over and sat.
As he studied her, it occurred to him that this might be the last time he ever saw her. There was a sharp pain in the center of his chest, but he ignored it.
“We don’t have to be so formal, do we?” he said. “Call me Nicholas.”
“What did you want?” she coldly replied, and he sighed with regret.
The distance she was determined to impose was probably for the best, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I just want you to know how sorry I am that I—”
She cut him off. “I’m very busy today. Was there something you needed?”
“Let me apologize.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
He fumbled with the ink jar, tapped his fingers on the desktop, then pathetically mumbled, “I should have told you about her, but I couldn’t figure out how.”
“I can’t imagine to whom you’re referring.”
“I hurt you when I was—”
“Are we finished?”
She stood, too incensed to listen, but he was desperate for her to understand the fiasco from his perspective.
He was perplexed over Veronica, why she’d grabbed him, why she’d kissed him. They were scarcely acquainted, and he’d been stunned by her bold conduct.
Where once he might have welcomed what she’d been offering and taken more than he should, he hadn’t been interested. Stupid though it was, he’d felt as if he was . . . cheating on Emeline.
The entire morning as he and Veronica had strolled through the house, she’d chattered away, but Nicholas hadn’t a clue as to her topics of conversation. He’d been too preoccupied over what Stephen might be saying to Emeline.
Stephen had hustled her away to explain the situation, and he hadn’t glossed over the facts. Any affection she’d possessed had been drummed out of her by a harsh application of the truth.
But what had Nicholas expected?
Emeline was an idealist and optimist who saw the best in everyone and who worked to make the world a better place. She asked him for boons—but for the benefit of others. She presumed on his generosity—but for the sake of those less fortunate than her.
She was decent and honorable, and he’d been redeemed by their relationship. How typical that he would wreck it.
He gestured to her chair again. “Sit down.”
“I must be going.”
“Emeline—”
“I would appreciate it if you’d call me Miss Wilson.”
She was prepared to storm out, but he couldn’t let her before he imparted the news he was so eager to share.
There was one thing she wanted more than anything, one gift he could bestow that would solve all her problems. By his doing so, perhaps—just perhaps—she would eventually realize that he’d cared about her, despite how badly he’d behaved.
He tried to smile, hoping to alleviate some of the tension between them, but cordiality was impossible, and he gave up.
“I’ve made some arrangements for you,” he said.
She eased herself down. “Your brother already informed me. We’re to be hidden away in a room over the blacksmith’s barn.” She flashed a glare so full of loathing that she could have stabbed him with it.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not what I requested.”
“Shortly after, we’re to leave Stafford—as soon as he can find us somewhere else to live. Heaven forbid that we remain here where our presence might upset the earl’s bride.”
His temper flared. “Those were never my instructions.”
“Weren’t they? What did you expect then? Were we to continue on at the manor until you came back a married man?”
“I hadn’t planned that far ahead.”
“Maybe your wife and I could become friends, although we don’t have much in common. I’d have to develop an interest in baubles and frippery before we could communicate.”
His cheeks flamed with chagrin. “I guess I deserved that.”
“Do you imagine you’ll be happy with her?”
“Happy enough, I suppose. I hadn’t actually thought about it.”
“You’ve probably been too busy, learning about the estate and all.”
“Em, I wish you would—”
She held up a hand, as if fending him off. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to have this discussion, and I refuse to bicker. Is there a point you’re trying to make?”
“Yes, there is. You’ve been anxious to restart your father’s school, and I’ve decided to let you.”
He’d been on pins and needles, assuming the announcement would please her, that she might even thank him, but she evinced no reaction at all. He stumbled to regroup.
“I own a house in the village,” he said, “and the tenants will be out on the fifteenth.” When she didn’t comment, he added, “That’s in two weeks.”
“So it is.”
“It’s a fine residence, in solid condition. It’s furnished too. You and the twins will live in the main section, and you’ll use the extra parlor for your schoolroom.” He paused. Still no reaction. “I’ve spoken to Mr. Mason about it. He’ll order any supplies, and you’re to have an unlimited budget. Whatever you need, I intend for you to have it.”
She assessed him as if he was babbling in a foreign language. “You mentioned that we’d move in two weeks,” she said. “Where would we stay in the meantime?”
“Here at the manor.”
A fleeting smile crossed her lips, then vanished. He frowned, struggling to deduce what it indicated.
Was she glad? Was she excited? Why wasn’t she oozing with enthusiasm?
Why didn’t she say something?
“You won’t pay any rent,” he advised, “in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t wondering.”
“Part of your salary will be your lodging—that being the house. I’ll grant you a monthly stipend too, enough to hire a cook
