She placed a hand on the door and then turned her head to look back at me. Knowing silence was best, I moved closer and leaned down to capture her lips with mine once more. I wanted her to sleep with thoughts of only me in her dreams. I did not linger as I wanted to, for fear I would forget my focus. “Goodnight, Miriam,” I whispered with my lips brushing her ear. She shivered as I stepped back.
“Good night, Ashington,” she replied softly then quickly turned and went into her room. Once the door clicked behind her, I turned to leave.
Wellington already at the dining room table was something I had come to expect the past few days. The man was an early riser. He had already been brought his preference of coffee and a tray of pastries had been placed on the table. I had enjoyed having them here and hoped in the future they would return to visit when their niece was the Countess of Chatwick Hall. Knowing the closeness they shared with Miriam, I was sure this would be a regular event.
Emma would love Lady Wellington. They had much in common. Especially their love for jam and hot chocolate. It was luck that I had found, not only a lady that would fit perfectly into our life, but one with a family such as this one. They were not at all locked down to society’s rules and I appreciated that immensely. How I thought someone as proper as Lydia would have been able to accept the package that I came with I was not sure. It had been poorly thought through. Emma would have kept her in tears and I would have been left dealing with the aftermath of it all.
“It is a fine coffee you have brewed in your kitchen. I will admit my cook has not perfected the process as of yet, so I am envious of your luck in having one that can make it to taste like the coffee I drank during my time in New Orleans. I did grow quite fond of it there,” Wellington informed me in way of greeting as I went to take my seat.
Speaking to him about his niece now seemed like a good time, but I feared doing it in my home around my table would make it seem as if I wanted an upper hand. His acceptance should be done at his home where he did not feel as if I were trying to control his decision. Waiting until that time now seemed difficult. After last night, I did not wish to go another night without Miriam in my home. Preferably in my bed.
“I’ve read that New Orleans uses chicory in their coffee much like France. The concept hasn’t made it to England yet, the taxes remain an issue. One would think they too would use the additive of chicory to stretch the product,” I replied.
Wellington grinned broadly. “Indeed. I have oft said the same thing. Many do not enjoy the taste of chicory in coffee, but I much prefer it. There is a hint of wood in the taste,” he paused and thought a moment then added, “almost nutty perhaps would describe it best.”
“Please do not tell me you are boring Lord Ashington with your talk of chicory coffee,” Lady Wellington said as she breezed into the dining room, looking bright and well-rested. “He does so miss coffee with the added chicory. My family complains of the additive and the need to use it and my husband swears it is a brilliant combination,” she added as she took the seat that was held out for her.
“Hot chocolate please,” she then said in her loud American voice to the servant awaiting her request. Her eyes lit up as they found the pastries already placed on the table. “I shall be too large for my gowns after a weekend here. The sweets have been simply fantastic,” she gushed and beamed at me, before taking two different pastries and placing them before her.
I imagined Emma was equally thrilled with the pastries brought to the cottage this morning. I would need to make my way out there after breakfast to make sure they were ready for their travel back to London. She would be disappointed that she did not get to meet Miriam, but that introduction was of utmost importance and it’s timing was even more so.
“I am pleased to hear you’ve been properly indulged while at Chatwick Hall,” I replied.
“If only I could steal your cook,” she said, before biting into the chocolate croissant in her hand.
“I assure you, we cannot,” Wellington said drawly beside his wife.
Lady Wellington’s eyes shifted toward the door and widened in surprise. Turning my head, I followed her gaze, not prepared for who I found standing there. Although she seemed quite pleased with herself and her smile was plastered on so brightly that I knew she was up to mischief. If only she understood this was not the mischief easily cleaned up or explained.
“Hello,” Emma said in a cheerful voice as she walked into the dining room, her head held high as if she were the lady of the house.
Standing, I glanced at the door, expecting Alice to appear, but she had not yet caught up with Emma it would seem. “Where is Alice?” I asked, unsure how to explain her appearance.
Emma gazed up at me with a challenge in her eyes. “I am not quite sure,” she told me.
That response could mean many things. However, asking her questions in front of company was going to get me nowhere with Emma. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” I told her, but she did not move.
“The sweets are in here, Ashington,” she said, walking toward the table.
She wasn’t going to obey without a scene and it was past the point that I could usher her out without an introduction. Sighing in defeat of the situation, I turned back to my guests. “This is Emma. Emma, this is Lord and Lady Wellington.”
Emma gave them her brightest of smiles. “It is very nice to meet you,” she said then climbed into a chair closest to the pastries and leaned over to pluck one from the tray. “I believe this is jam. What do you think?” she asked Lady Wellington as she held it in her small hand.
“It does look like strawberry jam,” Lady Wellington agreed, watching Emma with curiosity on her face.
“I do love strawberry jam,” Emma said then lowered herself into the chair she had used as a stool before taking a large bite.
“There are few things tastier than a tart filled with strawberry jam,” Lady Wellington agreed.
Emma nodded her head enthusiastically.
“Oh,” Miriam’s surprised tone as she entered the room only made this situation more dire. I had not prepared for this. Emma’s introduction to Miriam was to be something well planned and organized. Throwing her in the face of my company such as this and expecting them to not only accept her but keep her existence a secret was asking too much, I was afraid. Yet it was what I must do. Emma had left me no other choice in the matter.
“Please, have a seat, honey. There are a delicious array of pastries and we have a lovely guest to enjoy them with,” Lady Wellington beamed brightly at her niece.
Miriam walked slowly into the room, casting a gaze my way that wasn’t questioning or confused like one would expect, but more…concerned. Who was it she was concerned for? Me? Herself? Emma?
“Good morning, Emma,” Miriam said, taking the seat beside her and silencing the entire room. One could hear a pin drop, and in that moment, I realized Miriam Bathurst had been keeping her own secret.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Miriam Bathurst
Seeing Emma in the dining room wasn’t what I had expected to see this morning. My walk from the bedchamber to here had been torturous because I was sure my aunt would see the guilt on my face from what had taken place last night between Ashington and me. However, I still could not make myself regret it. I wasn’t sure a girl could regret something such as that. She could, however, fear her family finding out.