“I see. And how do you acquire food to prepare?”
“The orders were made in advance and already paid. Of course, that won’t last forever, sir.”
“No, it won’t. What else?” he asked, as he could see the cook had a great deal to tell him.
“It’s just the farmers know Mr. Pope isn’t himself and give him the poorest selection. That doesn’t seem right, when they’ve already been paid.”
“I will speak to the earl when I return to London and see what can be done. In the meantime, there is a young lady and a gentleman in the parlor. Would you be so good as to prepare them something edible? I think soup for the gentleman as he is wounded.”
She swallowed. “Were that because of the shooting?”
“Yes.” Stratford had precious little coin left, but he pulled two coins from his pocket and gave them to her. “If there is nothing edible in the pantry, then go purchase something. Otherwise, keep it for yourself and your trouble.”
She curtseyed again. “Thank you, sir.”
“One more question, Mrs. Brown. Where might I find the surgeon? Is there one in Milcroft?”
“Oh, yes. You will want Mr. Langford. He is about three miles to the south, right over the bridge to the village. Just follow the road.”
“Thank you.” He turned to go back through the door, when Mrs. Brown said, “He wasn’t always like this, you know. I knew him when he was a boy, before the war. He was a good lad. Not a bit of temper in him. Always smiling and laughing. Always with a kind word. It was the war that did this to him.”
Stratford nodded without looking back. “I know.”
The war had done a great harm to many men. Some, like Lord Jasper, bore the visible wounds. Some, like Neil Wraxall, suffered internal anguish. And some, like Nash Pope, suffered both.
Stratford went back through the dining room, past the snoring Nash, and back out into the entryway.
“What took so long?” Emmeline demanded.
“Pope was less than helpful. I did meet his cook, however, and she was good enough to tell me where to find a surgeon. Apparently, the village of Milcroft is about three miles south of here. I remember it vaguely now. The surgeon lives just over the bridge. We’re to follow the road, and it will take us straight there.”
“Three miles?” Emmeline sighed.
“You needn’t accompany me. The cook is preparing dinner.”
Her eyes lit at the mention of food. Then she shook her head. “I said I would fetch a surgeon, and I will. I do think it wise for you to remain in case your friend decides to finish Mr. Murray off.”
Stratford blew out an exasperated breath. He didn’t mind that she tried to order him about as long as she understood he wouldn’t follow those orders. “Mr. Pope is sleeping and will remain so for several hours, I suspect. If you’re coming, we should leave now. Assuming the terrain is not too difficult, it will take us an hour to walk the three miles, and then, God-willing, the surgeon will have a gig or a dog-cart and drive us back.”
She had removed her bonnet, but she put it on again, tying the ribbons under her chin. Then lifting her skirts, she started for the door. Stratford barely reached it in time to open it for her. He made her wait while he moved Duncan’s trunks inside the house. Then he joined her, and they walked side by side down the drive.
He had to slow his stride to accommodate her, but not nearly as much as he would have had to with most women. It helped that she wore boots and a sensible dress. But Emmeline was the sort of woman who always walked with a purpose. Some men might say her walk was inelegant or even mannish, but Stratford preferred a lady who knew where she wanted to go and did not wander or dawdle to stare at this flower or that bush.
“It’s a pleasant day for a walk,” she said once they’d left the drive behind and were on the road, walking along the side, she closest to the fields and he on her right, protecting her from any passing conveyances. “It’s not yet too warm, but the sun is out.”
“A pleasant enough day, yes. Too bad Duncan had to ruin it by getting himself shot. But then that’s the sort of thing one expects from him.”
She tilted her head to look up at him. “He is the one you call the Lunatic, yes?”
“Yes. Now you see why.”
“I do. Is he completely mad or just very brave?”
“A bit of both, I suppose.”
“I see.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes. “How did you know the woman with him spoke English?”
“Does she?” Emmeline asked.
Stratford stopped, and Emmeline paused too. “You know she does. She spoke it before we left. But you knew before. You were speaking to her at the inn this morning. How did you know? Duncan said she didn’t speak English, and that’s why he wanted to see Nash Pope. Though God knows the man probably doesn’t remember a word of Portuguese.”
Emmeline blew out a breath.
“You might as well tell me. I will find out sooner or later anyway.”
“That is one of your more annoying traits. You are always looking for information and asking questions.”
“I don’t see why that should be considered annoying.” He began walking again. “Far more annoying would be a man who has no interest in anything or anybody save himself. Those are the men who never ask questions.”
“I cannot argue with you there,” she said, probably knowing exactly the type of man he meant. “The truth is I knew she spoke English because I have met her before, in London.”
“Where?”
“She works in a shop we ladies frequent, and I have spoken to here there on more than one occasion.”
“And her given name is not Beatriz?”
“No, it is Ines Neves.”
Ines was not a common name, but Stratford could not help but think he had heard it before. He hadn’t met the woman before—at least he didn’t think so—but something about her was familiar. Ines. Ines... Perhaps he had seen the lady in passing. He’d had to accompany his sisters often enough when they went shopping. “Which shop employs her?”
Emmeline was looking out over the fields and did not meet his eye. “She is more an owner than an employer.”
“She seems rather young for that. Which shop?” he asked again, determined not to be distracted from his question.
She didn’t answer, and Stratford paused again and grasped her arm, turning Emmeline to face him. He’d always avoided touching her in the past. He’d learned that if he touched her, he wanted to touch her again. If she took his arm as they entered a ballroom, he’d spend the rest of the evening wanting the night to be over, so he could offer his arm again. Just now he hadn’t been thinking and it was too late when he realized what he’d done because he stood before her, touching her, looking into her eyes. Her eyes were so blue and lovely. Her dark hair and dark brows contrasted with the blue and made them stand out that much more. The exercise had made her cheeks pink and she was breathing as one might after a brisk walk, her full lips parted.
Stratford realized he wanted to kiss those lips. It was not the first time he’d realized this, but it was the first time he’d acknowledged the thought instead of stuffing it deep down and burying it before he could see more than a flicker of the idea. But now he was looking at her lips and wondering how they would feel against his. He wondered too what she would feel like under his hands. Those full hips and generous breasts made his hands ache to move over their curves.