“Oh,” Reeves said, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Isn’t it a bit chilly for that?”
“The sun is out today, and the ground is dry. This might be the last warm day we get before winter sets in with a vengeance,” Bridget said. “It’s only right that we should take advantage of it.”
“Well, as long as you come back in if Emma starts to get cold, I suppose it’s all right.” Reeves turned his attention back to the invitation he had been working on.
“You misunderstood me,” Bridget said. “The picnic is for all of us. Emma is adamant that you should come along.”
Reeves sighed. “Bridget, I’m very busy right now. Can’t you take her?”
“She thought she might never see you again, Reeves,” Bridget said quietly. “You’re her father, and she wants a picnic with you.”
“If you just explain to her that I’m busy right now, and that I’ll spend time with her later …”
“I already told her you would join us,” Bridget said firmly.
Reeves ground his teeth together. “What do you mean, youalready told her? You told her that without even asking me? What were you thinking? You got her hopes up without knowing whether I would be able to follow through.”
The nervousness had left Bridget’s face, and Reeves understood now that this was what it must have been about. She planted her hands on her hips. “You can follow through,” she told him firmly. “You’re right here. Whatever you’re working on, it can wait until this afternoon. It’s nothing so urgent that your life will collapse if you don’t get it done right away. Besides, you have a whole staff working for you here. Whatever you’re doing, surely they can help you with it. Your daughter wants to spend time with you. Is anything more important than that?”
She was right, of course, but he couldn’t just give in so easily. “You cannot make promises on my behalf,” he told her sternly. “You have no right to do that, even if you do believe you know best. This is still my household, and I still have the authority to decide what I will and won’t do.”
“Very well, but I believed that I knew what you would decide once you really thought about it,” she said. “And I still think I’m right. I think you’ll follow me out the door right now, because you want to spend time with Emma just as much as she wants to spend time with you, and you’re not going to allow your irritation with me to get in the way of that.”
She turned and walked out the door.
She was really taking her chances, Reeves thought grumpily. She had irritated him quite a lot. And he had the feeling she had done it on purpose. She thought he wouldn’t let his irritation get in his way, but this was a lot of irritation to try to get around.
But the unfortunate fact of the matter was that she was right. Hewasn’tgoing to let Emma down, even if it meant allowing Bridget to have her way. He got up and followed her from the room. His temper was slightly flared, but he took a breath and got himself under control, knowing that he had to be upbeat about what he was walking into. For his daughter’s sake, he could manage it. It was only a picnic. It would be a few hours, if that, and then he would be able to return to the work he’d been doing.
Besides, the truth was that he was glad to have a break. It was a relief to get away from the task of writing invitations, something he would gladly have left in the hands of a servant if he hadn’t considered it his duty to do it himself.
He let Bridget lead him to the kitchen. Sure enough, Emma was there, a tartlet in her hand. She grinned and held it out to him.
“Enjoying that?” Reeves asked her.
Emma nodded vigorously. It wasn’t speech, but it was communication, and he decided to be grateful for that. He wandered over to look at the samples the cook had prepared and set out to cool. “This is what you’re thinking of serving?”
The cook nodded. “If you approve, Your Grace. Miss Emma certainly seems to like them.”
Emma stretched out her hand to take one of the chocolate tarts.
“Emma,” Reeves said sharply. “Don’t eat that.”
“Why can’t she eat that?” Bridget spoke up, her voice terse. “I don’t see why she shouldn’t have a snack.”
Reeves let out a sigh. “Because chocolate upsets her stomach,” he said, turning to face Bridget. “I know you know a lot about children, but I do still know my daughter better than you.”
Bridget’s cheeks colored. “Oh,” she murmured. “I thought …”
“You thought I was just trying to keep her from having something that would make her happy, is that it?”What kind of father does she think I am?
She looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Emma was looking from one of them to the other, wide-eyed. Bridget cleared her throat. “Your father is right,” she told Emma. “If you’re going to have another tart, choose something other than the chocolate. You don’t want to make yourself sick.”
Emma bit her lip, as if contemplating whether to obey. Then she reached out, snatched a strawberry tart, and shoved the whole thing into her mouth.
Bridget burst out laughing. “Well, that wasn’t very ladylike! They’re good, though, aren’t they?”
