Her brother turned and said warily, “Yes?”
“You did well today. I am glad that you were there for Livy,” she said.
Emotion glittered in his eyes, his throat bobbing above his sodden cravat. After a moment, he gave a gruff nod and followed his wife out.
Bea exhaled, leaning into Wick.
“Do you think he will be all right?” she murmured.
“I don’t know, love.” He brushed his lips against her temple. “But the fact that you care probably makes all the difference to him.”
5
Alone in thekitchens late that evening, Emma made the hot water pastry for Alaric’s favorite mutton pie. Since Livy’s near drowning, she’d spent the day glued to her daughter. She’d been so worried that she hadn’t gone down for supper, her sisters assuring her that they would take on hostess duties in her stead. Emma had remained by Livy’s bedside, and while her daughter chattered on about Hadleigh’s heroics, she’d been overwhelmed by a tide of emotion.
I could have lost my daughter. I didn’t keep a close enough eye on her. There is too much to do: how shall I ever keep track of it all?
She felt like one of the jugglers her children adored at Astley’s Amphitheatre. Only she was losing grip over her balls. One by one, they were slipping from her grasp, and she didn’t know how to keep them all in the air.
After Livy had fallen asleep, Emma had come down to the kitchens instead of returning to her bedchamber. She was too frazzled to sleep…and too overwrought to deal with her husband.
Alaric had also spent several hours by their eldest’s bedside. Although they’d both been focused on Livy, Emma had taken comfort from his arm around her shoulders and his silent strength. Eventually, he had left to tend to their guests, and she had missed him dreadfully.
With a stab of shame, she admitted to herself that she’d been avoiding Alaric since the incident in his study two days ago. He had given her a wide berth as well, which spoke to his level of irritation. In truth, she knew she was at fault: she had overstepped. She had known full well that he did not want his study “organized” yet she’d given into some strange compulsion to do it anyway. Moreover, the house party was demanding all of her dwindling energy, and she had been a trifle short with him as a result.
What’s done is done. All I can do is make it up to him.
As an apology, she had decided to bake his favorite pie. She’d learned the basic recipe from the Cook years ago, then perfected it with her own secret blend of seasonings. Alaric had declared that her pie was the best he’d ever had, and she had taken special care with the current batch.
Molding the dough around the bottom of a small jar, she created neat pastry cups. She filled them with the minced mutton and onion mixture she’d made, seasoned with mace, nutmeg, and a few drops of a special condiment specially delivered from Worcester. She topped each pie with a lid of pastry, poking a venting hole into the dough. After putting the pies in the oven, she poured herself a cup of tea and sat in a chair by the worktable.
The homey fragrance of baking pies soon filled the kitchen. She had a sudden memory of herself cooking in her childhood kitchen: making hotchpotch from odds and ends, trying to stretch the skimpy ingredients into a meal that would feed her siblings, worrying that there wouldn’t be enough. Her eyes suddenly heated; she felt the strangest urge to cry.
“I thought I might find you here, pet.”
She jumped up. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard her husband enter the kitchen. As ever, the sight of him sped up her pulse. With his thick dark hair still damp from a bath, his lean muscular form clad in a burgundy dressing gown and trousers, he was a study in male virility.
As his pale green gaze roved over her, she felt a prick of unease. While he was dashingly attractive, she was not in her best state. Her gown was crumpled from sitting on Livy’s bed all day…not that he could see much of it since it was covered in a stained apron. Tendrils of her heavy chestnut hair had tumbled from their pins, hanging around her face. And she probably smelled of mutton pies.
Her throat constricted. “I couldn’t sleep. After today…”
“I thought as much. I checked on Livy on the way down here. Still sleeping, peaceful as a lamb.” His mouth quirked. “Not a single worry in her pretty, troublesome head.”
Emma sighed. “Perhaps we ought to have given her more of a lecture.”
“An approach that has worked so well in the past.” He reached out, tucking a loose lock behind her ear, his touch chasing goose pimples over her skin. “Livy is her mama’s daughter, which means she would spit in the devil’s eye if it pleased her.”
“I would not…”
Seeing the sardonic lift of his brows, she trailed off. Bit her lip. While she had many faults, she prided herself on being honest.
Emma took a deep breath. “I am sorry for intruding upon your study the other day. I know you don’t like it when—”
“I don’t give a damn about the study.”
“You don’t?” She drew her brows together. “But you have been annoyed with me…”
“Not because of the study. And not so much annoyed as concerned.” He curled a finger beneath her chin, and when she met his gaze, itwasconcern that she saw in those celadon depths. “You have been working yourself to the bone over this party. I can see how tired you are, and others have noticed it too.”
