Page 5

She squeezed his arm, her expression suddenly more serious. “Will the crop be all that you hoped it would be?”

He had not told Emily just how vital this year’s crop was to their futures, but in her uncannily discerning way, she had surmised enough to know it was terribly important to him.

“You should take a walk in the orchard to see it for yourself, Em,” he said, guiding her toward the study. “It is full of the marvelous colors and smells of autumn.”

“I will go there this very afternoon.” She pinned him with a quizzical eye. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

He should have known she would not be distracted in her quest for information. “In the next two or three weeks, we should be picking more apples than we’ve ever picked before.”

Instantly, her smile was back. “I am very glad.”

“It will be a relief to have them all harvested.” He opened the study door and pointed at the book in her hand. “What great things are you reading about today?”

“Elephants,” she said.

“Elephants?”

“Yes.” She withdrew her hand from his arm and opened the book to a page that showed a map of the African continent. “Did you know that the leader of a herd of elephants is usually the oldest female, and she’s called the matriarch?”

“Is that so?” Adam wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or dismayed. He was quite sure that a study of elephants was not something on Miss Glover’s approved reading list; nor was it a topic of conversation amongst proper young ladies in a drawing room. But how could he fault Emily for wishing to expand her mind? Particularly when she had so few diversions in her life beyond reading.

Emily nodded. But his lack of enthusiasm in her newfound knowledge must have shown because a line appeared across her forehead and her eagerness dimmed. “Would you mind if I read in here with you this morning?” She glanced at the armchair she usually claimed beside the fireplace, seeming suddenly unsure.

“Have a heart, Em. You cannot leave me now.” Adam pointed at the stack of letters Thompson had set on the corner of his desk. “I shall need your moral support to make it through that awful-looking pile of correspondence.”

Her lips twitched, and Adam’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. He would not have her believing he thought poorly of her.

“As you told me a few moments ago, you were only gone one day,” she said.

“Indeed.” He eyed the rather formidable pile of letters and gave an exaggerated sigh. “But that, it seems, was quite long enough.”

She giggled and moved over to the armchair. “I shall be here if you need me.”

Adam watched her fondly as she took her seat and opened her book. They’d both inherited their father’s dark hair and brown eyes, but that was where their physical similarities ended. He stood over six feet tall and had long since filled out the narrow shoulders of his youth. Emily was a diminutive five feet two inches in height—unless she stood on the tips of her toes, which she was wont to do whenever she wished him to take her seriously.

He stifled a smile at the thought of her last tiptoed attempt to persuade him that the barn cat’s kittens belonged inside the house. On that score, he’d been immovable, and she’d finally realized that no matter if she pled with him eye to eye, he would not countenance half a dozen miniature felines climbing the draperies and furniture.

Emily had not completely given up hope that she would grow another couple of inches. Seeing as there’d been no change in her height for almost two years, however, it seemed unlikely. According to their housekeeper, Mrs. Foster, Emily was exactly the same height as their mother.

Taking his place in the chair behind the large mahogany desk, Adam turned his attention to the letters. He truly did have more to go through than he did on a normal day, and it wasn’t long before he was absorbed in reading his solicitor’s response to his inquiry regarding branding Dunsbourne cider, followed by a short note from Mr. Toole. The Bow Street runner was informing him of uncorroborated reports of Freddie Payne sightings in Amsterdam, Liverpool, and Glasgow. With a grunt of frustration, Adam set Toole’s letter aside. Freddie Payne was as elusive as smoke, but even he could not be in three different cities simultaneously.

Adam glanced at Emily. She had moved from her initial ladylike position on the armchair and was now curled up with her slippered feet tucked under her pale-blue gown, her face hidden behind her book. He shook his head slightly and reached for the next envelope. Breaking the seal, he pulled out an embossed card. It was an invitation to Colonel Palmer’s birthday party. The card was halfway to the bin before Adam checked his instinctive reaction.

It was a credit to his neighbors that requests for his company at local events continued to arrive at Dunsbourne Manor, particularly as he had not made an appearance at any of them since his father’s death. Most of his school chums and associates in London had ceased issuing him invitations years ago. Apparently, it took missing only two Seasons in Town to be largely forgotten. His loss of connections in London might prove to be an issue at some point, but surely, the best way to prepare Emily to enter London Society was to have her participate in social functions nearer home.

He glanced at the invitation once more. His memories of Colonel Palmer were of a rather pompous man who enjoyed talking of his experiences in battle to the exclusion of all else. But he and his wife had been solicitous neighbors over the years. Perhaps the colonel’s birthday celebration was exactly the right setting for Emily’s inaugural step into Society.

“Colonel Palmer is celebrating a birthday on Saturday,” Adam said. “We have been invited.”

“Hm. That’s nice.” Emily’s vague response was muffled behind her book.

Adam squared his shoulders. “I think we should go.”

There was a fractional pause, and then the book lowered.

“You think we should go?” Her eyes appeared even larger than usual. “You and me?”

“Yes.”