Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(23)

“Miss Billings?” Emma asked, pausing in the middle of a paragraph about Roman military strategy. “Nan is going to have a baby, isn't she?”

Taken aback, Tasia wondered how the girl had found out so soon. “That isn't a proper subject for discussion, Emma.”

“Why won't anyone explain it to me? Isn't it more important for me to know about real life than a lot of moldy history?”

“Perhaps when you're older someone will explain things to you, but in the meantime—”

“It happens when a man and a woman sleep in the same bed, doesn't it?” Emma's gaze was bright and perceptive. “That's what happened—Nan and Johnny slept together. And now a baby is coming. Miss Billings, why would Nan take a man into her bed if she knew a baby would happen afterward?”

“Emma,” Tasia said softly, “you mustn't ask such questions of me. It's not my place to answer. I don't have your father's permission—”

“How will I ever find out? Is it some terrible secret that only grown-ups can understand?”

“No, it's not terrible.” Tasia frowned and rubbed her temples. “It's only that…it's very personal. There must be a woman that you trust and care for—your grandmother, perhaps—who will answer your questions.”

“I trust you, Miss Billings. And it makes me very anxious to think about the things I don't know. When I was eight, my aunt saw me kissing one of the village boys, and she was very angry. She told me you can get a baby that way. Is that true?”

Tasia hesitated. “No, Emma.”

“Why would she tell me something false? Was it wrong of me to kiss that boy?”

“I'm certain she thought you were too young to understand the truth. And no, it wasn't wrong. You were merely curious. There was no harm done.”

“What if I want to kiss a boy now? Would that be wrong?”

“Well, not exactly, but…” Tasia smiled uncomfortably. “Emma, perhaps you should tell your father that you would like to talk to a woman about…certain matters. He'll find someone appropriate. I doubt he would approve of me being the one to answer your questions.”

“Because you argued with him this morning about Nan.” Emma began to coil a lock of blazing red hair around her finger, avoiding Tasia's gaze.

“Did you eavesdrop, Emma?” Tasia asked, her tone reproving.

“Everyone has been talking. No one ever argues with Papa. All the servants are surprised. They think you're very brave and foolish. They say you'll probably be dismissed. But don't worry about that, Miss Billings. I won't let Papa send you away.”

Tasia smiled, touched by Emma's artless reassurance. She was an endearing child. It would be very easy to love her. “Thank you, Emma. But you and I must abide by your father's decisions, whatever they are. I made a mistake this morning by forcing my opinions on him. I was rude and ungrateful. If Lord Stokehurst chooses to dismiss me, it would be no more than what I deserve.”

Emma scowled, suddenly looking like her father. She tapped her long foot against Samson's snout. Gently he opened his jaws and chewed her heel. “Papa will keep you here if I want you to stay. He feels guilty because I don't have a mother. Grandmama says that's why he has always spoiled me. She wants him to marry Lady Harcourt, but I hope he doesn't.”

“Why?” Tasia asked softly.

“Lady Harcourt wants to take Papa away from me, and have him all to herself.”

Tasia made a noncommittal sound. She was beginning to understand the fierce attachment between the Stokehursts, forged by the death of the woman they had both loved. The loss of Mary Stokehurst was an open wound for both of them. It seemed as if father and daughter used each other as an excuse to keep from reaching out to other people, and risk having their hearts broken again. It might be best for Emma to go to a place where she could make friends with girls her own age and find new outlets for her energy. Far better than to spend her time prowling around a country estate, spying on the servants.

Tasia gave Emma an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps we should finish this chapter and go for a walk. Some fresh air might clear the cobwebs away.”

“You're not going to explain anything to me about Nan,” Emma said with a resigned sigh, and dutifully returned her attention to the book.

There was no word from Lord Stokehurst all day. He remained in the library, conducting meetings with a parade of tenants and men from the village. “Farming practices,” came Seymour's reply, when Tasia asked what the visitors had come to talk about. “The master is making improvements on the estate, to ensure that the tenants are working the land as productively as possible. Some of them are nearly medieval in their practices. The master is advising them about modern methods and giving them the opportunity to make complaints against the estate manager.”

“That is very kind of him,” Tasia murmured. In Russia, landowners were far removed from the business of the estate. They hired stewards to insulate them from concerns that were beneath their notice. Certainly she had never heard of peasants being given advice or help directly from the master's household.

“It is a practical policy,” Seymour remarked. “The more His Lordship invests in his own estate, the more profitable it becomes for all concerned.”