Page 7 of Miss Davis and the Spare (Dazzling Debutantes #3)

Chapter Six

“Stewards exist to take care of the estates. Bankers exist to provide an estate owner with concerns. Drink exists to make us forget our concerns. But none of this signifies to you because you are my spare, so you exist to entertain me. Drink up.”

July 1806, the late Earl of Saunton to his son, Peregrine, on his eleventh birthday after he posed a question about the tenants of Saunton Park.

* * *

T he entire family, Emma and Jane included, had gathered in a large, tasteful drawing room decorated in hues of burgundy and navy. An intricate Persian rug graced the gleaming floorboards, bordered by an eclectic mix of armchairs and low tables. The gentle hiss of gas lights, evidence of the earl’s great wealth, echoed faintly in the background, casting a warm glow into the corners of the cozy space. Through the paned glass of the tall sash windows, Emma glimpsed the lush greens and soft florals of a summer garden. She made a mental note to explore it when the opportunity arose.

As Sophia had predicted, Perry had been particularly attentive since her arrival. His face had softened with concern as she took her seat, and he had leaned toward her to murmur in a low, solicitous voice.

“Have you been taken care of, Emma? Do you need anything?”

Though his tone lacked its customary sardonic edge, the familiar twinkle lingered in his green eyes. At the very least, he was no longer avoiding her gaze, and he had thrown her several glances since their entrance—each one a small but precious balm that mended the frayed edges of her earlier distress.

Feeling more her usual self, Emma looked about the room with curiosity. Her gaze caught on a fine chess table placed near the fireplace, its elegant carved pieces arranged in anticipation of play. She straightened in delight. Perry followed her gaze.

“It is for Ethan,” he explained, his voice amused. “He will be down shortly, and he will expect to play with each of us in turn. Hopefully, the surprise of your visit will exempt me from my match this evening.”

Emma’s eyes sparkled. “You truly play with him?”

“Did you think I was jesting? The little tyrant releases none of us without a daily match. I take it you are the one who taught him to love the game?”

Emma nodded with pride. “I adore chess. I have read several treatises on the subject, but Ethan’s skills were still rudimentary when he left us in Derby.”

Perry leaned one elbow on the armrest, his expression softening. “His skills are advancing rapidly now that he insists on playing at least once a day. You will be impressed. He will have you at the board before nightfall.”

Emma smiled with growing satisfaction. “I am so pleased. Truly. I must admit, I feared he would be neglected in a noble household. But from what I have seen and heard, he is thriving. It is a great relief.”

Perry snorted softly, the sound oddly affectionate. “The entire household revolves around Master Ethan. Even with a second child on the way, I suspect he shall forever hold center stage.”

Both Emma and Jane gasped and clapped their hands over their mouths in unison. “The countess is with child?” Jane whispered, eyes wide.

Perry smirked. “Good heavens! Ladies and their endless fascination with babies. Yes, there is a babe on the way. Sophia and Ethan debate baby names in the evenings after they play. He is quite excited to have a younger brother or sister. I hear all about it during our own match, of course.”

Emma let her hands drop back into her lap, her smile softening. “You are a good uncle, Perry.”

He shifted in his chair as if startled by the unexpected compliment, his gaze cutting back to her in wary curiosity. “Why do you say that?”

“You spend time with him. You listen to him. That is what a good uncle does.”

He arched a brow. “And what if I am a terrible influence? Have you considered that?”

Emma tilted her head. “That seems unlikely. You are intelligent, well-versed in etiquette, and I would wager you are patient and playful with him. A child would be fortunate to have an uncle like that.”

For a moment, Perry simply looked at her, something unreadable passing through his expression before he settled back against the upholstery with a faint, self-deprecating smile. There was color in his cheeks, and though he said nothing more, she had the impression her words had pleased him more than he wished to admit.

Emma looked toward the door in anticipation, her thoughts drifting to Ethan, her beloved boy. In only moments, they would be reunited.

And perhaps, too, she and Perry had taken a small but important step toward repairing the strange bond that had so quickly formed between them.

At that moment, the door opened, and all heads turned as a young nursemaid entered, holding the hand of a small boy dressed in short breeches and a miniature coat of fine blue wool. The sight of him so grown, so dapper, startled Emma. The sable waves that framed his face gleamed under the light, and his green eyes widened when he beheld so many gathered. Yet it was the shadows under those bright eyes that tugged at her heart—evidence he had not been sleeping well.

Ethan took a moment to survey the room, taking stock of the unfamiliar faces, before his gaze found Emma seated near the window. His entire face lit with joy.

“Emma!” he cried, wrenching his hand free of the nursemaid’s and darting across the room. Emma dropped to her knees to receive him, catching him in a tight embrace, her eyes stinging with unshed tears at seeing him.

“Ethan, you look so handsome!” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his.

“What are you doing here?” He pulled back, gazing at her in wonder.

“Your papa said you needed me, so I came to visit,” she said softly, brushing a kiss to his forehead.

Ethan flung his arms around her neck once more and buried his face into her shoulder. “I am so happy you are here! I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.” Emma gave him another squeeze before lifting him onto her knee as she resettled herself on the chair. “Now tell me, why have you been so desperate to see me? You have all these new relations to play chess with, a nursemaid to look after you, and a governess to teach you your lessons. It does not sound like you have any time to miss me.”

Ethan leaned close, glancing around at the others before whispering into her ear, “They all get up so late. It is not like the country. I miss feeding the animals with you in the mornings.”

Emma’s heart clenched. She gave him a quiet hug and whispered back, “Do your governess and nanny not rise with you?”

“Yes, Daisy does, but we do not feed the animals. There are too many people here. And I miss the horses and dogs. It is different in Lun-den .”

She smiled gently. “Who is Daisy?”

Ethan pointed to the nursemaid who had accompanied him in. The young woman offered Emma a warm, if slightly concerned, smile, and Emma returned it with a nod of appreciation before turning back to the little boy in her lap.

“Morning chores with you were my favorite part of the day,” she said. “But now that I live in Somerset, I no longer feed the horses either. Shall we go visit the stables and see what they are like here?”

Ethan’s eyes gleamed. “They are very nice. I did not want to com-puh-lain .”

Emma shook her head. “Silly goose. They are your family now, and your papa wants what is best for you. Come. Let us go explore the stables, shall we?”

“I knew you could fix it,” Ethan said, beaming.

Emma glanced up and caught the earl watching them, a faint crease of concern marring his brow. Raising her voice so all could hear, she addressed him directly.

“I think a visit to the stables would be an excellent adventure. Will that be acceptable, Richard?”

The earl gave her a thoughtful look, then stood. “I would love to visit the stables. Would everyone like to join us?”

Sophia rose, her smile warm. “I think we can all enjoy a stroll through the gardens and a visit to the mews.”

She moved to open the garden door, and the group began filing out, the nursemaid bringing up the rear as Emma took Ethan by the hand and followed. The earl waited at the threshold for the pair to reach him before falling in step beside them.

As they walked across the lush lawn toward the mews, Richard glanced down at his son. “Do you like the stables, Ethan?”

“I do, Papa. Emma promised I could start riding just before I left the farm.”

“Would you like me to teach you?”

Ethan turned to him, his chest puffing up with pride. “You want to teach me?”

“It sounds like great fun,” the earl replied. He threw Emma a wink before continuing. “The only trouble is, I prefer to ride at dawn.”

Ethan’s face lit up. “At sun-na-rise ? I would love that! I promise to stay in bed. Can we go tomorrow morning?”

“If you sleep tonight, then yes—we shall ride together in the park. And then we will see about teaching you to ride properly.”

Ethan squealed in delight, tugging on Emma’s hand as they hurried to catch up to the others who had disappeared into the entrance of the mews. Inside, the air was rich with the scent of oats and clean straw. Soon they had gathered a small bucket of feed, and Emma lifted Ethan onto her hip so he could offer a handful to the first horse in the row. When he was done, the earl stepped forward to refill his small palm, and together they made their way down the line, Ethan chatting excitedly about how enormous the horses were and how he could not wait to ride at his papa’s side.

* * *

Perry watched as Emma and his brother walked to each occupied stall, helping Ethan feed each of the mounts. Observing the joy on her face as she chattered softly to the boy pulled at old, forgotten memories he had long since buried.

Memories of soft embraces. The fragrance of gardenias. His mother’s calm presence as she held him the way Emma now held Ethan. He remembered how she used to talk to him about the flowers in the garden, how he would pluck one in bloom and she would tuck it into her golden hair, bestowing him with a radiant smile of gratitude.

He had been a few months older than Ethan when those embraces ended, and his mother abruptly vanished from his life. Many weeks later, his father had told him coldly, with no more sentiment than if discussing the loss of a horse, that his mother was dead.

That devastated little boy still lingered within him. Those hours in the garden had been the last moments he had known joy, the last time he had believed life held any promise.

As always, the memory pulled the shadows of his fifteenth year with it—when he had stumbled upon his vile father with the girl from the village, and the last vestiges of innocence had been destroyed. Perry pushed the thought away. The pain was still so fresh it might have happened yesterday.

Eventually, the party returned to the drawing room, where Richard sat down at the table for his daily chess game with Ethan. Emma and Perry were once again seated together across the room, observing from afar.

“You are so patient with him,” Perry murmured.

Emma watched the little boy with warm appreciation lighting her features. “I could be nothing other than patient with the dear boy.”

“Have you always spent so much time with him?”

She shrugged. After a quiet moment, she spoke, her gaze drifting toward the fireplace as though seeing ghosts in its swept hearth.

“When Ethan was a babe, he did not speak. Not a word. My parents despaired that he might be mute, or somehow … impaired. But I knew better. He was watching. Learning. Ethan likes to do things properly. I believed that when he was ready, he would speak. So I spent time with him—played with him whenever I could. And I talked to him like he was already a person. We had so many one-sided conversations … and one day, not long after his second birthday, he answered me.”

She gave a wistful smile. “It was a full sentence. He asked me if he could have an apple. He had a little trouble pronouncing the words, but he said them all. Yes, he is brilliant—but you must be patient, or you miss it. All of his uniqueness.”

Perry let out a long breath, almost a sigh. “I have not been very patient with you, have I, Emma?”

“No. You have not.”

“Will you allow me to start afresh?”

She turned to him, her smile gentle. “I believe I can be tolerant of your past behavior, if you show a concerted effort to improve our relations. The countess informs me you are to tutor us. I hope you know what a challenge you have taken on with me. I am not skilled in social graces.”

“It is not as difficult as all that,” he replied. “I would appreciate a fresh start so I apologize for being sarcastic with you while you are trying to navigate this new world. I shall endeavor to assist you rather than judge you.”

“That is all I can ask of you, Perry.”

He smiled at her, something warm and soft rising in his chest. For a moment, he let himself imagine it—waking each morning to this woman beside him. Her bright intelligence, her strong heart, her maddening, captivating honesty. He could picture a life of laughter and simple joys.

But the moment passed. He—the worthless spare, with nothing but time and an allowance dependent upon his brother’s goodwill—had nothing to offer her. Emma deserved far better than a man like him, one who wore masks and fled from intimacy, afraid of the secrets that might be revealed.

He sat forward, forcing out the words before he gave in to the temptation of staying—of imagining he had a place in this strange, warm world where people like Emma smiled at him with hope.

“Well, I must be off. I am meeting my friends. I shall leave you to your time with Ethan.”

He rose and withdrew from the room, wondering if he had imagined the brief flicker of disappointment that crossed her face. In truth, he would have much preferred to spend the evening with Emma. But he needed to step aside—to give her room to find an eligible young man, someone who could offer her everything she deserved.

If only I had anything to offer her.

It would be too easy to lose himself in her—too easy to imagine a lifetime of waking to her smile, of hearing her forthright laugh, of kissing her until he could taste her joy. But he could not allow himself that fantasy. Not when reality offered nothing but shadows.

* * *

Emma watched Perry leave with a touch of regret. For the first time since they had met, they had fallen into true companionable discussion—an exchange she had enjoyed more than she cared to admit. Her fondness for him was growing, despite her firm decision to avoid any attachment. The relief that the countess had been correct—that he had gravitated back to her side—was a pleasant surprise.

How had Sophia so accurately predicted what would happen?

Emma turned to observe the countess, who was seated beside the chess table, her attention on the ongoing game between her husband and their adopted son. Sensing Emma’s gaze, she looked up and gave a quick wink before turning back to the board. Emma smiled and lifted her teacup for a sip of the warm brew that had been handed to her upon their return to the drawing room. For the first time in two days, she allowed herself to relax.

Jane, seated beside her, was in full spirits, chattering about how exciting it was to visit London. The countess seemed to believe that Emma could navigate this daunting change in circumstances, and Perry had reassured her—quite sincerely—that she would have the full support of the family. Emma was still astonished by what the earl had revealed earlier: Perry had offered to tutor them. The fact that he had later retracted the offer did not signify in her mind. He had offered, and that was what mattered.

The evening progressed at a gentle pace. They had enjoyed a fine dinner, just the four of them—Emma and Jane, the earl and the countess—followed by a few rounds of cards. Conversation had flowed easily, and the young ladies had begun to feel more at home. When they finally retired, much later than they were accustomed to, both were yawning from exhaustion.

Emma had tumbled into bed the moment her maid had helped her out of her gown and into a night rail. For once, she had fallen instantly into sleep—until she woke with a start. Somewhere in the distance, a clock was striking midnight. She turned over, attempting to reclaim the deep sleep she had been enjoying moments before.

By the time the clock announced the half-hour, she had given up entirely.

She considered tapping on Jane’s adjoining door to see if her sister was also awake before scoffing softly to herself. Everyone in the Davis family knew that once Jane laid her head on a pillow, she slept as long as she wished and awoke bright-eyed and full of cheer, no matter the hour or circumstance.

Slipping from the bed, Emma padded across the carpet and lit an oil lamp using the low light of the banked fire. The night had turned chill with gusting rain, and the maid had insisted on lighting the fire before leaving. Now, Emma was grateful for both the warmth and the illumination.

She pulled her thick wrapper around her and stepped into a pair of slippers, setting off in search of the lower level, where the library was located.

It took nearly fifteen minutes to find her way. She tried several doors before a footman appeared, presumably returning to resume his duties in the entry hall. The earl had mentioned they were maintaining increased security after a recent incident, and Emma noted the footman’s burly build and slightly disheveled appearance. He seemed less a servant by trade and more a soldier in livery. Nevertheless, he was polite and efficient, guiding her to the library with a short bow before disappearing once more.

Heaven. That was the only word that came to Emma’s mind as she stepped inside.

The room was long and narrow, its walls lined with shelves crammed with books of every subject imaginable. Tables and chairs had been thoughtfully placed between the shelves, while flickering wall sconces, not yet extinguished for the night, cast a welcoming glow.

Emma wandered the room, orienting herself to its organization. When she discovered a shelf filled with recent political speeches, her heart leapt with excitement. Quickly scanning the spines, she selected a volume and moved to the velvet sofa before the fireplace.

She kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet beneath her wrapper, opening the book to the desired page. The rustling of the pages, the flicker of candlelight, the warmth of the fire—it all made for the perfect retreat from the confusion of the day.

Emma exhaled slowly. The weight that had pressed on her since they left Rose Ash seemed to lift, if only slightly.

She was in London. She had a book in her hands. And for the moment, that was enough.

A sound startled her awake.

Emma’s eyes flew open, her heart thudding as she tried to determine where she was. It took a few dazed moments to recognize the surroundings. She had fallen asleep in the library. The book she had been reading was now closed and resting on her stomach. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and took in the flickering light of the sconces, the fire banked low in the grate.

Then she heard the noise again—a muffled laugh and the unmistakable thump of a shoulder against a door.

Quickly standing, she tightened the sash of her wrapper and moved instinctively toward the shadowed corner of the room just as three men stumbled in, shutting the door behind them with a clumsy bang that echoed through the silence.

Perry was in the center.

He looked thoroughly dishevelled, and, if she was not mistaken, entirely the worse for drink.

“Have you been drinking?” she demanded, arms folded.

Perry blinked. His gaze was unfocused when it found her across the room. “Emma.”

“Indeed,” she replied, dryly. “A better question would be—have you been over drinking?”

“Jus’ a tipple or two,” he slurred, swaying slightly where he stood.

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Your friend appears to have had far more than two tipples.”

She nodded toward the tall gentleman clinging to the nearest bookshelf like a lifeline. His chestnut hair was tousled, and he looked as though he feared the floor might betray him.

Perry grinned foolishly. “Brendan Ridley. Friend of the earl’s from our Eton days. Son of a baron from Somerset—you are practically neighboursss!”

Emma scowled, dipping into a terse curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ridley.”

“Whazat? Who’s talking to me?” Ridley mumbled, peering into the shadows like a man seeking a ghost.

Perry ignored the exchange and gestured toward the other gentleman. “And thisss is Lord Julius Trafford, eldest son of the Earl of Stirling.”

Emma turned her attention to Lord Trafford. He was tall and wiry, with a striking contrast of wheat-blond curls atop his head and close-cropped brown hair at the sides. Of the three, he seemed the least unsteady—but the most unrepentant. His gaze dropped to her chest and lingered.

Emma instinctively lifted her chin and placed her hand on the knot of her sash, confirming that her wrapper was securely tied. Her night rail was high-necked and modest, and the wrapper thick. He could see nothing more than she might wear to breakfast, and yet … the boldness in his stare was unmistakable.

She refused to curtsy. Nor did she acknowledge him with speech. Let him take the hint.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Perry weaving toward the drinks cabinet.

She had half a mind to sweep out of the room altogether, but she wanted her book—and her dignity. Reaching for the lamp on the end table, she extended her hand?—

And froze.

Trafford was suddenly beside her, having crossed the room without sound. He loomed, a silent shadow at her elbow. Startled, she flinched, taking a step back, only to watch in disbelief as he reached past her and plucked up her book from the sofa.

* * *

Trafford wandered over to the sofa, holding Emma’s book aloft and squinting at the title by the glow of the fire. Perry blinked blearily from across the room, resisting the urge to groan.

The fool could simply turn to the left and read it by the lamp!

Instead, Trafford barked a loud, jarring laugh. Perry flinched belatedly, feeling the echoes in his skull.

“Would you look at this! A Selection of Speeches Delivered at Several County Meetings in the Years 1818 & 1819! What is this little bluestocking about, then? Interested in politics, are you, mouse?”

Emma’s chin lifted. “That is Miss Mouse to you,” she retorted. “And no, I am interested in agricultural reform and the manner in which future Parliamentary actions may affect rural landholders and estate management … you insolent oaf!”

Trafford’s brows rose. “That is Lord Insolent Oaf, if you please. And what do you care about land management? Should you not be having your hair styled or ordering fripperies from Bond Street?”

He reached out a hand and caught a single curl between his fingers. Perry, watching from across the room, sobered instantly. Trafford’s fingers. On Emma.

No!

He launched himself forward with the intention of removing those fingers—and possibly his friend’s entire hand—when Emma got there first.

She thrust a finger in Trafford’s face, her voice ringing with righteous fury.

“Land ownership is changing! You may pretend it does not matter, but those who do not evolve will become irrelevant . The future does not care about your title, my lord—it cares about your ability to manage your estates wisely. Those who do not adapt will be left behind—extinct!”

Perry froze mid-step, utterly transfixed.

She was glorious.

Black eyes alight with fire, her cheeks flushed with righteous indignation, her petite form radiating strength—it was like watching Joan of Arc take the field against the most ridiculous army of dandies. The firelight glinted in her dark curls, casting a halo about her.

And he—idiot that he was—had mocked her for that brilliant mind.

He also could not deny a stab of jealousy. Arguing is our thing.

Did Trafford stoke her flames as he did? No … no, this was not flirtation. This was true anger, and Perry felt both relief and awe in equal measure.

Trafford squinted down at her. “Why should a sweet young thing like you care about such things?”

Emma’s voice did not waver. “You should care, Lord Oaf, because one day you shall inherit lands from your father. If you remain ignorant of the changes ahead, you shall find yourself selling off your family holdings for pennies on the pound to fund your overindulgent ways. The world is shifting, and if you will not keep up, you shall be swept aside, you … you oversized twit!”

Trafford gaped at her.

Perry decided he had allowed this farce to go on long enough. Weaving slightly, he seized Trafford by the arm and steered him toward the door with more force than finesse.

“My apologiesss, Emma, for inflicting my friendsss upon you. If I had known you were in here …” he trailed off. “I would never have brought them inssside.”

Her black gaze was impenetrable as she watched him tug Trafford away. It struck him then that she was not simply angry—she was disappointed.

That hurt more than the indignation.

“Ridley!” he barked, startling the lolling figure still half-propped against the door. “Time to go!”

Brendan Ridley blinked like an owl, bobbing his head vaguely before lurching into motion and staggering out the door.

Perry shoved Trafford after him, muttering, “You complete donkey.”

Trafford grumbled, “What was she on about? Agricultural speeches? Pennies on the pound …”

His mumbling faded behind them.

Perry felt the weight of shame descend upon his shoulders. He had sought to forget the haunting memories of his father by returning to old habits. And in doing so, he had made a spectacle of himself before the one woman who made him feel something other than hollow.

He would pay for this come morning.

Not just with a headache, but with the certain knowledge that Emma Davis now thought him no better than Lord Oaf himself.