The Courting Campaign. Regina Scott

I commend you for rising above it.”

      Tears threatened, and she dropped her gaze to her plate once more. I’m only here because of Your grace and strength, Lord. I know that. Thank You!

      “Do try some of the trout, Miss Pyrmont,” Mrs. Dunworthy said kindly. “It’s quite good.”

      Emma knew. An angler brought fresh fish to the Grange almost daily. Mrs. Jennings made sure they all ate well. Did Mrs. Dunworthy think otherwise, or was she giving Emily time to compose herself?

      “London is a long way from Derby,” Sir Nicholas said to Emma as if his sister-in-law had never spoken. “How did you come to find yourself here?”

      “Because she answered my advertisement in the newspaper, of course,” Mrs. Dunworthy said. It was the truth. Emma had asked to read her previous master’s discarded newspapers before they were used for cleaning. The request for a nanny all the way up in Derby had been a Godsend, for it took her far from all those who might seek to bring her back under control.

      “So you were looking for a better position,” he surmised.

      Emma nodded and was thankful that the maids entered just then to clear the first course and bring in apple pie, trifle and ice cream. Alice started squirming again.

      Emma didn’t think Sir Nicholas would let the matter drop, so she wasn’t surprised when he took up his questioning again the moment the maids left.

      “Why Derby?” he pressed, spooning up a bite of trifle and holding it before him.

      “Oh, Nicholas,” Mrs. Dunworthy said with a sigh, “stop quizzing the girl!”

      “I merely wish to know her better,” Sir Nicholas protested. “Alice’s recommendation carries great weight with me,” he smiled at his daughter, “but a gentleman needs to deal with facts.”

      Of course. Facts, never feelings, were what a natural philosopher relied on. He had to observe, chronicle. The well-being of his subject was never a consideration.

      Well, if it was facts he wanted, she could certainly provide them.

      “Allow me to elaborate, then,” she said, setting down her own spoon. “I had three younger foster brothers of whom I was given charge when I was nine, so I’ve more experience than you might expect caring for children. All of us were adopted by a gentleman in London, and I was given care of his two daughters, as well. I attended all the same lessons they did, so I know how to read and write in English and some Latin, and I’m good with numbers. Immediately before coming here, I worked for an apothecary and his family, where I learned a bit about diseases and how to prevent and cure them.”

      “Exceptional,” he said, and she sat a little taller. Alice sat up, as well. Emma thought even Mrs. Dunworthy looked a little more confident about the outcome of this conversation.

      Until he said, “Who taught you Latin?”

      He had to pick that one. She should have left it out, but some part of her had wanted to impress him.

      “Nicholas,” Mrs. Dunworthy said, “you are starting to browbeat the girl. Miss Pyrmont has volunteered her accomplishments. Be happy with that and enjoy the rest of your meal.”

      His smile of apology was more like a grimace. “Very well, Charlotte. Forgive my inquisitive nature, Miss Pyrmont. It is part and parcel with the way I work, I fear.”

      She thought her smile was just as strained, for she very much feared the same thing.

      Mrs. Dunworthy began asking Alice questions, then, and as they chatted, Emma found herself watching Sir Nicholas. Much of his food remained untouched on the plate, his long-fingered hands resting on the tablecloth beside it. His right hand was twitching, one finger beating time on the damask to sounds only he could hear. Though he answered any question put to him readily, his gaze no longer focused on the people around him. His body was present in the room, but his mind had already wandered.

      Anger pricked her. Alice deserved a father who would love her. Emma was certain they existed; she’d read about them. In fact, as soon as she’d learned to read, she’d devoured stories about families. In the books she loved, fathers were kind and wise, and mothers firm but loving. Men and women married because they were deeply in love, enough to overlook all fault of upbringing or misfortune. As an orphan, Emma had been denied such a family. Why should Alice face the same fate, when her father was very much alive?

      Alice said something clever, and Sir Nicholas smiled in obvious appreciation. For a moment, his gaze lit on his daughter, and those analytical eyes warmed, his angular features relaxed. In fact, he had rather expressive lips, the bottom more full than the top. Now they smiled in such a way as to cause a hitch in her breath.

      Emma blinked. Why, it seemed he had potential! Perhaps he’d invited Alice to dinner for more than a chance to question Emma. Perhaps he truly cared about his daughter.

      What if she could encourage him? What if she could bring him and Alice closer? Mrs. Jennings seemed to think he needed a mother for his child. Perhaps what he really needed was to learn how to be a father.

      She smiled as she attacked her apple pie with enthusiasm. She knew exactly how to solve Mrs. Jennings’ problem, and her own. She would indeed start a campaign to court Sir Nicholas, for his daughter.

      * * *

      Nick was surprised to hear the clock on the mantle chime eight even as they finished the last of the second course. It appeared dinner had passed more quickly than it usually did.

      Alice yawned.

      Miss Pyrmont smiled at her. “I think perhaps we should make our curtseys, Miss Alice.”

      Alice giggled. “You don’t have to miss me. I’m right here!”

      Her nanny’s smile grew, and Nick knew his must match it. “Miss Pyrmont is right, Alice,” he said. “It’s time for bed.” He rose and pulled out her chair so she could climb down. Those violet-colored eyes, so like her mother’s, met his, and he felt as if someone had taken out his heart and squeezed.

      Singular sensation. Singular thought.

      “Good night, Papa,” she said.

      Throat surprisingly tight, Nick bowed to her. “Good night, Alice.”

      As he straightened, she took Miss Pyrmont’s hand and turned to Charlotte. “Good night, Auntie! Sleep tight. Mind the bugs and fleas don’t bite.”

      He had never thought pink a violent color until it erupted in Miss Pyrmont’s fair complexion.

      Charlotte threw down her napkin and pushed back her chair to stand. “Bugs and fleas? In my household?”

      Nick barked a laugh and instantly regretted it for Charlotte’s head came up and Miss Pyrmont’s head hung.

      “It’s something I learned as a child, madam,” she murmured. “It must have slipped out.”

      Alice glanced between the two of them. “I like it. I don’t want the bugs to bite me.”

      “Of course not,” Nick assured her. “But I’m certain if any bug even considered entering this house, one look from your auntie would drop him dead in his tracks.”

      Charlotte glared at him, but he thought he heard a smothered laugh from Miss Pyrmont.

      He bowed to his daughter again and to her redoubtable nanny. “Good night, ladies. Thank you for joining me for dinner. It has been most engaging.”

      “Good night, sir,” Miss Pyrmont said and hurried Alice from the room as if her very life was in danger.

      Seeing the look on Charlotte’s face, he thought she might be right.

      “I apologize, Nicholas,” Charlotte said, picking up her napkin as she returned to her seat. “Of course I knew about Miss Pyrmont’s unfortunate early years, but I had no idea she would share anything so common with Alice. I will discharge