office. There wasn’t a dull moment in this house with Emma. I had an idea who had drawn her bath for her and it wasn’t a house maid but rather a cook with a soft spot for the girl, no doubt. I wouldn’t be the one to reveal their secrets. No harm was truly done.
How would having a wife change this? Would she handle the situation like the one I just dealt with similarly? Was I doing anything wrong? How would it change our dynamic? Was I making a mistake by seeking a wife? So many questions and no answers. Who was I to ask?
I imagined Lydia Ramsbury dealing with a runaway wet Emma hiding behind drapes in protest. How would Lydia handle her and could she? Alice was stern, but even Alice struggled with Emma’s strong will. Was searching for a wife that was the proper picture of an English Lady the right thing? Surely it would help as Emma grew and introducing her into society, but what of now? I wanted Emma to keep that spirit and strong will. Breaking it wasn’t what I desired at all.
Against my will, an image of Miriam Bathurst appeared in my head. Without any struggle, I could see her handling the strong-willed Emma with ease. Miss Bathurst wasn’t proper, but she was from a respected family in society and there was no true scandal attached to her name. Perhaps I was being hasty by casting her aside as an option. Someone like Miriam may be exactly what Emma would need. Her ideas of a proper English home were not as strict as most and truly wasn’t that what I needed? The more gently bred the female, the more unlikely it would be that they would accept a bastard child as their own.
Miss Bathurst needed to marry to save her family from poverty at least that was the information I had received when I inquired of her. I needed a mother for Emma, one who was willing to protect her with the lies I had in place when the time came. A smile tugged at my lips and I picked my glass of brandy back up. The day seemed brighter now. I wouldn’t think too hard about why because I wasn’t searching for a wife that made me happy. I was searching exclusively for Emma a mother. There was no need to let my emotions get involved. That would be disastrous. Feelings only complicated marriages. Respect was all that was required.
Chapter Eleven
Miriam Bathurst
Once I had loved to dance. As a young girl, I’d fancied dancing at balls. The reality was not very grand. Listening to one gentleman after the other talk of themselves as if they were trying to sell me a piece of property was tedious. The first chance I was given to escape, I did, right out the side door, leading onto a lovely rose-covered patio. Another couple stood to the far left talking while an older lady, who was no doubt the chaperone, stood a distance away. I breathed a sigh of relief and inhaled the heady scent of rose that filled the air.
Tonight’s ball had been my chance to focus and find a man suitable for marriage. I had been determined to keep an open mind and try and enjoy myself. Neither of those things had thus far happened. Instead, I’d had my toe stepped on, had suffered a terrible case of garlic breath being blown in my face, and was almost positive I’d received an improper advance from a married man. The only highlight of the evening had been that neither Mr. Compton nor Lord Ashington were in attendance.
I hadn’t expected for Lord Ashington to call upon me again; however, I was a touch surprised that Mr. Compton hadn’t after our walk. It had started out tense, but in the end, we had both relaxed and talked without pretense. We had even laughed more than once at different stories we both shared. I hadn’t expected to enjoy the outing, but I had. I’d thought he had too.
Apparently not, I thought sourly. It wasn’t as if he would be the husband I was seeking. I needed more than he could offer financially. Only for my sister though not for me. I hated the way it sounded even if it was just in my own head.
Giggling came from behind me and I turned to see two girls, and what I assumed was one of their mothers, exiting the ballroom. One