(a servant of duty) Chapter 8:
Eight:
The cold rag he holds to his head does little to cool his anger when he catches glimpses of the purple black bruise at Emilyanne's eye. He knows she shouldn't be at his residence alone, despite the closeness of their families. Her brothers would be preferable to the way he keeps looking to the windows, compounding the pain in his head with every slight movement.
He thanks the Lord God above for Leigh, who remains in the room, after having sent a man after David Doyle and her chaperone aunt. Ever the cool head, Leigh had even served tea, which seemed to be calming Emilyanne's nerves, if nothing else.
It's with a scowl that Anton finally speaks. "You should stay at home until this is settled. Until we find this rogue."
Her cup clatters to the saucer in her hand, accompanied by a scoff. "You can't be serious."
He glares at her, eyes dark. "Deadly serious."
"I don't believe it. He was just a common footpad. Like that highwayman on the way to town. I've enough to--."
"What?" Anton roars, rag thrown on the table and indignation causing him to leap from his chair.
She smiles disarmingly and says his name softly, a trick that had no doubt worked numerous times on her older brothers, but only serves to raise his ire. The growl her smile prompts from him has her smile wilting, the tale of her ride into town hovering at the tip of her tongue. “It was nothing, really, Anton. Three men--.”
“Three?!” he interrupts, collapsing back into his chair with a groan. He closes his eyes, unwilling to look at her while he is so fearful for her life.
Her eyes flick up to him and back down to her lap. “Yes, three men stopped us on the road. We didn’t have anything terribly valuable on our persons, as we’d sent our luggage ahead quite some time before so that the house would be ready by the time we arrived. We only had the jewels we were wearing at the time-my mother’s pearls, and Auntie had an old locket.” She pauses, tilting her head as she remembers. “Not that they were terribly interested in those. They turned our carriage inside out, then disappeared. It was possibly the strangest occurrence of my life.”
“Stranger than a surprise betrothal?” Anton asks, mocking tone weary after so long in use on the subject.
She sighs and gives a small chuckle. “Stranger even than Wills’ love affair with coins. I’ve never met a man more interested in numismatics.”
Anton finds himself laughing more than he’s laughed in weeks, weak with relief at a change in topic. He knows far too well about Wills and his strange obsession with collecting bits of ephemera and coins from wherever he goes. Far too many are the times where Anton has had to make up an excuse to decline an invitation to see the many pieces of pocket change from the Indies. At that moment, David Doyle was introduced, as well as the Lady Nelson.
“Did I miss something important?” David asks, shuttered amusement on his face at the tableau they presented. Anton makes to stand in greeting, but both the Lady and David wave him back down. “Honestly, Anton. Sit down before you fall down. Auntie doesn’t mind, do you?” She waves a gloved hand at him again before going to sit beside Emilyanne on the settee.
“What happened to your eye, my dove?” Auntie asks, gingerly touching the bruise. Emilyanne does nothing to stifle her flinch, though she smiles sweetly only a moment after.
“Oh, Auntie, Anton was brilliant. Those brigands were set to steal our valuables and he defended my honor most nobly. He could not stop them from hitting me, true,” she says, demurely looking down at her lap before looking back up with feverishly bright eyes on the verge of tears. “How could he, when they had him under the eye of so many pistols? As soon as they’d taken my necklace and his wallet, they bashed him over the head with a pistol and ran off.”
Anton barely restrains himself from reacting to her lack of mention of her own heroics, subsiding only when she turns her gaze to him, begging his silence. Instead, he tries a different tack. “I can only hope that she will stay in the house until we sort this matter with the police. I fear for her life.” He clears his throat when both David and Auntie agree over the vocal protests of Emily. He doesn’t even move from his perch while they reassure him that she’ll stay inside and disappear out the door to their carriage. He lets free a sigh and rubs a hand over the headache he has building between his eyes. How could she just not tell him about what had happened on the way to London?
She waits precisely one hour after Anton leaves before she calls for her cloak and leaves the relative safety of her London townhouse. Crossing Hanover Square has a sudden sense of intrigue and danger, the softly lit street torches barely illuminating the foggy gloom surrounding her. Her feet skitter across dewy lawn and cobbled streets toward her brother David's home.
She keeps an alert eye about her but jumps nonetheless when a hack clatters up beside her. "Be needin' a ride, missus?" the boy offers with a touch to his cap. "Not safe for you to be dashing off on a noight like this, hiffin I may be so bold."
She laughs a little with familiarity and casts a reckless grin his way. "I don't know, Andrew. I always have someone watching for me these days. Besides," she leans up and drops her voice conspiratorially, "you know well that I can care for myself."
Andrew's laugh does more to brighten the night than all the torches combined. "Hop up, Missus Em. I'll take you whar you're goin'." He gives her a hand up into the hackney carriage and clatters off again, the interchange familiar after these four years of this same late night mischief.
It's not until she's in David's drawing room with a cup of tea that she feels any chagrin. "I thought Berrisford gave you specific instructions. You weren't under pang of death." David tosses back the last of his tea, looking comfortably disheveled in just his shirtsleeves.
"If I interrupted a rendez-vous of yours, you have but to say. I have no intention of stopping you in your dalliances, young David." She smiles into her cup as her brother splutters with indignation.
"Listen, chit. I won't have you twittering about my business when you had best worry about what Berrisford will say when he arrives."
"Anton's coming here?" She blanches and sets her cup aside. "You called for him?"
He has the good grace to look a mite sheepish. "Well I daresay I should have. Dashing out in the middle of the night on some harebrained scheme, even if it is to my home. Imagine who may have cottoned on to you. It's for your own safety, Emily."
"Yes. Quite," a voice thunders from the door. Emilyanne turns sharply on the settee, breathless again at the sight of Anton Crosarme in all his cold fury.
"Tony," she begins, her voice softly placating.
"I should have tied you to the bed and kept watch there myself." His dark eyes pin her to the chair as he enters the room. He nods a greeting to David.
"Berrisford."
"My thanks to you for sending your man for me, Doyle. I should have known your sister could not stay put."
Emily's cheeks flush red with indignance. "Gentlemen, although you may think you know what is best for me, neither of you are my father or my owner. You would do well to remember that I am my own woman and I have no need for self-righteous, overgrown Neanderthals dictating my actions to their every whim." She's standing as she finishes, arms akimbo and chest heaving.
The glint in Anton's eye is too quick to be caught. "A Neanderthal, mum? You have not yet come to understand how in danger you are with every time you disobey me. Perhaps what you need is to be treated like a caveman would treat you." With those words, he reaches over and tosses her unceremoniously over his shoulder.
David does nothing at all but chuckle slightly at her squawk of helpless indignation as he leads them to the door and releases them to the night. Anton puts up with Emily's well-placed punches for only a short moment before he turns her to cradle against his chest. The change throws her, leaves her quiet a moment as she gets her bearings.
"Hit me once more and I shall most assuredly bind your hands and hogtie you to keep you still." The hissed threat barely veils the desperate hurt in his eyes. "Please, just... let me take you home." She stills and doesn't move until he deposits her in her foyer.
As quickly as her feet touch the wooden floorboards of her home, she draws up sharply\. “That is quite enough now, thank you Anton. As you can see, I am quite safely home and I shall not be in need of your company any longer.”
Anton’s gaze softens only a moment before he hauls her over his shoulder again and proceeds to take the stairs up to her bedroom. She squawks again at the unsettling actions that he’s taking, the liberties that he’s availing himself of, and is distressed to find herself tossed like a bag of seed onto her bed.
“Of all the impertinence!” she squeals.
Anton kneels before her bed, taking her hands in his. “You have no idea; do you, of the anguish you cause me simply by existing? Can you even begin to imagine what would have happened if I had come seeking you at your house this morning, only to find you had not been there through the night? No one could account for your whereabouts. Had someone taken you…” he draws himself up short, gaze slipping off into the fire burning low in her grate. “I simply could not bear it.”
The cold rag he holds to his head does little to cool his anger when he catches glimpses of the purple black bruise at Emilyanne's eye. He knows she shouldn't be at his residence alone, despite the closeness of their families. Her brothers would be preferable to the way he keeps looking to the windows, compounding the pain in his head with every slight movement.
He thanks the Lord God above for Leigh, who remains in the room, after having sent a man after David Doyle and her chaperone aunt. Ever the cool head, Leigh had even served tea, which seemed to be calming Emilyanne's nerves, if nothing else.
It's with a scowl that Anton finally speaks. "You should stay at home until this is settled. Until we find this rogue."
Her cup clatters to the saucer in her hand, accompanied by a scoff. "You can't be serious."
He glares at her, eyes dark. "Deadly serious."
"I don't believe it. He was just a common footpad. Like that highwayman on the way to town. I've enough to--."
"What?" Anton roars, rag thrown on the table and indignation causing him to leap from his chair.
She smiles disarmingly and says his name softly, a trick that had no doubt worked numerous times on her older brothers, but only serves to raise his ire. The growl her smile prompts from him has her smile wilting, the tale of her ride into town hovering at the tip of her tongue. “It was nothing, really, Anton. Three men--.”
“Three?!” he interrupts, collapsing back into his chair with a groan. He closes his eyes, unwilling to look at her while he is so fearful for her life.
Her eyes flick up to him and back down to her lap. “Yes, three men stopped us on the road. We didn’t have anything terribly valuable on our persons, as we’d sent our luggage ahead quite some time before so that the house would be ready by the time we arrived. We only had the jewels we were wearing at the time-my mother’s pearls, and Auntie had an old locket.” She pauses, tilting her head as she remembers. “Not that they were terribly interested in those. They turned our carriage inside out, then disappeared. It was possibly the strangest occurrence of my life.”
“Stranger than a surprise betrothal?” Anton asks, mocking tone weary after so long in use on the subject.
She sighs and gives a small chuckle. “Stranger even than Wills’ love affair with coins. I’ve never met a man more interested in numismatics.”
Anton finds himself laughing more than he’s laughed in weeks, weak with relief at a change in topic. He knows far too well about Wills and his strange obsession with collecting bits of ephemera and coins from wherever he goes. Far too many are the times where Anton has had to make up an excuse to decline an invitation to see the many pieces of pocket change from the Indies. At that moment, David Doyle was introduced, as well as the Lady Nelson.
“Did I miss something important?” David asks, shuttered amusement on his face at the tableau they presented. Anton makes to stand in greeting, but both the Lady and David wave him back down. “Honestly, Anton. Sit down before you fall down. Auntie doesn’t mind, do you?” She waves a gloved hand at him again before going to sit beside Emilyanne on the settee.
“What happened to your eye, my dove?” Auntie asks, gingerly touching the bruise. Emilyanne does nothing to stifle her flinch, though she smiles sweetly only a moment after.
“Oh, Auntie, Anton was brilliant. Those brigands were set to steal our valuables and he defended my honor most nobly. He could not stop them from hitting me, true,” she says, demurely looking down at her lap before looking back up with feverishly bright eyes on the verge of tears. “How could he, when they had him under the eye of so many pistols? As soon as they’d taken my necklace and his wallet, they bashed him over the head with a pistol and ran off.”
Anton barely restrains himself from reacting to her lack of mention of her own heroics, subsiding only when she turns her gaze to him, begging his silence. Instead, he tries a different tack. “I can only hope that she will stay in the house until we sort this matter with the police. I fear for her life.” He clears his throat when both David and Auntie agree over the vocal protests of Emily. He doesn’t even move from his perch while they reassure him that she’ll stay inside and disappear out the door to their carriage. He lets free a sigh and rubs a hand over the headache he has building between his eyes. How could she just not tell him about what had happened on the way to London?
She waits precisely one hour after Anton leaves before she calls for her cloak and leaves the relative safety of her London townhouse. Crossing Hanover Square has a sudden sense of intrigue and danger, the softly lit street torches barely illuminating the foggy gloom surrounding her. Her feet skitter across dewy lawn and cobbled streets toward her brother David's home.
She keeps an alert eye about her but jumps nonetheless when a hack clatters up beside her. "Be needin' a ride, missus?" the boy offers with a touch to his cap. "Not safe for you to be dashing off on a noight like this, hiffin I may be so bold."
She laughs a little with familiarity and casts a reckless grin his way. "I don't know, Andrew. I always have someone watching for me these days. Besides," she leans up and drops her voice conspiratorially, "you know well that I can care for myself."
Andrew's laugh does more to brighten the night than all the torches combined. "Hop up, Missus Em. I'll take you whar you're goin'." He gives her a hand up into the hackney carriage and clatters off again, the interchange familiar after these four years of this same late night mischief.
It's not until she's in David's drawing room with a cup of tea that she feels any chagrin. "I thought Berrisford gave you specific instructions. You weren't under pang of death." David tosses back the last of his tea, looking comfortably disheveled in just his shirtsleeves.
"If I interrupted a rendez-vous of yours, you have but to say. I have no intention of stopping you in your dalliances, young David." She smiles into her cup as her brother splutters with indignation.
"Listen, chit. I won't have you twittering about my business when you had best worry about what Berrisford will say when he arrives."
"Anton's coming here?" She blanches and sets her cup aside. "You called for him?"
He has the good grace to look a mite sheepish. "Well I daresay I should have. Dashing out in the middle of the night on some harebrained scheme, even if it is to my home. Imagine who may have cottoned on to you. It's for your own safety, Emily."
"Yes. Quite," a voice thunders from the door. Emilyanne turns sharply on the settee, breathless again at the sight of Anton Crosarme in all his cold fury.
"Tony," she begins, her voice softly placating.
"I should have tied you to the bed and kept watch there myself." His dark eyes pin her to the chair as he enters the room. He nods a greeting to David.
"Berrisford."
"My thanks to you for sending your man for me, Doyle. I should have known your sister could not stay put."
Emily's cheeks flush red with indignance. "Gentlemen, although you may think you know what is best for me, neither of you are my father or my owner. You would do well to remember that I am my own woman and I have no need for self-righteous, overgrown Neanderthals dictating my actions to their every whim." She's standing as she finishes, arms akimbo and chest heaving.
The glint in Anton's eye is too quick to be caught. "A Neanderthal, mum? You have not yet come to understand how in danger you are with every time you disobey me. Perhaps what you need is to be treated like a caveman would treat you." With those words, he reaches over and tosses her unceremoniously over his shoulder.
David does nothing at all but chuckle slightly at her squawk of helpless indignation as he leads them to the door and releases them to the night. Anton puts up with Emily's well-placed punches for only a short moment before he turns her to cradle against his chest. The change throws her, leaves her quiet a moment as she gets her bearings.
"Hit me once more and I shall most assuredly bind your hands and hogtie you to keep you still." The hissed threat barely veils the desperate hurt in his eyes. "Please, just... let me take you home." She stills and doesn't move until he deposits her in her foyer.
As quickly as her feet touch the wooden floorboards of her home, she draws up sharply\. “That is quite enough now, thank you Anton. As you can see, I am quite safely home and I shall not be in need of your company any longer.”
Anton’s gaze softens only a moment before he hauls her over his shoulder again and proceeds to take the stairs up to her bedroom. She squawks again at the unsettling actions that he’s taking, the liberties that he’s availing himself of, and is distressed to find herself tossed like a bag of seed onto her bed.
“Of all the impertinence!” she squeals.
Anton kneels before her bed, taking her hands in his. “You have no idea; do you, of the anguish you cause me simply by existing? Can you even begin to imagine what would have happened if I had come seeking you at your house this morning, only to find you had not been there through the night? No one could account for your whereabouts. Had someone taken you…” he draws himself up short, gaze slipping off into the fire burning low in her grate. “I simply could not bear it.”