Angel of Mercy

Chapter 19

November 1872

"You're healing nicely. I think in another month we can remove your cast."

Ethan watched Emma carefully the next morning as she changed his dressing and inspected his leg. He'd seen her yesterday, her arms wrapped around that groom, Nathan, was it? As they rode across the grounds. What was she thinking? Was she merely trying to spite him because of Francesca? Didn't she know he couldn't stand the woman and only tolerated her to convince Emma nothing could ever happen between the two of them?

He didn't often get jealous. But at that moment, he had despised that man. It should be his body Emma was covering with her own. But of course, he couldn't ride, he couldn't do anything. And he had more of Francesca to deal with later. What a fool he was to bring her back here.

"Where did you go yesterday," he suddenly blurted out.

"Pardon," Emma turned to him confused, his soiled dressings in her hands.

"I saw you riding off with that groom."

"Did you?" She seemed surprised by this revelation then shrugged, "He was just showing me where you had your accident." She put the dressings in a basket to be thrown out.

"Why?"

"I asked him to."

"Why?" he demanded again.

"To find out what caused Aquila to throw you off."

"And did you?"

"Did I do what?" Emma quipped.

He sighed. "Find out what happened?"

"Oh, no I'm sorry to report I did not. Did you need anything else?"

She was already headed toward the door.

"Yes."

She stopped and faced him, "Yes, what can I get you?"

"You can stay."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "Is that truly what you want?"

"Yes."

"Very well."

She sat in the chair beside his bed that Francesca had previously been occupying.

He had hoped she would wear one of the new day gowns he'd commissioned for her, but she was in her usual gray. At least she hadn't returned to the servant quarters.

"Emma –

"Oh, am I Emma again? What happened to Miss Rhodes?"

"Emma don't be coy with me." he said exasperated.

"I would never dream of doing any such thing." Her tone was heavy with sarcasm, and he could tell she meant it.

He sighed. Clearly, she wasn't going to make this easy for him. And oddly he only liked her more for that.

"I want you to know. I simply meant dowry or no. If I had been your fiancée, I would have fought for you. Found another way instead of weakly letting you go. Yes, I have money, but I also never know if it's me or my wealth that people really care about."

Her face softened, "Yes, that must be frustrating. Are you courting anyone besides Francesca?"

"I am not courting Francesca." he corrected her, an angry tinge to his voice.

"Of course, she's just your mistress –

"She's not even that. I hadn't seen her in months before my accident. I'd broken it off."

"Then why is she here now?" she asked the question nonchalantly, but he knew his response mattered greatly to her.

Ethan fumbled, "I...I thought..." he trailed off.

"You thought to provoke me." she surmised. 

"I wouldn't say provoke." he hedged.

"It doesn't matter. I am not a prospective bride for you."

Though what she said was true it was a horribly plaguing fact. Lately, Ethan had been wondering how things could be if she was of noble birth. Would she accept him if he asked for her hand in marriage?

"But we are friends, yes?"

Emma smiled, "Yes."

What relief he felt at hearing those words from her. Why her friendship, her presence in his life mattered so much to him he didn't want to examine. He simply knew he couldn't let her go. "It's a bit colder today. Would you read to me in the library?" he asked hopefully.

"That sounds lovely."

She stood to assist him out of bed and as her hand touched his arm, they locked gazes and he was heartened to see warmth, compassion and most importantly love in the swirling blue depths of her eyes. Has anyone ever looked at him this way? He immediately knew the answer was no. But he certainly didn't want to lose the only person who did. He'd have to speak with Huxley about making her stay at Lavender Hall permanent. After all he was an earl, there wasn't really anything that could stop him. Or so he thought.