Chapter 14
The next morning, a knock at the door interrupted Reeves as he penned an invitation to the upcoming ball. He set down his pen with a sigh, though if he were honest with himself, he was glad of the interruption. This work was tedious. “Come in,” he called.
The door to his study swung open. Bridget stood there, her hands hidden in the skirts of her dress. He thought the posture made her look nervous.
She doesn’t usually look nervous around me, he realized.
It was a shocking thing to notice. He hadn’t registered it before—he had been too preoccupied with his opinions about her audacious personality and the way she spoke to him about his daughter.
But he noticed it now, because her demeanor was in such contrast to what he had gotten used to.
And because, if he had been paying attention, this was what he would have expected from her.
He had grown used to people being nervous around him.
The scars on his face made him difficult to look at.
They impacted the way people saw him. He was used to glances that darted away, to eyes widening in shock.
He was used to knowing that people were wondering how he had gotten his scars, to assuming they thought he was dangerous because of them.
Bridget almost seemed as if she hadn’t noticed them. When she looked at him, she met his eyes and didn’t flinch. She had managed to make him forget he had scars on his face at all, something no one had achieved in a very long time.
Something had her nervous today, though. “What’s the matter?” he asked her. “Where’s Emma?” He recalled what had happened the last time he had summoned her to his study and Emma had been left on her own, anxiety mounting within him.
It must have registered on his face because Bridget held up her hands to calm him.
“She’s all right,” he said. “I left her with the cook to try the tartlets that are being prepared for the ball. I tried one of them too. If the cook follows the same recipe on the night of the ball, I think the guests will be very happy.”
“I’m glad you approve of the menu,” Reeves said. “But is that what you came here to tell me?”
“No,” Bridget said. “I came here to tell you that we’re going outside for a picnic.”
“Oh,” Reeves said, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Isn’t it a bit chilly for that?”
“The sun is out today, and the ground is dry. This might be the last warm day we get before winter sets in with a vengeance,” Bridget said. “It’s only right that we should take advantage of it.”
“Well, as long as you come back in if Emma starts to get cold, I suppose it’s all right.” Reeves turned his attention back to the invitation he had been working on.
“You misunderstood me,” Bridget said. “The picnic is for all of us. Emma is adamant that you should come along.”
Reeves sighed. “Bridget, I’m very busy right now. Can’t you take her?”
“She thought she might never see you again, Reeves,” Bridget said quietly. “You’re her father, and she wants a picnic with you.”
“If you just explain to her that I’m busy right now, and that I’ll spend time with her later …”
“I already told her you would join us,” Bridget said firmly.
Reeves ground his teeth together. “What do you mean, you already told her? You told her that without even asking me? What were you thinking? You got her hopes up without knowing whether I would be able to follow through.”
The nervousness had left Bridget’s face, and Reeves understood now that this was what it must have been about.
She planted her hands on her hips. “You can follow through,” she told him firmly.
“You’re right here. Whatever you’re working on, it can wait until this afternoon.
It’s nothing so urgent that your life will collapse if you don’t get it done right away.
Besides, you have a whole staff working for you here.
Whatever you’re doing, surely they can help you with it.
Your daughter wants to spend time with you. Is anything more important than that?”
She was right, of course, but he couldn’t just give in so easily. “You cannot make promises on my behalf,” he told her sternly. “You have no right to do that, even if you do believe you know best. This is still my household, and I still have the authority to decide what I will and won’t do.”
“Very well, but I believed that I knew what you would decide once you really thought about it,” she said.
“And I still think I’m right. I think you’ll follow me out the door right now, because you want to spend time with Emma just as much as she wants to spend time with you, and you’re not going to allow your irritation with me to get in the way of that. ”
She turned and walked out the door.
She was really taking her chances, Reeves thought grumpily. She had irritated him quite a lot. And he had the feeling she had done it on purpose. She thought he wouldn’t let his irritation get in his way, but this was a lot of irritation to try to get around.
But the unfortunate fact of the matter was that she was right.
He wasn’t going to let Emma down, even if it meant allowing Bridget to have her way.
He got up and followed her from the room.
His temper was slightly flared, but he took a breath and got himself under control, knowing that he had to be upbeat about what he was walking into.
For his daughter’s sake, he could manage it.
It was only a picnic. It would be a few hours, if that, and then he would be able to return to the work he’d been doing.
Besides, the truth was that he was glad to have a break. It was a relief to get away from the task of writing invitations, something he would gladly have left in the hands of a servant if he hadn’t considered it his duty to do it himself.
He let Bridget lead him to the kitchen. Sure enough, Emma was there, a tartlet in her hand. She grinned and held it out to him.
“Enjoying that?” Reeves asked her.
Emma nodded vigorously. It wasn’t speech, but it was communication, and he decided to be grateful for that. He wandered over to look at the samples the cook had prepared and set out to cool. “This is what you’re thinking of serving?”
The cook nodded. “If you approve, Your Grace. Miss Emma certainly seems to like them.”
Emma stretched out her hand to take one of the chocolate tarts.
“Emma,” Reeves said sharply. “Don’t eat that.”
“Why can’t she eat that?” Bridget spoke up, her voice terse. “I don’t see why she shouldn’t have a snack.”
Reeves let out a sigh. “Because chocolate upsets her stomach,” he said, turning to face Bridget. “I know you know a lot about children, but I do still know my daughter better than you.”
Bridget’s cheeks colored. “Oh,” she murmured. “I thought …”
“You thought I was just trying to keep her from having something that would make her happy, is that it?” What kind of father does she think I am?
She looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Emma was looking from one of them to the other, wide-eyed. Bridget cleared her throat. “Your father is right,” she told Emma. “If you’re going to have another tart, choose something other than the chocolate. You don’t want to make yourself sick.”
Emma bit her lip, as if contemplating whether to obey. Then she reached out, snatched a strawberry tart, and shoved the whole thing into her mouth.
Bridget burst out laughing. “Well, that wasn’t very ladylike! They’re good, though, aren’t they?”
Emma nodded eagerly, beaming. Reeves was so happy to see her smiling that he found he had nothing critical to say about the wild behavior. Better to see her being undignified and happy than shrinking away into corners, as she had been when she had first come home.
“So, how about this picnic?” he said. “I suppose we should go if we’re going, before we lose the light or the weather turns on us or something.”
Emma picked up a tart and held it out to Bridget, obviously inviting her to take a bite. Bridget took the pastry in hand, regarded it for a moment, then ate the entire thing in one bite, just as Emma had done.
Reeves laughed again, of course. Seeing a grown lady behave like that was even funnier than seeing his young daughter do it.
But then he noticed something.
Emma was laughing too. Laughing out loud, in bright peals that filled up the whole kitchen. It shocked him so much that he fell silent to listen to her.
At once, Emma fell silent too, looking up at him in clear concern.
“No, no,” he said quickly. “Nothing is wrong. It was funny, wasn’t it?”
He met Bridget’s eyes over Emma’s head. She was still chewing her tart, but her eyes shone brightly with mirth, and he was suddenly sure that she had done what she had precisely to try to get a laugh out of Emma. She had seen this result coming.
He wanted to praise her aloud, to thank her for recognizing this thing Emma needed and providing it.
He had been too serious, he realized, focused on worrying over Emma and trying to learn what had happened to her.
Meanwhile, it had been Bridget who had made a stride forward today, simply by acting foolishly and giving Emma a chance to laugh.
Bridget swallowed her tart. “You’re right,” she said to Reeves. “Let’s get outdoors and have our picnic. Emma, are you ready to go?”
Emma nodded eagerly and hurried around the counter to grab a picnic basket that Reeves hadn’t noticed. She held it up for her father’s inspection.
“Got a whole lunch packed?” Reeves asked.
“We sure do,” Bridget said.
“I hope you added some of those tartlets. Apparently, you ladies can’t get enough of them!”
Reeves was immediately rewarded with another giggle from Emma, and his spirits soared.
From now on, he decided, this was what he would do.
He would make it his mission to get her to laugh as much as possible.
After all she had been through, she deserved the chance to take things lightly, and if he could be the one to give her that, it would mean the world to him.
Together, Reeves, Bridget, and Emma made their way out of the kitchen, through the foyer, and out the front door.
Bridget was right—the weather was unseasonably warm today, and perhaps she had been wise to suggest a picnic.
It might be the very last warm day they got this Season. They should take advantage of it.
And it is better than being cooped up in my study, that’s for certain.
Feeling more at ease than he had since Emma had arrived at home, he led the way down the lawn to a spot that would be perfect for their picnic.
More than anything, he decided, he was simply grateful to have been included in this outing and glad that Bridget was helping him find ways to be a part of his daughter’s life.