“I need just a few moments of your time before you get started on the books.”
“Of course. How can I be of service?”
“I believe you just saw me finishing a meeting I had this morning with one of Mrs. Beaumont’s girls.”
“Sir,” Emma replied, “there is no need to speak of it.”
His brows lifted at her interjection. “Actually, there is—”
“No, there isn’t,” Emma insisted, feeling her cheeks warm with a blush she couldn’t prevent. “What you do in your private hours is none of my business.”
As soon as she finished speaking, she noticed a secret sort of smile tugging at his lips.
“I believe you misunderstood. Jillian came to me after her shift to ask if we had a position open for a new maid.”
The warmth in Emma’s cheeks spread through her body in a wave of embarrassment. “A new maid?”
Her discomfort increased as he seemed to struggle to hold back his amusement. “She recently discovered she is in a…delicate condition and is interested in a change of occupation.”
“I see,” Emma replied, a bit stunned. The young woman in green was expecting a child. She had not been consorting with Mr. Bentley in his office—she had been asking about a job.
Emma was astounded by the enormity of her error.
“I will need to consult with Clarice, but I believe we shall be able to find something suitable for the girl. I wanted to alert you to the fact that she will need to be added to the payroll.”
“Of course, Mr. Bentley.”
“Roderick,” he corrected gently.
With the curl of amusement still hovering about his mouth, he turned to leave. Emma started to close the door behind him, but he turned back and placed his palm flat against the door, preventing her from closing it further.
“One last thing.”
Her senses leaped into high alert. There was something about that phrase…
Before she could pinpoint the reason his words made her pulse flutter erratically, a flash of mischief in his bright gaze caused a seizing of her breath.
“It is not my habit to seek companionship from the girls in the west wing.”
The statement was uttered in a lowered, intimate tone, as if the conversation had just crossed a significant threshold. One she was not quite certain she had agreed to traverse. “As I said, such a thing is none of my concern.”
He dipped his chin and his smile widened, lengthening the masculine curve of his lips. The look he gave her was laced with an intensity she could not deny. “I know it isn’t. But I wanted you to know anyway.” Then with a casual bow of his head, he turned and walked away.
Emma closed the door and stood for a moment, trying to calm the wild quivering in her stomach. The man completely interfered with her rational mind. Every sense became heightened in his presence. And when he spoke to her in that intimate manner, as though they shared some unspoken secret between them, the rush of self-awareness she experienced put her at a loss for how to respond.
She remained on edge for the rest of the day, though to her immense relief she did not encounter Bentley again.
Near the end of her day, Emma went downstairs to find a quick bite to eat. Just as she turned into the kitchen, she nearly collided with someone else who was leaving. They were both saved from harm as the other woman swiftly spun to the side, lifting her hand to press over her heart with an audible gasp.
“La! There I go, rushing to and fro with no care for who may be in my way,” the woman exclaimed before gesturing to Emma with a flourish worthy of the stage. “Are you all right, dear? I certainly gave myself a mighty fright. You must be our new bookkeeper.” She extended her hand toward Emma. “I am Bentley’s housekeeper. Do come sit down and we shall have a bit of a chat.”
Taking Emma by the hand, the housekeeper drew her into the kitchen and sat her down at a long table. Then with a bold grin and a generous sway of her hips, Mrs. Potter practically sashayed back and forth across the room as she fetched them both a cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches before seating herself at the table across from Emma.
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Adams. How lovely to meet you. I have already heard so much about you from my Henry.”
Emma was a bit stunned by the woman’s dramatic presence. “Henry?”
Mrs. Potter gave a throaty giggle. “Mr. Metcalf, dear. He and I share rooms.”
Emma tried not to appear surprised by the other woman’s candid confession to being in an intimate relationship with the club’s manager. It wasn’t the fact that the two shared rooms without being bound in marriage that astounded her so much as it was the idea of the stoic Mr. Metcalf being romantically involved with this expressive creature.