Miss Pyrmont was definitely biting her lower lip now. He could tell even though she’d bowed her head and clamped her arms to her sides.
“Oh, I cannot say, sir,” Mrs. Jennings replied. “I best speak to Mrs. Dunworthy about the matter. I’ve been so busy lately I don’t have time for the little extra things.”
He felt the same way. “Quite understandable,” he assured her. “For now, might I trouble you for some of those cinnamon biscuits you generally put on my breakfast tray?”
Mrs. Jennings set her finger against her lips. “Goodness me! I remember how you used to dote on those. But I’m afraid I sent the entire batch upstairs for Miss Alice. If you’d like some this morning, you’ll have to have breakfast with her.”
Chapter Six
Oh, the clever woman! Emma hid her smile at Mrs. Jennings’s decree and Sir Nicholas’s obvious surprise. The cook had given Emma an opportunity. Emma intended to take it.
“Yes, Sir Nicholas,” she said, hefting the tray. “I was just about to bring Alice her breakfast. Won’t you join us?”
His look crossed from her to Mrs. Jennings and back again as if he simply could not believe them. Emma let her smile shine and hoped it looked more welcoming than triumphant.
“It won’t take long,” Mrs. Jennings encouraged him. “Miss Pyrmont is generally back downstairs in about a quarter hour. Your tray often takes longer than that to return.”
Still he hesitated. A quarter hour? He was wrestling over sparing so little time for his daughter? She had her work cut out for her, it seemed. But at least breakfast was a start.
Please, Lord, help him agree!
“Very well,” he said, and Emma sent up a prayer of thanks. “I had something I wished to say to Alice in any regard.”
He strode to Emma’s side and held out his hands. “Allow me, Miss Pyrmont.”
She felt his fingers brush hers and nearly dropped the tray at the unexpected warmth. She barely managed to transfer the platter to his control. Then it was his turn to look surprised.
“Something wrong, Sir Nicholas?” she asked.
He eyed her up and down, and she felt her color rising. “The weight to height ratio is off,” he said.
Emma drew herself up. “I beg your pardon?”
He frowned. “The tray is heavier than I expected for a woman of your slender frame.” He glanced at the cook. “I seem to remember we had a footman in the nursery when I was young.”
Mrs. Jennings’s round face did not show the annoyance Emma was certain she was feeling that she could no longer address the problem herself. “We’ve had trouble keeping our fellows on the staff for some time, sir.”
Though she didn’t say it, Emma suspected the issue lay in Mrs. Dunworthy. They had men who worked outdoors—grooms, gardeners, the head coachman Mr. Dobbins—but only a single footman indoors, and Charles often looked a bit harried to be at Mrs. Dunworthy’s beck and call. A household this size generally boasted a butler, kitchen help and more maids. Even Dorcus, who served as Mrs. Dunworthy’s maid, had to do double duty, helping with cleaning and serving. But perhaps Mrs. Dunworthy had decided that having fewer staff was wiser so far from London.
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