Regina Scott by The Courting Campaign Page B

firedamp had intrigued him in particular. She remembered him expounding on it over dinner one night.
    “England runs on coal,” he’d told his wife and two daughters by birth as they sat around the cloth-covered dining table. Neither Emma nor her three foster brothers were allowed to eat at that table. They’d been fed in the kitchen when they were small, while the family was dining. As they grew older, they had eaten afterward so they could help with the serving. That day she and Jerym, the eldest of the boys, had been standing along the papered wall, waiting to remove the plates.
    Samuel Fredericks had picked up his crystal goblet and gestured with it, like a choirmaster ordering his singers. He was a large man, with heavy jowls and a ponderous nose. When his bushy brows drew down in a scowl, she and her foster brothers knew it was time to disappear for a bit.
    “We must have more coal, so they must dig deeper,” he’d told his wife. “And the deeper they go, the more of this noxious gas they encounter.”
    “And when you have found a way to protect them from it, you can require that they dig deeper indeed,” his wife had agreed, her graying blond ringlets bouncing in her enthusiasm, “in their pockets, that is.” She tittered at her own wit.
    “Now, now,” Mr. Fredericks had cautioned as his daughters snickered, their coarse manners clashing with the finery of their lace-edged silk dinner dresses. “Science can provide a service to the nation, and I am honored to play a part.” He drained his glass and held it up. “Fill it again, boy, and be quick about it.”
    Be quick about it. Her foster father had expected instant obedience, to every command. He hadn’t expected her to refuse to marry the man he’d chosen for her or to run away from his suffocating household to work as a servant in another. But if she was to be a servant the rest of her life, it would be on her terms. She had to make sure that no one at the Grange ever told her foster family where she’d gone, just to be on the safe side.
    You know I am trying to forgive him for the way he treated me and the boys, Father. But forgiving him doesn’t mean I should give him the ability to hurt me again.
    She felt the truth of that statement echoing through her. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and moved into the kitchen to return the tray.
    “How did it go?” Mrs. Jennings asked as soon as she sighted Emma.
    Emma set the tray on the worktable. “Very well, thank you. In fact, he’s still with her.”
    Mrs. Jennings clapped her hands. “Oh, well done, Miss Pyrmont!”
    “I didn’t leave him much choice,” Emma admitted, going for a towel to wipe her hands where some of the chocolate had spilled. “And I don’t dare leave him alone with her for too long, or Mrs. Dunworthy will think I’m being lazy.”
    “Of course,” Mrs. Jennings agreed, dropping her hands. “But don’t give up on him. He deserves to know his daughter as much as she deserves to know him.”
    Emma quite agreed. After the way he’d behaved in the nursery, her confidence was growing that she could convince Sir Nicholas to spend additional time with his daughter. She was more concerned what he’d do if he ever learned she’d come from the house of another natural philosopher, and a leader in the group that no longer welcomed him.
    She made sure she’d regained her composure by the time she reached the top of the stairs once more, but it turned out she needn’t have worried. Ivy was helping Alice wipe her face and fingers after breakfast, and Sir Nicholas was nowhere in sight.
    “Sorry, miss,” the maid said as if sensing Emma’s disappointment. “I finished with my duties in the night nursery, and the master asked me to watch Alice so he could return to his laboratory.”
    “He must work on his experiment,” Alice said with grave concern. “Those little boys need a light.”
    Emma was certain he’d called them boys to help Alice understand. Surely