Love, Kindness, and Other Useless Things

Eight

Mid–March, 1816.

As the weather slowly became warmer, the snow disappeared, and the small buds started to grow back on the trees, Emma found herself walking through the long hallway that looked out over the garden, keeping a shawl wrapped around herself; while behind the glass it was nicely warm, the outside air was still cold. Her nose and the tips of her ears were still red from having walked Grace to her usual ballet class, so the gentle warmth of the sun that fell through the large windows was a pleasant welcome on her cold skin.

In the distance, she saw David work his way through the garden, taking care to keep away from Milah's gravestone. She watched him suddenly stand up straight, leaning casually on his rake and put on a wide smile. Emma hid her grin behind her hand as she suddenly saw the reason behind his sudden change in posture: Mary Margaret stepped out on the lawn, carrying a steaming cup.

He reached out for the cup and brought it to his lips; though it was hard to see from where Emma was standing, she saw the admiration never left his eyes. David appeared to thank her, leaning closer towards her and then gently kissed her cheek.

Mary Margaret nodded and walked away from him, her usually pale cheeks had entirely coloured crimson. Emma would have guessed her cheeks could not gain any more colour, but was utterly proven wrong when Mary Margaret noticed her and realised Emma had seen the whole thing.

From her spot in the middle of the hallway, Emma watched Mary Margaret walk inside, her features showed she was clearly thinking of something to say before Emma could.

But Emma simply could not help herself. "Why do you never bring me a cup of coffee?" She wondered, bringing her finger to her pursed lips.

"It was tea," Mary Margaret muttered. "And you never bring me tea whenever you bring Mr Jones tea."

"Ah, but that is because Lord Jones is my employer and you are not," Emma retorted with a grin.

"Where is he, anyhow? I have not seen him all day," Mary Margaret questioned in an attempt to not so subtly change the subject, but Emma decided to humour her.

"I believe he is in his office," Emma replied, wrapping her shawl a bit tighter around herself. "He is not having the best day today."

"Are you certain it is wise to leave him alone, then?"

Emma smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Perhaps you ought to have a little more faith in him. He has done wonderfully well these last few weeks."

"I realise that, and I do have faith, but maybe he does not want to be left alone but is too afraid to ask? Please go see if he requires anything?"

"Why must I be the one to do so?" Emma protested with a pout. Mary Margaret gave her a knowing look. They had talked about it before. They had spent an entire evening by the fire in the servant's area, Mary Margaret had baked cookies, Ruby had bought chocolates, and Emma had made cake. Multiple glasses of wine had been consumed that night and the conversation had been a light one, gossips and giggles at most.

That was until Mr Jones stepped in the room well past midnight, announcing that he was retiring to his room. He looked somewhat bewildered, as if even he could not believe that he had actually come to say goodnight. But Emma had been the first to return his goodnight wishes, and it made his lips curve into a small, barely–there smile. He had nodded once, scratching behind his ear and then left the room without saying a word.

Waiting until they heard his footsteps on the grand staircase, they had burst into confused laughter.

Ruby had brought the conversation back to one they had had a month or so earlier. He likes you, ever since you got here, you have been nothing but a good influence on him. Emma did not want to have the conversation, but Mary Margaret chimed in quickly, nodding furiously. It's true, he seems so much happier. Emma decided to let the women babble, it appeared to make them happy, and who was she to deny their happiness.