by Jo Goodman
Restell winced. “Do not say you mean to tell her to release the poor woman from her household.”
“It is sound advice and I intend to give it. I have no expectation that Lady Greenaway should take the children in hand herself. It is not done. Why, they are not even interesting at so young an age. The truth is that Lady Greenaway and her offspring are best served by a reliable, sober nanny. When the children are judged mannerly enough to be presented in public they may be sent to school. The boys will go to Eton or Harrow. The girls will have a governess to instruct them.”
“It seems rather cold-blooded.”
“Does it? I confess, it felt as if my heart was breaking to send Ferrin away, but that is the sacrifice a mother makes in the best interest of her child. You and Ian were already at school when I married your father, but watching you return there after holidays hurt my heart as well. It is only marginally easier with the girls, but they spend so much time with their governess, there are times when one wonders if they are even at home.”
“I hadn’t realized.”
“Of course you did not. Do you imagine I could afford to show weakness? I would have been surrendering your futures. A mother does not do that.” She paused and added softly, “A stepmother does not do that, not if she wishes to honor the woman who came before her.”
Restell closed the distance to her side and bent to kiss her forehead. “You have done my mother proud, dearest. Never doubt that.”
Lady Gardner’s smile was a trifle watery as she patted Restell’s cheek. “What plans have you for this evening? Will you join us for supper?”
“I should like that. Will you mind if I take my leave and then return? I promised Hannah and Portia that I would accompany them to Madame Chabrier’s. They are in want of new bonnets, it seems.”
“You spoil them, Restell.”
“It is the privilege of being an older brother.”
“Very well. They certainly enjoy time spent with you. You will not permit them to behave badly, will you? They have a tendency to gawk and dawdle. It is not the least attractive.”
“No gawking. No dawdling. I understand. It does not even sound attractive.”
She waved him off. “Go on. Supper is at seven. You will want to be on time. There will be smoked trout.”
“Excellent.”
Lady Gardner nodded and called after him. “And I remain hopeful that before the sweet is served you will offer a full account of this fresh intrigue that has engaged your interest.”
Restell stopped in the doorway and slowly turned on his heel. He raised one eyebrow in a respectful salute to her perspicacity. “You are unnatural.”
She smiled beatifically. “I’m a mother.”
Chapter 3
“Your uncle wishes to see you.”
Emma looked up from the book in her lap. The interruption was not unwelcome. She had been reading from the same page for some time and still had no comprehension of what had passed before her eyes. She closed the book and held up her hand, forestalling the maid who was already backing out of the room. “Wait, Miller, you have not told me where I can find him. Is he in his studio?”
“No, miss. In the library.” She bobbed a curtsy and made a full retreat.
Emma raised one hand to her cheek, palming her jaw first, then gently exploring the bridge of her nose. There was no longer any swelling that she could detect, but Miller’s hasty exit reminded her that the bruising had not entirely faded. This morning, when she had examined her face in the mirror, she had entertained the notion that she might take a turn in the park with Marisol and not be the object of stares, whispers, or worse, pity. The maid’s discomfort in her presence served as a warning that this would not yet be the case.
Placing the book aside, Emma rose and smoothed the front of her white muslin day dress. Her pale green shawl had slipped to her waist, and she raised it to the level of her shoulders, knotting the fringed ends just below her bodice. Emma tried to make out her reflection in the window, but the late morning sun thwarted her efforts. Her attention was caught instead by the splintering of light at the corners of the beveled panes. She stepped closer and examined the rainbow that appeared in the glass. Following the angle of the light’s entry, she looked down at herself and saw the ephemeral colors were spread across her bodice. She raised her hand so the light interlaced her fingers like a web of delicate silk threads.
“What are you doing, Emmalyn?”
The intrusion was so unexpected that Emma nearly lost her balance as she spun around. “Marisol. You startled me.”
“That is obvious. You look as if you cannot quite catch your breath. What were you doing?” Marisol untied the ribbons of her bonnet as she stepped into the salon. She removed the straw bonnet with a flourish and gave her head a toss. Ebon curls fluttered first one way, then the other, and came to rest in a manner that made a perfect frame for her heart-shaped face. Her regard was not so much curious as it was demanding.
“I was studying the light,” Emma said.
“Studying the—” Marisol waved one hand dismissively. “Oh, never mind. It cannot be important. Did I misunderstand? When I came in I thought I heard that Father desires to see you.”
“He does. I just learned of it.”
“You know he does not like to be kept waiting.”
“No,” Emmalyn said. “That is you who has no tolerance for waiting. In any event, I am going now.”
Marisol stepped aside to permit Emmalyn to pass. “Do you know who he has with him?”
Emma wished she might have reacted less visibly to this intelligence. Was it not punishment enough that her stomach roiled and a weight settled on her chest? Why did she have to show her fear by faltering in her steps? “There is someone with him?”
“Are you all right?” Marisol asked, at once solicitous. “Why, you are ashen, Emmalyn. Except where you are still a bit jaundiced, of course.”
Emma brushed aside the hand Marisol put out for her. “It’s nothing.”
“It does not appear that is the case.”
“I’m fine,” Emma said stoutly. “Really. It’s nothing.”
“You didn’t know that Father has a guest.”
“No, but that is neither here nor there.”
“Shall I make some excuse for you?”
“No. I’ll go. If Uncle is not embarrassed by my appearance, then I shan’t be.”
“You are very brave, Emmalyn.” Marisol sighed. “I could not do it.” She brightened suddenly. “I will allow you to use my rice powder,” she said, seizing Emma’s hand. “Come. Let me apply it to your face. You will be astonished at the result.”
Emma shook her head and carefully disengaged herself from Marisol’s hold. “You are kind to suggest it, but it is not necessary. I would not keep your father waiting so long as that. He is patient but not infinitely so.”
“As you wish.” She regarded Emmalyn critically. “I believe if you present a three-quarter profile Father’s guest may not notice anything is amiss. It is only your left side that reveals the vestiges of your injuries.”
“Stop,” Emma said sharply. Marisol’s head snapped back, but Emma could not regret her sting in her delivery. She did, however, draw a calming breath and offer in a less pointed tone, “Just stop. I’m certain that Uncle’s visitor will not be so rude as to inquire about my disfigurement, therefore I am not in the least concerned that I will have to answer questions that might cause discomfort to any of us.”
“That is a very good point,” Marisol said. “I should have thought of it.”
“You didn’t think of it because you would ask the questions.”
“I would not, and you are impolite to say so. And further, you are not disfigured, merely discolored. You cannot make me feel worse than I already do by making more of what was done to you than was actually done to you.”
Emma blinked. Had there been a chair at the ready she would have sat. “Do you think that’s my intent? To make you feel guilty?”
“Guiltier,” Marisol said. “I already feel guilty. Worse than that, really, except I do not know what word describes such a lowering emotion. I am heartily sorry for what happened to you, Emmalyn, and I will always regret that you went to Madame Chabrier’s in my stead. But that is an example of your generous nature, is it not? I cannot accept all the responsibility. It would crush me. You know I am not as strong as you.”
“That is what you say, Marisol, but I submit that it’s never been put to a test.”
Marisol’s lambent blue eyes widened. Tears threatened at the corners. “I think you have grown wicked, Emmalyn, and that is the true, tragic consequence of the assault and abduction. There is no evidence of your fine sensibilities, nor any inkling that they ever existed. You say whatever comes to your mind with no regard for another’s feelings. Have you not upbraided me for the very same? Now the shoe is on the other foot, and I must needs reproach you. I can only hope that gives you pause, for I assure you that I will be uncompromising in the application of the standard of conduct you used to set.”
Emma closed her eyes briefly while she massaged her temple. The seeds of a headache had been firmly planted. “Marisol,” she said softly, exasperation mingling with respect, “you quite take my breath away.”
“Then it was an adequate setdown?”
“Better than adequate. I shall give consideration to all you’ve said, but just now—”
“Oh, yes. Father is waiting.”
“Yes.” Emma leaned forward and kissed her cousin lightly on the cheek. Her action surprised Marisol, but Emma turned and hurried from the room before she was delayed yet again.
Sir Arthur Vega’s library was on the ground floor toward the back of the house. When he wasn’t painting in his studio with its windows that opened onto a rooftop balcony, he favored the quiet that was only possible away from the street. Out of respect for his preference for peace, Emma tread lightly on the stairs and down the hallway. The butler was waiting at the door to usher her in. Her entry was accomplished so quietly that neither her uncle nor his guest immediately turned.
It was only when the door clicked into place behind her that her presence became known. Sir Arthur came about first, smiling warmly and waving her over.
“Ah, here you are. Come in, come in. You will like this news, I think.” Arthur Vega was not a large man, but the arm he flung around Emmalyn’s shoulders held surprising strength as he brought her closer. “Mr. Gardner, this is my niece, Miss Emmalyn Hathaway, of whom I have spoke with such affection. Emmalyn, you will be pleased to make the acquaintance of Mr. Gardner. It is his stepmother who recently purchased that piece I did of the fishing village.”
Restell Gardner inclined his head politely. “Miss Hathaway. It is a pleasure.”
“Mr. Gardner.” Emma was only aware she had spoken after the fact. She further surprised herself by lifting her face to her uncle and announcing, “Mr. Gardner and I are already acquainted.”
Sir Arthur’s dark eyebrows lifted in tandem, the left one in a slightly higher arch than the right. “You are? That is unexpected.” He cast a look at Restell. “Did you mention that? I don’t recall you mentioning it.”
“I did not,” Restell said. He did not expound upon his answer.
“Do you know my daughter, then?” asked Sir Arthur. “I only raise the question because Emmalyn so rarely knows anyone I do not, while my daughter Marisol seems to be acquainted with the entire ton. I suppose some would consider that an accomplishment as she’s only had one Season, but I have my reservations.”
Restell smiled politely. “Fathers often do.”
Emma noticed that Mr. Gardner had not answered the question, but it seemed her uncle was oblivious to this fact. Further, it did not appear Sir Arthur was going to inquire as to how she’d made their visitor’s acquaintance. She had no idea how Mr. Gardner had presented himself to her uncle, but she was not going to be an accomplice to intrigue and subterfuge. Before she could offer any explanation, her uncle began to speak.
“Mr. Gardner has inquired about commissioning a painting similar to the one his mother purchased. I’ve explained to him that there is no other like it in the studio, but that there are the sketches and an early rendering in oil that I judged to lack the animation I was hoping to achieve. He is expressing an interest in seeing them.”
“That presents no difficulty.”
Sir Arthur gave Emma’s shoulders another squeeze while he addressed Restell. “Did I not say that she was everything accommodating?”
“Yes,” Restell said. “You did.” He caught Emma’s eyes. “Sir Arthur explained that you arrange many of his sittings and keep his schedule. He would have me believe that he no longer knows how he managed without your assistance.”
“He is very kind,” Emma said. “But for many years before I came to live here, he had an extremely competent secretary who did exactly what I do.”
Sir Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, well, Mr. Gardner does not wish to hear about Johnston, and neither do I. Will you show our guest to the studio, Emmalyn? Forgive me, Mr. Gardner, but as I told you, my knees are throbbing with distressing vigor today. It’s the rheumatism.”
“I understand. Do not give it another thought.”
“It will not surprise me if there is a change in the weather, probably by nightfall.”
“My grandmother made similar predictions. I do not recall that she was ever wrong.”
Sir Arthur let his arm fall so that it rested lightly at the small of Emma’s back. He gave her an encouraging nudge when she remained rooted to the floor. “Show Mr. Gardner every courtesy, Emmalyn. His mother is a singular woman, a force, I believe, to be reckoned with, and I am glad to have secured her patronage. Her presence at Lady Greenaway’s sittings is enormously helpful. The children, remember? I told you about them.”
“You did, but recall I did not arrange that commission.” Still, she offered a commiserating smile because she had heard a great deal about Lady Greenaway’s young heathens. What Sir Arthur had failed to mention was Lady Gardner’s presence at any of the sittings. That would have raised her interest as tales of the children had not. “This way, Mr. Gardner. My uncle’s studio is on the uppermost floor. Once you have made the climb you will appreciate his desire to remain behind.”
Emma turned on him as soon as they were on the other side of the door. Through clenched teeth, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
Restell answered with considerably more warmth. “You receive full marks, Miss Hathaway, for waiting until we were in the hallway to put that question to me. I wasn’t sure that you would. You did not make much effort to hold your tongue or wait to follow my lead.”
“Can you not imagine that I was in shock? It has been some ten days since I saw you.”
“Eleven.”
“What?”
“It’s been eleven days. When you visited my home you said it had been nineteen days since you were attacked. By my reckoning it’s now been a month.” He paused in his steps and held her up, taking her by the elbow so that he might examine her face critically. “The bruising has all but faded, except for that spot on your chin, and my recollection is that it is a remnant of a carpet burn.” He released her immediately upon sensing her discomfort with both his touch and his study of her features. “The healing for the sake of appearances seems almost complete, but I wonder about the wounds that are not visible. How do you fare, Miss Hathaway?”
“I can’t think why it concerns you, but I am well enough.”
“Of course it concerns me. There is the matter of our agreement.” He turned with her to mount the main staircase. It was wide enough for them to climb side by side. He noticed she did not merely run her hand along the length of the banister. Her fingers curled over the polished curve with a grip that was firm enough to suggest she was not as steady as she pretended. “You thought I reneged on our agreement, didn’t you?”
“I believe I mentioned I have not seen you in ten, no, eleven days.”
“You would have had to leave your home, Miss Hathaway. Take a turn in the park, for instance. Go shopping. Attend the theatre. Call upon a friend for tea. Join the revelers at Vauxhall Gardens. Dance at Almack’s. Present yourself at a ball. In short, participating in any or all of the entertainments that have amused your cousin these last eleven days would have had us crossing paths. Miss Vega, by the way, is an inveterate flirt whether she is attended by her fiancé or not.”
Emma was glad of the banister’s support. She managed to go on without faltering. “You met Marisol?”
Restell shook his head. “No. Not formally. I think it is unlikely that she noticed me, surrounded as she was by her confidantes and admirers. That suited me, for my intent was only to observe her and make certain no harm befell her. That is what you requested of me, is it not?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, it is.” She darted him a sideways glance as they reached the first landing. “You observed nothing untoward?”
“I observed a great deal that was untoward, but you will understand that I am in no position to cast stones. She is a lovely young woman, heady with the success of her connections and conquests, and she appears to be enjoying herself enormously. There is no finding fault there. Such comments as society is wont to make about her are generally favorable. I hasten to add that remarks of a critical nature must be interpreted cautiously, as they often seem to be taking root in jealous waters.”
Emma frowned. “I do not like it that she is the subject of talk, no matter the nature.”
“One cannot go about in society without occasioning talk. Many times it is simply a consequence of being seen. There are even those people who seek it out, if you can credit it.”
“And my cousin is one of those people?”
Restell could not help but smile. She might have easily made a statement. That she offered it as a question indicated she retained some small hope that it was not so. “Miss Vega is yet an amateur, but yes, it is my sense that she would rather be the subject of conversation than a contributor to it. To the extent that her behavior remains above reproach, she will not be harmed by the wags and may even cultivate a circle of influence.”