Emeline caught her breath then. Her mind—her sanity—might know that a marriage to Samuel would be disastrous, but her heart was unconvinced.
“Can I get you something, my lady?” The maid was staring at Emeline, her hand raised over the still-cold fire.
She must’ve made a sound, done something to reveal her distress, for a servant girl to have noticed. Emeline sat up. “No, nothing. Thank you.”
The girl nodded and turned back to the hearth. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long today, ma’am. I can’t think why the fire should be so hard to light.”
Emeline looked over the side of the bed and found her wrap. She struggled into it while the maid’s back was still turned. “It’s probably the chill in the air. Here, let me try.”
But however many times Emeline stuck a flaming straw into the coals, they refused to light.
“Well, never mind,” she finally exclaimed crossly. “Have a hot bath brought into my sitting room. The fire’s lit there, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my lady,” the maid said.
“Then I’ll just dress in my sitting room.”
An hour later, Emeline’s bath had grown cold. Dismally, she stirred the water near her knee. Like it or not, it was past time for her to get out of the bath and face the rest of her life and the choices she’d made.
“Towel,” she said, and stood as a maid held out an enormous drying cloth.
Probably they didn’t make drying cloths so large in the Colonies. It was lucky she had rejected Samuel and wouldn’t have to put up with inferior bath accessories. Emeline stood morosely as her maids dressed her, not even interested when the new wine-red silk was presented. She’d ordered the gown several weeks ago when she’d helped prepare Rebecca’s wardrobe. Now she might have been wearing burlap and ashes.
She finally grew restive as Harris fiddled with her coiffure. “That’s fine. I won’t be receiving visitors today, anyway. I think I’ll just go walk in the garden.”
Harris glanced doubtfully at the window. “Looks like rain, my lady, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Oh, does it?” Emeline asked in despair.
This seemed the final straw, that the elements should conspire against her as well. She went to the window to peer out. Her sitting room overlooked the street, and as she watched, Samuel descended the steps next door and strode to a waiting horse. She caught her breath involuntarily. The unexpected sight of him sent a jab of pain into her middle, as if she’d been stabbed. Her hand trembled against the cold glass pane. He ought to have looked up then. He ought to have seen her watching him from her window above him. But rather mundanely, he did not. He mounted the horse and rode away.
Emeline let her hand drop from the window.
Behind her, Harris was still talking as if nothing had happened. “I’ll just put the new dresses away, then, my lady, unless you need me for anything else?”
“No, that’s all.” Emeline tore her gaze from the window. “No, wait.”
“My lady?”
“Fetch my cloak please. I wish to visit Miss Hartley next door.” This might be the only time she’d have to say good-bye to Rebecca. It didn’t seem right to let her sail to the American colonies without bidding the girl farewell.
Emeline swung the cloak on and hurried down the stairs, fastening the neck. She didn’t know how long Samuel would be gone, but it seemed imperative that she not meet him again. Outside, the sky was heavy and dark with impending rain. If Rebecca was in, she must remember not to stay too long or risk being trapped by a thunderstorm. Inhaling, she rapped on Samuel’s door.
The butler’s face was ever so faintly shocked when he opened the door. It was too early to be calling, but she was the daughter of an earl, after all. He bowed as she swept past him into the entry hall and then showed her to the small sitting room to wait while he fetched Rebecca. Emeline only had time to nervously glance out the windows before Rebecca came in.
“My lady!” The younger woman seemed startled at her visit.
Emeline held out her hands. “I could not let you go without saying good-bye.”
Rebecca burst into tears.
Oh, dear. She’d never quite known what to do with the tears of others. Secretly, Emeline had often thought that ladies who wept in public were desirous of attention. She hardly ever wept, and never in front of others—that is, she realized, until last night with Samuel.
Propelled by that uncomfortable thought, Emeline started forward. “There, there,” she muttered as she patted Rebecca’s shoulder awkwardly.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Rebecca gasped.
“That’s all right,” Emeline said gruffly, and handed her a handkerchief. What else could she say? She was almost certain that she herself was the cause of Rebecca’s grief. “Shall I ring for tea?”
The girl nodded, and Emeline led her to a chair while she gave orders to the maid.
“I just wish things could be different,” Rebecca said when the maid left again. She sat twisting the handkerchief in her hands.
“As do I.” Emeline sat on a settee and arranged her skirts with far too much care. Perhaps if she didn’t look at the girl, she could get through this. “Have you set a date when you will leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
Emeline looked up. “That soon?”
The younger woman shrugged. “Samuel found a berth on a ship just yesterday. He says we will sail tomorrow and leave the bulk of our belongings to be packed and sent on a later vessel.”
Emeline winced. Samuel must want to be quit of England—of her—very badly.
“Is it because you don’t love him?” Rebecca burst out.
The question was so sudden, so startling, that Emeline answered without thinking. “No.” She caught her breath at the near-admission and shook her head. “There are so many things.”
“Can you tell me?”
Emeline stood and paced to the fireplace. “There’s rank and position, of course.”
“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
Emeline couldn’t bear to look at the younger woman, so she stared into the glowing fire instead. “You come from a different country, one so far away. I don’t think that Samuel would want to make his home here in England.”
Rebecca was silent, but her very stillness demanded explanation.
“I have my family to think about.” Emeline inhaled. “There’s only Daniel and Tante Cristelle now, but they depend on me.”
“And you believe that Daniel and your aunt would refuse to sail to America?”
Put like that, her objection was an obvious fabrication. Yes, Tante Cristelle would grumble at a sea voyage, but the old lady need not even leave England if she did not wish to do so. And Daniel would probably be ecstatic at the mere thought of seeing America.
Emeline twisted her fingers into the gathers at her waist. “I don’t know...” She looked up and met Rebecca’s eyes. “They all left me, you see. Reynaud and my husband and Father. I don’t think I can do that again—trust in another to keep me safe.”
Rebecca frowned. “I don’t understand. Samuel would never allow anyone to harm you.”
Emeline laughed, although the sound was rusty. “Yes, that’s what I grew up thinking. Even though the matter was never articulated aloud, it was understood that the gentlemen of my family would cherish me and keep me safe. That I would never have to fear for my situation. They would manage the affairs, and I would be a lovely companion and care for their home. But it didn’t work out that way, did it? First Reynaud was lost to the war in the Colonies; then Danny died when we were both very young, and then Father”—she caught her breath because she had never said this last to anyone—“then Father died and I was abandoned, don’t you see? With Reynaud gone, the title, the estates, everything went to a cousin.”
“They left you without money?”
“No.” Emeline’s hand jerked, and she heard stitches tearing on her gown. “Obviously I have enough money. The Gordon income is quite sufficient. I only chaperone for pin money. But I no longer had anyone to lean on, don’t you see? They all left me. Now I make the decisions in my life and the lives of Tante Cristelle and my son. I worry over the investments and whether Daniel should go to Eton soon. I must watch the land stewards to make sure they do not embezzle my monies. There is no one else I trust, no one else I depend upon save myself.”
She shook her head, knowing what she was trying to say was intangible. “I can’t relax, you see. I can’t just...be.”
How odd that she would confess this to Rebecca now when she’d been entirely unable to talk to Samuel about this.
The younger woman knit her brows. “I think I understand. You can never lay down your burdens. There’s no one you trust to carry them for you.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s it,” Emeline exclaimed in relief.
“But...” Rebecca gazed up at her, puzzled. “You plan to marry Lord Vale soon.”
“It won’t matter. I love Jasper as a brother, but marriage to him won’t change a whit the way I live and conduct my life. If he leaves me or dies as the others have, I will be just the same.”
Rebecca stared at her silently. Outside the sitting room, voices murmured in the hall.
“You’re afraid Samuel will die,” Rebecca murmured. “You love him and you’re too afraid to commit yourself to him.”
Emeline blinked. Fear seemed such a childish, cowardly reason to reject Samuel. That couldn’t be right. She tried to explain. “No, I—”
The door to the sitting room opened. Emeline turned, frowning, at the interruption. A maid entered, bearing a tray of tea. Immediately behind her was Mr. Thornton.
Dear Lord, what was the man doing here?
The little man advanced into the room, his face wreathed in a smile. He had smiled each time she’d seen him previously, but now the expression seemed twisted, not quite right. It was as if he sought to conceal the terrible thoughts in his brain by hiding behind a cheerful facade. Why had she never noticed it before? Was his self-control slipping, or had her new knowledge colored her perceptions of the man?
“I hope you don’t mind my entering unannounced,” Mr. Thornton said. “I’ve come to call upon Mr. Hartley.”
“I’m afraid my brother isn’t here,” Rebecca said. “In fact, I believe that he’s gone to see your shop, Mr. Thornton, on Starling Lane. No, I’m sorry.” The girl shook her head in irritation. “That’s where he went yesterday. Today he’s looking for you on Dover Street.”
Emeline glanced at the girl sharply. Her face was relaxed and open, the only mar a trace of irritation at being interrupted. Either she was a very good actress or Samuel hadn’t confided his suspicions about Mr. Thornton to his sister.
But Mr. Thornton had stilled. “Starling Lane, you say? How interesting. I wonder why Mr. Hartley went there yesterday? I haven’t had a shop there since I returned from the war six years ago.”
“Really?” Rebecca frowned. “Perhaps Samuel thought you had two shops.”
“That may be. In any case, I’m sorry to have missed him.” Mr. Thornton looked longingly at the tea being set up by the maid.
“As are we,” Emeline said tightly. “Perhaps if you hurry, you will find him at your establishment.”
“But then again, we might pass each other as we travel,” Mr. Thornton said smoothly. “And wouldn’t that be a shame?”
“You can stay here and join us for tea while you wait for my brother’s return,” Rebecca said.
“Lovely, just lovely.” Mr. Thornton bowed and sat. “You are graciousness itself, Miss Hartley.”