Chapter 7
Seven
After three completely unacceptable residences, Emerson decided on Manchester Square.
He may be a merchant, but he had requirements if he was to conduct his business affairs from this distance.
The neighborhood was young by London standards, having been built in the late seventeen hundreds.
There was a covered portico, and the house was four levels high.
The house was perhaps more than he needed, but the convenience alone made the property worthwhile.
The streets were clean, wider than other London streets, and quiet.
The manor was spacious and already furnished, as he was letting it from a nob who’d opted to forgo Town for the Season.
“You cannot be serious, Emerson.” Ben’s attitude was a chore.
Emerson had dragged his brother from his no-good cronies and forced him along. Admittedly, that part had been entertaining. “I’m quite serious,” he returned, hiding a grin. “It appears there are two apartments. One for each of us.”
Ben sputtered. “I will not be staying here, Emerson. We’ve had this discussion,” he said through clenched teeth. His resentment grew wearing.
“In any event, let it be known that should a falling out of some sort occur in your current situation, you have a place to stay.”
Defensive outrage fleeted his brother’s features, followed by astonishment. But rather than blasting Emerson as he was wont to do, not a single word crossed his lips. Instead, Ben turned and strode out the door, leaving it wide open upon his exit.
With a sigh, Emerson shook his head, moving into the study to ascertain its current usefulness. It was dark but had a view of Spanish Place Street. Beyond that was Hertford House with its magnificent grounds. That was the only drawback. Should Lady Stanford wish to visit him, for instance…
She had no need to visit him, but he certainly wouldn’t turn her away if she landed on his doorstep. She was a widow. That alone dispelled any guilt for enticing her into his bed. But a duke’s sister? He shook his head as if that could erase her image and her connections.
“Sir?” The butler stood in the arch. He and his wife, the housekeeper, came with the residence like a pair of candlesticks, a Mr. and Mrs. Yates.
“Come in, Yates.” Emerson went through a series of questions with the elderly man as if he were interviewing him for a top position at Whitmore’s Wholesale Warehouse.
There was a need for more maids and kitchen staff. The gardener maintained the grounds on a regular basis. And no, he would not be entertaining. Not publicly. “Er, I have a man of business who assists me. He shall reside here as well.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll ready a chamber for him.”
“Thank you. That will be all for now—” Emerson stopped, then with a sigh said, “Go ahead and ready the other suite for my half brother.” Just in case. “Now, I have a few things to take care of before I return this evening. I’ll send my belongings over. Amir will handle any unpacking and such.”
Yates hesitation was minute, but he inclined his head, moved to the door, then stopped. “Will you be in for supper, sir?”
There was too much to do. “Not tonight, Yates.”
Emerson left the house via Spanish Place to Hinde Street and made his way to Ratcliff. Anticipation simmered through him. He wanted to see his little lady’s maid. See if she was as feisty as he recalled from the masked ball. See if his fired blood had been an anomaly.
It was imperative to remain patient. Today was only Monday.
~~~
Rose surveyed the group of young women from different ethnic backgrounds. Five pairs of eyes, depending on her to instruct them in how to behave in society. Their ages were difficult to determine due to the varying skin pigmentation. “Shall we begin?”
Some, not all, of the girls nodded, but Rose reasoned it was simply her rank and the deference it demanded.
She consulted her notes. “Excellent.” She held up a sheaf of papers. “I have a list of dos and do nots. We can start there, and then if there are questions or comments, please stop me.”
Another couple of nods.
Rose smiled. “All right. Let’s begin. Number one: Galloping through Hyde Park is strictly prohi—”
“Excuse me, Lady Stanford.”
Rose glanced up, startled. “Yes, er, is it Gilly?”
“Aye, ma’am. I don’t believe we will be ridin’ through the park. Not on a horse, ma’am.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” She was correct. “How silly of me.” Rose took a deep breath to steady her chaotic insides. “A young woman never calls on a gentleman at his lodgings—”
“I will never call on a man at his lodgings, gentleman or not.” This was said hotly by, um…her name escaped Rose.
Murmurs of agreement swirled through the group.
Rose frowned. She was losing control of the situation, but she plowed through.
“All right,” she said hesitantly, consulting her notes again.
“Calls are never longer than thirty minutes, and incidentally, morning calls are made around two in the after—” The silence permeated, and she glanced up and found several mouths hanging open and their eyes widened.
Exasperation sputtered out of her. “What now?”
“Morning calls? Galloping through Hyde Park? Never calling on a gentleman at his lodgings?”
Rose’s gaze shot to the door.
Gabriella stood there with a smirk on her face. “Ladies, please excuse Lady Stanford and me for a moment.”
Rose stood and followed her sister into the hall.
“Didn’t you hear anything we talked about this morning, Rose?”
“You asked me to speak to the girls on etiquette. That’s what I was doing.”
Gabriella pinched the bridge of her nose. “Rose, darling, none of these young women will be entering Society.” Though her voice was gentle, Rose balked at the rebuke.
Her jaw tensed until it ached. “I was just trying to help.”
Her sister leaned in and hugged her, but Rose couldn’t shake her stiffness. “I know. I know. It’s just most of the girls here will be going into service of some sort. Whether it’s to the larger houses for maid service, or a shop who needs an assistant. Things of that nature.”
“Oh.” Rose’s shoulders fell, and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. “I’m a disaster, aren’t I?”
“You aren’t a disaster—wait, I have an idea. It might be fun for the girls.”
Wary optimism touched Rose. “What?”
“Antonia could host a tea.” Antonia was the sister just older than Gabriella.
“These young women have been through terrible ordeals. I think that would make for a special treat. What do you think?” She was their one sister who hadn’t married a title.
Mr. Tatton. He was a pleasant, if somewhat intense, man, and a barrister.
Rose frowned. “She’s about to have a baby. Do you think she’s up for it?”
“I think she would love the idea. Why don’t you instruct the girls on taking tea—the upper crust way?”
Disappointment rippled over Rose. She’d so wanted to prove herself worthy. “I suppose that will be all right.”
“Brilliant. I’ll have tea sent right up.”
Rose stepped back in the room. “How would you ladies fancy having tea with a barrister’s wife?”