Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
“I shall be an old man by the time I pay that.” His screech, near feminine, likely reached the attics.
“Quite so,” Emerson said. “As it turns out, I’ve been able to negotiate it down to a mere twenty-five hundred.
” He held out a palm, staying an interruption.
“However, that is still a considerable amount out of my pocket. So, in return, you shall work six days per week. Your hours will be nine in the morning until six in the evening. You will not be late. Six months should suffice. Just know, there will be no excuses, no imbibing on the premises, no tardiness. You shall receive a quarterly wage of two hundred and fifty pounds and an allowance of two days off per month as long as you’ve given a week’s notice.
I recommend steering clear of the hells. Are there any questions?”
A long, tense pause ensued. “No,” Stockton said.
“You’ll love it.” Emerson grinned. “Better to show a man the means than merely supply him. And calling you a man is being generous. I recommend a hearty breakfast and much coffee to start.” He went to the door. “By the bye, I understand Viola Lockhart is your cousin.”
“That prickly chit? What of her?”
Anger surged through Emerson where his fingers shook a little. “Your title would serve you better by looking after those who depend on you.”
Saintly sorts. That was how Rose had described the two of them. He couldn’t decide if he was surprised or disgusted.
What more was there to say? Miss Lockhart was safe enough in Rose’s capable hands.
“I give you leave to live here, and later Ratcliff once I rearrange a few lingering matters. Are we clear on this, my lord?”
“Yes, sir,” Stockton near choked out.
With a sharp nod, Emerson headed to Ben’s chamber and issued the same command with one stipulation: to return early enough to accompany him and Rose to the Norfolks’ soiree.
He slipped out the door and down the stairs, where Amir waited to hand him off to his next unavoidable, and perhaps his less pleasing task.
The meeting with the Countess of Kimpton.
Amir held out a well-cut, single breasted frockcoat of dark brown—excellent for hiding blood should there be need—for him, then settled the beaver hat on his head. Yes indeed, this was not a meeting he was looking forward to.
Except…he stopped, smoothing a slow hand over the crisp starched fabric of his cravat as a thought took hold. Perhaps there was something else with which the countess could assist him.
“What is it?” Amir asked him.
Emerson blinked, startled from his musings. “What is what?” he said lightly. His friend of too many years to count knew him too well, even as a sense of determination pumped through him.
“I’ll drive the phaeton to see Lady Kimpton,” he said, deflecting. He had no desire to examine his own feelings for Rose aloud. “Otherwise, I risk Lady Stanford’s wrath again for more torn stitches.”
“She’s a very impressive woman,” Amir said thoughtfully.
On that, Emerson wholeheartedly agreed. “I’d like you to see Ben and Stockton to the warehouse for their first half day of employment.
I don’t foresee trouble with Ben. Stockton, however, is another matter.
” Giving his brother a position over Stockton should go far in the restitution Emerson owed Ben for what he’d suffered at the hands of Stockton and his ilk from their school years.
Amir grinned and inclined his head. “Of course. It will be my pleasure.”
Emerson found the Kimptons’ townhouse easily enough.
It rose from the orderly row of brick and stone like a monument to respectability.
It was surrounded by a large garden and huge stone steps.
Emerson smoothed his gloves, scowling at his reflection in the brass knocker, and gave it a sharp rap.
The door opened instantly by an ancient butler with a liveried footman standing nearby.
He ushered Emerson into a generous foyer. “Sir?”
Emerson handed over his card. “Mr. Emerson Whitmore to see Lady Kimpton…if she is available,” he said, voice stiff, though every instinct in him rebelled at the ritual.
The elderly man accepted his card and set it on a shiny silver tray, inclined his head at Emerson. He then shuffled past the stairs to somewhere beyond, leaving Emerson under the watchful eyes of the footman. Within moments, he returned.
“Your hat and gloves, sir.”
Emerson stripped off both and handed them to the footman then followed the butler into a bright morning room. Sunlight poured across embroidered chairs and a polished pianoforte. On a settee near the hearth, Lady Kimpton leaned forward, appearing to stash her mending in a basket at her feet.
She was a beautiful woman, close in age to Rose, he suspected.
Graceful with the easy bearing of one accustomed to command.
Her flaxen hair and blue eyes were stunning.
The faintly amused expression on her face surprised him.
He’d expected cool or guarded. Apparently, she had already guessed the awkwardness of his errand.
She rose from her chair, extending a lily-white hand. “Mr. Whitmore, a surprise to be sure.” She indicated the chair across from her. “Please, join me. I’ve called for tea.” Her head tilted to one side. “Coffee as well. You look like a man who prefers coffee.”
“I would gladly welcome coffee,” he said, oddly touched. He bowed and lowered into the chair she indicated, tugging at his cuffs. “I hope I’m not intruding upon your morning.”
“Not at all. I find callers who look as though they would rather be shot than enter my drawing room rather diverting.” Her eyes sparkled, but her tone held no malice.
Emerson covered a short laugh with a cough that tugged at his stitches. He took a shallow breath. “Surely I don’t look as reluctant as that,” he countered.
“Perhaps not quite,” she relented. She clasped her hands in her lap. “Now, what brings about this visit where you don’t look as if you’d prefer being shot?”
There was a tap at the door, and a maid entered with a large tray bearing a silver service.
Emerson accepted his coffee. Black. “Before I address the true reason for my call, a matter of concern has come to my attention that I would place before you, Lady Kimpton. A young lady of my acquaintance has been most…er, poorly treated by her relation.”
Lady Kimpton frowned. “Surely Lady Stanford—”
“No, no,” he quickly assured her. He paused for a long moment. Then, drawing in another shallow breath along with a hope Rose would not wish him shot as much as he himself did not, he opted for the truth…er, most of the truth. “Might I speak freely, my lady?”
“I find that works best in most instances, sir.” Something behind her words told him she knew of what she spoke. It struck him as quite personal, though her neutral expression didn’t shift for an iota.
Emerson inclined his head. “A young lady, Miss Viola Lockhart was found in Whitefriars a few days ago. She said—and, again, forgive my frankness—that her aunt, Lady Lockhart, had sold her to a brothel.”
Lady Kimpton gasped a sharp breath, any sign of her previous amusement vanquished. Her back straightened, her eyes kindling with sudden fire. “Her niece?”
He inclined his head. “Yes. The girl, Miss Viola Lockhart. Lady Stanford has spoken with me of her distress, but…” He trailed off, uncertain how to phrase his need for Lady Kimpton’s help without sounding clumsy.
“I confess, I have no notion how such matters are handled in your world. It is not mine.”
“Cruelty and neglect are not confined to one world, Mr. Whitmore,” she said sharply. “And Lady Lockhart is well known to me. A most abhorrent woman.”
He blinked at the vehemence in her tone.
She leaned forward, her expression quite fierce.
“You were right to bring this to me,” she said, already considering.
“If the girl is in imminent danger, I can press my husband to see the matter taken to law. Guardianship is not a privilege to be abused, though many behave as though it is. A petition might be raised—neglect, mismanagement of inheritance, cruelty…There are avenues.”
Emerson shifted, caught between gratitude and discomfort. He had expected dismissal, not a plan of attack.
“And you may assure Lady Stanford of this, Mr. Whitmore.” The fist in her lap clenched. “Should Lady Lockhart attempt to press her advantage, she will find herself very sorely pressed in return.”
The corner of Emerson’s mouth twitched. “I’m thrilled to hear it.”
Slowly, the lady relaxed against her chair. “I have suffered the sharp edge of Society’s censure, Mr. Whitmore, and I have no patience for those who wield it carelessly against the defenseless. Lady Lockhart shall be dealt with in a fitting manner.”
For the first time since entering this woman’s presence, Emerson felt something like respect stir in his chest. This countess was no simpering hostess; she wielded her influence like a blade. Rose would find her a formidable ally.
He gave a single nod. “Then I thank you on Lady Stanford’s behalf.”
Lady Kimpton waved a hand lightly. “Thank me when the girl is safe. Now”—her eyes glinted again, amusement returning—“you said this was not the true reason for your call? Out with it, Mr. Whitmore. What has you looking as though you’ve swallowed a distasteful piece of gristle?”
Emerson’s jaw tightened, and he felt the heat crawling up his neck and his stitches throb. But there was no graceful path forward—time to pull up his garters.
“Last evening, at the Harlowe event, a misunderstanding seems to have arisen.” He forced the words out past the “gristle” in his throat.
“Misunderstanding?” Lady Kimpton arched one perfect brow. “Sir, I’m quite aware of what a misunderstanding is.”
This was beyond humiliating. “Declaration,” he amended, grudgingly. “I intended only to—well, the point is, er…”
“Perhaps you would care to continue speaking frankly?”
Exasperation burst forth. “All right, my lady. I wish more than anything for Lady Stanford to marry me. But she has not accepted, as I told you last evening. It was a…falsehood.”
Again her eyes narrowed on him. Accusingly. “So, you thought to press the issue by trapping her?”
“No!” He inhaled deeply through his nose, then let it out through his mouth.
“No,” he said more calmly. “My initial thought was to find her. And when you stopped me from following her down the stairs…well, the words just came out. The truth is, we did discuss the matter the day before, but nothing had been decided. I-I didn’t wish to see her name in any way maligned.
But it appears my defense has been taken for something… more binding.”
Her lips curved, not unkindly. “Ah. The reckless declaration.”
“Well, yes.” He grimaced. “If Lady Stanford has been placed in an awkward position by my words, I would set it right.”
“Set it right?” Lady Kimpton laughed softly, though there was sympathy beneath the sound.
“Mr. Whitmore, by the time the first waltz ended, every dowager in the room was whispering of your engagement. By morning, the tale was halfway down Bond Street. I fear ’tis too late in setting it right.
Society has decided. I would add, sir, that Lady Brockway and I were not the ones who set the tongues wagging. ”
The words fell like lead. Emerson clenched his hands against his knees, anger surging—not at Lady Kimpton, but at himself.
One rash moment, and Rose’s reputation was tangled with his, inescapably.
He released a pursed breath. “I’m aware, my lady.
I’ve been informed Lady Ingleby is the party at fault. ”
“She’s one of the most notorious gossips of the ton,” she agreed.
Her gaze softened. “Do not look so grim, sir. It may not be the trap you imagine. Lady Stanford is admired for her determination with that charitable house of which she is involved with her sister and the Duchess of Ryleigh. Many would say Lady Stanford deserves a champion after what she suffered from that degenerate husband she married. And you”—she regarded him shrewdly—“strike me as a man who would defend what is his, whether he asked for it or not.”
His. “On that score, Lady Kimpton, you are correct. I would defend her to the death. Mine or not.” Emerson’s words erupted in sharp, punctuated passion that stunned him to his toes.
Lady Kimpton smiled, a knowing look in her blue eyes, and brought her hands together in a single clap. “Excellent..”
That was his cue to depart though he remained confused more than ever. “Thank you, Lady Kimpton, for your candor regarding Lady Lockhart.” He rose from his chair and extended his hand. “Now, I must take my leave. This visit has been most enlightening.”