Chapter 7 #2
Suddenly, Emeline remembered the sweet little robin Bartholomew had murdered when they lived in Lyme Regis. She heaved a sigh. “What shall we do?”
“Can you take Monte to Anthony and Frederica?”
“No! All three of them have gone to help the Darwins unpack and get settled in Down House, their new country home. I don’t know when they will return.”
“I don’t suppose Uncle Justin would…”
Emeline cut her off. “No! I can’t imagine Monte living there, and I would never hear the end of it from Papa. And don’t suggest my Raveneau grandparents. They already have a dog, Daisy, and that is more than enough for Grandpère, who is getting on in years.”
There was a scuffling sound as Bartholomew began to bump against the door and Monte’s yips grew louder. A desperate feeling swept over Emeline as she remembered all the work that she and Louise needed to do at the British Museum. If Monte lived here, how could they ever leave the house?
“What do you suggest?” came Louise’s voice from the other side of the door.
Emeline heaved a sigh. “If only we could send Monte on the stagecoach to Cornwall, where he could happily live in the walled garden at Elysium with your parents.”
“That is a very nice dream,” her cousin replied tartly. “Meanwhile, you find yourself trapped in your bedroom.”
“All right. I take your meaning.” She leaned her forehead against the door for a long moment. Her heartbeat accelerated as Monte dashed back and forth, barking at Mew’s outstretched paw. “I will think of something…”
“If I may inquire, my lord…” William cleared his throat. “Do you know the approximate hour of your return?”
Standing in front of the mirror, Hart cast one last appraising glance at his expertly tied cravat before turning toward his valet. “I have a…late engagement tonight. I may not return until morning.”
“Ah, I see.”
“You must not wait for me. Carry on as if I had gone away for a day.” He thought he saw William draw a rather wistful breath, as if he might wish that he too could partake in a “late engagement.” It seemed that his manservant had given up a private life, not only to follow Hart on his adventures, but also to stay by his spinster sister’s side.
Mrs. Peachey had already taken a risk in life by leaving her secure position at Caversham Castle to become housekeeper to Hart, the family’s black sheep.
It was necessary that someone else, like her brother William, be there with her as well.
And although Hart was not disposed to form attachments, the three of them did feel rather like a family.
Hart turned back to the mirror and scanned his midnight-blue frock coat, pleated white shirt, gray waistcoat, and snug trousers. “You’re doing an excellent job with my clothing, William. Not even a hint of a wrinkle or speck of dust.”
This elicited one of the valet’s ready grins. “If I may say so, my lord, it is a pleasure to tend the clothing of a man who wears them so well.”
“My tailors thank you.”
Smiling, William gathered Hart’s hat and walking stick, and they went out into the parlor where Mrs. Peachey was waiting.
“Are you quite certain you don’t want supper before you go?” she asked for the third time in an hour.
“Did you imagine I would change my mind?” Hart paused to fondly pat her rounded shoulder. “I shall dine at my club.” Unless I go immediately to Valencia’s to attend to my…other appetites.
In part to counter any sightings of him studying at the British Museum, Hart had planned to visit his club to indulge in supper and a few reckless hours of hazard and whist. The last thing he wanted was a reputation for serious intellectual pursuits, or anything that would cause London to compare him to his brother.
Not that he cared, of course, but Austell was the bloody duke, and Hart preferred to be known as the family black sheep.
Perhaps he really would dine at Boodles and wait before visiting the recently widowed Lady Valencia Brook at home in Wigmore Street.
He certainly didn’t need to engage in hours of intimate conversation before bedding her.
She would be quite pleased to have him at any hour, as long as he didn’t leave too soon.
Hart felt a disquieting pang as he realized that, in many ways, Valencia resembled Emeline St. Briac. Both were brunettes, with fine bones, inviting mouths, and small waists. And as he recalled, Valencia even had a hint of the militant gleam in her eyes that he found so appealing in Emeline.
Later tonight, when the lamps were doused and Valencia was naked, perhaps he might imagine the unattainable Emeline was in his arms, yielding to him, returning his kisses—
From a distance, Hart became dimly aware of Mrs. Peachey’s soft voice.
“… and I do worry that you won’t have a proper meal…”
He blinked. Thank God one’s wicked thoughts cannot be overheard. He aimed a smile at the housekeeper. “You have been saying that to me since I was a boy, Peachey. What would I do without you?”
“Well, as it happens, that is just why I’m here!” Spots of color appeared on her cheeks. Then, after looking him up and down through her spectacles, she added, “May I say, you look quite handsome tonight, Lord Jasper? It makes me proud.”
Hart bent to put an arm around her small frame. “You are an exceptionally good woman, ma’am.”
William glanced meaningfully toward the clock on the mantelpiece. “I left instructions that one of the footmen downstairs should order your carriage at nine o’clock,” he hinted.
“Ah, yes. I will go now.” Drawing on his gloves, Hart took up his walking stick and black beaver hat. However, he had taken no more than two steps when a knock sounded at the door.
“Who can it be at this hour?” Hart held up a gloved hand when William started forward. “No, I will see who it is. Hopefully it’s just a footman with a message.”
Even as he started forward, the knock sounded again, this time with greater urgency.
Faintly annoyed, Hart threw open the door and was stunned to discover Emeline St. Briac standing in the broad corridor.
“Good evening,” she said with forced brightness. “No doubt you are surprised to see me.”
“I am indeed,” he agreed dryly. Remembering the fantasy he had enjoyed just minutes earlier, Hart wondered if she might be a mirage.
Emeline took in the sight of him, hat and walking stick in hand, and her chin went up a notch. “You are clearly going out. However I have come on a matter of grave importance.”
He swept her with his gaze. Emeline wore a hat with a concealing brim, a warm blue mantelet, and in her arms she clasped a rather large basket covered by a knitted blanket. When something moved inside the basket, he stared.
A muffled sound emerged from under the blanket. “Woof!”
Hart glanced right and left in the corridor before he reached out and drew her inside. “I can spare a few moments.” His tone verged on a warning. “What can you be thinking, my girl, coming here alone at this hour—and what the devil do you have in that basket?”