Chapter 10 #2
Painfully aware once again of his brother’s fragile state, Hart murmured, “I don’t think you should worry, old fellow.” Leaning a bit closer, he briefly put a hand on Austell’s sleeve. “Have faith. I believe it will all come right in the end.”
It was no surprise that Austell found a reason to leave before long, although Margaret looked rather confused as they made their excuses to the Raveneaus.
Watching them go, Hart wondered how Monte was doing at home with Peachey and William.
If the mongrel was howling, as he had done the last time Hart tried to leave, they might well be ejected from the hotel.
He had just reached into his waistcoat pocket to consult his watch when he was interrupted by a familiar French-accented voice.
“That was a bit awkward, n’est-ce pas? Your brother’s presence, I mean.”
Hart glanced back over one shoulder at Justin St. Briac.
The man seemed to be everywhere. “Awkward for me? Yes. He’s afraid of you, I think, and I don’t want him to discover that I am involved in his dealings with you.
” He paused. “I am glad that my bargain with you will soon be finished. I can’t sail for the Continent soon enough. ”
St. Briac’s dark brows arched upward. “But there is still work to do regarding Emmie.”
“Our arrangement is simple, I believe, yet I have already gone above and beyond your requirement that I pretend to employ and pay your daughter and niece. I helped them get their tickets to use the Reading Room, which was no easy feat.”
“It seems that the situation has grown a bit more complicated, and I must beg your continued assistance.” Before Hart could protest, St. Briac continued, “You see, Emeline, is…headstrong. No sooner did I tell her that she is making a mistake by living like a nun, cloistered with her books and fossils, than she announced that she has a…list.”
Hart forced himself not to smile. “A list?”
“Voyons, she dares to call it a Bridegroom List! And now she tells me that Peyton fellow is her first candidate. He is not a proper choice for Emmie! His handshake is that of a wet fish.” St. Briac shook his head emphatically. “She has no notion of men or what is good for her.”
With difficulty, Hart suppressed a laugh. “I take it you do, sir?”
“Bien s?r! That is why I need your assistance. It is a very small thing, I assure you.”
As Justin St. Briac detailed Peyton’s plan to escort Emeline to one of the newly fashionable luncheon parties that centered around the unveiling of archaeological relics, Hart took a step backward.
“I would like you to keep an eye on them,” St. Briac finished casually, as if this was a perfectly normal request.
“At the luncheon?” Hart shook his head. “Impossible. I am not invited.”
“Oh, I am confident you will find a way,” the older man parried. “It’s being held at Amity Park, the estate of Viscount Melford. Surely you know him from the clubs?”
“I do. But allow me to protest that this was not part of our bargain, sir. You assured me that after I presented myself as your daughter’s employer, I would show my face as little as possible.”
“Mais oui!” St. Briac nodded, tightening the noose. “You need only watch Peyton and Emmie, from a distance. She will never know of your presence.” After pausing for a strategic moment, the Frenchman added, “This would be a great favor…to me.”
Hart closed his eyes, remembering the sheer panic emanating from Austell when Justin St. Briac appeared in the garden.
And he thought of Emeline, always so certain she could fend for herself.
What if Peyton dared to touch her? Scanning the garden, he allowed his gaze to settle briefly on Emeline’s slim, animated form.
She was talking to her cousin Louise, gesturing, her ebony curls agleam in the sunlight as she laughed and shook her head.
Watching her, Hart felt a sharp, mysterious pain in his midsection.
“All right, damn it. I will do it,” he heard himself say. “But this is the very last time!”
Emeline plucked one of the creamy pink roses that clambered up the garden wall, lifted it to her nose, and inhaled appreciatively.
“I’ll own I am looking forward to the luncheon party tomorrow at Amity Park,” she said to her cousin.
“I only wish you could be there too. What treasures do you suppose they have unearthed?”
“You must pay close attention for both of us,” Louise said. Her delicate countenance was slightly flushed with emotion. “Perhaps you should take a notebook and pencil.”
“Yes. I will,” Emeline replied, only half listening. Out of the corner of one eye, she watched Hart conversing with her father. What in the world could they be discussing so intently?
“Would you really welcome Sir Giles as your suitor?” Louise asked in a softer voice.
“Oh, no. It’s all a show to put Papa off. He can hardly put other men in my way if I am already being courted by someone like Sir Giles.”
Louise looked dubious, but before she could reply, Emeline saw her mother approaching.
“Hello, darlings.” Seemingly unaffected by the crush, Mouette brushed back a stray curl and kissed each girl on the cheek. “Louise, you are looking very lovely today! Jonquil is a perfect color for you.”
Louise glanced down at her gown, simple yet fashionable with bishop sleeves and a narrow waist. “Oh, thank you, aunt,” she said. “I am glad to have a chance to ask you about—”
Mouette held up a silencing finger. “First, you must hear my news. Do you remember that I mentioned it when you first arrived?”
Emeline saw that there were spots of color on her mother’s cheeks, a sign that she was feeling anxious. Her own mouth felt dry. “Go on, Mama.”
“Well…as it happens…” Mouette broke off and gestured toward the terrace, clearly finding it difficult to speak the words.
At that very moment, the French doors swung open, and Emeline heard Louise gasp. Emeline looked again and blinked. Was it possible? There, striding boldly out into the sunlight, was her half-brother Sir Charles Brandreth.