to Madame Chabrier’s. They are in want of new bonnets, it seems.”
“You spoil them, Restell.”
“It is the privilege of being an older brother.”
“Very well. They certainly enjoy time spent with you. You will not permit them to behave badly, will you? They have a tendency to gawk and dawdle. It is not the least attractive.”
“No gawking. No dawdling. I understand. It does not even sound attractive.”
She waved him off. “Go on. Supper is at seven. You will want to be on time. There will be smoked trout.”
“Excellent.”
Lady Gardner nodded and called after him. “And I remain hopeful that before the sweet is served you will offer a full account of this fresh intrigue that has engaged your interest.”
Restell stopped in the doorway and slowly turned on his heel. He raised one eyebrow in a respectful salute to her perspicacity. “You are unnatural.”
She smiled beatifically. “I’m a mother.”
Chapter 3
“Your uncle wishes to see you.”
Emma looked up from the book in her lap. The interruption was not unwelcome. She had been reading from the same page for some time and still had no comprehension of what had passed before her eyes. She closed the book and held up her hand, forestalling the maid who was already backing out of the room. “Wait, Miller, you have not told me where I can find him. Is he in his studio?”
“No, miss. In the library.” She bobbed a curtsy and made a full retreat.
Emma raised one hand to her cheek, palming her jaw first, then gently exploring the bridge of her nose. There was no longer any swelling that she could detect, but Miller’s hasty exit reminded her that the bruising had not entirely faded. This morning, when she had examined her face in the mirror, she had entertained the notion that she might take a turn in the park with Marisol and not be the object of stares, whispers, or worse, pity. The maid’s discomfort in her presence served as a warning that this would not yet be the case.
Placing the book aside, Emma rose and smoothed the front of her white muslin day dress. Her pale green shawl had slipped to her waist, and she raised it to the level of her shoulders, knotting the fringed ends just below her bodice. Emma tried to make out her reflection in the window, but the late morning sun thwarted her efforts. Her attention was caught instead by the splintering of light at the corners of the beveled panes. She stepped closer and examined the rainbow that appeared in the glass. Following the angle of the light’s entry, she looked down at herself and saw the ephemeral colors were spread across her bodice. She raised her hand so the light interlaced her fingers like a web of delicate silk threads.
“What are you doing, Emmalyn?”
The intrusion was so unexpected that Emma nearly lost her balance as she spun around. “Marisol. You startled me.”
“That is obvious. You look as if you cannot quite catch your breath. What were you doing?” Marisol untied the ribbons of her bonnet as she stepped into the salon. She removed the straw bonnet with a flourish and gave her head a toss. Ebon curls fluttered first one way, then the other, and came to rest in a manner that made a perfect frame for her heart-shaped face. Her regard was not so much curious as it was demanding.
“I was studying the light,” Emma said.
“Studying the—” Marisol waved one hand dismissively. “Oh, never mind. It cannot be important. Did I misunderstand? When I came in I thought I heard that Father desires to see you.”
“He does. I just learned of it.”
“You know he does not like to be kept waiting.”
“No,” Emmalyn said. “That is you who has no tolerance for waiting. In any event, I am going now.”
Marisol stepped aside to permit Emmalyn to pass. “Do you know who he has with him?”
Emma wished she might have reacted less visibly to this intelligence. Was it not punishment enough that her stomach roiled and a weight settled on her chest? Why did she have to show her fear by faltering in her steps? “There is someone with him?”
“Are you all right?” Marisol asked, at once solicitous. “Why, you are ashen, Emmalyn. Except where you are still a bit jaundiced, of course.”
Emma brushed aside the hand Marisol put out for her. “It’s nothing.”
“It does not appear that is the case.”
“I’m fine,” Emma said stoutly. “Really. It’s nothing.”
“You didn’t know that Father has a guest.”
“No, but that is neither here nor there.”
“Shall I make some excuse for you?”
“No. I’ll go. If Uncle is not embarrassed by my appearance, then I shan’t be.”
“You are very brave, Emmalyn.” Marisol sighed. “I could not do it.” She brightened suddenly. “I will allow you to use my rice powder,” she said, seizing Emma’s hand. “Come. Let me apply it to your face. You will be astonished at the result.”
Emma shook her head and carefully disengaged herself from Marisol’s hold. “You are kind to suggest it, but it is not necessary. I would not keep your father waiting so long as that. He is patient but not infinitely so.”
“As you wish.” She regarded Emmalyn critically. “I believe if you present a three-quarter profile Father’s guest may not notice anything is amiss. It is only your left side that reveals the vestiges of your injuries.”
“Stop,” Emma said sharply. Marisol’s head snapped back, but Emma could not regret her sting in her delivery. She did, however, draw a calming breath and offer in a less pointed tone, “Just stop. I’m certain that Uncle’s visitor will not be so rude as to inquire about my disfigurement, therefore I am not in the least concerned that I will have to answer questions that might cause discomfort to any of us.”
“That is a very good point,” Marisol said. “I should have thought of it.”
“You didn’t think of it because you would ask the questions.”
“I would not, and you are impolite to say so. And further, you are not disfigured, merely discolored. You cannot make me feel worse than I already do by making more of what was done to you than was actually done to you.”
Emma blinked. Had there been a chair at the ready she would have sat. “Do you think that’s my intent? To make you feel guilty?”
“Guiltier,” Marisol said. “I already feel guilty. Worse than that, really, except I do not know what word describes such a lowering emotion. I am heartily sorry for what happened to you, Emmalyn, and I will always regret that you went to Madame Chabrier’s in my stead. But that is an example of your generous nature, is it not? I cannot accept all the responsibility. It would crush me. You know I am not as strong as you.”
“That
