Читать книгу Marrying Mischief - Lyn Stone - Страница 10

Nick had known she was not married, of course. His subtle questioning of her brother Joshua aboard ship had relieved that worry before they had begun the voyage home.

The earl had written six years ago that Emily and the pockmarked postmaster were about to be wed. Nick had stayed drunk for an entire week, then vowed with all sincerity to forget the vicar’s daughter and her faithless ways.

His father had lied, of course. But Emily had not answered Nick’s subsequent letter wishing her well. Obviously she had wanted him to believe that she was settling into a marriage with Jeremy Oldfield.

Nick knew nothing good about the postmaster, who had been a self-righteous bore and a bully in their younger days. Those traits frequently grew worse with age and Nick had worried about Emily because of that. However, his relief in discovering she was unattached was now marred by what she had just declared about his ruining her chances for a happy life. He had never once considered that.

Perhaps she had overdramatized the case because his leaving had made her angry. Emily always had possessed a talent for exaggeration. That quality, too, might have increased with age.

As for aging, either Emily had changed or his memory was faulty and his dreams had ceased to do her justice. The years had enhanced rather than dimmed her beauty. Blond flyaway curls framed a lovely heart-shaped face that had grown even more exquisite without its girlish roundness.

Her figure looked fuller, more womanly. To be expected, of course, that she would mature and surpass the prettiness he remembered.

And her mouth, so expressive in both joy and anger, stirred him still. He had almost given in to the urge to plunder it as he had done so eagerly that one time. But at the last moment he had refrained from doing so. She obviously wouldn’t thank him for it now.

Her eyes were the same clear and guileless blue, framed by softly curling lashes. However, the absolute trust and adoration he had seen in them once had vanished completely over the years. The absence of that hurt more than he would have believed.

In truth, it made him soul sick. If what she said was true, his attraction to her might have ruined her life. If only he had been more circumspect, less thoughtless, but at twenty-two he had not fully realized the impact his interest in her would have on her future.

Now, taking what she had said into consideration, he could see how none of the men in the county would dare trespass on property the earl’s son had publicly claimed and therefore declared off-limits. And that is exactly what he had done with that kiss.

The very next day, on the earl’s orders and under determined escort, a furiously struggling Nicholas had been set aboard a packet for India to commence learning the vagaries of trade as his father’s representative.

Apparently his son engaging in business seemed far less demeaning to Earl Kendale than having him inappropriately engaged with a village girl.

The old man’s warning, issued not an hour before the ship sailed, still rang in his ears. “If you return and insist upon continuing your suit of this little adventuress, I shall ruin her entire family. Loveyne will find himself and his two brats upon the road without a quid among them and with nowhere to go.”

A horrifying prospect for anyone.

His father had continued. “She’s a fair-looking bit of fluff, Nicholas, but not for you. Not even as a playfellow. As long as you stay away, she will be safe.”

Nick had objected vehemently even as he realized he had no choice but to do as instructed. The earl’s threat had been clear and concise.

His father had laughed. “You’ll be set free as soon as the ship’s well under way. When you are, you keep my bargain in mind, my boy. Picture our eccentric, good-hearted Vicar Loveyne destroyed by the dismissal. He knows nothing else but tending his little flock, now does he? Even if he does, I’ll see him turned off by anyone who hires him. And the girl, Emily? That little baggage can take to the streets.”

The earl leaned nearer as if to impart a secret. “Trust me, I’ll see to it that she does. And that skinny brother of hers looks just the right size for sweeping chimneys. How old is he now, five or six?”

Nick had known from experience that his father never bluffed nor made idle threats. The Earl of Kendale had possessed the power, the means and the motive to destroy the entire Loveyne family and he would have done so without a qualm.

Though his father had never applied cruelty just for the enjoyment of it, he certainly never blinked at crushing anyone or anything that did not suit him.

Nicholas had his orders. He was to learn shipping from his father’s factors in India, see a bit of the world, then come home and wed appropriately. Wed Lady Dierdre Worthing. His father had left him no choice about the first commands, but against that last, Nick had rebelled. He had stayed away from Bournesea and had never seen the earl, nor replied to his correspondence since that day.

Apparently his father had solidified plans for the marriage during his absence, Nicholas recalled with a frown. On arriving home three days ago he had found the contract stating the terms of Nick’s betrothal to Dierdre Worthing.

His own name had been forged below Dierdre’s. Nicholas was assuming her signature was genuine. For all he knew, she could be as oblivious to the entire matter as he had been. He had not heard a word from her in all this time.

Maybe she was already wed. Heartening thought, but unlikely. Unless she’d become betrothed and married within the past few months, he would have read of it in the newspapers shipped regularly from London.

His father had risked a scandal with the forgery, obviously counting heavily on Nick’s unwillingness to reveal the deception once he discovered it.

He wished he could attribute his father’s dishonest meddling to love and concern for an only son, but Nick knew it was borne of a need to master everyone and everything.

If Emily had shown any interest at all today in resuming what had been begun between them with that kiss seven years ago, Nicholas would have been perfectly willing to pursue it. But she had not. Quite the contrary.

For Emily, their former attachment, innocent as it had been, had proved disastrous. She must hate him. Because of his interest in her, she was not married and probably never would be. She had declared quite fixedly she was through with men altogether because of him. He knew Emily’s determination once she made up her mind.

But Emily, a governess? He shook his head. Vintley was no saint. Nicholas remembered him well, and doubted the lecher would treat her with the respect she deserved. The very thought of her assuming such an unguarded position was unacceptable and that was all there was to it.

Emily had made her decision, however, and Nicholas knew he would never be able to sway her on the matter of taking any financial assistance from him to prevent her working. He had to admire her for refusing his offer of support, even while it angered him that she did so.

Even an offer to renew the close friendship they once enjoyed, she would view as suspect. And probably would fling something at his head for good measure if he persisted. He would, anyway, of course. How could he do less? He’d missed her terribly.

He smiled wryly at the thought of her temper. For a girl reared as a vicar’s daughter, Emily did possess a fiery spirit plus impulsive and headstrong ways. That had drawn him to her like a lodestone. He had always admired her fiercely independent nature, her zeal, her ready laughter and lack of artifice. She never did a thing by half measure, his Emily.

Not his Emily, he reminded himself with a heartfelt sigh. And she never would be. That chance was gone, destroyed by old Kendale’s malice and Nicholas’s fear for her future. Perhaps it was just as well, for Emily’s sake, since he had fully intended to marry her at the time. Ah, the vagaries of that youthful passion.

Now, however, he could not envision her in the company of those he would find it necessary to socialize with in London when he took his father’s place in the House of Lords. No, such a structured and demanding life would have made her miserable.

He considered Dierdre Worthing. She had often indicated that she felt some attraction to him, Nicholas reflected. As he recalled, she had been an accomplished flirt. Of course, she’d been quite young at the time and he had never taken her seriously.

Emily was younger. Nick shook off the thought.

As the daughter of a baron who was very wealthy and influential, Dierdre would have the training required to fulfill the role of a countess.

All he need do was accept the betrothal and refrain from exposing his father’s forging of the document. If he did not, then explaining everything to Worthing would be awkward, to say the least. And Dierdre, if she knew about it, would be hurt to think he did not want her and never had. She might have been waiting these seven long years for him to return and marry her, with her father and his assuring her that she and Nicholas truly were betrothed.

Maybe he should go through with the marriage. There really was no point in thwarting the old man’s wishes and causing a scandal just for the sake of revenge. That would be childish and unproductive.

Nick was fast approaching thirty and must begin to think of marrying and producing an heir. What difference did it make whom he married as long as she liked him reasonably well, was of suitable birth and could bear him the requisite son?

His only goal in life now was to undo the wrongs his father had wreaked on others. Nick wanted to gain the respect of his peers for himself and the title. As earl, he meant to do his duty as he understood it, not to follow his father’s self-serving example. He would live with honor.

But would it be honorable to marry Dierdre when he felt absolutely nothing for her? Not even a special liking? He had outgrown his belief in love, of course, but lust was a fact. So was admiration and the need to protect. Unfortunately, he did not feel any of those things for Dierdre Worthing.

He could scarcely recall what she looked like. Yet he had never forgotten Emily’s face. Her sweet, trusting face turned up to his for that kiss that had changed both their lives for the worse when his father had heard of it. Nick knew very well that he still entertained feelings for Emily.

“No,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head, glaring at the drawer in which the false document lay waiting for its implementation. “I cannot wed Dierdre.”

But something had to be done about the document. He needed to straighten out the matter with Worthing as soon as possible.

Even more imperative to his peace of mind, Nick knew he had to do something to gain Emily’s forgiveness for the problems he had caused her. Perhaps if he explained face-to-face why he had left as he had, and then stayed away. Would she believe him then? She had obviously doubted his written words.

The door opened and Nick looked up. Wrecker grinned at him. “She’s a goer, that’un, ain’t she?”

“Mind your tongue,” Nick warned him. “Leave it hanging out like that and you’re likely to lose it.”

“Beg pardon, m’lord.” His gap-toothed grin grew wider. “Y’know, she woulda made straight for th’ lad again just now?” He poked his beefy chest with his thumb. “I stopped her. She were stompin’ all the way up the stair, mad enough to curse if she knew how.”

Nicholas stood and rounded the desk. “I’ll go up and see to her.”

Wrecker laughed slyly. “Aye, m’lord. I would do just that if I was you.”

Clearly the man knew Emily was forbidden game for himself and the rest of the men. But it was also quite apparent that he thought Nicholas intended to take advantage of her unchaperoned presence.

“The lady is my guest while we wait out the quarantine,” he explained. “She is the vicar’s daughter, Joshua’s sister, and a dear friend of mine. One hint of an insult to her or behind her back, and the perpetrator shall answer to me. And I shall not be kind. Is that understood?”

Wrecker shrugged, still smiling. “Aye, m’lord, I understand. We all do.”

It was no use. Through fear, he could control what they said, but the men would think whatever they would. There was no alternative to keeping Emily here, however, despite the harm to her reputation. If he released her and she fell ill, the sickness could spread.

He promised himself he would only go to her room this once, just to reassure her again about Joshua’s welfare. Then he would leave her alone. The less he saw of her, the fewer rumors would fly when this was over. But some would fly, he thought with resignation.

Emily tore off her shawl and bonnet in pure frustration and flopped down upon the bed.

The lavish appointments within the countess’s chamber did not surprise her. She had been here before, long ago, and nothing much had changed. The rich, rose fabric of the bed hangings and the draperies had faded a bit, the ornate walnut furniture could use a good dusting, but the room was essentially the same as when she had visited here at her father’s side. How privileged and grown up she had felt at the time, being allowed inside. Now, of course, she realized she had lent propriety to the vicar’s visit to Nicholas’s invalid mother.

The room felt at once both comforting and discomforting. It provided a familiar haven, yet emphasized the vast gulf between her station and that of a noble lady.

What a fool she had been to think Nicholas would ever have chosen such as her to wed. To his credit, he had actually never mentioned marriage. But he had made her believe that he loved her. She’d had to guess what he had in mind then, and to her dismay, she had wrongly assumed that his intentions were honorable.

The present indignity was not to be borne, she thought with a forceful groan. That hulk of a seaman who accosted her just now and prevented her going to Joshua, had all but accused her of coming here for the worst purpose imaginable.

“See to his lordship if ye must heal summat,” he had said suggestively. “Poor sod could do wif a bit o’ sympathy, hard as it’s been for ’im.”

Emily would have dearly liked to slap that silly grin off his whiskered face if she could have reached it. The wretched giant.

Before the sun set this evening, the entire population of Bournesea would believe Nicholas was keeping her here for immoral reasons.

Was he? Had Nicholas considered it? Did that rough-looking man who had stopped her from seeing Josh know something that she did not?

No, she didn’t really believe Nick would deliberately ruin her. Though he had very nearly done exactly that before he’d left for India, he had been scarcely more than a boy at the time. And half the fault of it had been hers since she had not in any way discouraged him from kissing her.

To be perfectly honest, she continued to treasure the memory of that passionate kiss in the deepest, most secret part of her. Wicked of her, she knew, but it was all she had of him or would ever have. She had loved him with all her heart.

A good thing she had replaced those feelings with dislike. Not hate, however. No matter how hard she tried or how much she wanted to, she could never bring herself to hate Nicholas.

Blaming him for the results of the kiss might be highly unfair, but it had helped her get over the fact that he had not loved her. And now it would serve to keep a chasm between them that sorely needed to be there.

If she were honest, she had to allow that he could do little else in this instance but force her to stay at Bournesea. Given a choice, she supposed she would have recommended the quarantine herself.

She couldn’t leave poor Joshua here to mend on his own. Nor would she dare risk carrying the cholera outside these walls. Still, she hated being put in this dreadful position.

The soft knock on the door surprised her. She scrambled up from the bed and quickly brushed her hands over her hair. “Yes, who is it?”

Instead of a verbal answer, the door opened.

“Nick—I mean, my lord?” she gasped. “What are you doing? It is highly improper for you to be here!”

He had not bothered donning a coat for the visit. Employing all her will, she directed her gaze away from his exposed neck and muscular forearms.

He hesitated a moment, then stepped into the room, softly closing the door behind him. “I have told you that you are not allowed in the men’s quarters, Emily, yet you would have gone straight to Joshua only moments after I said that. Have you no care for your health?”

“I needed to see him,” she argued. “And you did say he was nearly well.”

“Nearly, but still prone to the occasional bout of fever and other symptoms,” he explained. “I hope it will not be necessary to lock you in this chamber to prevent your disobeying my orders.”

She gaped at him in disbelief. “You would not dare!”

His determined expression left no doubt in her mind that he would.

“Very well, I shall wait to visit him, but not for long,” she conceded reluctantly, turning away and peering out the window to keep from looking at Nicholas. The very sight of him stirred emotions she had believed well conquered years ago.

She jumped when his strong hands clasped her shoulders. Hands she remembered all too well. Hands that had caressed her face, threaded through her hair, held her close against him, fingers flexing, tempting, making her wish…

“I promise on my honor that Josh will be hale in no time. Have I ever lied to you?”

With that question, fury suffused her body and she whirled on him, breaking his hold on her shoulders. She shoved against his chest with both hands. “Yes!” she hissed. “Yes, Nicholas, you have lied, by deeds if not words! How do I know you are not lying now? How could I ever trust you to care for my little brother when you had no thought to care for me?”

“I never lied to you. I regret that you cannot forgive me for leaving the way I did,” he said curtly, “but I tell you again, I was left with no choice. And once I was gone, it was necessary that I stay away. For both our sakes.”

Emily took a deep breath, her lips firmly closed on the words she would have spat in anger. Necessary, he said. Necessary, because he had always been betrothed to another woman, long before he had kissed Emily. Necessary, because he feared she would expect more than he could have righteously offered. Necessary, because he did not and never had loved her.

He stepped closer and touched her face. In horror and fascination, she watched his mouth lower to hers. Only at the last moment, did he place the kiss upon her cheek instead of her trembling lips.

Oh, sweet heaven, the gentleness, the heat of that mouth. It had been so long since he had touched her, held her. His tantalizing scent clouded her mind and his breath warmed her face. Fire rushed through her veins, obliterating all caution. He had not changed. She had not.

“My dearest Emily,” he whispered, breaking the spell he’d woven as effectively as if he had doused her with a bucket of icy water.

She shoved him away. “Dearest, is it? Get out of this room, Nicholas. Do it now!”

He had the audacity to look surprised. “What the devil is wrong with you, Em? I only meant to—”

“I know exactly what you meant to do!” She backed away, her arms crossed over her chest, wishing they could shield her heart. The foolish thing had barely begun to mend from the last time he broke it.

Though he turned to go, he faced her again when he stood in the doorway. “You have no cause to fear me, Emily. I would never do anything to cause you further pain.”

She remained silent, far from certain she believed him, and unwilling to lie about it. Though Nick’s intention would never be to inflict any deliberate hurt upon her, Emily knew he could do so without even trying, maybe without even knowing.

He searched her eyes for her answer and seemed to find it there. “I did care for you then, Emily. And whether you can accept the truth or not, I still do.”

There was little she could say to that. He might still desire her. But hunger was a common thing for a man to feel toward any female. Even if Nick did not recognize the difference, she now knew better than to confuse desire with true caring. At least he said nothing of loving her.

Without further words, he went out of the room and gently closed the door. She heard his measured footsteps on the stairs and felt as bereft as she always did when deprived of his company. That had not altered at all, unless she counted the fact that the deprivation cut even more deeply now.

With Nicholas residing continents away, it had been somehow easier to accept that he did not love her. How was she supposed to bear it when they were living under the same roof?

No matter how much she wished it, there seemed no way out of this conundrum. Though she wanted nothing more than to sneak back out the gardener’s gate with her brother and double her efforts to forget Nicholas Hollander, she knew that she and Joshua had no recourse but to remain here until the quarantine was over.

Emily straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Running is the coward’s way,” she muttered vehemently to herself, pounding one fist soundly into the opposite palm. “And you, Emily Loveyne, have never resorted to such behavior in your life. Where is your courage?”

She had overcome the snide remarks and polite censure of the whole village of Bournesea, as well as that of the old Lord Kendale, when she was hardly more than a girl out of short skirts. Never once had she doubted her eventual success in that endeavor.

Now she was a woman with the blinders of first love torn away and a much better understanding of people in general. Of men, in particular. Clearly, she could stand what she must and weather this storm, as well.

There was certain to be one, she realized. No one in the entire county would ever believe she had spent a whole fortnight in this manor with the man she once adored without surrendering to his charms.

It would likely take her more than seven years this time to convince them of her innocence.

Emily used the bellpull, after all. During the hours alone in the countess’s old chamber with nothing to read but a well-thumbed book of poetry, she grew desperately bored.

One could only dwell so long on the ramblings of Byron. Was this what Nicholas’s mother had endured day after day? Lying abed, pondering the rather pointless meanderings of a dissolute poet? Small wonder she always seemed so glad to greet the vicar and his tagalong.

Emily recalled the occasions she had come here with her father while the countess was alive. Lady Elizabeth’s dark beauty had always left Emily awestruck, as had the woman’s unguarded opinions expressed so openly to a man of God. Many of Emily’s own views of life were colored by that ready candor.

She had also noted that when her father led them in the requisite parting prayer for improvement of the lady’s health, the countess neither bowed her head nor closed her eyes. Once she had even winked and smiled at Emily who had been sneaking a look up at her.

Though they had rarely spoken to one another, the motherless Emily had imagined a bond between them.

“Well, here I am again, my lady,” Emily said aloud to the room where the countess had breathed her last. “Best lend me some of that wry humor of yours. I feel I might need it when this little visit with your esteemed son is over.”

Byron’s little book, lying forgotten on the edge of the mattress suddenly slid off and hit the floor with a thump. A chill ran up Emily’s spine. “Thank you, that is quite enough to set me laughing,” she muttered. “Keep your humor to yourself now.”

Lord, here she was imagining ghosts and talking to the dearly departed. If half a day in this place had her speaking to the walls, she could only imagine how she would be faring after two interminable weeks of it.

Unlike some women who said they could not touch a bite of food when in distress, Emily craved chocolate. At the moment she would have wrestled someone to the floor for a cup of the stuff. And cakes to go with it.

It had grown dark outside. For the third time in less than an hour, she gave the intricately braided cord a firm yank, imagining a bell jangling somewhere below. With all of the servants gone to London, she doubted there would be anyone there to hear it. She could not imagine any of the ship’s crew hanging about in the butler’s pantry.

Though Emily had been fairly well acquainted with the kitchen and service areas of the house at one time, she was not inclined to venture down the stairs and make herself at home there now.

Still fully dressed except for her boots, she curled up on the wide feather bed and drew the coverlet over her. If eventually, someone did answer her summons, she would request her sweets, a stack of books from his lordship’s library and a bucket of coal to fuel the small fireplace. It was mid-May, and the evening had brought a chill with it.

A loud knock woke her from a sound sleep. Emily jerked upright and brushed her tousled curls out of her eyes. “Yes? Who is it?”

The door opened. “Emily? I’m afraid the captain took a turn for the worse last evening and I quite forgot to send anyone with your dinner.” Nicholas balanced a silver tray on one arm as he approached.

Carefully, but hurriedly, he set it upon the mattress beside her hip and gestured to the room at large. “I also neglected to offer you the use of Mother’s things. Please avail yourself of the clothing, writing materials, and anything else you find that you can use.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“By the way, your brother is feeling quite the thing today.” He began to back toward the door.

“Wait,” she said, reaching out, almost upsetting the teapot. “Don’t go yet! Tell me more of Joshua, please?”

He stopped where he was. “He is fine, the doctor says. No fever at all last night or this morning. And his appetite seems quite normal.”

“I cannot tell you how that relieves my mind.” Emily sighed. “Could I trouble you for something to read today? And perhaps some coal?”

“Certainly, anything you wish.”

He smiled then and seemed to deliberately shake off whatever had caused his abruptness. “Look, I know this waiting is damned hard for you, Emily. What if I make a compromise and allow you to see Josh for a few moments? Just from the doorway to his room, you understand. Would that help?”

Emily burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

“No, no weeping, please,” he said softly, approaching the bed again. “Hear now, if you hush, I will let you visit him directly after supper.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly.” His hand lightly caressed her hair and rested on the back of her neck. “Shall I take Josh a message from you this morning?”

She nodded vigorously and sniffed. “Tell—tell him I cannot wait to see him again. That I love him so. And that Father and I missed him dreadfully.”

Nicholas pushed the tray aside and edged one hip onto the bed, beside her. He pulled her close so that her bowed head rested against his chest while his long fingers brushed over her curls.

“I have a feeling all will be well,” he told her. “You know, even after that small setback last evening, Captain Roland feels much better this morning than he has at all since coming down with this? And George Tuckwell, the purser, is nearly as well recovered as Josh.”

“No one else has had complaints?” she asked, looking up at him.

He wiped the tears from her cheeks with one finger. “Not a soul. I have had each man report the state of his health to me three times daily. Other than the occasional gripe of being landlocked, not a one has suffered so much as a bellyache. I believe we have almost weathered this.”

She didn’t dare to hope, but she asked anyway. “Will you still insist upon our remaining enclosed here for the entire fortnight?”

“I must, Emily, for safety’s sake. Please understand.”

Oh, how she wished they could remain as they were. How marvelous to feel his strong arms around her, his hands cradling her back, her shoulders, threading through her hair. She inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of him, wanting more…

Carefully, he disengaged himself from her and stood again, replacing the tray so that she could reach it. “Breakfast now, and you may go below. The library is yours for the day. I shall work elsewhere.”

Emily felt dizzy, light as air, as if a huge lead weight had been removed from her shoulders. Surely he did care, at least a little. “Is there anything I may do to help out…my lord?”

He cocked a brow and pursed his lips. “For one thing, you might cease the my lord foolishness and call me Nick as you always have done.”

She smiled and busied herself pouring her chocolate. “I should have used your honorary address all these years, but no one saw fit to correct me. Except your father. He was appalled that I should speak of you at all.”

“You talked with Father? When was that? He rarely spoke to me, let alone any other child about the place.”

She stirred the chocolate and took a heavenly sip, then another before she replied, “Oh, I was no longer a child when he and I had our first and last conversation. He considered me a full-grown Jezebel, ripe for a set-down.”

“The bloody old bastard!” Nicholas’s sharp intake of breath surprised her, as did the epithet. “I hate that he spoke rudely to you, Em.”

“Yes, well, he minced no words.” She waved off his concern. “But that’s over and done and of no consequence. You have enough to worry about. Go and see Joshua, if you will. Tell him I shall expect a detailed travelogue, so he is to be arranging it all in his mind for the telling. That should occupy him for the day and relieve his boredom.”

“A wonderful idea. How wise of you,” he remarked.

“My wisdom knows no bounds. Nor my humility. For your information, age has improved me considerably.” She daintily set down her cup, shooting him a look that challenged him to disagree.

Nicholas shook his head and laughed. “You have not changed at all, Emily.”

She watched him go.

“How wrong you are, Nicky. How woefully wrong you are about that.”

Without so much as a jiggle of the tray, the serviette that was perched upright beside her plate tumbled itself over and unfolded.

Emily caught her breath, then exhaled sharply. “Well, it is true,” she announced to the spirit she fancied lurking about her. “I am no longer that docile child I was then.”

Emily imagined she heard a trill of muted feminine laughter. This time she was not frightened at all for it seemed to ring with distinct approval. And besides that, a properly bred vicar’s daughter did not credit the existence of ghosts.

To prove it to herself, Emily wolfed down the remainder of her breakfast, shucked off her wrinkled dress and went directly to the countess’s armoire. There she selected an out-of-date morning gown of sky-blue chintz trimmed with delicate white embroidery. On a shelf at the bottom, she located matching kid slippers.

“You see?” she muttered as she dressed. “If I feared you were hanging about to object, I would not dare appropriate anything belonging to a Kendale. Not the dress,” she declared, yanking it off the hanger and threading her arms through the sleeves. “Or the shoes,” she added, sliding her feet into the slippers.

Or the son? The teasing whisper of thought piqued Emily’s mind like a dare.

“Oh, no, ma’am. That never occurred to me. Not this time,” she said with a roll of her eyes and a short laugh at the fanciful turn of mind boredom had inflicted. “Believe me, I have learned my lesson there.”