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Emma entered the large main drawing room just as her mother was asking Thornley to please “play Mother” for them and pour the tea. She’d stopped short of asking the man to sit down, spread a serviette over his knee and join them in their refreshments, and Emma could only be grateful for that small favor.
The butler, his ears rather red, cited his inability to linger, as he had pressing duties, and avoided Emma’s gaze as he walked, stiff-backed, from the room.
“Mama, you really mustn’t do that,” Emma said, sitting down on the facing couch, the silver tea service between them.
“Really mustn’t do what, dear?” Daphne asked vaguely, making a great business out of attempting to lift the teapot before sitting back, sighing. “Much, much too heavy. You know, Emma, this is a very pretty place, by and large, but I don’t understand opulence if it’s too heavy to use.”
Emma bit her bottom lip, reached forward to place a cup beneath the spout of the teapot, then tipped the pot on its cradle to pour the tea…as the pot was designed to do. “Here you are, Mama. You must be chilled. Drink up.”
“Oh, my,” Daphne said, giving the teapot a little push with her spoon. “Would you just look at that, Emma? What will they think of next?”
“I have no idea, Mama,” Emma said, straight-faced, then looked up as her grandmother entered the room.
She resisted sniffing the air for the scent of mischief, because she didn’t want to know, and because she was a well-bred young lady. Which didn’t mean she could overlook the rather shrewd look in her grandmother’s lively eyes. Living with Fa
“Fresh from your nap, Grandmama?” Emma asked, her voice deliberately vague, only mildly and politely interested in whatever answer her grandmother might offer.
Because Fa
“A lovely rest for these weary old bones, yes, dear,” Fa
Daphne quickly raised her serviette to her face, exclaiming, “Oh, no, no! No wonder he looked at me so oddly. I could just Expire. I’m So Ashamed.”
“Twit,” Fa
“I am not making a push for Thornley, Mother Clifford,” Daphne protested, but she did not look the older woman in the eyes. “Doesn’t he have the loveliest posture? Samuel always slouched so.”
Emma added two sugars to her tea. “Grandmama, remember, we are not to specifically mention the marquis in public unless forced to do so, and then just to say that he is our unfortunately absent host. Thornley was adamant about that. I think the poor man must be strapped for cash, which is the only explanation I can find as to why he leases rooms to perfect strangers for the Season. We were even quite vague with Lady Jersey on her single visit here, as you might remember, although she is much too interested in herself to notice where she is when she’s telling all and sundry how very wonderful she is. But we must protect the man’s reputation.”
“Humph. If it’s his reputation he’s worried about, you’d think he’d at least vet whom he leases to better before allowing them to run tame in his household.”
Emma put down her spoon very carefully, trying to hang on to her composure. She had two choices: ignore what her grandmother just said—hinted at—or ask the woman what she meant. She must be feeling daring, or else the fog had muddled her mind, because she then took a deep breath and asked, “What have you done this time, Grandmama? Waited until either Mrs. Norbert or Sir Edgar went out and about, and then pored through their belongings?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Emma. Your grandmother would never do any such thing. It would be unladylike, and too shabby by half,” Daphne scolded, brushing pastry crumbs from her skirt. “Would you, Mother Clifford? Sneak about, that is, and poke into drawers and such?”
“Here’s a lesson for you, Daphne. You, too, Emma. Never ask questions you wouldn’t want to hear answered.” Fa
Daphne looked to her daughter, her eyes wide. “She wouldn’t…she couldn’t go poking about in…she—oh, Lord, she did, didn’t she? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Tell me!”
“She did,” Emma admitted to her mother. Why hadn’t she waited until she and Fa
Emma looked at her grandmother as that tiny, always energetic woman sat herself down once more, and decided she had to know everything, now. “What was on today’s agenda, Grandmama? Waiting until one of them fell asleep, and then prying open his or her mouth, to count teeth?”
“A good hiding, Emma, I’ve always said you should have had at least one during your formative years. Don’t badger an old lady, all right? If you behave, I may make you happy and tell you that I have been badly served for my inquisitive nature.”
“You got no reward for your nosiness, you mean,” Emma interrupted. “Good.”
“A dozen hidings wouldn’t have been enough,” Fa
Emma blinked. “Well, yes, she said as much, Grandmama, that first night at di
Fa
Daphne dropped her teacup—it shattered against the edge of the table—before slapping her hands over Emma’s ears. “Mother Clifford! I’ll not have you saying such things with my i
Emma calmly reached up and removed her mother’s hands, unfortunately just in time to hear Fa
“Oh, stubble it, Daphne. You knew what I meant, which shows you to not be as pure and ladylike as you wish you were. You couldn’t have been, living with Samuel and his constant peccadilloes with various bits of the muslin company. That, dear girl,” she ended, looking to Emma, “would be whores, lightskirts and, once, when he was particularly flushed from a win at the tables, a kept woman he lost in the next run of his usual bad luck.”