That was a question Max had been asking for days now. “She’s not really the Wong’s daughter. She’s some girl sold by her father to cover his gambling debts.”
“That’s awful!” she exclaimed. But true to her quick intellect, she understood the implications. “But that also means you don’t have to marry her. After all, she’s not who she claims to be—”
“Shedidn’t claim anything.”
Emmaline waved her hand. “Yes, but you know what I mean. You don’t have to marry her. The bribe was a false one.”
“Yes, I will make that case to Prinny. Given what happened, he’ll let the thing drop.”
She nodded slowly. “But that doesn’t really answer the question, does it?”
“What question?”
“What are you to do with her? She’s terrified you’re going to toss her out of the house before she can even stand.”
“I’m not going to do that,” he growled.
“I know you’re not, but…” She lifted her hands. “Maybe you should. Not throw her into the streets, obviously, but there must be work she can do. In Devonshire, perhaps? At a minimum, she could convalesce there without…um…you know, all the bother here.”
He knew what his sister meant, and to her credit, she flushed at his hard stare. Send the woman away and go on with their normal lives. Which would be well and good for them, but what kind of life would she have? “Do you mean for her to be one of our pensioners for the rest of her life?”
She shrugged. “Better than your wife.”
“Not for her,” he snapped, unaccountably irritated. It wasn’t as though he wanted to marry her. Bed her, yes. Marry her? Perhaps in his fantasies, but it would never work in reality. She’d never be accepted by society, and that was a miserable way for any person to live. In any event, he disliked how everyone—including her own father—disposed of her as if she were of no account. “She’s a person, not an old pair of shoes.”
“We’re all people, Max. The world is full of them in all sorts of wretched situations.” She shook her head. “You’ve always had a soft spot for strays. You dance with wallflowers, employ handicapped veterans, and do you remember that stinky ferret when we were children? No one adopts a ferret with a broken back, except you!”
“It didn’t live long.”
“But you still tried, and you cried when it passed. But you cannot take care of everyone.” She set her hand on his arm. “Can you not see it? She is one more sad soul who wants to live off our fortune. She is beautiful and in trouble, and so you wish to save her. But you cannot marry her.”
“Now you sound like Father. He’d shortchange his tailor if I didn’t make sure he paid his shot.”
“I’m not saying discard her. Just set her aside quietly. Pay someone to care for her—make it months if that will ease your conscience—then let her find her own place and purpose.” Her gaze skipped for a moment down the hallway to the once-yellow bedroom. “This whole thing is wretched. I can’t manage it much longer.”
He winced. While he’d been out knocking on diplomatic doors, she’d been here, trapped in the sickroom because the staff was too frightened to do it themselves. But that was the way of things, wasn’t it? Men handled the world’s affairs while the women managed the household. Except in this case, the world had intruded on the house, and Emma had shouldered the brunt of it.
“I’ll speak with Prinny tomorrow. Mayhap I can convince him that the Crown should shoulder her expense.”
Emma’s brows rose. “Is that likely?”
No. But that was something he’d face tomorrow. In the meantime, it was time to help Yihui with her bath. So with an apology to his sister, he pulled off his jacket, grabbed yesterday’s cravat, and sauntered down the hallway to Yihui’s bedroom.
“I’m tying a cravat over my eyes. I shan’t see a thing,” he said.
He did exactly as he promised, wrapping the silk fabric around his head tightly. It reminded him of childhood games, and yet his blood was already thrumming at the idea of being able to touch Yihui. Was it exoticism or true attraction? He didn’t know and didn’t care. She would be in his arms soon.
“All done,” he declared.
His sister’s voice drawled in his ears. “You are not fooling anyone. You just want to handle her.”
“I’m trying to help,” he said in a harsh undertone. “Did you want someone else to carry her? A ham-handed footman or three?”
“Maybe,” she retorted. “At least they wouldn’t give her ideas above her station.”
“But that’s the problem, isn’t it? We don’t know what her station is, do we? I’m still under—”
“Royal command. Yes, I know.” He heard her open the bedroom door. “Come on, Max. I’ll guide you.”
