“Tea tarts! What a capital idea! Let’s go back downstairs.”
It might be, but the prince was having none of it. “Lord Christopher has been keeping us apprised,” the prince intoned. “Now we should like to see the lady’s feet.”
Two steps behind the royal, Chris threw up his hands. “I informed his majesty that the lady is feeling better.”
Prinny huffed as he pointed at Christopher. “And created a discussion regarding the strength of her medicine. Dr. Morton claimed she was at death’s door. We should like to see the condition of her feet and judge for ourselves.” So saying, he boldly opened the door to the yellow—er, now green—bedroom. Yihui was not in there, of course. She was down the hall. But when the prince threw open the door, they found a different woman there.
Emma sat on the bare floor. Her head jerked up when the door was flung open, and though there appeared to be nothing wrong with her, there also was no explanation as to why she was sitting on the floor. And while everyone stared at her, she slowly recognized that the prince regent stood before her.
She scrambled to her feet. “Y-your Royal Highness?”
Chris took a step forward. “Emma?” he said but was stopped by the prince’s ample bulk in the doorway as he tried to back out of the room.
“Lady Emmaline,” Prinny said. “My apologies. Are you quite well?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” she said. “I, um, twisted my ankle and was merely resting it.” A lie if there ever was one. “It’s quite well now.”
“Hmmm,” Prinny said.
“May I assist you? Brandy perhaps? I believe there are fresh tarts.” She gestured down the stairs, and for a moment, Max hoped that the ploy worked. Unfortunately, Prinny was determined.
“Thank you, Lady Emmaline,” he said. “But we are here to see the Chinese woman’s feet.”
Emma blinked in confusion. “Her feet? But your highness, that is not appropriate!”
And that was not the right thing to say to a royal. Prinny stiffened. “What is not appropriate is to declare a miracle Chinese medicine and offer no proof. We are here—”
“Your Majesty,” Max intervened. “You must understand. The Chinese believe a woman’s feet are as private—as sacred—as we think of a woman’s, um, breasts or other intimate areas. No man except her husband may view a lady’s feet.”
“If it is so sacred, then why do they deform them? That makes no sense, and we begin to suspect that we have been lied to.” He turned to glare at Lord Christopher.
“Your Majesty!” Chris objected. “You have two worthy men of medicine who have testified to the brutality of the lady’s injury!”
“She was hurt!” Emma snapped. “Most dreadfully. But that does not change the private nature of her situation.” For Emma to stand so boldly and chastise the prince shocked Max to hiscore. His sister was normally the most rational person in any room, but today her temper was clearly overruling her sense of decorum.
And it was no surprise that the prince did not take well to the chastisement. “We do not need to see her ankles,” Prinny huffed. “Just her feet.”
Before Emma could respond, Max stepped straight in front of her. “Of course, I understand your interest. Chinese medicine is a fascinating subject. But to ask to inspect something of such intimate nature is—”
“It’s her feet!”
“Which is the same as asking about her breasts! Or her…” He dropped his voice. “Or her cunny. You asked me to understand her details. I have spent the last week studying everything I can about China. This foot binding business is very strange to us, but it is their custom.”
This was a very precarious position for Max. The prince had clearly come here with a mission—one no doubt triggered by Chris’s ability to create dramatic tales out of the most trivial nonsense—and now he was angry at being denied. Max might keep the prince away, but he would pay a cost.
He smiled as gently as he could. “This standing about in hallways is exhausting. Shall we go downstairs and discuss—”
“Your Majesty?” a low voice squeaked from Yihui’s bedroom. A moment later, the words were repeated louder by a voice he recognized. “Your Majesty!”
“Lady Kimberly, what are you doing here?”
A good question. Max hadn’t seen her for several days now and felt extraordinarily anxious at the idea of her becoming the subject of the prince’s ire.
“I brought Lady Emmaline home. She has been staying with me while the bedroom was being repapered.”
“Repapered?” the royal asked. “Whyever would you…” He glanced past Max’s shoulder into the room, then his eyes abruptly widened as he remembered. “Oh yes, the murder. Christopher said it was very grizzly.” He continued to peer into the room. “Looks respectable now.”
“We hired excellent workmen,” Max inserted. “Ones I expressly hired because of their work on Carlton House—”
