“Clara?” He stumbled to his feet. Staggered over.
She lay splayed on the floor like a washed up mermaid, her hair a stiff red fan littered with shards of the decanter. Her wide, unblinking eyes stared up at him. She didn’t respond—it was clear she never would.
Chapter Three
Two days later, Emma left her bedchamber just after dawn. Living in Town hadn’t changed her habit of rising with the sun. Unfortunately, she felt less than bright-eyed; for the last two nights, her sleep had been plagued by vague, menacing dreams. In the light of day, the worries took explicit shape.
Was I right not to report Strathaven to the proper authorities? What if something happens to Lady Osgood? By keeping silent, am I colluding with a terrible injustice?
Anxiety quickened her pulse, yet there was nothing she could do about it now. She’d given Lady Osgood her promise, and a Kent never went back on her word. She could only pray that she’d chosen the right course of action.
Releasing a breath, Emma descended the sweeping staircase. The tranquil house meant that her three younger sisters were still asleep; since moving into Ambrose and Marianne’s Mayfair residence, Dorothea, Violet, and Polly had adapted quickly to their new lives. Emma couldn’t say the same. As she passed the priceless paintings and exotic furnishings, she felt as out of place as a tin cup next to a fine Limoges setting.
On the first floor, she stopped to greet the maids who were dusting and polishing the immaculate atrium. The maids chimed “Good mornin’, Miss Kent” in unison and bobbed curtsies. When she’d first moved in, Emma had made the mistake of trying to pitch in with the household tasks. Idle hands performed the devil’s work, after all, and she was used to maintaining her family’s home.
It had taken Marianne’s gentle admonition to make Emma see that her behavior was having the opposite of its intended effect. She was actuallyupsettingthe staff, who took her actions to mean that they were not doing their jobs properly.
Horrified, Emma had stopped the lifelong habit of making her own bed. She’d allowed a maid to be assigned to her to help her dress and do her hair. And she never offered to help Chef Arnaud with meal preparations again.
To her, leisure was a foreign concept and one that, frankly, did not sit well. She had no idea how upper class ladies managed all that free time. Thank goodness she had Kent and Associates. She would go mad if she didn’t have a meaningful purpose and something todo.
When she entered the breakfast room, Ambrose looked up from the sideboard. Marriage suited her big brother well. Emma saw his wife’s hand in the simple yet fashionable charcoal cutaway and trousers perfectly tailored to his tall, lanky frame. His unruly dark hair had been wrangled into an expert cut. Most importantly, where haggard lines had once aged his appearance, he now looked younger, happier, his amber eyes warm with contentment.
That, Emma thought with gratitude, had been Marianne’s true gift.
“Good morning, Em,” he said. “You’re up early.”
“No earlier than you.” She joined him at the buffet, eyeing the bewildering display of breakfast options.
The Kents hadn’t always lived a life of luxury. Before he met Marianne, Ambrose had worked in London, supporting the entire family on a policeman’s wages whilst Emma managed the cottage back in Chudleigh Crest. For years, she and her brother had been a team, together taking care of their elderly father and younger brother and sisters.
As if sharing that memory, Ambrose gave her a rueful smile. “It still takes getting used to, doesn’t it?”
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. “Yes, it does.” Taking a plate, she chose some coddled eggs and said thoughtfully, “The girls are doing well with the new comforts, though. Thea’s health has improved, and Violet is excelling in her riding and dance lessons. Even Polly is flourishing.” She experienced a glad pang thinking of how their shy sixteen-year-old sister, the baby of the family, was coming out of her shell. “She’s delighted to be reunited with Rosie, who gives her confidence, I think.”
Primrose—Rosie to all who loved her—was Marianne’s daughter from a youthful affair. It was the search for Rosie that had brought Ambrose and Marianne together eight years ago. While all the Kents thought of Rosie as one of their own, Rosie and Polly shared a special bond. They were of the same age and had been devoted to one another since their first meeting.
“Rosie certainly has confidence to spare.” Though his tone was dry, the smile in Ambrose’s eyes spoke of his love for his spirited adopted daughter. “But there’s someone else you’ve yet to account for.”
Emma took the chair that the footman held out. “Well, Harry is Cambridge’s problem now. I’d wager it’s a great deal safer for him to be tinkering in their laboratories than here.”
Their younger brother had gone off to university the year before. An aspiring scientist, he had quickly established himself as a bit of a genius. Professors lauded the dear boy’s tendency to blow things to smithereens. He was spending the summer abroad, at theUniversité de Paris, learning advanced techniques from a famous French chemist.
“I shudder to think of Harry’s expanding arsenal,” Ambrose said as he cut into his ham. “But I wasn’t referring to the lad.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “Who, then?”
“You, Em. You haven’t said much about that ball two nights ago.”
Beneath her brother’s scrutiny, Emma tried not to squirm. That was the thing about Ambrose: he didn’t miss a thing. He’d always said that, as an investigator, his main job was to observe and let the truth reveal itself. Images bombarded Emma—Lady Osgood helpless and bound to the gazebo, Strathaven, ducal and menacing—and she quickly dammed them off.
You made Lady Osgood a promise. A Kent’s word is her bond.
Ambrose requested fresh coffee from the footman. The latter left the room with the well-trained discretion that characterized all of Marianne’s staff.
“That bad, was it?” Ambrose said when they were alone.
Emma heard the undertone of sympathy in his deep voice. He, of all people, understood the challenges of living in a world in which one did not fully belong. Ambrose attendedtonaffairs without complaint because he loved his wife. It didn’t mean, however, that he liked them.
