Emma brought over what passed for a tea tray and took the chair adjacent to Marianne. Sitting on a wooden crate that served as a third chair, Kent faced the both of them.
"Thank you, Miss Kent," Marianne said.
The jet beads on her crimson frock glimmered as she accepted the chipped cup. An expensive-looking gold pendant rested above the swell of her breasts. Despite the contrast between her finery and the humble setting, she appeared unruffled.
"Please call me Emma, my lady. Most everyone does and since you are…"—his sister reddened, bit her lip—"er… friends with Ambrose, you must too."
A delicate shade of peach tinged the crest of Marianne's cheeks at Emma's tactful words. Though Ambrose would have to clarify the situation with his sister later on—and he did not relish the prospect, given his younger sister's youth and innocence—it heartened him to know that his shamelessselkiecould enjoy a moment or two of human embarrassment.
"Then you must return the favor and call me Marianne." Hisselkie, however, was never one to be discomfited for long. "So tell me, Emma, what brings you to London? Your brother did not mention he was expecting a family visit." Marianne cast him a narrow-eyed look.
Emma sighed, and before Kent could stop her, she launched into the tale she'd tearfully told him earlier. The situation she described did not improve with the second telling. His neck corded as he wondered what the hell he was going to do. Thanks to his father's absent-mindedness—he prayed to God it was only that and not a more insidious problem—the family was to be thrown out of their home. On the morrow, the Kents would have nowhere to go.
His temples began to throb as he contemplated the options. Unless he could find another roof for them in the village—which he doubted, as news travelled quicker than wildfire in Chudleigh Crest—he would have to bring them to London. Perhaps he could get away with having his family here for a few days without his landlady finding out…
"Father didn't mean to set the fire," Emma was telling Marianne earnestly, "it was only that he fell asleep reading. It was dratted bad luck that Tabitha knocked over the candle."
"Tabitha?" Marianne said.
"Our cat. She's a tabby," Emma explained. "Most of the time, she is very well-behaved, but of late she's been quite desperate for attention." She slumped, as if the weight of the world were perched on her slim shoulders. "Between father and my brother and sisters, I just haven't had the time to devote to her."
Ambrose's hands balled. Poor Em—heshould have been there, helping her. She was too young to have such a burden. Before he could speak, however, Marianne surprised him by putting an arm around his sister. Emma stiffened—and then she let out a quivery sigh. Slowly, her head came to rest on Marianne's shoulder. With a pang, Ambrose was reminded of his stepmother Marjorie's comforting hugs.
"'Tis impossible to be everywhere at once," Marianne said. "You are far too young to shoulder such responsibilities."
"I am sixteen," Emma said in a muffled voice. "Old enough to know that I oughtn't have left Father alone for so long. But Thea wasn't feeling well, and Violet and Polly needed help sewing up new petticoats—they've both sprouted like weeds since spring—and Harry nearly set the woodshed afire with his latest experiment…"
"Goodness, how many Kentsarethere?" Marianne said.
Emma lifted her head, her curious gaze shifting to him. "Hasn't Ambrose told you about us?"
"His description was lacking sufficient detail. Besides," Marianne said, slanting a glance at him, "I do believe your brother is used to keeping things to himself."
"Oh. Well, there's six of us in all, including Ambrose," Emma supplied with the helpfulness that was her nature. "He's the eldest by sixteen years."
"That is quite the gap."
"That is because his mother was father's first wife. After she died, father did not remarry for many years until he met our mother, Marjorie. They had me first, then Dorothea, Harry, Violet, and Polly—she's eight and the babe of the lot."
"And you're in charge of them all? My poor dear," Marianne murmured.
"I had things well in hand until this latest incident. Now there's the damage to the cottage to pay for,andthe landlord will toss us out by the morrow. I didn't know what to do." To hear his practical, industrious sister confess her helplessness wrenched Ambrose's gut. "So that is why I had to leave Harry in charge and come today. Because Ambrose will have a solution. He always does."
Think of something, you sot.
"We'll go fetch everyone and bring them here," he said. "Do not worry about it further, Em. Everything will be fine."
His sister gave him a smile of relief. "See? Ambrose can make any problem go away."
"Indeed." Marianne gave him an enigmatic look. "A magician are you, Kent?"
"I never said I was," he said curtly.
"Itwillrequire magic if you plan to fit your entire family in here." Marianne cast a pointed look around his apartment; it shamed him that he could not disagree with her. "There's barely room for one."
"We don't require much. The girls and I are perfectly content sharing a pallet," Em said. But he caught the way his sister's eyes flitted about the room.
"It will only be temporary," he said firmly, "until I figure out a better plan."
