"Why wait? I have one already." Opening the small, pearl-encrusted bag on her lap, Marianne pulled out a card and handed it to Em.
"What is this?" His sister's brow furrowed.
"The address to my townhouse. I have so much room I won't even notice you're there," Marianne said airily.
Emma's eyes grew bigger. "Oh, but we couldn't…"
"Of course we can't." Recovering from his shock, Ambrose drew himself up. "Though it is an undoubtedly generous offer, we Kents cannot impose upon you in such a way."
Marianne rose, her deep red skirts swirling regally around her. "Don't think of it as an imposition, then. Consider it an exchange."
"An exchange? For what?" he said, frowning.
"You've refused payment for the matter you are investigating for me. The least I can do is play hostess to your family. Do come along, Emma dear." Marianne headed to the door, clearly expecting to be followed. "You will help me make the necessary arrangements at home. Kent can fetch your family and deliver them to us."
Emma's gaze swung to him. "Ambrose…?"
He studied Marianne's haughty expression. Not so long ago he would have been fooled by that façade of indifference. Now he knew her better, and a feeling broke inside him, so strong and foreign that he could only say thickly, "Go on, then. But mind you be a good girl and don't pester her ladyship."
Eyes shining with a dazed relief that mirrored his own, his sister stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. As she did so, his gaze went to Marianne. Her mask had slipped a fraction, a faint curve edging her perfect lips. Reckless words began thumping in his heart, and he retained just enough sense to hold them back.
Instead, over his sister's head, he mouthed,Thank you.
Marianne smiled, and her brilliance warmed him to his very marrow. To depths he hadn't known existed within him. Then she inclined her head and led his sister out.
26
"You'vewhat?"Helena stared at her as if she'd grown two heads.
Sitting across from her friend in the drawing room, Marianne lifted her brows. "As you're the one who's been promoting Kent, one would think you'd be more approving." She returned her gaze to the menu, scanning it before handing it back to the waiting housekeeper. "That looks fine, Mrs. Winston. From what Miss Kent tells me, there's not a picky palate amongst the bunch. Just keep things simple—and tell Monsieur Arnauld to dispense with his more adventurous dishes."
"Be an improvement, if you ask me. Nothing wrong with good, decent English cooking," Mrs. Winston muttered as she departed.
"MissKent?" Helena said, her hazel eyes wide.
"That would be Emma, Kent's younger sister. I finally convinced the thing to have a lie- down upstairs. She's got more energy than all the maids combined. Do you know she hasn't had a nap since she was in leading strings?" Marianne shuddered. "We'll have to setthatto rights. Now I don't wish to be rude, Helena, but I do wish you had sent word ahead of your visit. I'm expecting the rest of the Kents at any moment."
"I'm sorry to inconvenience you," the marchioness replied tartly, "butwhyare the Kents moving into your house?"
"It's a long story, dearest. Much too long for the time we have."
Which was only part of the truth. Marianne wasn't ready to discuss the other part with her friend. She had no wish to sound like a green girl, and she surely would if she blathered on about how noble she found Ambrose. How utterly attractive she found his devotion toward his family. Like germinating seeds, her emotions quivered with the desire to break the surface, yet they were too tender to expose to the rays of scrutiny. And what of her other secret? The one that kept pushing closer and closer to the light.
By the by, Helena, you also have a niece. A beautiful little girl… who was sold to a bawd because of me. Because of my mistakes—my selfish, wicked desires.
Marianne's throat thickened. She had no right to think of her own happiness when Primrose's future remained so uncertain. She'd already failed her daughter once; she could not do so again. Finding Rosie took precedence over everything—including her feelings for Ambrose. Though she could no longer deny her physical attraction to him, she could not afford to lose her head or her focus.
The door bell rang, and she was glad for the interruption.
"Ah, here the Kents are now." She rose. "Come along if you'd like to meet them."
With Helena at her heels, Marianne arrived to see Lugo ushering her houseguests inside. The four children entered in haphazard progression, all of them dressed in ill-fitting garments cut from the same revolting grey material. It appeared that Kents came in all shapes and sizes. Hair color ranged from light brown to nearly black, and their gazes likewise spanned a range of hues. The main characteristic that linked the motley bunch was the aura of alertness and energy that crackled in their wake. None of them had spotted her yet: they were too busy talking, excitedly and at once.
"It's crying tears." The littlest girl, who Marianne saw with a pang might be Rosie's age, removed her thumb from her mouth and pointed at the chandelier. "Poor light—it's sad even though it's pretty."
"It's called a chandelier. And those aren't tears, Polly," the lanky brown-haired boy said, "they're crystals made of glass. They're cut with facets to reflect light. In point of fact, a simple equation describes how the angle of the facet determines the overall brilliance—"
"Oh, spare us the lecture, Professor." Accompanied by the rolling of caramel-colored eyes, this statement was delivered by a tomboyish girl who almost rivaled the boy in height. "We've heard it all before."
