"I'm certain they will. As will I." A line appeared between Emma's sable brows.
"You don't look happy about the fact," Marianne observed.
"Oh, but I am! Please don't think me ungrateful." Beneath the brim of her well-worn bonnet, Emma's lashes flew upward. "It's just that, well, I feel... guilty."
"About?"
The girl chewed her lip. "You've gone to such expense for us. How shall we ever repay—"
"Emma, dear, do not concern yourself over money," Marianne said. "Your brother is assisting me with a matter, and I assure you if there is any debt involved, it is mine."
"May I ask what Ambrose is helping you with?"
"That is private."
Emma's gaze fell to the paved walk, and Marianne silently cursed herself for her cutting tone, which had emerged on instinct. When would she get over this tendency to push others away? Would she one day be able to remove the walls she'd erected around herself?
She struggled to find a way to apologize—another skill she lacked.
Emma spoke first. "I need to ask you a question, my lady. It's impertinent, I'm afraid."
Seeing the resolute set of the other's shoulders, Marianne said, "I gather you are not asking my permission."
"If I may be frank, it's about Ambrose," Emma said in that dogged Kent manner, "and your… er, relationship with him." Gathering a deep breath, the girl looked Marianne straight in the eye. "Which we both know is not entirely one of employer and employee."
"You are concerned that Ambrose and I are lovers?" Marianne said with equal bluntness.
Emma's terse nod caused a deflating sensation in Marianne's stomach. Even this snippet of a girl questioned such a liaison. Well, Marianne could not fault her. From what she'd observed over the past week, the younger Kents idolized their older brother. No doubt they'd want him to be paired with a different sort of woman—one as steady and good as he.
Not some notorious widow, certainly.
"What are your intentions toward him?" Emma said.
"That is between him and me," Marianne replied tightly.
"Not when it involves the rest of us. We're staying with you, depending on your generosity," Emma said, her voice quivering, "and it isn't right. Not unless…"
"Unless?" Marianne cocked a brow.
"Do you mean to do the honorable thing by him?"
A choked sound escaped Marianne. "Haven't you got things turned around?"
"Obviously, you don't know my brother as well as I do. He is a gentleman to the core. He wouldn't dream of asking you to marry him because you're rich and we're… not." Emma shrugged, and Marianne had to give the other points for directness. "Personally, I couldn't give a care about the money. We Kents don't need much to be happy." Emma drew to a halt on the walk, her young face fiercely set. "But I cannot stand by and watch Ambrose get hurt again."
Aware of the curious gazes of passersby, Marianne took Emma's arm and guided her along. Quietly, she said, "Has he been hurt before?"
"He hasn't told you about Jane?" Emma blurted.
"We haven't talked much about his past," Marianne said with a twinge of guilt.We've been too focused on mine.
"Perhaps I oughtn't have mentioned—"
"'Tis too late now. One cannot be candid halfway," Marianne said dryly.
"You do have a point." Sighing, Emma said, "Jane Harrow was the baker's widow. She was only twenty-four when her husband died and very pretty. All the men in our village sniffed at her heels, but she set her sights on Ambrose."
Jealousy knifed Marianne in the chest. Ridiculous... but there it was. "He returned Miss Harrow's interest?"
