He blinked at the vehemence in her tone.
She leaned forward, her expression quite fierce. “You were right to bring this to me,” she said, already considering. “If the girl is in imminent danger, I can press my husband to see the matter taken to law. Guardianship is not a privilege to be abused, though many behave as though it is. A petition might be raised—neglect, mismanagement of inheritance, cruelty…There are avenues.”
Emerson shifted, caught between gratitude and discomfort. He had expected dismissal, not a plan of attack.
“And you may assure Lady Stanford of this, Mr. Whitmore.” The fist in her lap clenched. “Should Lady Lockhart attempt to press her advantage, she will find herself very sorely pressed in return.”
The corner of Emerson’s mouth twitched. “I’m thrilled to hear it.”
Slowly, the lady relaxed against her chair. “I have suffered the sharp edge of Society’s censure, Mr. Whitmore, and I have no patience for those who wield it carelessly against the defenseless. Lady Lockhart shall be dealt with in a fitting manner.”
For the first time since entering this woman’s presence, Emerson felt something like respect stir in his chest. This countess was no simpering hostess; she wielded her influence like a blade. Rose would find her a formidable ally.
He gave a single nod. “Then I thank you on Lady Stanford’s behalf.”
Lady Kimpton waved a hand lightly. “Thank me when the girl is safe. Now”—her eyes glinted again, amusement returning—“you said this was not thetruereason for your call? Out with it, Mr. Whitmore. What has you looking as though you’ve swallowed a distasteful piece of gristle?”
Emerson’s jaw tightened, and he felt the heat crawling up his neck and his stitches throb. But there was no graceful path forward—time to pull up his garters.
“Last evening, at the Harlowe event, a misunderstanding seems to have arisen.” He forced the words out past the “gristle” in his throat.
“Misunderstanding?” Lady Kimpton arched one perfect brow. “Sir, I’m quite aware of what a misunderstanding is.”
This was beyond humiliating. “Declaration,” he amended, grudgingly. “I intended only to—well, the point is, er…”
“Perhaps you would care to continue speaking frankly?”
Exasperation burst forth. “All right, my lady. I wish more than anything for Lady Stanford to marry me. But she has not accepted, as I told you last evening. It was a…falsehood.”
Again her eyes narrowed on him. Accusingly. “So, you thought to press the issue by trapping her?”
“No!” He inhaled deeply through his nose, then let it out through his mouth. “No,” he said more calmly. “My initial thought was to find her. And when you stopped me from following her down the stairs…well, the words just came out. The truth is, wediddiscuss the matter the day before, but nothing had been decided. I-I didn’t wish to see her name in any way maligned. But it appears my defense has been taken for something…more binding.”
Her lips curved, not unkindly. “Ah. The reckless declaration.”
“Well, yes.” He grimaced. “If Lady Stanford has been placed in an awkward position by my words, I would set it right.”
“Set it right?” Lady Kimpton laughed softly, though there was sympathy beneath the sound. “Mr. Whitmore, by the time the first waltz ended, every dowager in the room was whispering of your engagement. By morning, the tale was halfway down Bond Street. I fear ’tis too late in setting it right. Society has decided. I would add, sir, that Lady Brockway and I were not the ones who set the tongues wagging.”
The words fell like lead. Emerson clenched his hands against his knees, anger surging—not at Lady Kimpton, but at himself. One rash moment, and Rose’s reputation was tangled with his, inescapably. He released a pursed breath. “I’m aware, my lady. I’ve been informed Lady Ingleby is the party at fault.”
“She’s one of the most notorious gossips of theton,” she agreed. Her gaze softened. “Do not look so grim, sir. It may not be the trap you imagine. Lady Stanford is admired for her determination with that charitable house of which she is involved with her sister and the Duchess of Ryleigh. Many would say Lady Stanford deserves a champion after what she suffered from that degenerate husband she married. And you”—she regarded him shrewdly—“strike me as a man who would defend what is his, whether he asked for it or not.”
His.“On that score, Lady Kimpton, you are correct. I would defend her to the death. Mine or not.” Emerson’s words erupted in sharp, punctuated passion that stunned him to his toes.
Lady Kimpton smiled, a knowing look in her blue eyes, and brought her hands together in a single clap. “Excellent..”
That was his cue to depart though he remained confused more than ever. “Thank you, Lady Kimpton, for your candor regarding Lady Lockhart.” He rose from his chair and extended his hand. “Now, I must take my leave. This visit has been most enlightening.”
Thirty-Nine
A pounding rattled the windowpanes and shivered through the drawing room like cannon fire. Rose jerked awake on the settee. The fire in the grate had dozed to near embers, and her neck ached from the awkward angle in which she’d fallen asleep.
For a disorienting instant, she woke believing she’d only imagined the nightmare of Viola’s empty bed, the folded night rail, and the missing towel-wrapped loaf of bread. The vision solidified upon hearing Winston’s voice, crisp and incensed, carrying from the foyer.
“Your Grace, if you please, her ladyship is resting—”
“Then wake your mistress, man.” Sebastian’s bark was deep and unmistakable. “Stand aside.”
