The parlor fire had toasted the room nicely, and Rose indicated a chair closest to the hearth.
Seconds later, a few of the girls filed in and curtsied. “Lady Stanford,” a few of them murmured.
Rose was disheartened, fully having realized she was not the girls’ most endearing benefactor. Her etiquette lessons earlier that week were testament to the fact.
Mrs. Kier soon followed with a rolling tray laden with lemon tarts, biscuits, and sugar and cream for tea.
“Kadida, perhaps you would be kind enough to pour.” Rose smiled at the girl.
Kadida nodded and began the process. When she reached Inez, her dark eyes widened at the pristine white gloves Inez wore before her gaze moved over Inez’s face.
“Is my sister or the duchess in?” Rose asked in general.
“Not as yet, my lady.” Vella was the seamstress and seemed to have stepped in as charge of the young ladies in Gabriella and Rebecca’s absence.
“I’m thrilled to introduce all of you to Miss Inez Macy, Mr. Whitmore, and—” Her gaze shot about. “Where is your driver, Mr. Whitmore?”
“With the carriage, Lady Stanford.” Oh, my. He was still angry.
While Kadida set about distributing cups with Mrs. Kier’s assistance, Rebecca strode in. “Ah, Rose. How nice to see you. Did you have luck regarding materials for the new frocks?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. Mr. Whitmore, may I present my sister-in-law, Her Grace, the Duchess of Ryleigh? Rebecca, this is Mr. Emerson Whitmore of Whitmore’s Wholesale Warehouse.”
Rebecca pulled up. “Whitmore’s Whole…”
Mr. Whitmore gave an elegant bow that set Rose’s teeth on edge. “Your Grace. The bolts should be delivered by end of business tomorrow.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Whitmore. You will, of course, invoice Hope House.”
“I take it you operate on donations?”
Rebecca graced him with a smile that seared Rose with envy. “We do indeed, sir.”
“Then consider this my contribution to your cause, Your Grace.”
Rebecca’s eyes flicked from Emerson to Rose and back to Emerson. “You are most kind, Mr. Whitmore. We truly appreciate it.”
“Now, if you will excuse me, I must take my leave.” He turned to Rose. She shivered under his hard stare. “Do you still require a ride to Hatchards, Lady Stanford?”
“Um, no, er, thank you, sir.”
“Still, I require a word. If you’ll walk with me.” It was not a request so much as an implacable, well-worded demand. Softly issued, of course.
“Certainly, sir,” she murmured, preferring to dash up the stairs to cower in a broom closet in the old house. Surely, there was an empty one somewhere on the premises.
Oh, where was the new Adventurous Rose when one had need of her?
Twelve
Emerson clamped his hand around Rose’s now gloveless one to prevent any escape she might attempt, though they stood inside the entryway of the old manor house.
“I couldn’t stand by and let him accost her, could I?” Not a speck of regret laced her tone.
No. Not having seen what he had of the young women who’d entered the parlor. Each was unusually quiet. Not chatty like the females he’d ever been around. “That man could have pulled a knife on you.” The words, though controlled, came out enraged. Coated in thick slabs of fear. “He threatened you,” he bit out.
“And you threatened him right back,” she returned. “What is the problem?”
Whatwasthe problem? It was true. If anything happened to either Miss Macy or Lady Stanford, there were ways to dispose of Billy Buster’s ilk. But Billy’s threat had not been an idle one. And now Emerson must enlighten Faulk of the dangers to the warehouse and those in his employ. The hazards were endless without even having made such an enemy.
