Emerson looked at Rose, his brows raised in challenge. “By all means, Lady Cecelia.” He rose from his chair.
“Mama, she’s wearing a dress,” Irene said in a low voice.
“That’s all right, darling. We’ve talked of this before. You don’t wear trousers to the park, do you?”
“No, Mama.”
“Proceed, Celia.”
Rose watched, fascinated.
Cecelia vibrated with anticipation as she led Emerson to the middle of the library, her blond curls bouncing with every step. “Are you ready, Mr. Whitmore?” There was truly nothing missish about the girl, but her voice was decidedly meek.
Emerson bowed. “Yes, my lady.”
“I shall now demonstrate thenewescape,” she announced with the solemnity of a field commander.
Irene was too polite to groan aloud, but clearly she desired nothing more than to sink through the floor.
Cecelia’s hands clenched tightly at her sides.
Emerson looked down at her, an indulgent smile curving his lips. “New? How concerning.”
Rose braced herself, breath held. She didn’t know Lady Brockway well, though rumors were theton’s most valuable commodity. They made and broke reputations on the flip of a shilling.
The child marched up and seized one of Emerson’s broad hands and wrapped it around her wrist. “Pretend you’re a kidnapper,” she ordered.
Rose nearly gasped at her straightforwardness but somehow swallowed it.
Emerson shot Rose a look of decided amusement. “A kidnapper,” he repeated slowly. Then nodded. “Very well. I shall try not to take offense,” he teased.
“I give you leave to tighten your hold, sir,” she instructed.
Emerson shot Rose a look—half plea, half dread, full panic. “I-I don’t wish to hurt you, my lady.”
“You won’t,” the child insisted.
Irene sighed, reminding Rose of her presence. She’d nearly forgotten her. “You may as well humor her, sir. She will only demonstrate it on your boot if you do not.”
Cecelia inhaled, then twisted her wrist sharply toward his thumb, snapping free with practiced ease,
and immediately stomped on his instep with merciless precision.
Emerson’s hiss cut through the air, and Rose gasped. From the corner of her eye, she caught Lady Brockway’s and Lady Irene’s simultaneous and united expressions, both pinching the bridge of their noses.
Oh, dear.“Goodness,” Rose breathed, stunned and impressed.
Cecelia finished with a curtsy worthy of the Queen’s own Drawing Rooms. “That is one way to escape a villain.”
“There are more?” Rose couldn’t stop herself from asking.
Irene hurried toward her younger sister. “Celia, you promised Papa you wouldn’t hurt anyone when you took to demonstrating. In fact, youshouldn’t bedemonstrating outside of home.”
“I did mind it,” the girl protested, beaming. “I aimed exactly for it. ’Tis the best I’ve ever executed that maneuver.” She turned back to Emerson. “I know more moves. Shall I show you, sir?”
“I’m not certain I could survive the damage, Lady Cecelia.” Emerson, standing on his good foot, cleared his throat. “I confess…I was, er, unprepared for the brute force.”
Cecelia brightened. “Papa says that’s the point—”
