“It sure appeared as if you were,” Emma pressed as she walked over to the buffet. “Breakfast is not the time for such heavy questions.”
Roswell shifted his gaze towards his sister. “Why are you not taking breakfast in your room?”
“Because I had a sneaking suspicion that my dear friend Ellie would be eating in the parlor.”
“Your dear friend?” he questioned. “When did this happen?”
Emma sat down next to Ellie, and they exchanged a look. “Last night,” his sister replied. “We spoke at great lengths and bonded over our disdain of you.”
Roswell cast his expression heavenward. “I believe I am going to arrange a marriage for you with the Duke of Weatherby.”
“You could try,” Emma said, “but I would run away with Lord Featherstone to Gretna Green first.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” he shouted.
“I would, if you tried to marry me off to a man old enough to be my grandfather’s father.”
The sound of Charles chuckling from the doorway drew his attention. “Why are you threatening to marry Emma off to the Duke of Weatherby?”
“It is time that Emma learns her place,” Roswell declared.
“And you think His Grace is the man to do that?” Charles asked, amused. “Emma would run circles around him.”
Emma smiled tenderly at Charles. “Thank you, brother,” she said. “I fear that Roswell’s mind is muddled this morning.”
“Why do you say that?” Charles asked.
“I caught him interrogating Miss Bentley over breakfast,” Emma revealed.
Roswell huffed. “I was not interrogating her,” he asserted. “I merely mentioned a few obvious things to her.”
“Such as?” Charles asked.
“What is at stake for our family’s pristine reputation if she makes a mistake,” Roswell pointed out.
Emma leaned closer to Ellie and whispered, “We don’t have a pristine reputation, not with Roswell here,” she said, patting her hand, “so you don’t have to worry in that regard.”
Roswell pushed his chair back and rose. “I believe I have had enough of this conversation,” he said as he tossed his napkin onto his empty plate.
“Perhaps I might still run off with Lord Featherstone to Gretna Green,” Emma mused. “He has offered for me.”
Knowing his sister was goading him, Roswell departed without another word. Why was he the only one worried about how Miss Bentley’s performance would affect their family’s reputation?
He stepped into the entry hall and saw his mother descending the stairs.
“Whatever is the matter?” she asked.
Roswell stopped in front of her. “I wish you would send Miss Bentley on her way.”
“I will not,” she replied. “In fact, we are going shopping to get her fitted for some gowns.”
“And where did Miss Bentley come up with the funds to pay for these gowns?”
Harriet grew serious and stepped closer to him. “Her mother sold off a piece of her own jewelry to give Miss Bentley the funds to pay for the gowns.”
“I hadn’t realized,” he muttered, feeling like a boor. “I had just assumed she expected you to pay for the gowns.”
His mother placed a hand on his sleeve. “You must give Miss Bentley a chance, son,” she urged. “If you do, you will see that she isn’t as disagreeable as you have led yourself to believe.”
