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The imp made a very correct bow—beautiful enough to cause her bosom to swell with maternal pride. Not, of course, that Emeline let her satisfaction show; no need to make the boy vain. Mr. Hartley held out his hand in the exact same gesture that he’d given her yesterday. Her son beamed. Grown men didn’t usually offer their hands to eight-year-olds, no matter their rank. Gravely, Daniel took the much larger hand and shook it.
“I’m pleased to meet you, my lord,” Mr. Hartley said.
Daniel bowed to the girl, and then Emeline handed him a bun wrapped in a cloth. “Now run away, dear. I have—”
“Surely your son can stay with us, ma’am,” Mr. Hartley interrupted her.
Emeline drew herself up. How dare the man interfere between her and her child? She was on the point of giving him a set-down when he caught her eye. Mr. Hartley’s eyes were wrinkled about the edges, but instead of amusement, they appeared to reflect sorrow. He didn’t even know her son. Why, then, would he feel pity for the boy?
“Please, M’man?” Daniel asked.
Her consternation should’ve only grown stronger—the boy knew better than to beg once she’d made a decision—but instead something inside her melted.
“Oh, very well.” She knew she sounded like a grumpy old woman, but Daniel grinned and took a seat near Mr. Hartley, wiggling back in the too-big chair. And Mr. Hartley smiled at her with his coffee-brown eyes. That sight seemed to make her breath come short, which was a ridiculous reaction from a mature woman of the world.
“So, then, this is most pleasant,” Tante Cristelle said. She winked at Daniel, and he squirmed in his chair until he caught his mother’s eye. “But now, I think, we must discuss Mademoiselle Hartley’s clothing.”
Miss Hartley, who had just taken a sip of tea, seemed to choke. “Ma’am?”
Tante Cristelle nodded once. “It is atrocious.”
Mr. Hartley set his teacup down carefully. “Mademoiselle Molyneux, I think—”
The old woman rounded on him. “Do you wish your sister to be laughed at, eh? Do you want the other young ladies to whisper behind their fans? For the young men to refuse to dance with her? Is this what you aspire to?”
“No, of course not,” Mr. Hartley said. “What’s wrong with Rebecca’s dress?”
“Nothing.” Emeline set down her own dish of tea. “Nothing at all if Miss Hartley only wants to visit the parks and some of the sights of London. I’m quite sure what she’s wearing now is sufficient even for the fashionable of Boston in your colonies. But for the London haut ton—”
“She must have the frocks very elegant!” Tante Cristelle exclaimed. “And also the gloves and the shawls and the hats and the shoes.” She leaned forward to thump her stick. “The shoes, they are most important.”
Miss Hartley glanced at her slippers in alarm, but Mr. Hartley only looked faintly amused. “I see.”
Tante Cristelle peered at him shrewdly. “And all of these things, they will cost a pretty penny, non?”
She didn’t add that he would be providing a wardrobe for Emeline as well. It was understood in London society that this was the way in which Emeline would be recompensed for her time spent chaperoning his sister.
Emeline waited for some type of protest from Mr. Hartley. Evidently he hadn’t realized the expense involved in a young chit’s season. Most families saved for many years for the event; some even went into debt purchasing a girl’s costumes. He might be a very rich man in Boston, but how did that translate to London wealth? Would he be able to afford such an unexpected outlay? She was oddly disappointed at the thought that he might have to abandon the entire endeavor.
But Mr. Hartley merely took a bite from a bun. It was Miss Hartley who made the protest. “Oh, Samuel, it’s too much! I don’t need a new wardrobe, truly I don’t.”
A very pretty speech. The sister had given the brother an honorable out. Emeline turned to Mr. Hartley with raised eyebrows. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Daniel used the opportunity of the adults’ distraction to filch another bun.
Mr. Hartley took a long swallow of tea before speaking. “It seems you do need a new wardrobe, Rebecca. Lady Emeline says so and I think we must rely on her advice.”
“But the expense!” The girl looked truly distressed.
The brother did not. “Don’t worry over it. I can bear it.” He turned to Emeline. “When shall we go shopping, then, my lady?”
“There’s no need for you to accompany us,” Emeline said. “You may simply give us a letter of credit—”
“But I’d enjoy escorting you ladies,” the colonial interrupted her smoothly. “Surely you’ll not deny me so simple a pleasure?”
Emeline pressed her lips together. She knew he’d be a distraction, but there was no polite way to discourage him. Her smile was tight. “Of course, we would be glad to have your company.”
He gave the impression of grinning without actually changing his expression, the lines deepening on either side of his mouth. Extraordinary man! “Then I repeat, when shall we make this expedition?”
“Tomorrow,” Emeline replied crisply.
