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“Towel,” she said, and stood as a maid held out an enormous drying cloth.
Probably they didn’t make drying cloths so large in the Colonies. It was lucky she had rejected Samuel and wouldn’t have to put up with inferior bath accessories. Emeline stood morosely as her maids dressed her, not even interested when the new wine-red silk was presented. She’d ordered the gown several weeks ago when she’d helped prepare Rebecca’s wardrobe. Now she might have been wearing burlap and ashes.
She finally grew restive as Harris fiddled with her coiffure. “That’s fine. I won’t be receiving visitors today, anyway. I think I’ll just go walk in the garden.”
Harris glanced doubtfully at the window. “Looks like rain, my lady, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Oh, does it?” Emeline asked in despair.
This seemed the final straw, that the elements should conspire against her as well. She went to the window to peer out. Her sitting room overlooked the street, and as she watched, Samuel descended the steps next door and strode to a waiting horse. She caught her breath involuntarily. The unexpected sight of him sent a jab of pain into her middle, as if she’d been stabbed. Her hand trembled against the cold glass pane. He ought to have looked up then. He ought to have seen her watching him from her window above him. But rather mundanely, he did not. He mounted the horse and rode away.
Emeline let her hand drop from the window.
Behind her, Harris was still talking as if nothing had happened. “I’ll just put the new dresses away, then, my lady, unless you need me for anything else?”
“No, that’s all.” Emeline tore her gaze from the window. “No, wait.”
“My lady?”
“Fetch my cloak please. I wish to visit Miss Hartley next door.” This might be the only time she’d have to say good-bye to Rebecca. It didn’t seem right to let her sail to the American colonies without bidding the girl farewell.
Emeline swung the cloak on and hurried down the stairs, fastening the neck. She didn’t know how long Samuel would be gone, but it seemed imperative that she not meet him again. Outside, the sky was heavy and dark with impending rain. If Rebecca was in, she must remember not to stay too long or risk being trapped by a thunderstorm. Inhaling, she rapped on Samuel’s door.
The butler’s face was ever so faintly shocked when he opened the door. It was too early to be calling, but she was the daughter of an earl, after all. He bowed as she swept past him into the entry hall and then showed her to the small sitting room to wait while he fetched Rebecca. Emeline only had time to nervously glance out the windows before Rebecca came in.
“My lady!” The younger woman seemed startled at her visit.
Emeline held out her hands. “I could not let you go without saying good-bye.”
Rebecca burst into tears.
Oh, dear. She’d never quite known what to do with the tears of others. Secretly, Emeline had often thought that ladies who wept in public were desirous of attention. She hardly ever wept, and never in front of others—that is, she realized, until last night with Samuel.
Propelled by that uncomfortable thought, Emeline started forward. “There, there,” she muttered as she patted Rebecca’s shoulder awkwardly.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Rebecca gasped.
“That’s all right,” Emeline said gruffly, and handed her a handkerchief. What else could she say? She was almost certain that she herself was the cause of Rebecca’s grief. “Shall I ring for tea?”
The girl nodded, and Emeline led her to a chair while she gave orders to the maid.
“I just wish things could be different,” Rebecca said when the maid left again. She sat twisting the handkerchief in her hands.
“As do I.” Emeline sat on a settee and arranged her skirts with far too much care. Perhaps if she didn’t look at the girl, she could get through this. “Have you set a date when you will leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
Emeline looked up. “That soon?”
The younger woman shrugged. “Samuel found a berth on a ship just yesterday. He says we will sail tomorrow and leave the bulk of our belongings to be packed and sent on a later vessel.”
Emeline winced. Samuel must want to be quit of England—of her—very badly.
“Is it because you don’t love him?” Rebecca burst out.
The question was so sudden, so startling, that Emeline answered without thinking. “No.” She caught her breath at the near-admission and shook her head. “There are so many things.”
“Can you tell me?”
