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“Then what?”
“I like Mr. Green,” she said carefully, “and if you want me to continue seeing him...”
He tugged at her hands until she looked up. “Why should it matter to me if you see Mr. Green or not?”
“I thought...” Oh, this was embarrassing! “I thought that you wanted me to encourage him or a man like him. I thought you might like the fact that he’s an English-society gentleman, even though he has a silly laugh. It’s just so hard to tell what you want.”
“What I want is for you to be happy,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I might object if you take a liking to a rat-catcher or an eighty-year-old grandfather, but other than that, I don’t much care who you marry.”
Rebecca bit her lip. Men were so obtuse! “But I want your approval.”
He leaned close to her. “You already have my approval. Now you need to start thinking about what you approve of.”
“That makes it very much harder,” she sighed, but she smiled as she said it.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “That’s good. Then you won’t be making any hasty decisions.” They started up the dim stairs.
“Mmm.” Rebecca muffled a yawn. “I do have a favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“Can you offer O’Hare a job?”
He looked down at her quizzically.
“I mean in America.” She held her breath.
“I suppose I can,” he said musingly. “But there’s no guarantee that he’ll accept it.”
“Oh, he will,” she said with certainty. “Thank you, Samuel.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied. They were at her bedroom door now. “Good night.”
“Good night.” She watched as he turned toward his own rooms. “You will speak to Lady Emeline, won’t you?” she called anxiously after him.
But he didn’t seem to hear.
THE SUN WAS shining through her window when Emeline woke the next morning. She stared at it dreamily for a moment before its full import hit her.
“Oh, dear Lord!” She jumped from the bed and rang frantically for a maid. Then, afraid the summons would take too long, opened her door and bellowed down the hallway like a common fishwife.
She turned back to her room, found a soft bag to pack, and began flinging things into it willy-nilly.
“Emeline!” Tante Cristelle stood in the doorway, hair still in braids, looking horrified. “What has possessed you?”
“Samuel.” Emeline stared at the open bag, clothing spilling out, and realized there wasn’t any time for packing. “His ship leaves this morning. It may have already left. I have to stop him.”
“Whatever for?”
“I have to tell him that I love him.” She abandoned the bag and instead ran to the wardrobe to draw out her plainest frock. By this time, Harris had arrived in the room. “Quickly! Help me dress!”
Tante Cristelle sank onto the bed. “Why there is such a hurry, I do not know. If that man doesn’t know already that you have a tendre for him, he is an imbecile most severe.”
Emeline struggled up from folds of dimity. “Yes, but I told him I didn’t want to marry him.”
“And so?”
“I do want to marry him!”
