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Sam kept his gaze steady but could feel a drop of sweat slide down his backbone. He didn’t like thinking of that day, and the crowded London street had already made him uneasy. “And the others?”
“Dead, all dead, I think. Most fell at Spinner’s Falls, although Ridley survived for a few months after—before the gangrene finally took him.” He grinned ruefully and winked.
o;Oh?” She watched his face. His expressions were so subtle, so fleeting, that she felt like a diviner when she caught them.
He nodded, his eyes hooded. “I worry that I don’t give her all that she needs.”
She stared ahead as she tried to think of a reply. Did any of the men she knew worry about the women in their lives this way? Had her own brother cared about her needs? She thought not.
But Mr. Hartley took a breath and spoke again. “Your son is a spirited boy.”
Emeline wrinkled her nose. “Too spirited, some would say.”
“How old is he?”
“Eight this summer.”
“You employ a tutor for him?”
“Mr. Smythe-Jones. He comes in daily.” She hesitated, then said impulsively, “But Tante Cristelle thinks I should enroll him in a school like the one you attended.”
He glanced at her. “He seems too young to leave home.”
“Oh, but many fashionable families send their sons away, some much younger than Daniel.” She realized that she was twisting a bit of ribbon at her throat in her free hand, and she stopped and carefully smoothed the piece of silk. “My aunt worries that I will tie him to my apron strings. Or that he will not learn how to be a man in a house of women.” Why was she telling a near stranger these intimate details? He must think her a ninny.
But he only nodded thoughtfully. “Your husband is dead.”
“Yes. Daniel—my son is named for his father—passed away five years ago.”
“Yet, you have not married again.”
He leaned closer, and she recognized the scent she smelled on his breath. Parsley. Strange that such a domestic scent would seem so exotic on him.
He spoke softly. “I don’t understand why a lady of your attraction would be left to languish for so many years alone.”
Her brow creased. “Actually—”
“Here is a tea shop,” Tante Cristelle called from behind them. “My bones ache most terrible from this exercise. Shall we rest here?”
Mr. Hartley turned. “I am sorry, ma’am. Yes, indeed we’ll stop here.”
“Bon,” Tante said. “Let us compose ourselves for a time, then.”
Mr. Hartley held open the pretty wood and glass door, and they entered the little shop. Small, circular tables were placed here and there, and the ladies settled themselves while Mr. Hartley went to purchase the tea.
Tante Cristelle leaned forward to tap Rebecca’s knee. “Your brother is very solicitous of you. Be grateful; not all men are so. And those who are do not often stay in this world overlong.”
The girl knit her brows at Tante’s last remark, but she chose to reply to the first. “Oh, but I am very grateful. Samuel has always been kind to me when I saw him.”
Emeline smoothed a lace ruffle on her skirt. “Mr. Hartley said that you were raised by your uncle.”
Rebecca’s eyes dropped. “Yes. I only saw Samuel once or twice a year, when he came to visit. He always seemed so big, even though he must’ve been younger than I am now. Later, of course, he enlisted and wore a magnificent soldier’s uniform. I was quite in awe of him. He walks like no other man I know. He strides so easily, as if he could keep up his pace for days on end.” The girl looked up and smiled self-consciously. “I describe it badly.”
But oddly Emeline knew exactly what Rebecca meant. Mr. Hartley moved with a graceful confidence that made her think he knew his own body and how it worked better than other men did theirs. She turned to watch Mr. Hartley now. He waited for his turn to buy the tea. In front of him, an older gentleman frowned and impatiently tapped his toe. There were other customers as well, some tapping their feet, some shifting their weight restlessly. Only Mr. Hartley was perfectly still. He looked neither impatient nor bored, as if he could stand thus, one leg bent, his arms crossed at his chest, for hours. He caught her eye, and his eyebrows slowly rose, either in question or in challenge, she couldn’t tell. Her face heated and she looked away.
“You and your brother seem very close,” she said to Rebecca. “Despite your childhood apart.”
The girl smiled, but her eyes seemed uncertain. “I hope we’re close. I think that we are close. I admire my brother greatly.”
