AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Emeline watched the girl thoughtfully. The sentiment was correct, to be sure, but Rebecca phrased the words almost as a question.
“My lady,” Mr. Hartley said, suddenly at her side.
Emeline started and glanced at the man in exasperation. Had he crept up beside her on purpose?
He smiled that maddeningly cryptic smile of his and held out a plate of pink sugared sweets. Behind him, a girl brought the tray of tea things. Mr. Hartley’s coffee-brown eyes seemed to chide Emeline for her pettiness.
She took a breath. “Thank you, Mr. Hartley.”
He inclined his head. “My pleasure, Lady Emeline.”
Humph. She tasted a candy and found that it was tart and sweet at once. Just right, in fact. She glanced at her aunt. The older lady had her head close to Rebecca’s, talking intently.
“I hope my aunt is not lecturing your sister,” she commented as she poured the tea.
Mr. Hartley glanced at Rebecca. “She is made of sterner stuff than she looks. I think she will survive whatever travails your aunt may throw at her.”
He was leaning casually against the wall not two feet away from her, all the chairs having been already taken. Emeline sipped at her tea as her gaze fell to his strange footwear.
Without thinking, she voiced her thoughts. “Wherever did you come by those slippers?”
Mr. Hartley extended one leg, his arms still crossed at his chest. “They’re moccasins, made from American deerskin by the women of the Mohican Indian tribe.”
The ladies at the next table got up to leave, but he made no move to sit down. The bell rang over the shop door as more people came in.
She frowned at Mr. Hartley’s moccasins and the leggings above them. He’d gartered the soft leather just below his knees with an embroidered sash and let the ends hang down. “Do all white men wear this attire in the Colonies?”
“No, not all.” He crossed his legs again. “Most wear the same shoes or boots as gentlemen wear here.”
“Then why do you choose to sport such strange footwear?” She was aware that her voice was sharp, but somehow his insistence on unconventional clothing was unbearably irritating to her. Why did he do it? If he wore buckle shoes and stockings like every other gentleman in London, no one would notice him. With his wealth, he could perhaps become an English gentleman and be accepted into the ton. He’d be respectable.
Mr. Hartley shrugged, patently unaware of her inner turmoil. “Hunters wear them in the woods of America. They’re very comfortable and much more useful than English shoes. The leggings protect against thorns and branches. I’m accustomed to them.”
He looked at her, and in his eyes she somehow saw that he was aware that she wished he was conventional and more like the usual English gentleman. He understood and it made him sad. She stared into his warm, brown eyes, not knowing what to do. There was something there, something they communicated between them, and she didn’t quite understand the subtleties.
Then a male voice spoke from behind her. “Corporal Hartley! What are you doing in London?”
SAM TENSED. THE man hailing him was slender and of average height, perhaps a little below. He wore a dark green coat and brown waistcoat, perfectly respectable and ordinary. In fact, he would’ve looked like a thousand other London gentlemen if it weren’t for his hair. It was a bright, orangey-red and clubbed back. Sam tried to place the stranger and couldn’t. There’d been several redheaded men in the regiment.
The man grinned and stuck out his hand. “Thornton. Dick Thornton. I haven’t seen you in, what? Six years at least. What’re you doing in London?”
Sam took the proffered hand and shook it. Of course. He could place the other man now. Thornton had been one of the 28th. “I’m here on business, Mr. Thornton.”
“Indeed? London is a long way for a backwoods tracker from the Colonies.” Thornton smiled as if to take the insult from his words.
Sam shrugged easily. “My uncle died in sixty. I mustered out of the army and took over his import business in Boston.”
“Ah.” Thornton rocked back on his heels and glanced inquiringly at Lady Emeline.
Sam felt an odd reluctance to make the introduction, but he shook it off. “My lady, may I present Mr. Richard Thornton, an old comrade of mine. Thornton, this is Lady Emeline Gordon, Captain St. Aubyn’s sister. Also, this is my sister, Rebecca Hartley, and Lady Emeline’s aunt, Mademoiselle Molyneux.”
Thornton bowed showily. “Ladies.”
Lady Emeline held out her hand. “How do you do, Mr. Thornton?”
The other man’s expression sobered as he bent over Lady Emeline’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, my lady. May I say that we were all grieved when we heard of your brother’s death.”
No distress showed on Lady Emeline’s face, but Sam felt her stiffen, even though several feet separated them. He could not explain how this was possible, but it was as if there was a change in the very air between them.
