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“Yes, of course,” Charlotte said. “I promise I’ll look in on your sister and then send you word on how she’s faring.”
“Thank you.” Emma’s smile returned. “Thank you so much, Lady Blackmore.”
If Charlotte had thought the young woman’s request was heartfelt, her gratitude was even more so.
“It is nothing,” Charlotte said. It truly would cost her hardly any time at all to ask after one little girl when she was planning on visiting the asylum anyway.
Emma gave her one more earnest smile and then stood. “If there’s nothing else, your ladyship, I best be back at work.”
“Yes, of course.” She’d hate to detain Emma long. The young woman doubtless had hours of chores to do still today. “Thank you for speaking with me.”
Charlotte was shown to the parlor next, where she sat and had tea with Lady Baxter for a quarter of an hour as the lady was at home. But there were several other ladies present, and the conversation stayed on topics such as the weather, Lady Baxter’s new lace trim, and how melodious the opera had been the previous night.
As Charlotte rode home after bidding the ladies good day, her visit with Emma replayed over and over in her mind.
Something was wrong. Why would a young woman beg to be granted help in finding a new post only to, a week or so later, decry needing anything at all? Indeed, she claimed she was quite content where she was.
Charlotte rang for tea when she reached her own sitting room, despite having just had some with Lady Baxter. She hadn’t taken more than a few sips while there anyway; she’d been too distracted by her meeting with Emma.
But now she needed to think, and tea always helped her.
Though this time, no matter how many sips she took, or how long she closed her eyes to mull over the few bits of information she had learned, no solution came to her.
Emma was not being fully open and honest with her; that was about all she had discovered. But what it was Emma was hiding was still a complete mystery.
Charlotte had tried to get the truth from Lord Windham, but the man refused to tell her what Emma had actually said and what he’d said in return. Now even Emma refused to tell her more.
But she had been so worried over her sister. Perhaps she might learn something from the younger Tilbury girl?
Still, if shedidlearn something, what good would that do? The committee hardly listened to a word she said anymore. A couple of years ago, several members had joked that she alone made over half the decisions every meeting. Since then, though, she’d slowly been dismissed more and more frequently.
Her heart sank. She couldn’t give up. She couldn’t just walk away. No matter that the committee didn’t care for her ideas, those girls still needed her. In the more than twenty years she’d been a patroness, Charlotte had found employ for dozens, if not hundreds, of other girls. Most of her friends, several acquaintances, and even many women she could hardly tolerate had all been convinced by her to take on maids from the asylum. Those had all turned out well, for the households and for the girls.
It may require a bit more effort to find a good home for Emma, but was not every girl worth the effort?
“Sir Mulgrave to see you, my lady.”
Charlotte shook herself. How long had she been lost in thought in the sitting room? She had a teacup in one hand and a small cake in the other. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d been holding both for several minutes.
She’d been so worried over Emma and the other girls at the asylum, she’d apparently forgotten what she’d been about. The cake was misshapen from being held so long, and she placed it on the table before her.
“Show him in,” she said to the manservant.
He inclined his head and walked out of the room. Charlotte wrapped her now free hand around the teacup. It was cold to the touch. She’d clearly gotten more lost in her thoughts regarding The Asylum for Orphaned Girls than she’d realized.
She placed her teacup down on the table beside her slightly squashed cake just as Seth walked into the room. Charlotte composed herself in time to ask the manservant to send a maid in with more hot water for tea before he left again.
“Good day to you, Lady Blackmore,” Seth said once they were alone.
“To you, as well,” she said, though hearing him call her by her title was starting to tug uncomfortably somewhere in her chest. It was a shame that propriety dictated that he continue to do so. What would it feel like to hear him call her ‘Charlotte’? A small thrill shot through her.
“I have come with a proposal,” he said, sitting down across from her.
“A proposal?” she said with a half-smile. “Sounds adventuresome.”
A maid hurried into the room, a large kettle in her hand. She placed it atop the table between the two of them. Charlotte took the momentary distraction of starting more tea to surreptitiously study the man sitting across from her. He wore that same jacket she’d seen him wear most days they spent together. To look at it, you could tell it wasn’t new, yet it also wasn’t unkempt. It was worn in all the most comfortable ways. It was as far from fancy as one could get, yet it was also clearly cared for and well-maintained.
Strange how one piece of clothing could say so much about a man.
