“She loves you, you know.”
He didn’t say anything, so Rebecca opened her eyes to see if he’d fallen asleep. He was gazing into the fire, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.
“I said, she loves you.”
“I heard.”
“Well?” She sighed gustily and a little grumpily. “Aren’t you going to do something about it? Our ship sails tomorrow.”
“I know.” He got up finally and stretched, wincing as something pulled in his side. “You’re about to fall asleep in that chair, and then I’ll have to carry you to bed like a little girl.” He held out his hand.
She placed her hand in his. “I’m not a little girl.”
“I know that,” he said softly. He drew her up to stand before him. “You’re my sister grown into a lovely and interesting lady.”
“Humph.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
He hesitated, then took her other hand and rubbed the backs of her fingers with his thumbs. “I’ll bring you back to England again soon, if you like, so that you can see Mr. Green or any other gentleman you might be interested in. I have no intention of crushing your hopes there.”
“I don’t really have hopes.”
He frowned. “If you’re worried about our lack of pedigree, I think—”
“No, it’s not that.” She looked down to watch his large hands holding hers. His hands were tanned even though they’d been in England for weeks now.
“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!”
“Tiens! Then it was very silly of you to become engaged to Lord Vale.”
“I know that!” Good Lord, she was wasting time arguing in circles with Tante Cristelle when Samuel’s ship might be sailing down the Thames right now. “Oh, where are my shoes?”
“Right here, my lady,” Harris said unperturbedly. “But you haven’t any stockings on.”
“I don’t care!”
Tante Cristelle threw her hands up in the air, imploring God in French to come to the aid of her so-deranged niece. Emeline thrust her bare feet into her shoes and hurried to the door, nearly running down Daniel.
“Where are you going, M’man?” her only offspring asked innocently. His eyes dropped to her bare ankles. “I say, do you know you haven’t any stockings on?”
“Yes, dear.” Emeline pressed an absentminded kiss to Daniel’s forehead. “We’re going to America, and they don’t wear any stockings there.”
Emeline left Daniel yelling huzzahs while Tante Cristelle and Harris tried to quiet him. She ran down the stairs, calling for Crabs as she went.
That imperturbable gentleman ran into the hallway looking startled. “My lady?”
“Bring the carriage ’round. Hurry!”
“But—”
“And my cloak. I’ll need a cloak.” She looked frantically about the hall for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Just past nine o’clock, my lady.”
“Oh, no!” Emeline covered her face. The ship would’ve left by now. Samuel would be out at sea. What was she to do? There was no way to catch him, no way to—