Page 29 of To Heal a Broken Earl
“The earl is an important man. Do not worry, Lady Emma. I have many seamstresses working for me, and I have hired several more. It is good to be busy,n’est-ce-pas?” The modiste smiled at her assistants, who both nodded enthusiastically. “It is because of such generous patrons as Lord Wilton that my establishment is thriving and that I can provide employment to good women who are talented with needle and thread. We are a busy hive of bees, and we enjoy our work,” she continued, smiling. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Lady Emma, and your darling niece, Miss Katie, and of course Master Finn, who has kept us so entertained with his many, clever tricks.” Turning to Katie, she added, “And we will remember the waistcoat and other neckerchiefs for Master Finn.”
Katie yet again clapped with delight. “Do you hear that, Finn? You’ll be the finest-dressed dog in the district!” Finn stood on his hind legs and turned in a circle—a favorite trick.
“That is most kind of you. Thank you,” Emma said, as she began to neatly fold the handkerchiefs that the modiste had thoughtfully provided.
“Non, non, non,my lady. We will fold and press everything and have it placed in your bedchamber and in Miss Katie’s room. Mr. Stanhope has already planned for two of the maids to assist.” As Madame Darnelle spoke, a soft knocksounded on the door, and two of the younger maids, Mary and Ellen, entered. They smiled and curtsied as the modiste began to direct them on where to take things.
Impulsively, Emma embraced the older woman and thanked her again.
The modiste blinked back tears and kissed Katie on both cheeks—“As they do in France,” she said—and gave Finn a pat on the head. “It has been a pleasure and a joy to work with you ladies. And you, too, Finn.”
“Well, I think perhaps we should take Finn for his walk,” Emma said. “Thank you again, Madame Darnelle.” She took Katie’s hand, and they left the modiste and the women to finish up. Madame Darnelle’s kindness and warmth had made Emma’s anxiety fade away. And she was feeling as excited as Katie about the dresses.
As they made their way downstairs and outside to the garden, she wondered what Michael would think about the new gowns. She realized that she wanted him to like the dresses. She wanted him to notice her.
And that realization made everything just a bit more complicated.
~*~
25 Curzon Street
Mayfair, London, England
That evening
From the shadows across the street, Morgrave stared at the townhouse at 25 Curzon. The interfering old woman deserved what was coming. His jaw was clenched. His hands opened and closed in agitation. The sky was a deep shade of violet, the shade that made a fire seem holy. It had been days since he’d last seen her, and more since he’d experienced the wonder of the flames. Simms had chased the carriage believedto be carrying both her and the girl for hours, eventually losing the vehicle in a throng of black conveyances on the turnpike that bore a resemblance. But Morgrave hadn’t given up. He wouldn’t.
He could have sworn he had her pinned early on at that posting inn, but when he finally convinced a maid to let him check, he’d found no trace of her.She had disappeared, but to where?
His first sight of her was burned in his memory. As flames engulfed the home she’d lived in, slowly reducing it to smoldering ash, she’d paused on her horse and turned back. Not just to look at the house, but to seek him out…him. The fire’s glow flickered in her eyes as she looked at him. He’d never allowed anyone to look upon him, always hiding his face when he lit the fires. That made her dangerous; that made her different from the others. But the combination of fear and horror in her expression, mirrored in the dance of the flames, excited him. When he found her, he would make her repeat it—and he would relish every moment.
Morgrave stood in the shadows, a sinister smile creeping across his face as he watched the lights being snuffed out inside the house across the street. The activity moved from one end of the building to the other as the occupants prepared for bed. He had been given a sign, one that affirmed his belief that the fires would purge London of the evil that had robbed him of his rightful life. More than a mere sign, the woman was fire come to life, and he would have her. After all, fire—she—had always been part of him, and it was right that they should be together now.
From his earliest memories, fire had been his sanctuary. She had been the one entity that gave him power, made him feel his full strength, feel the inherent power he would wield. Fire made him invincible. And now, his flame had made herself into a woman—hiswoman. Possessing her was not merely a desire; it was his fate. She was as vital as the air he breathed.
Lady Beadle knew her whereabouts—of that, he was certain—and the interfering old woman would tell him. He’d make certain. His mind whirled with ideas and schemes, calculating exactly how he would make her reveal the truth. Quickly, he settled his plan. It required daring, precision, and control—everything he excelled at. He planned to watch every movement. Like always.
Yes, the hunt has just begun…
~*~
Chapter Twelve
Two days later
“As rundown as I found this manor house, I was surprised to discover that there was a well-maintained game room, of all things,” Michael said before taking a swig of his brandy. “The rest of the house was allowed to go to hell in a handbasket, but the billiard room was maintained as if it were part of White’s,” he added. “How would you feel about a game of billiards?”
“I’d feel right at home,” Wright said, nursing his own brandy. “It seems this room was also maintained well.” He nodded to the burgundy leather seats they sat in, and the matching leather couch across the room, near a wall filled with bookshelves.
“Good. By the way, how did your visit with Aunt Chippie go?” Michael asked, topping up both of their glasses. “I thought you might be detained longer, but I am pleased you were able to rejoin us so quickly.”
“She’s as hale and hearty as ever.” Wright chuckled. “She gets out of sorts if I don’t stop by for a visit when I’m in the area. She’s quite the character. My family and I visited her nearly every summer, growing up. Of course, Gran and my sisters are going to spend the summer with her. I’ll be escorting them next month. And I’ll have to put up with both Gran and Aunt Chippie conspiring to marry me off. Like that will happen anytime soon.”
Michael arched an eyebrow. “Given how much you enjoy the company of the widow Fulbright—and I also heard there was an actress or an opera singer somewhere waiting in the wings—I believe you.”
“Damn Armstrong for his wagging tongue. He’s a worse gossip than Aunt Chippie.”
Michael threw back his head and laughed.
