Page 6 of The Earl's Hired Bride
“Speaking of which, here is the ribbon I wish to have embroidered.” She fetched a roll of blue silk. “It’s for a sash. I’d like that garland motif that your mother does so well, in darker blues and greys. And for you,” she turned to Jasper, “that box needs to go to Lord Dayle’s in Bruton Street.”
Emily bargained a moment, managing to convince the modiste that she’d need a trim to go with a matching spencer or pelisse, as well, and then she and Jasper set out again. They would have to split ways soon enough, and were making plans to meet up again in the afternoon, when a pair of boys tumbled out of a shop right in front of them.
“Three Fingered Jack!” one cried, holding his flat, wrapped package high.
The other thrust a victorious fist in the air, “The Terror of Jamaica!”
Emily laughed, then quickly stepped around them when a little girl and a young woman emerged to join them.
Jasper elbowed her as they moved on. “Ain’t that the one in the park? The one we seen Miss Paxton snub?”
“Yes, poor thing. She looked devastated, too.” She’d seen the incident and felt sorry for the girl. “Miss Paxton only cut her because of her unfortunate gown,” she whispered.
Jasper was looking back over his shoulder. “It didn’t learn her nuthin’. She’s dressed no better today.”
Emily had seen. “Miss Carmichael, I think, is her name.” Again, she looked a fright in a walking dress too large, too out of date and covered with too many questionable frills and furbelows.
It was too bad. She seemed amiable and kind. Looking back, Emily watched her usher her brothers and sister along with patience and smiles. Lord Ardman would have done better to choose a girl like this over a cat like Miss Paxton. But the vainglorious gentlemen of thetonwould always flock to a fashion plate over a quiz, would they not?
Poor girl. She was likely the victim of an unskilled, untutored village seamstress with a collection of old fashion magazines. She only needed someone knowing to take her in hand and she’d strike a far better note with the young bucks.
She stopped suddenly. Now, was that not a thought?
“Are ye comin’?” Jasper asked.
“No. I think I’m going back to discuss something with Madame Lalbert.”
“Suit yerself.” Jasper lifted his chin. “See you tonight!”
Emily nodded and started back the way they’d come. Perhaps, just perhaps, she’d hit upon a scheme that would let her turn things around without selling her soul or sacrificing her pride.
Chapter 2
Cole Herrington, the Earl of Hartford, accepted the coat his footman held out. “Tell them not to wait dinner on me, Williams. The lecture is all the way out at Hampstead. I’ll be late getting back.”
“A moment, before you leave, my lord?”
Hart’s head was full of weights, bushels, and triple yield barley. Most of his fellow peers would be bored witless at the thought of attending a session on the development of disease-resistant, higher-yield grain, but Hart was eager to implement new strains and practices. Impatient, he paused. “Yes? What is it?”
“Ah, well . . .” Williams cleared his throat. “A young person has been dawdling outside, just up the street. I thought you might wish to ah, take precautions.”
“I understand.” Damn it all! He’d scarcely been in Town but a few days. Was last Season’s circus to start up again, and so soon? “Very well, Williams,” he said curtly. “Alert my mother, if you please. And you come out with me to the street. It will be just as we practiced.”
“Yes, sir.” Williams gestured for a maid to run for the countess, then he put his hand on the door latch and took a deep breath. “Ready, sir?”
“No. But open it anyway.”
Hart went out, feeling the footman’s presence right on his heel. He spotted the young lady. She’d stepped out smartly when the door opened. She began to fumble with her reticule, but Hart saw her glance up once, and again, gauging her steps.
As she’d obviously planned, they reached the pavement in front of Herrington House at the same time. As he’d suspected, her arms flew up, right on cue. She stumbled toward him—
And he stepped back and aside even as Williams slid into his place and caught the girl as she fell.
“Oh!” she cried as the servant lowered her to the ground. “My ankle!” She cast a distressed gaze up—and looked blatantly surprised to find herself in the arms of the footman. “Oh.”
The front door flew open. Hart looked over and beckoned his mother. “Do you see?” he demanded, pointing at the girl.
“Oh, I can feel my ankle swelling,” she moaned. “If someone could just help me up . . .?”
