“Emma? Has something happened?” Lady Macintosh peered down at her from the drawing-room doorway, her still young face round and smiling. Despite her youthful countenance, her hair was gray, a soft sort of color that reminded Emma of early morning shadows broken up by pale yellow light. She was lovely, plump, and friendly, and Emma had known as soon as they’d met why her mother had loved Lady Macintosh. She was the type of woman you could love without trying.
“No. Not at all.” Emma pushed off the door. “I am merely tired. But the walk has done me well. My legs feel better.”
“Good.” She wound her arm through Emma’s and pulled her up the stairs. “Let me show you to your room.”
Emma had seen the girls run from the coach and into Lady Macintosh’s terrace home as if they lived there themselves, had seen the cousin she’d never met before grin and laugh, and begged to take a walk before going inside. They’d arrived so very late, and she’d been cramped inside a coach with her three sisters for so very long. Lady Macintosh’s brown eyes had gentled as she’d waved her toward the garden and begged her to be safe.
She’d not warned Emma that gentlemen grew from the ground like flowers in London.
“Briar, Glenna, and Diana are bathed and dressed for bed. They should be enjoying a small meal now. You have your own bedroom, connected to theirs. I thought you might like being close. But the entire second floor is close and cozy. You may have a different room, an entire set of rooms to yourself if you prefer.”
“What you’ve prepared is wonderful. Thank you.”
“No, thank you, dear. For helping my friend and for the opportunity to know you and your sisters. Your mother… beforewe married, we were as close as sisters. She was bright and beautiful and clever, and I’m afraid we produced nothing but mischief.”
“I never knew her that way.” She knew her sad and empty-eyed and aching from the previous pregnancy or the current one.
“You are much like her in looks. And your sister Briar much like her in personality. Fifteen is a difficult age, but she seems to be handling it well.”
Emma did everything she could to keep her happy. And innocent. Diana, too. But somehow she was more somber than a twelve-year-old girl should be. And at seventeen, Glenna knew too much of heartbreak, knew too well how the world was cruel to those who broke the rules.
Here they would be safe, though.
“I must write a letter to your father,” Lady Macintosh said, “and thank him for sparing all of you this Season.”
He’d almost not let her sisters come. But Emma would rather suffer his wrath in every way imaginable than leave them there alone with him. In the end, he’d been convinced that having three fewer mouths to feed meant more whisky for him.
Emma’s garden gentleman would understand. The fear, the determination, the love.
They reached the second floor, and Lady Macintosh swung open a door to a crackling fire, a small table laden with food, and three beloved faces turning their way. Happy. They wore happiness like they’d been born to it, and it almost brought Emma to her knees. For now, they were fed and warm and safe and happy. She’d do what she must to keep them that way.
Perhaps the kiss had been a reward for her devotion. The ghost of his lips warmed hers with each inhale and exhale. She’d treasure his kiss like a reward, remember it when she needed strength and sustenance to continue.
“Sit, Em.” Glenna patted a seat next to her, throwing her long red braid over a shoulder. “You, too, Aunt Georgie.”
Lady Macintosh had told them to call her such as soon as they’d arrived, and she sat among her sisters now, filling Briar’s teacup and putting another hunk of bread on Diana’s plate. “Eat up, darlings, eat up! My, but I am delighted your sister brought you along. While she is busy matching the duke’s sisters, you will keep me busy. My own daughters left me ages ago, and I’ve been bored ever since. Tell me, will you be bored entertaining an old lady all day?”
“What will we do?” Diana asked. The freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks almost glowed in the fire light.
Lady Macintosh tapped her chin and examined the ceiling as if she was choosing an answer from the boards above. “New gowns for all of you, naturally. A visit to Hatchards. Walks in Hyde Park. Astley’s Circus if you wish.”
Briar bounced, blue eyes wide. “Yes! I wish!”
Lady Macintosh chuckled. “Consider it done.”
Emma leaned against the door, letting the fire and the conversation warm her.
Lady Macintosh jumped to her feet. “Let me show you your rooms, my dear. You’re exhausted and likely wish to bathe as well. You may use this as your personal sitting room.” She led her across the hall. “The room to the left here is for the girls to share. You may have this one to the right.” She opened the door, letting Emma enter before her. “The door just there leads to a shared dressing room between your chamber and the other. The tub is in the girls’ room. Shall I have it refilled?”
“Aye. That would be lovely. Thank you.”
Lady Macintosh disappeared, and Emma wandered around the chamber. Neat and simple but everything solid and well cared for, elegant and pretty. She sat on the edge of her bed and unclasped her cloak, stretched her neck, and unbuttoned herspencer. The curtains were closed, keeping the warmth from the nearby fireplace from seeping out the glass, and she wandered toward them, slipped between the thick, gold brocade, and looked outside. The clouds covered the moon once more, making the garden below, in the middle of Grosvenor Square, a tangle of dark shadows.
Where had he gone to, her garden gentleman? No matter. He’d appeared when she’d needed him and disappeared when their moment out of time was done.
Tomorrow she’d meet another man, the one who lived across the garden from Aunt Georgie. She’d told Emma little about the duke in her letter. Only that he lived across the square from her, that she’d known him since his birth, and that he was in desperate need of a skilled matchmaker for his sisters.
Sisters. A veritable plague her garden gentleman had called them. It appeared the plague extended beyond them two. She chuckled, and a door somewhere creaked open, followed by the muffled sound of splashing. Then the door to Emma’s room opened, and Aunt Georgie slipped in.
