Sir Arthur indicated the sofa opposite his chair. “Please, Mr. Gardner. Emmalyn. Be seated. Marisol, you will bring a chair from the window and place it beside me.” His gaze moved between Emmalyn and Restell, his expression merely thoughtful, not judgmental. “What is there to tell me?” he asked before Marisol joined them. “I think I should like to hear from you first, Emmalyn.”
Emma’s hands were folded neatly in her lap, and they remained there while she spoke. It was only Restell who could observe that beneath the cup of her hands, her thumbs wrestled nervously. “I fear you do not recall, Uncle, that Mr. Gardner’s name was brought to your attention after I returned to town from Walthamstow.”
Just as if she had been visiting friends in the country, Restell thought. After I returned to town from Walthamstow. She might have been speaking of a journey she made regularly, so lightly did she offer this explanation. It did not entirely surprise him that she presented it in this fashion, but it put a rather pretty bow on an ugly package. Even so, he saw Sir Arthur shift uncomfortably in his chair, while Marisol finished giving the butler her instructions about tea and hurried to take her seat beside her father.
“Did you mention his name to me, Emmalyn?” Sir Arthur asked. “If you did, then you are correct, I have no memory of it.”
“It was Dr. Bettany. He was speaking to you outside my room. I was not eavesdropping, Uncle. I could not help but hear.”
Sir Arthur’s brow furrowed. He had a thick head of dark hair, and now he plowed it back with his fingertips as though he might be able to turn over the memory. “Can it be so important? You will have to speak plainly about the conversation because I cannot bring it to mind.”
“Yes,” Marisol said. “There is too much roundaboutation for my liking.”
Emmalyn ignored her. “Mr. Gardner is the gentleman that Dr. Bettany recommended you seek out to assist in the apprehension of—”
“I’ve got it,” Sir Arthur announced, his expression clearing. “The doctor suggested that we might wish to investigate. Discreetly, of course. If you overheard, then you know I thanked Bettany for his concern, but told him I would not be acting on his information. What he proposed was certain to be fraught with difficulties, not the least of which was assuring that strict confidences were kept. Discretion is much to be desired, often promised, and rarely realized.”
“Emmalyn understands, Father,” Marisol said. “She knows you were thinking of her reputation.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Restell saw Emma’s head droop slightly, as if it were suddenly too heavy for the slim stem of her neck. He knew, as she did, that Sir Arthur’s refusal to act had been largely to protect himself from any hint of scandal. That Marisol should not be touched by it was also a consideration.
Sir Arthur shifted his attention to Restell. “Bettany is responsible for you being here? I hope that is not the case.”
Emma did not allow Restell to answer. “I am responsible for Mr. Gardner’s visit, Uncle. I have retained his services. It has been ten”—she glanced sideways at Restell and managed a small smile—“actually eleven days since he and I arrived at our agreement. During that time he has been engaged in acts of discovery and protection. At my insistence, he is attempting to learn the details of what happened in the mews behind Madame Chabrier’s and whether I was mistaken for Marisol. As it will take some time before he can satisfactorily discharge this responsibility, he also has been acting as our protector.”
For several long moments there was complete silence, then Marisol and her father began speaking at once.
“You cannot mean that you—”
“It is beyond everything sensible that—”
“That you should defy my express wishes, it is not to be—”
“You have ruined all. It is a complete betrayal, Emmalyn.”
Restell decided it hardly mattered who said what. It was not as if either expected Emma to defend herself. Their objective was to make it clear that they now viewed themselves as the ones having been injured.
It was the outside of enough.
Restell stood. Although he made no threatening gesture, nor took a single step forward, the action of standing was sufficient to encourage silence. “That is quite all that should be said, I think.” There was rather more charity in his tone than he was feeling. “I intend to speak forthrightly and not spare your sensibilities as Miss Hathaway is wont to do. Moreover, I will not seek your permission to do so, nor will I beg your pardon later. Miss Vega, if you believe you will be offended by such things as I mean to say, then you should excuse yourself.”
Marisol had no opportunity to say whether she preferred to stay or go. Her father simply pointed to the door. The firmness of his expression did not invite protest. Marisol rose slowly to her feet and departed, looking over her shoulder only once before she slipped through the door. Emmalyn did not see the pleading expression cast in her direction, but Restell did not miss it.
Emmalyn wished she might call back her confession. By speaking out of turn she had forced Restell’s hand. He never told her when he expected to receive the full accounting of events, but it looked as if the moment was upon them.
She noticed that Restell Gardner had secured Sir Arthur’s full attention and a deeper measure of wariness as soon as he’d risen to his feet. He had a command of authority in his bearing that was bred in the bone, so intrinsic to his nature that he did not have to puff himself up to bring it about. He stood at his ease, just as he had when she’d met him, but it was as if the very air about him was charged with the force of his expectations. She had not observed this man before, the one who would brook no argument nor ask for favor. She no longer had any sense that he was but a few years older than she, so profound was his consequence. In the same vein, it was difficult to recall that she’d ever thought he was too easily amused. This man, the one who stood before her now, did not impress as one who smiled effortlessly or found humor in almost every aspect of the human condition.
Here was a man who gave no quarter.
“I will present you with the facts as I have come to learn them,” Restell said, addressing Sir Arthur. “Whether you accept them as such is for you to decide. One month ago, your niece went to Madame Chabrier’s as a kindness to your daughter. Miss Vega desired to end a flirtation with Mr. Jonathan Kincaid and asked Miss Hathaway to do the thing on her behalf.”
Sir Arthur glanced at Emma, one eyebrow raised in question. She nodded faintly.
“Miss Hathaway wore a pelisse and bonnet belonging to Miss Vega. When Miss Hathaway arrived at Madame Chabrier’s she was mistaken for Miss Vega at first glance by one of the shop girls. The reasons for this are twofold: the passing similarity of their features when Miss Hathaway is wearing garments associated with Miss Vega, and the relative infrequency of Miss Vega’s visits to this particular milliner. I have this information from both the shop girl and Madame Chabrier. It was Madame who corrected her employee’s mistake on the occasion of Miss Hathaway’s visit.”
Emma stared at her hands in her lap as she struggled to recall the events of that afternoon. She could not bring to mind any exchange of words with the shop girl and had not even a fleeting recollection of speaking to the milliner. The effort to bring these things to the forefront of her thoughts merely made her head throb. She was uncomfortably aware of a weight settling on her chest that was making it difficult to breathe. She forced herself to concentrate on what Restell was saying, though it was as if he were speaking to her from a great distance. She leaned forward slightly and strained to hear.
“Madame Chabrier remembered a gentleman coming into the shop while Miss Hathaway was there. Several young ladies visited moments later. She recalls this because Miss Hathaway was so gracious, even encouraging, in permitting her to inquire after the needs of her other patrons. She left Miss Hathaway to speak first to the