heirloom. Like the vase so thin it appeared almost like mere skin. She’d been afraid to touch it, but watched as her host had dropped the roses he brought everyday into the fragile thing as if it were no more than a wooden jar.
Sighing, she laid the quill down and fanned the letter, waiting for the ink to dry. Jason…Lord Ravensworth , had been a wonderful gentleman. She reached into the borrowed reticule and pulled out several coins. What to do with them? She had nothing to put them in. Ah, yes, the handkerchief.
It galled her that everything, even her cloak now, was borrowed. Jason had lent her his sister’s old wardrobe. Beautiful gowns, but still she felt horrible for taking them. And there had been mourning gowns from their father’s death. Not knowing what the borrowed clothing—two dresses, cloak and undergarments—cost, she took several more coins out and laid them with the rest in the center of the kerchief. At least she’d had the money that had been sewn into her petticoat, and the letters she had stashed in her old cloak.
She folded the paper and stood, the black traveling gown swirling around her ankles. She’d just leave the note and coins in his room. As she stepped through the adjoining door, she stopped, realizing how such a simple action could almost seem like trespassing. His room smelled of spice and the outdoors, a scent that would forever be imprinted on her mind as his.
Lord Ravensworth would not be pleased when he found her gone. They might be newly acquainted, but she was hardly a fool. He’d left two days ago on urgent business and promised to return as soon as possible.
Well, it was no secret she had relatives in London, but he didn’t know who they were—or even where. Besides, she’d imposed enough on him. It was time to move on. Emily knew the marquess was frustrated with her vague and half answers, but so be it. The man had more questions than that Socrates person she’d read about. Some Ravensworth had asked, she’d simply ignored. He’d wanted to know who Mary was.
She ran her hand down the black skirt and breathed deeply. Some things she would discuss with no one.
Sighing, she hurried across the room and put the letter and coins on the dark mahogany writing desk. In her own room, she grabbed the black bonnet from the bed and put it on, flinging the veils over her face. Perhaps she would be left alone by any inquisitive persons. She picked up the valise, again a borrowed one from Ravensworth’s sister, and the black cloak.
As she walked down the stairs, she wondered if perhaps she should wait another day, only having been allowed to walk about the last few days. She tended to tire easily. But, if she waited, his lordship could return and then he’d insist on going with her.
That thought brought her up short as it always did. Finding her family was something she had to do alone, practically a quest for her. It made no sense to others, she knew, but to her it was important. There was at least one thing in her life she could do on her own. Had to do by herself— for herself.
She took another deep breath and grabbed the banister and shakily descended the steps. By the time she’d carried her bag to the bottom, she wished she could sit down, but that would never do. She had places to go.
“Madam?”
Emily gasped and turned. The man moved like a cat. “Yes, Mr. Grims ?”
He looked over her with shrewd gray eyes. “If it pleases, Madam, as I’ve stressed before, it is just Grims .”
The man seemed to hate having “mister” put before his name. For the life of her, Emily could not understand why.
He continued, looking down his long, beak-like nose at her. “I can’t help notice you seem packed.” His gaze landed on her bag.
A smile threatened, but she quelled it. “How observant of you, Grims .”
“I am ever observant, Madam. May I inquire as to why you are seemingly readying for a journey?”
She couldn’t hold in the smile. “You may indeed
Sighing, she laid the quill down and fanned the letter, waiting for the ink to dry. Jason…Lord Ravensworth , had been a wonderful gentleman. She reached into the borrowed reticule and pulled out several coins. What to do with them? She had nothing to put them in. Ah, yes, the handkerchief.
It galled her that everything, even her cloak now, was borrowed. Jason had lent her his sister’s old wardrobe. Beautiful gowns, but still she felt horrible for taking them. And there had been mourning gowns from their father’s death. Not knowing what the borrowed clothing—two dresses, cloak and undergarments—cost, she took several more coins out and laid them with the rest in the center of the kerchief. At least she’d had the money that had been sewn into her petticoat, and the letters she had stashed in her old cloak.
She folded the paper and stood, the black traveling gown swirling around her ankles. She’d just leave the note and coins in his room. As she stepped through the adjoining door, she stopped, realizing how such a simple action could almost seem like trespassing. His room smelled of spice and the outdoors, a scent that would forever be imprinted on her mind as his.
Lord Ravensworth would not be pleased when he found her gone. They might be newly acquainted, but she was hardly a fool. He’d left two days ago on urgent business and promised to return as soon as possible.
Well, it was no secret she had relatives in London, but he didn’t know who they were—or even where. Besides, she’d imposed enough on him. It was time to move on. Emily knew the marquess was frustrated with her vague and half answers, but so be it. The man had more questions than that Socrates person she’d read about. Some Ravensworth had asked, she’d simply ignored. He’d wanted to know who Mary was.
She ran her hand down the black skirt and breathed deeply. Some things she would discuss with no one.
Sighing, she hurried across the room and put the letter and coins on the dark mahogany writing desk. In her own room, she grabbed the black bonnet from the bed and put it on, flinging the veils over her face. Perhaps she would be left alone by any inquisitive persons. She picked up the valise, again a borrowed one from Ravensworth’s sister, and the black cloak.
As she walked down the stairs, she wondered if perhaps she should wait another day, only having been allowed to walk about the last few days. She tended to tire easily. But, if she waited, his lordship could return and then he’d insist on going with her.
That thought brought her up short as it always did. Finding her family was something she had to do alone, practically a quest for her. It made no sense to others, she knew, but to her it was important. There was at least one thing in her life she could do on her own. Had to do by herself— for herself.
She took another deep breath and grabbed the banister and shakily descended the steps. By the time she’d carried her bag to the bottom, she wished she could sit down, but that would never do. She had places to go.
“Madam?”
Emily gasped and turned. The man moved like a cat. “Yes, Mr. Grims ?”
He looked over her with shrewd gray eyes. “If it pleases, Madam, as I’ve stressed before, it is just Grims .”
The man seemed to hate having “mister” put before his name. For the life of her, Emily could not understand why.
He continued, looking down his long, beak-like nose at her. “I can’t help notice you seem packed.” His gaze landed on her bag.
A smile threatened, but she quelled it. “How observant of you, Grims .”
“I am ever observant, Madam. May I inquire as to why you are seemingly readying for a journey?”
She couldn’t hold in the smile. “You may indeed
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