Page 57 of A Foolish Flirtation

Teddy paused as though flummoxed, then he seemed to identify the issue. “She is not your friend, Papa,” he responded sternly. “She is your wife.”

“Why can she not be both?” Jeremy asked, but when Emmie’s gaze flew to his face, he was not looking in her direction.

“She just can’t,” Teddy insisted, still frowning. “It stands to reason.”

“Nonsense. Aunt Mina calls your uncle by his surname,” he pointed out.

Teddy opened his mouth as if to argue and then closed it again. “Ye-es,” he agreed uncertainly after a moment’s reflection. “I suppose she does.” He looked thoughtful. “You mean, she calls him that because Uncle Nye is Aunt Mina’s best friend?” he asked.

“Do you know, I rather think he is,” Jeremy concurred.

“Are you speaking of your sister and her husband?” Emmie asked as Lottie reappeared to set down another cup and saucer before disappearing again.

“Uncle Nye is Papa’s brother too,” Teddy put in as Jeremy murmured the affirmative, helping himself to coffee.

Emmie had just decided he must mean brother-in-law when Jeremy cleared his throat. “Half,” he said hurriedly. “Different halves,” he added with a dismissive gesture. “I’ll explain later.”

At this point Teddy sat up with an exclamation. “The key!” he said, pointing at the door which led to Jeremy’s suite. “It’s this side now!” He looked around the table with wondering eyes. “Papa always keeps it locked and on his side of the door!”

Emmie looked toward Jeremy, who had briefly closed his eyes. He opened them again, looking rather pained. “Teddy,” he said. “Do be quiet and eat your breakfast.”

12

After they had breakfasted, everyone drifted off to their own quarters to dress, with plans to reconvene for a tour of the formal rooms downstairs. Emmie had just selected an apple green reception dress, which had seen better days, when Lottie peeked in at the doorway of her dressing room.

“I wondered if you might be in need of a helping hand, milady,” she said hopefully.

“That would be very kind,” Emmie said at once, for she usually had Pinky’s help with out-of-reach fastenings.

Lottie bustled in at once and made unerringly for the few drawers that contained Emmie’s stockings and undergarments, making the selection for the day.

“Was it you that packed all my things away for me?” Emmie guessed. “Thank you so much. You must have been busy while I was fast asleep.”

Lottie beamed at her. “I always wanted to be a lady’s maid,” she confessed, “but, well, I never got a fair chance with—” She broke off her words in confusion and turned red.

“With my predecessor?” Emmie asked lightly. “You must not think I will be offended by your referring to such things. I am well aware that Lord Faris was married before.”

Lottie’s shoulders relaxed. “Well, yes. She took against me on account of I sometimes hum a tune under my breath when I’m not thinking. She said it was ‘an intolerable dirge’ and she would not stand for it, so I had to fall back on a chambermaid’s duties.”

“I see, what a pity.”

“But ’praps you won’t be so particular, milady. In which case I could have another shot at it.” She looked so eager that Emmie did not have the heart to refuse her.

“Do you have such a thing as a combing jacket, milady?” Lottie asked as Emmie seated herself before the dressing table.

“A what?”

“It is a garment specifically designed to be worn over your nightgown while I brush your hair,” Lottie explained. “That way, any shedding will not get on your clothes.”

“Oh, I see. No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Emmie admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever owned such a thing, not even during my London season.”

Lottie looked rather crestfallen at this news but when Emmie informed her that she was expecting the imminent arrival of new clothes from a fashionable modiste, she perked up a little. “Doubtless, she will have made you one, milady, if she knows what’s what,” she opined with confidence. “And a nice sacque gown for you to wear during your morning toilette.”

The neat maid cast a somewhat disparaging look over Emmie’s nightgown. Oh dear, Emmie thought. No one was impressed with her nighttime attire but after all, it had never been intended for such scrutiny! She hoped Madame de Flores had included a sacque gown with her trousseau or Lottie would be most disappointed. “Possibly,” Emmie responded cautiously. “I sort of, well, gave her free rein over the contents.”

“And if she has not, you can always write to her and order one, now she’s got your measurements,” Lottie said blithely.

“You seem very knowledgeable about a lady’s toilette, Lottie,” Emmie commented as the young woman started sectioning out her abundant hair in a businesslike fashion.