Emma metLily in the hall at the appointed time, eager to be of help and to do something more than pacing within the confines of Hart’s room while awaiting his return. His wound remained a nagging worry, but she strove to put her concerns from her mind for the moment. So, too, her troubling realization about her feelings for him.
Feelings which she must do her utmost to banish.
His sister eyed her from head to toe, the expression on her countenance reminiscent of one Hart often wore. The sibling resemblance was uncanny, though where Hart’s hair was the midnight of a starless sky, Lily’s was golden and bright.
“You’ll be needing some boots,” Lily said, giving a pointed look at her borrowed slippers.
Since Hart’s sister had issued the invitation to her earlier that morning when their paths had crossed in the hall and Lily had shown Emma the way to the kitchens, she had been wondering what task she had agreed to offer assistance in. She glanced down at the footwear peeping from beneath her hem. “I do not suppose you have a pair I might borrow?”
“Fortunately for you, I do. Follow me.”
Emma trailed Lily down the hall and up another narrow set of stairs to what appeared to be the uppermost floor. “The ceiling is a bit lower up here,” Lily called over her shoulder. “I don’t reckon you’ll have to duck since you’re short as I am. My brothers being the tall coves they are didn’t wish for these rooms. But I prefer it for the quiet it brings me. Being surrounded by so many culls makes a lady positively touched in the upper works.”
“How many brothers do you have?” Emma asked as they crossed the threshold, entering what was undeniably a feminine chamber. Floral pictures decorated the walls, books abounded, and dresses and various undergarments, shoes, fans, purses, and even various pieces of jewelry were strewn about.
Everywhere.
“I’ve four now,” Lily said, moving with purpose across the room to a pile of slippers and boots near the bed.
“Now?” Emma asked, venturing deeper into the room, amazed by the clutter within.
It seemed that each new place she looked sprouted more. Bonnets and caps overflowed from a wooden box in a far corner. Books were piled beside a set of shelves, the tower leaning precariously to one side. Gowns were heaped on chairs and spilling from a wardrobe. Compared to the spartanly kept quarters of Hart, Lily’s overflowing, low-ceilinged room felt overwhelmingly snug.
“One of my brothers is dead,” Lily said, a deep sadness creeping into her voice even as she shuffled through the pile of boots and slippers. “He disappeared over a year ago. None of us knows what became of him, only that he’s gone.”
Emma thought of the deep bond she shared with her own sisters. Abigail and Cassandra were so dear to her. So important. They were the reasons she was here in the East End, the reason she had sacrificed herself. The notion of losing either of them was enough to make sadness well, heavy and strong, in her chest. And poor Hart as well, to have lost a brother.
“How terrible,” she said, uncertain of what, if anything, she could say to Lily to ameliorate the sting of the loss. “I cannot imagine not knowing what has become of someone you love.”
“It’s broken our hearts,” Lily said solemnly as she straightened, a pair of boots in hand. “Hart’s taken it worse than most of us. He’s determined to find out what’s happened, to the point that he…” She allowed her words to trail off and stepped forward, hand outstretched. “You may fit these.”
Emma accepted the offering, wondering what Lily had stopped herself from saying about Hart. She found herself newly curious about him, longing to know everything there was to know. It was foolish and silly, this incipient urge, but she could not seem to vanquish it.
“Were they near in age?” she asked, sliding her stockinged foot from one slipper before trying a boot. “Your brother and Hart, that is to say.”
Lily did not answer for a moment, and when Emma glanced up, she found Hart’s sister’s gaze on her, assessing. She flushed beneath the knowing frankness of that stare.
“You’re in love with him then, aren’t you?” Lily asked quietly.
Emma swallowed against a rush of embarrassment that she was so obvious in her affections. “Of course not. I merely admire him. He is a good man, kind and sweet.”
“Sweet?” Lily chortled. “Now I know he’s charmed you well. No one has ever dared to call Hart Sutton sweet before. If they had, he’d likely have given them a sound punch in the bread basket.”
Emma’s face went hot. “He has been good to me when I least expected it, and I shan’t forget.”
“Of course.” Lily’s humor fled. “I don’t know what brought you here or why, and it isn’t my place to ask. But Hart is a good man. You’ve the right of it there. Now, how do those boots feel?”
Emma wiggled her toes within their new confines, testing. “They do not fit snugly, but they’ll do.”
“All plummy.” Lily’s face brightened once again. “We’d best be on our way to the foundling hospital.”
Ah, so that was their destination. Emma wondered why she required the boots.
“We’ll be walking there,” Lily added, as if sensing her inner question.
Walking through the East End?
“Is it safe?” she felt compelled to ask.
“Oh, aye, more than safe.” Lily grinned. “One of the guards always accompanies me, and I’ve a pistol in my reticule.”
Of course she did.