Whichever aunt had seen to her debut was absent now, it would appear. Her father lived, but his infirmity prevented him from acting in any useful capacity for her.
It made Max wish he could rescue her. Despite his knowledge that she was on the verge of being ruined by her own foolish choices—or perhaps, because of them. Yes, that was it, he surmised now.
Max didn’t blame Miss Whitmore for her waywardness.
She was alone, without anyone to guide her, except possibly Miss Bromley, and the latter was not a governess, but a companion. When had a lady’s companion ever held dominion over the lady she served?
But what could be done?
Max had no influence over how Miss Whitmore’s future would progress.
He could but stand by and watch the tragedy of her ruin unfold before him, it seemed.
It was unbearable.
***
As she waited with Alice by Portman Square Garden’s southern gate, Emilia spied Ceastre and the lieutenant, once again leading the curly-haired dog, as they crossed the busy street. As soon as they were near she gave a polite curtsey and greeted them.
Summer neared and the days were longer, otherwise they might not have had much time for a promenade. Emilia was thankful, as she fell in step beside the earl, that so many people seemed intent to enjoy the weather, still, in the late afternoon. The meeting hardly appeared out of the ordinary.
‘Now, let’s resume where we left off,’ Ceastre said. ‘You met my aunt?’
Emilia nodded. Ahead, Alice laughed and played with the dog, still on a lead held by the lieutenant. The canine tugged on a stick Alice held.
‘Yes, her ladyship gave us a tour of the garden,’ Emilia said, eyeing her friend. Did Alice laugh more when she walked with Lieutenant Roberts? But Emilia could not allow such questions to distract her. She had enough to sort through. Turning to glance at Lord Ceastre, she said, ‘Your aunt is a dear lady.’
The earl’s face took on a wistful expression, and Emilia imagined he was thinking of his aunt’s grief. She wished Alice had not chosen to trouble him with it. The circumstances could not be changed now. The time for his second guessing of the announcement of his death had passed three years ago. The only remedy at present was for Ceastre to clear his name and set everything to rights. His aunt’s grief might be mitigated then, one hoped.
‘I made arrangements to return to visit her tomorrow,’ Emilia told him.
His eyebrows went up and he faced her, hesitating in his gait. ‘Did you?’
‘Yes,’ Emilia said, pleased that his countenance had lightened with the news. ‘She has a climbing rose afflicted with black spots, and I offered to bring her a remedy.’
Ceastre looked her over as if seeing her anew. ‘I say, bravo, Miss Whitmore. I am very impressed; that was cleverly done.’
The praise warmed her. ‘I shall endeavour to have another look around then,’ she said. ‘Although I cannot guarantee success.’
‘Shall I describe the desk to you? I’m certain that the blackmail letter still resides within it. No one knew of the false bottom in the drawer,’ Ceastre said. ‘The first drawer, at the top. I am convinced the letter must still remain within its secret compartment.’
‘Yes, please do describe the desk, sir.’
‘I think you’ll find it easy to recognize, for it is unusual in that it is polished with a black Japanese finish,’ he said. ‘It has gold leaf details and solid bronze handles. It has four drawers under the slope top.’
That does sound distinctive, Emilia thought. Surely I will recognize it.
‘I see,’ Emilia said aloud. ‘I am confident that your description will be amply sufficient to my task, sir.’
I only hope the desk is still in one of the house’s rooms. Although there are so very many of them.
‘You have my gratitude for your perseverance, Miss Whitmore,’ he said.
Emilia smiled at him, pleased. He regarded her as if considering whether to speak, and for a moment, her heart began to beat harder.
Impossible, she told herself severely. What you hope for is impossible.
She dared not even put her desire into words.
‘It must be very difficult,’ Ceastre said, ‘attempting to care for your father.’
The unexpected statement acted as a much more successful dampener on her romantic notions than her own admonishing thoughts had been.
Emilia broke his gaze and looked ahead, watching Alice as she now led the dog, letting him pull her from shrub to shrub.
‘Yes,’ Emilia owned. ‘I am often distressed, for I very much wish to afford him