Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(76)

The duchess was clearly startled by the gesture. “I have no wish to rob you of your keepsakes, child.”

“Please,” Tasia said earnestly. “You've given me a gift more precious than anything in the world…your son. I should like to give you a token in return.”

The duchess looked from the gold cross in her hand to Luke, as if debating their respective worth. “There may come a day when you'll decide you've been shortchanged,” she said dryly. “Nevertheless, I accept your gift. You may place the cross around my neck, child.” She cracked a smile as Tasia fastened the chain. “I approve of my son's choice,” she said. “You remind me of myself when I was a young wife. I will lecture Luke later about being a respectful and sympathetic husband.”

“He treats me very well,” Tasia assured her, glancing impishly at her husband. Luke appeared to be dumbfounded by his mother's comments. Sternly Tasia held back a smile. “Your Grace, would you allow me to walk with you to the lavender suite? I took the liberty of having it prepared for you.”

“Yes, indeed. I do have a fondness for those rooms. Lavender is flattering to my complexion.”

The two women walked away arm-in-arm, while Emma and Luke watched in openmouthed silence. Emma was the first to speak. “She made Grandmother like her. Grandmother doesn't like anyone.”

“I know.” Suddenly Luke laughed. “She may be a witch after all, Emma. But don't tell her I said so.”

The next few days passed in a pleasant fashion, although Tasia was dismayed by the amount of time Luke was gone. When he returned late every evening, his clothes reeking of cigar smoke, his breath tainted with port, he offered only cryptic explanations of the business meetings he had been obliged to attend. “Only men are present at these meetings?” Tasia had asked suspiciously, helping him off with his boots as he sat on the bed.

“Old, gray-haired men with big bellies and yellow teeth.”

Tasia examined his shirt collar closely. “That's a relief. I should hate to start examining your clothes for traces of perfume and rouge every night.”

Slightly drunk, and happy to be alone with her, Luke pulled her on top of him. “Feel free to examine everything,” he invited, burying his nose and mouth in her sweet-scented hair. “Nothing to hide. Look here, in fact…and here…” He rolled and crawled amorously over his giggling wife.

In the daytime Tasia was usually busy with the duchess and Emma as the three of them shopped for house furnishings and paid calls to acquaintances. The duchess had undertaken to introduce Tasia to her most favored friends, old society lionesses who were charmed by Tasia's inflexible good manners. Such a modest, gently bred girl, they exclaimed approvingly. So different from the frivolous modern misses who knew nothing of how to employ a needle and thimble, and often didn't bother with gloves or curtsying. Tasia's decorum pleased the old ladies to no end, causing them to declare that their faith in the future of civilized society had been restored.

The duchess spent the afternoons resting in her room while Tasia oversaw Emma's lessons. To Tasia's delight, Emma had started writing a play. “I'm going to be a stage actress,” Emma informed her. “Imagine me, treading the boards at the Theatre Royal…I would make the most splendid Lady Macbeth ever!” She demonstrated her thespian talents by performing the sleepwalking scene from Macbeth with an enthusiasm that sent the duchess reaching for her smelling salts.

Upon receiving an invitation for a party to be given by Lady Walford in honor of her daughter's birthday, Emma declared violently that nothing short of an apocalypse would make her attend. “I'll be the tallest one there! I'll be taller than all the boys! And someone will say something about the color of my hair, and I'll be obliged to hit them in the nose, and there'll be a terrible scene. I'm not going.”

Luke's fatherly talk with Emma failed to make any impression on her. He looked perplexed and vaguely harassed as Tasia questioned him about the conversation. “She doesn't want to attend,” he said shortly. “Forcing her to go will only make her miserable.”

Tasia sighed. “I don't think you understand, my lord—”

“You're right,” he said darkly. “In spite of my best efforts I stopped understanding Emma when she reached the age of seven. You handle her.”

“Yes, Luke,” she said, restraining a wry smile. Luke was a devoted father, but when Emma's problems could not be solved with presents and kisses, he seemed at a loss about what to do.

Tasia went to Emma's room and tapped gently on the closed door. When there was no response, she pushed the door open and looked inside. Emma was sprawled on the floor, sorting through her doll collection. There was a mutinous expression on her face.

“I suppose you're going to say you want me to go to the party,” Emma muttered.

“Yes.” Tasia sat beside her, her skirts billowing and setting in a shimmering green pool. “It's an excellent opportunity for you to make friends with some girls your age.”

“I don't need friends. I have you and Papa, and everyone at Southgate Hall, and Samson—”

“And we all adore you,” Tasia said, smiling. “But that's not enough, Emma. I know from experience. I grew up every bit as sheltered as you've been—more so—and I never had friends my age. I don't want you to be as lonely as I was.”