Page 19 of To Heal a Broken Earl (The Rakes of Mayhem #7)

“This deep gold color brings out the violet in your eyes, Lady Emma,” Madame Darnelle enthused.

“Not every woman can wear this particular shade of dark, golden yellow, my lady; on some women this shade looks like mustard and makes their complexion appear sallow, but those women do not have your coloring. The richness of your red hair, your alabaster skin, and your violet eyes are magnifique and most unusual.”

The modiste’s effusive praise caused Emma’s face to flush.

No one had ever given her so many compliments on her appearance—except her sister Evie, who constantly reminded her how much she resembled their beautiful mother.

Mama had passed away so early in their lives that Evie had been both sister and mother to Emma.

“Would we be able to stop for a few minutes? I’d love to have a cup of tea,” Emma said an hour later. She had been standing on a stool, holding her arms out, for almost the entire time, and suddenly felt the need for more soothing mint tea.

“Of course!” Madame Darnelle replied. “It will give me time to show you some of my readymade garments we just finished, which I correctly guessed would be perfect on you and your niece. We can make any adjustments while we are here.”

Emma nodded with a smile as she stepped down from the stool.

“Look, Auntie Emma! Finn is standing too,” Katie said as she hopped down from her stool. “He’s ready for his measurements to be taken. I think he’d like one of those vests that Lord Michael wears.” She giggled and clapped as Finn stood up on his hind legs and hopped in a circle.

“I think he is ready for the circus,” Emma said from the table where she was pouring tea for everyone, pleased that Mrs. Peppers had prepared such an abundant feast.

“ Mon Dieu , I have never seen a dog with such talent,” Madame Darnelle said with amusement.

“Madame, Finn has red hair just like Auntie. Would that mustard-colored material look good on him, too?” Katie asked.

The modiste laughed, and her assistants chuckled along with Emma.

“What a charming child you are, chérie ,” she said, crouching beside Katie to tuck a brown curl behind her ear.

“I think perhaps we can make him a vest and a very jaunty neckerchief as well. I believe Finn will look quite smart. What do you think?”

“Oh, I think that would be splendid!” Katie cried, clapping her hands again. “Auntie, can Finn have a bandana?”

“Of course, sweetie—if Madame Darnelle has time to make one.”

“Oh, it will be no problem,” the modiste said with a snap of her fingers. “We shall make him several—one to match each of your new dresses, chérie . He will look very dapper. Oui? ”

“ Oui! ” Katie shouted, bouncing up and down. Finn gave a soft woof and wagged his tail in approval, sending them all into laughter once again. “Do you like the pink dress on me, Auntie? Pink is my favorite color, you know,” she said, taking a bite of a biscuit before passing it to Finn to finish.

“Katie,” Emma said gently, “remember what Lord Michael said about overfeeding Finn. If we give him sugary things, it might make him sick.”

“I’m sorry, Auntie. I forgot.”

“Well then, it’s good that Mrs. Peppers sent along a small tray for him,” Emma said, smiling at her niece.

“I think Finn will approve.” She lifted the silver dome off the plate, revealing a couple of strips of bacon along with a small bowl of blueberries and strawberries—foods that Michael had approved for Finn’s snacking.

Katie beamed. “You cannot have any more of my biscuit, Finn. But if you behave, I shall give you a piece of bacon.”

“As long as you wash your hands afterward,” Emma reminded her, nodding at the pitcher of water and bowl in the corner of the room. She was confident Katie would obey.

The sight of the colorful fabrics and the sound of the modiste’s cheerful chatter stirred something deep in Emma—echoes of long-ago afternoons spent with her mother and sister in colorful, bustling boutiques tucked along London streets, where bolts of ribbon and spools of lace had once seemed like treasures waiting to be discovered.

She had been so young then. The memories were soft around the edges, more feeling than fact—her mother’s bright smile, the rustle of silk, the way her laughter had made even the plainest day feel like a celebration.

Evie remembered so much more. Her older sister could recount entire scenes: what their mother wore, what they’d chosen, what they’d eaten afterward.

Over the years, Evie had gently filled in Emma’s faded recollections, like mending a tapestry worn thin.

But now, in this unfamiliar place, those memories brought more ache than comfort.

Emma’s gaze shifted to Katie, who was twirling in delight, utterly captivated by the idea of dressing Finn in a neckerchief to match her dress.

That sweet, uncomplicated joy tugged at Emma’s heart.

She was grateful for it, grateful for the safety the estate provided, for the kindness shown to them here.

And yet beneath that gratitude pulsed something restless and uncertain.

She didn’t know how long they would need to stay.

The arsonist was still out there. The smoldering remains of their home were a reminder that the world could turn on its axis in a single night.

Though the manor was peaceful and the people generous, Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that her life—and Katie’s—was suspended in midair, like a breath waiting to be released.

The weight of responsibility settled on her shoulders; she had a huge task of outfitting the manor house—something very important to Michael—and her conscience would not allow her to leave until the job was finished.

Would things ever be normal again?

She wasn’t sure she remembered what normal felt like.

“My lady, how do you feel about this bronze silk?” the modiste asked, holding up a bolt of the shimmering silk.

“It’s the most beautiful fabric I’ve ever seen,” Emma said with a little awe as she smoothed her fingers over the rich material. “Perhaps it’s too luxurious for a day dress?”

“ Non , this is not for a day dress, my lady,” the modiste said with a smile. “Lord Wilton requested at least one formal gown for you.”

Emma suppressed a sigh of frustration. She’d accepted the fact that she needed a few simple dresses for every day and shifts and a pair of shoes…

but a ball gown? Michael was being far too generous.

But she would not say anything in front of the modiste—it would be an insult to Michael.

Instead, she smiled and said, “I love it. Do you have a style in mind?”

“I do,” Madame Darnelle enthused. “If you will trust me to complete it, I would like to surprise you.”

Emma nodded, her mind whirling at all the beautiful fabrics and undergarments surrounding her.

She was grateful for Michael’s generosity but had no idea where she would wear most of these clothes.

Thus far, she had selected a deep mauve velvet for a riding habit along with various fabrics in sapphire blue, deep gold, and rich amethyst. In addition, the skilled modiste had seen to every detail, ensuring all the necessary undergarments, pelisses, shoes, fashionable hats, and soft gloves were chosen.

Among the readymade items, Emma had selected an emerald-green dress and a dusty-rose gown with a fresh floral pattern, along with a lovely traveling dress in a darker damask blue.

She marveled that she’d never owned so many items of clothing before.

Nearby, Katie brimmed with enthusiasm. She’d wanted to choose every fabric she saw, but Emma gently reminded her that for now, selecting five would be more than enough.

Katie beamed as she’d chosen several readymade day dresses, including one in the same dusty-pink fabric as Emma’s, along with warm nightgowns and several dresses she could wear when playing outside that were of sturdier material, as well as the pretty shoes and charming ribbons in myriad colors, and a traveling cloak that would keep her warm—everything a young girl could desire.

The modiste approached her and Katie as they were looking through the pretty hair ribbons.

“My lady, Franchette and Aimee have already finished the alterations to the readymade gowns for both you and Miss Katie.” She and her assistants helped Katie and Emma into the matching dusty-rose gowns.

“Oh, you are both a picture of youthful beauty!” she exclaimed.

They had even fashioned a neckerchief for Finn from a bright blue scrap and now tied it around his neck.

“We shall return in two days with the rest of the garments for a final fitting,” Madame Darnelle proclaimed at last.

Emma was astonished. “I’m certain that with your full roster of clients, you already have so much on your plate. Please take your time—I do not want to add to your workload.”

“The earl is an important man. Do not worry, Lady Emma. I have many seamstresses working for me, and I have hired several more. It is good to be busy, n’est-ce-pas ?

” The modiste smiled at her assistants, who both nodded enthusiastically.

“It is because of such generous patrons as Lord Wilton that my establishment is thriving and that I can provide employment to good women who are talented with needle and thread. We are a busy hive of bees, and we enjoy our work,” she continued, smiling.

“It has been a pleasure meeting you, Lady Emma, and your darling niece, Miss Katie, and of course Master Finn, who has kept us so entertained with his many, clever tricks.” Turning to Katie, she added, “And we will remember the waistcoat and other neckerchiefs for Master Finn.”

Katie yet again clapped with delight. “Do you hear that, Finn? You’ll be the finest-dressed dog in the district!” Finn stood on his hind legs and turned in a circle—a favorite trick.

“That is most kind of you. Thank you,” Emma said, as she began to neatly fold the handkerchiefs that the modiste had thoughtfully provided.

“ Non, non, non, my lady. We will fold and press everything and have it placed in your bedchamber and in Miss Katie’s room.

Mr. Stanhope has already planned for two of the maids to assist.” As Madame Darnelle spoke, a soft knock sounded on the door, and two of the younger maids, Mary and Ellen, entered.

They smiled and curtsied as the modiste began to direct them on where to take things.

Impulsively, Emma embraced the older woman and thanked her again.

The modiste blinked back tears and kissed Katie on both cheeks—“As they do in France,” she said—and gave Finn a pat on the head. “It has been a pleasure and a joy to work with you ladies. And you, too, Finn.”

“Well, I think perhaps we should take Finn for his walk,” Emma said.

“Thank you again, Madame Darnelle.” She took Katie’s hand, and they left the modiste and the women to finish up.

Madame Darnelle’s kindness and warmth had made Emma’s anxiety fade away.

And she was feeling as excited as Katie about the dresses.

As they made their way downstairs and outside to the garden, she wondered what Michael would think about the new gowns. She realized that she wanted him to like the dresses. She wanted him to notice her.

And that realization made everything just a bit more complicated.

~*~

25 Curzon Street

Mayfair, London, England

That evening

From the shadows across the street, Morgrave stared at the townhouse at 25 Curzon.

The interfering old woman deserved what was coming.

His jaw was clenched. His hands opened and closed in agitation.

The sky was a deep shade of violet, the shade that made a fire seem holy.

It had been days since he’d last seen her, and more since he’d experienced the wonder of the flames.

Simms had chased the carriage believed to be carrying both her and the girl for hours, eventually losing the vehicle in a throng of black conveyances on the turnpike that bore a resemblance.

But Morgrave hadn’t given up. He wouldn’t.

He could have sworn he had her pinned early on at that posting inn, but when he finally convinced a maid to let him check, he’d found no trace of her. She had disappeared, but to where?

His first sight of her was burned in his memory.

As flames engulfed the home she’d lived in, slowly reducing it to smoldering ash, she’d paused on her horse and turned back.

Not just to look at the house, but to seek him out…

him . The fire’s glow flickered in her eyes as she looked at him.

He’d never allowed anyone to look upon him, always hiding his face when he lit the fires.

That made her dangerous; that made her different from the others.

But the combination of fear and horror in her expression, mirrored in the dance of the flames, excited him.

When he found her, he would make her repeat it—and he would relish every moment.

Morgrave stood in the shadows, a sinister smile creeping across his face as he watched the lights being snuffed out inside the house across the street.

The activity moved from one end of the building to the other as the occupants prepared for bed.

He had been given a sign, one that affirmed his belief that the fires would purge London of the evil that had robbed him of his rightful life.

More than a mere sign, the woman was fire come to life, and he would have her.

After all, fire— she —had always been part of him, and it was right that they should be together now.

From his earliest memories, fire had been his sanctuary.

She had been the one entity that gave him power, made him feel his full strength, feel the inherent power he would wield.

Fire made him invincible. And now, his flame had made herself into a woman— his woman.

Possessing her was not merely a desire; it was his fate.

She was as vital as the air he breathed.

Lady Beadle knew her whereabouts—of that, he was certain—and the interfering old woman would tell him.

He’d make certain. His mind whirled with ideas and schemes, calculating exactly how he would make her reveal the truth.

Quickly, he settled his plan. It required daring, precision, and control—everything he excelled at.

He planned to watch every movement. Like always.

Yes, the hunt has just begun…

~*~