“Not long,” she hastened to reassure Hart’s sister, her cheeks going hot. “One week’s time, is all.”
“Here you are then.” Lily extended the simple white cotton gown to her. “You look tired, if you don’t mind my saying.”
Of course, it was a terribly rude observation to make, and most definitely not a remark anyone in her former circle would have offered. However, it had never been clearer to Emma that she was a far cry from the circles in which she had once so loftily dwelled as a diamond of the first water. Once, she had been deemed the catch of the marriage mart. Gentlemen had tripped over each other to dance with her. Ladies had been desperate to claim her as a friend for the éclat it would bring them.
Until one reckless moment at a ball had brought ruination upon her.
And then, all her marital prospects had dried up like a river in a summer drought, taking with them any hope of finding an answer to her family’s steadily growing woes. She would never forgive herself for faltering when she should have remained strong.
“I am tired,” she found herself conceding to Lily, returning to the moment with a jolt. The past was where it belonged, and she could not change it. “Thank you for your generosity. I can only hope one day I will be able to return it.”
“No need,” Hart’s sister said kindly. “With my sisters gone, I’m pleased to have some feminine companionship aside from the maids and the washerwoman. Agnes is a dear, but she’s busy and she hasn’t time for me.”
How different it was here. Emma could not fathom, even in their reduced circumstances, chatting with maids and a washerwoman. Mother would have required her smelling salts at the prospect.
But then, Mother was gone, and that was one of the many reasons why Emma found herself in the living apartments above a den of vice, wearing the gown of a harlot, about to give her innocence away to the man who had paid the most for the dubious privilege of owning her, as he had said.
Body and soul.
She shivered and rubbed her arms. Not from the cold any more this time than the last.
Lily took note. “Forgive me, Emma. I’ll leave you to your privacy now. I expect you’ll be wanting to change into something that affords you more warmth.”
“Yes,” she agreed, seizing on the excuse. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lily.”
“And you.” With a last, assessing look, Hart’s sister took her leave.
Emma again found herself alone.