“I think Mummy can be wherever she wants to be,” Nell concluded firmly, as though the subject had been settled to her satisfaction. She rested her chin on her hands and said slyly, “I know something else about the window, Emma.”
Emma was so relieved to see a mischievous glimmer return to Nell’s eyes that she was willing to play along. Leaning her own chin on her hands, she asked brightly, “What’s that, Nell?”
“I know what made it change.”
“Do you?” Emma asked, trying to sound enormously intrigued.
“Uh-huh.” Nell nodded vigorously. “It was the light.”
Emma sat back on her heels and stared at the child, disconcerted. “The light?”
“The really bright light that lit up the rain last night. That’s what made the window change.”
Emma frowned slightly. “Are you talking about the flares Kate shot off?”
Nell snickered. “Kate said Grayson was a twit and she didn’t know anything about any ratty old flares. It’s not flares, Emma.”
Emma’s heart began to beat double-time. “But you saw what made the light? You saw where the light came from?”
“You can see everything from the gallery,” Nell reminded her.
“Can you show me where the light came from?” Emma asked.
“ ’Course I can.”
Emma nodded. It was ridiculous to let herself get so excited. Nell had probably been working on a story all morning and was about to try it out. Except that all of Nell’s stories so far had been true. Emma pulled the towel from her head and let her hair fall loose. Ignoring mild protests from her back and shoulders—the hot bath really had worked wonders—Emma scooped Nell up from the floor and carried her across the bedroom and out onto the balcony.
“Okay, now, Nell,” said Emma, swinging the child onto her hip, “show me where the light came from.”
Nell slowly raised a dimpled finger until she was pointing directly at the elaborate wrought-iron finial on the top of the birdcage arbor. Emma’s jaw dropped.
“Emma?” Nell asked, fluffing Emma’s hair.
“What is it, sweetheart?” Emma asked distractedly.
“What’s a palooka?”
Emma looked at the child’s face, only inches from her own, then planted a kiss on Nell’s cheek and put her on the ground. “I’ll explain while I get dressed,” she promised, taking the little girl’s outstretched hand and leading her back into the bedroom.
24
Grayson was trudging stolidly up the main staircase when Nell and Emma came hurrying down it. He stood to one side, eyeing Emma warily until he caught sight of her left hand, which Nell had insisted on bandaging from wrist to fingertip with what seemed like several yards of white gauze and an equal amount of medical tape acquired, according to Nell, from the stores of the ever-helpful Nurse Tharby.
“Good Lord, Emma,” Grayson exclaimed. “I’d no idea you’d injured yourself.”
“Just a scratch,” Emma said. She flexed her hand to prove it, then tucked it out of sight in the front pocket of her violet-patterned gardening smock. Looking down at the toes of her wellington boots, she began, awkwardly, “Er, Grayson—”
“I’ll meet you in the banquet hall,” Nell said abruptly. She looked from Emma’s face to Grayson’s, then turned and ran back up the stairs.
When Nell’s footsteps had faded into the distance, Emma tried again. “Grayson—about last night. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. My behavior was inexcusable and I apologize.”
“Oh, I don’t know....” Grayson leaned back against the banister and sighed. “Had it coming, I suppose.”
“That may be true,” Emma said, “but it shouldn’t have come from me.”
The duke smiled wryly. “I’ve gotten plenty of it from Kate since then. Kate and everyone else. Even Crowley, preoccupied as he is, found time to sniff disapprovingly in my direction when I stopped by to look in on Mattie. But, then, Kate always was his great favorite.”
“How’s Mattie doing?” Emma asked.
Grayson’s smile faded and his brown eyes clouded over. “Time will tell,” he replied gravely. “Dr. Singh believes that she’ll recover from her physical injuries readily enough, but as for the rest ...” Grayson sank down onto the stairs, as though too burdened by misery to consider finding a more comfortable spot. “It’s my fault, of course. I can’t help thinking that, had I been more welcoming to Susannah—”