If His Kiss Is Wicked. Jo Goodman
“She may not. It may be only that she is familiar with his reputation. He has one of some consequence.”
“The Brummel of artistic enlightenment,” Restell said wryly. “I was right to avoid an introduction, then.”
Emma’s blue-green eyes flashed her disapproval. “He does not have the plague, you know.”
“He was holding court at Lady Claremont’s ball while his fiancé was slipping out to the gazebo with Mr. Glover. Miss Vega aside, his audience appeared to be enthralled with his discourse.”
“Perhaps Marisol was desirous of his attention.”
“That also occurred to me.” He watched relief sweep through Emmalyn’s expression. He could not fault her for wanting to see her cousin in the best light. She seemed to have a sound sense of Miss Vega’s shortcomings of character and behavior, but she was perhaps too willing to view those foibles as a consequence of her cousin’s age. Restell was reserving judgment in that regard. He accepted immaturity as a contributing factor, but was uncertain that it explained the whole of Miss Vega’s precipitous disposition.
“Marisol is not quite all of a piece when she is not at the center of things,” Emma said. “I have known her to embrace an uncharitable mood. She cannot seem to help herself.”
“I’m sure she can’t,” Restell said neutrally. “I am given to understand Mr. Charters proposed some three months ago.”
“Yes, in March. How did you learn that?”
He shrugged. “That sort of information is freely offered in the course of a general inquiry about Mr. Charters. Did Miss Vega immediately accept?”
“She gave him her answer after Mr. Charters spoke to Sir Arthur. I believe that was the following day.”
“She did not seek your counsel?”
“No. She told me about the proposal, of course, but she did not ask me to offer an opinion as to the suitability of the match.”
“What is your opinion? He is considerably older than she.”
“My opinion is of no consequence. They are affianced. And he is eleven years her senior, not yet thirty himself, so it is hardly a chasm that separates them.”
“Tell me about Johnston.”
The abrupt shift in the tenor of his questions gave Emma a start. Her head came up a fraction and she frowned at him. “Johnston?”
“You mentioned him earlier in your uncle’s presence. Do you recall?”
“I do, now that you have reminded me, but I fail to comprehend why he is a point of inquiry.” She set down the sketches and held up one hand, forestalling his explanation. He would likely ask her to simply indulge him without offering any hint as to what provoked his curiosity. “Mr. Johnston was my uncle’s secretary for almost a score of years. Do not depend on my recollection regarding the length of his service. You would have to inquire of Sir Arthur.”
“It seemed to me that your uncle desired not to speak of the man. He was quick to put a period to that conversation.”
“You do not permit me to move you from your purpose so easily.”
Her faintly accusing tone raised his smile. “That is because you approached me, Miss Hathaway, and asked for my help. It would not be in your best interest if I allowed you to dictate what questions are important enough to answer and what should be dismissed as mere fancy.”
Emma could not find the flaw in his reasoning. Sighing almost inaudibly, she offered the information he sought. “Mr. Johnston was still in the employ of my uncle when I came to live here. It seemed to me that he worked tirelessly in the best interests of Sir Arthur, arranging viewings of my uncle’s work, placating patrons, attending to all the pecuniary details, and occasionally accepting the brunt of my uncle’s temper, regardless of what or who provoked it.”
“A paragon, then.”
“I would hesitate to name him as such, but he certainly impressed me as a capable and honorable gentleman. When I expressed interest in what he did for Sir Arthur, he made time for me and patiently answered my questions. I could not have assumed the responsibilities of his position if not for his tutelage.”
“Did he realize he was preparing his successor?”
“It was not like that,” Emma said. “There was no design that I would be appropriating his position.”
“Yet he is no longer in the service of Sir Arthur and you are.”
“My uncle believes that Mr. Johnston was stealing from him.”
“What do you believe?”
“I am not as certain as Sir Arthur. There is compelling evidence to suggest that he is guilty of such a deed, and no other suspects, so one can comprehend my uncle’s decision to release him, yet Mr. Johnston’s protestations of innocence rang true to me. That he should betray my uncle’s trust after years of exemplary service did not make sense.”
“Perhaps he was embezzling from the beginning and only became careless late in his tenure.”
Emma shook her head. “No, that is not it. I went through the accounts with every attention to detail. Mr. Johnston kept meticulous records and had ledgers going back to the beginning of his employment. There is simply nothing to suggest that he was appropriating moneys for his own use.”
“You cited compelling evidence.”
“Oh, yes. There were discrepancies between commissions that were entered in the account book and the actual amounts that were paid for paintings. Mr. Charters is the one who stumbled upon the inconsistency.”
Restell’s clear blue eyes became vaguely distant in their focus as he considered this. He rubbed the underside of his chin with his knuckles. “How did that come about?”
“Mr. Charters overheard a friend remark that one must be prepared to pay a king’s ransom for a portrait by an artist of some renown. I believe Mr. Charters pursued a line of inquiry until he learned the exact figure his friend was lamenting. In the course of conversation with my uncle, Mr. Charters realized that the commission Sir Arthur was expecting was much less than what the friend had agreed to pay. As Mr. Johnston acted as the agent for the sale, and as he had recorded the smaller figure in his ledger, it pointed to a clear incongruity. Mr. Charters’s friend confirmed that he had indeed paid Mr. Johnston a larger commission than my uncle received. Mr. Johnston swore he was being wronged, but his protestations came to nothing. More evidence was uncovered in a similar vein, going back six months, I think. It was too much for my uncle to overlook. He dismissed Mr. Johnston without a character.”
“That is when you assumed his responsibilities.”
“Yes.”
“You are compensated for your services?” Restell did not miss her surprise at this notion. Clearly she had not considered such an arrangement and apparently her uncle had not suggested it. “Mother says it is beyond vulgar when I broach the subject of money, so I beg your forgiveness if I have offended you, but clearly you are engaged in the same enterprise that put coin in Mr. Johnston’s pocket. It cannot be outside all expectation that you might be reimbursed for your efforts.”
“I should very much like to make the acquaintance of your mother, Mr. Gardner. She seems an infinitely sensible woman.”
“She certainly takes pains to remind me.”
Emma could not help but smile at his wry tone. She went on to explain, “I am not compensated for what assistance I lend my uncle. I do it gladly, and I am given food and shelter and an allowance sufficient for my needs. I am in no way neglected.”
“You are the poor relation, then.”
Unoffended by this characterization, Emma’s slight smile deepened. Hadn’t she said the same to him upon their initial