The Garden Intrigue by Lauren Willig Page B

there are problems, Monsieur le Maire knows to send for me here. Somehow, requests for funds never get lost in the post.” She made a droll face.
    Cousin Robert failed to respond in kind. “Harvest?” he said. “But how is that possible?”
    Emma raised both brows. “By the grace of God and good weather? That is the usual way. Some friends were kind enough to make some suggestions for improvements, which I sent along to my steward. I’ve become quite the farmer. Mother would be so amused.”
    Something was still bothering cousin Robert. His brows had drawn togetherover his nose. “But you won’t be here to see it, surely? Not when the ship sails in June.”
    “Ship?” Emma turned back to Fulton. “Are you planning to kidnap me on your steamboat, Mr. Fulton, and bear me off to a Barbary pirate’s harem?”
    “Quite amusing, my dear,” said cousin Robert, “but I meant your return to New York.”
    “My—?” For once in her life, Emma found herself at a loss for easy banter. “My what?”
    Cousin Robert appeared oblivious to her imminent asphyxiation. “Young Kortright told me,” he said comfortably. “I’d say I was sorry to see you go, but as I’ll be leaving, too, I’ll be glad for it. You’ll have to come visit us at Clermont once you’re settled.”
    “I—what?”
    “You’ll be returning to Belvedere, I take it? Much better than setting up an establishment in the city. New York isn’t like Paris, you know.”
    Cousin Robert should know. He had been involved in the public life of the city for years, as recorder and then as chancellor. Emma doubted there was an official capacity in which he hadn’t served. But that was beside the point. Someone was obviously suffering from a misapprehension.
    “I do beg your pardon, cousin Robert,” she said apologetically. “But I believe there must have been some mistake. I have no intention of removing from Paris.”
    Cousin Robert frowned. “Young Kortright seemed quite sure of it. He said the passage was already arranged.”
    “For someone else, then.” Rumor spread so quickly in Paris. “I have no intention of going anywhere at all. Other than to Malmaison with you, of course.”
    “Best speak to young Kortwright, then.” Cousin Robert scanned the room, his eyes falling on someone near the door. “There he is. He seemed quite certain that you would be accompanying him back to New York in June. Said he was here at your parents’ request.”
    Kort was awkwardly examining a statue of Venus, curved and dimpled and wearing little more than a wisp of marble veiling. He looked out of place in her salon.
    Thirteen-year-old Emma would have desired nothing better than to be swept off her feet and onto a ship by her adored cousin.
    Twenty-five-year-old Emma smelled a rat.
    “Oh, really?” murmured Emma. She flashed a charming smile at cousin Robert and Mr. Fulton. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I really must have a little talk with
young Kortright
. We apparently have much to discuss.”
    As she swept away, with the maximum swish her morning gown would afford, she heard her cousin saying confidingly to Mr. Fulton, “Past time she went home. I can’t think what she stays on for. Her mother wrote me—”
    It was a conspiracy.
    And it wouldn’t be quite so annoying if Emma didn’t sometimes wonder if her mother wasn’t right. She wasn’t sure what kept her in Paris. Memories? Or simply a reluctance to go home?
    “Emma!” Kort seemed more happy than otherwise to see her.
    Emma cut him off. “What’s all this about taking me back to New York?”
    Kort blinked, but recovered quickly. Of course, that might also have been the effect of her sapphires. With the sunlight streaming through the windows, they glittered rather impressively. Pity they were paste like all the rest of her jewelry, the real jewels having been bartered off to pay for hydraulic pumps and improved roofing.
    “Didn’t you read the letter I gave you?” he asked.
    “Not