A Man Obsessed by Alan Edward Nourse (comprehension books TXT) 📕

much chance lately. Not with Landon having to deal with more important issues like running an ever-increasing estate, and of course, oversight of the PORFs.

Landon bristled. “I’m not that old.”

Bronwyn gave a slight shake of her head and smiled up at her husband. “Let’s not delay Christopher any longer, my love.”

The intervention soothed his brother’s wounded feelings. After a curt bow, Christopher bid the couple good day and turned to make a hasty departure.

Landon, of course, had to have the last word. “Don’t forget about Emma.”

Christopher closed the door behind him. He had nothing but admiration for his big brother in how he handled matters, but to demand Christopher play dance master was really pushing the bounds of familial duty.

Accepting Morris’s help in donning his great coat, Christopher stood and pondered his predicament. Releasing a sigh, Christopher admitted Landon’s ask paled in comparison to the enormous task of dealing with an absent PORF. The unusual decision by the current Lord Burke to move abroad placed significantly more pressure upon the remaining two PORF families. Christopher wanted to assist Landon. But his stubborn brother had not yet granted his approval for Christopher to receive the mark of a PORF. Landon remained steadfast in his declaration: in order for Christopher to become an official PORF, he must wed. Which meant he’d have to redouble his efforts to figure out how one went about searching for love.

Chapter Three

Emma ran her thumb over the ridges of the stamped symbol of the Network—a harped angel set into the silver button. A heavy sigh escaped her as she attached the button reserved for dresses to be worn by PORFs. Lifting up Bronwyn's new ball gown by the puff sleeves, Emma inspected her work. Both seams and buttons were carefully hidden. But to her eye, the design lacked a certain flair that she’d previously managed to infuse in all of Bronwyn’s creations. Emma’s creativity relied heavily on her mood and her knowledge of the client. Bronwyn had changed, and so had Emma’s designs for the woman. She was a pea goose to have believed that nothing would change between them. She and Bronwyn had been a dynamic pair within the Network, but now Bronwyn was Lord Hadfield's partner and a PORF.

The prospect of one day sitting on the Elder Council no longer held any appeal. In fact, most days, little to nothing held Emma’s interest. Even negotiating and bartering with Mr. Hains, the cloth merchant, her favorite monthly event, proved unsatisfying. Her business was booming, with word spreading amongst the ton of her personalized designs as opposed to dresses fashioned from boring old fashion plates. Despite her success, which required her to work long, exhausting hours, Emma’s priority remained first and foremost to the Network, providing disguises and uniforms worn by its members. What was her purpose—to serve PORFs and one day be a Network elder or to design and create stunning creations for the ladies of the ton? Or neither, for they both had lost their appeal.

The grandfather clock in the corner showed nearly eight o’clock. She folded the ball gown and placed it carefully in a box to be delivered to the Hadfield townhouse. Her shoulders sagged as she scanned the shoproom floor that she had worked hard to clear for the evening dance lessons. All her efforts were for naught. Billy had arrived earlier in the afternoon with bolts and bolts of material she had successfully negotiated to purchase from Mr. Hains. With no time to rearrange, the dance lessons would have to take place in the small parlor above stairs, next to her private living quarters. Emma questioned the wisdom in inviting a stranger, and a man at that, into her sanctuary. But she trusted Bronwyn and her husband to have chosen a dance master who wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. She’d made inquiries, but the Network rumor mill was peculiarly lacking in knowledge as to whom Lord Hadfield had employed to teach her how to dance.

Like clockwork at a quarter to eight, her dad walked into the shop. “Hallo, Em. Ye alone already?” He came over and gave her a big bear hug. Her dad was a barrel-chested man with a body that resembled a man of thirty, not of his six and fifty years.

As Emma pulled back, her dad attempted to peer up into the loft. Her mother never spoke of the man who sired her, and Emma never cared to bring up the topic. She considered Mr. Benjamin Lennox her dad, and the man loved Emma as if she were his own. Overprotective and loving, even after her years of solitary living, Emma’s dad still didn’t care for her decision to live alone at the shop.

“Aye. I kicked the lovely Lady Arabelle out an hour ago.” She stepped around his bulky form and retrieved a parcel wrapped in brown cloth. “I heard Brian and Baxter have outgrown their trousers.” She handed over the clothing for her siblings and slipped him a small satchel filled with coin. “I’m sorry, it’s a little less this week. Bronwyn has ordered me to attend her first ball, and I had to purchase material for me gown.”

“It’s about time ye spent a little on yerself.” He gave her back the pouch. “We can do without this week; go spend it on shoes or the like.”

Emma glanced at the clock once more. She needed to be rid of her dad before the dance master arrived. Shoving the money back into her dad’s hands, she said, “If I’m in need of such flipantry, I’ll just take it out of next week’s amount. Now get home before Mum’s dinner gets cold.”

“Aye, yer mum will be piping mad if I’m late. Are ye sure about the blunt?”

“Yes. Now git.” She pushed her dad out the door, and he hovered until she swung the sign in the door to closed, and the three latches clicked into place.

Her dad worked odd jobs for the Network, and her mum was