One topic particular. One distracting and frustrating topic. The door to the parlor opened and Emma entered, her eyes heavy with sleep and her hair simply tied back rather than styled elaborately. Serafina blushed at the sight of her drowsy friend. “It is early, I know,” she burst out. Emma shook her head and stifled a yawn. “You are always welcome, you know that, no matter the hour.” “I’m sure your husband does not think so when you have been dragged out of bed at such an hour.” “Adrian is fine,” Emma reassured her softly. “Although you will forgive him if he doesn’t come down.” “How could I expect him to?” Serafina sighed. “In truth, it is you I wish to see, not him.” “Then sit down, let me ring for tea and tell me why you’ve traveled across town at nine in the morning to meet with me.”
