by Mary Campisi
Belle helped Emily pull the gown into place, smoothing wrinkles with her small hands. “Expected perhaps, but accepted, never. I’ll not conform to it.”
“Nor will I, which is why I’m determined to go to America. I’ll have the freedom to make my own choices without societal constraints.” She paused. “And I’ll be with Christopher.”
Belle laughed. “Of course. The brother who permits you to ignore societal constraints.”
Emily wrinkled her nose. “You needn’t be so blunt about it. Need I remind you he was the only member of my family who didn’t desert me?” The only image she had of her dead mother was a small locket with her picture in it. As for her father, Reginald St. Simon had found little time for family, spending most of his hours in other women’s company. Or their beds, as she had heard.
And then, there was her oldest brother, Ian, the current Earl of Kenilworth. Seventeen years at sea had made him a legend, larger than life, a hero. A stranger.
“It certainly was much easier to get Christopher to do your bidding.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “There’s no comparison. Ian wants to see me settled in a manner befitting a woman of my station, and to him that means marriage.”
“Maybe he’s trying to make up for all the years he was gone.” Belle reached for the silver brush in Emily’s hand. “He might never say it, but Ian does love you.”
“Of course, he loves me.” That was not the point. Freedom. That was the point.
“He’s quite noble, too.”
“To a fault.”
“Christopher let you get away with outrageous antics.”
Emily threw up her hands and turned to look at Belle. “He teased me about being too outspoken and independent, but he also encouraged me to be that way. Ian wants me to ‘repress my forward behavior and adopt a more demure air,’” she mimicked. “I won’t do it.”
“There’s certainly not a lot about you that’s demure.”
“Exactly. And now, because of some meddling man, I’ve most probably missed my opportunity to meet Captain Thackery, who was my last hope of gaining passage to America.”
“Well, you can’t go back there after what happened tonight. You’ll have to speak with Ian again.”
“And hear him lecture me for the twenty-eighth time about how I am a young woman of proper breeding who needs to think about a husband and children rather than traipse to an uncivilized country? No, thank you. And of course”—Emily rattled on as heat rose to her face—“my dear brother would never miss an opportunity to tell me that at one and twenty, I am not really a young woman anymore.”
“Ah, yes, I do see a smattering of gray amongst all this gold,” Belle said as she wound Emily’s hair high atop her head, securing the locks with small pins. “What an old creature you are.” When she spoke next, all traces of humor vanished. “Try speaking with him once more. Ask him under what terms he would consider sending you to America, if any.”
“The effort will prove futile.” Belle didn’t know Ian the way she did.
“You’ve no other choice.” Belle sighed. “If I thought one of my brothers would secure passage for you and not inform Father, I’d have made the arrangements long ago. Unfortunately, they would tell the Duke straightaway, and he would not be pleased.”
Before they could consider their predicament further, the carriage ground to a halt. “Oh no,” Emily groaned. “We’re already at the Gregory’s, and I’m not finished dressing.” Reaching for her rose slippers, she asked, “What’s our story tonight?”
Belle tapped a finger to her chin and said, “We told Ian we were coming with my Aunt and vice versa. Then Auntie got sick mid way to the Gregory’s, and we had to return her to her residence, thus the lapse in time. We weren’t concerned about chaperones, because we knew Ian and Augusta would be here.” Her eyes narrowed. “As long as your brother doesn’t talk to my aunt, our honor will be safe.”
“And Higgins?” Emily inclined her head toward the front where the ancient driver sat. Their usual driver on such nights of adventure had taken ill, and Belle had intruded upon Higgins to fill in.
“Higgins is my friend,” Belle assured her. “You have nothing to fear from him.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ve got him wrapped around my little finger. Just like the rest of my family.” She smiled smugly. “Being the youngest child with five older brothers does have its advantages.”
“So you’ve said.” Belle’s brothers were giants, with quick tongues and ferocious snarls that dissipated the moment their little sister entered the room. She could cajole, scold and tease them to extreme and receive no further retribution than a hearty laugh or lift in the air. Emily couldn’t begin to fathom such a relationship with Ian.
Belle grabbed the sapphire encrusted combs from the tissue and placed them in Emily’s hair. “Perfect. If only we weren’t off to a night of sheer boredom. I wish I’d been the one to have your adventure in The Fox’s Tail tonight. At least I’d have something exciting to think about while I danced with my latest would-be suitor.”
The image of her dark abductor flashed through Emily’s mind. “No,” she said in a shaky voice. “Do not wish that, Belle. Above all things, do not wish that.”
****
Emily gave up watching the clock sometime after two in the morning. Her mind kept racing with what she would say in the morning. It was her one last attempt to convince Ian to let her follow her heart’s desire. If she could only make him see reason, she could set sail for America within a fortnight. On the other hand, if this meeting ended in her oldest brother’s staunch refusal as all the others had, then she’d have to resort to desperate measures, though at the moment, she wasn’t quite certain what those would be. From the moment Christopher told her he was heading to America she’d planned to join him.
One obstacle stood in the way of her freedom. Actually, it was a very big obstacle, mountainous to be exact, with a will to match her own. It had a name, too, Ian St. Simon, Earl of Kenilworth. Her eldest brother was not a man to trifle with. Drat and double drat! Emily punched her pillow and settled on her stomach to plan one final attack. If this one failed, she was doomed.
****
Emily awoke to the sound of a horse’s whinny. She scurried out of bed and rushed to the window, throwing back the heavy velvet curtain to peer below. Ian sat astride a huge stallion. His wife, Augusta, accompanied him on a sleek, chestnut mount. The pair made a startlingly attractive couple, and Emily couldn’t help but smile at the obvious love the two shared for one another.
She watched as her brother lifted a tanned hand to caress his wife’s neck, trailing it over her bosom. Emily stepped away from the window and let the curtain fall back into place. What would it feel like to be touched in such a manner? Visions of the stranger’s hands roaming her body invaded her. Drat, drat, drat! A short while later, Emily ventured out of her bedroom to meet Ian. Her stomach rolled with anxiety as she fixed a quick cup of tea, dismissing the sideboard laden with hearty breakfast fare. There would be time enough to sample Mrs. Florence’s scrumptious sausage and biscuits later. Unless Ian rejected her request again. Then she would be too depressed to eat. Chiding herself for already anticipating defeat, she pasted a smile on her face and headed for the study. When she reached the heavy oak door, she hesitated a moment then knocked.
“Come in.” Annoyance coated her brother’s voice. He disliked interruptions but she wouldn’t have disturbed him if it weren’t necessary. He looked up as she entered the room and his irritation faded. “Good morning, Emily. Did you enjoy the ball last night?”
“As much as I do those sorts of things,” she answered vaguely, avoiding his eyes and plopping herself onto the gold and burgundy sofa.
“Ah, I see.” Ian leaned back in his chair, clasping his large hands behind his head. “Too many suitors vying for your affections, all of them dandies living off of their father’s money.”
Emily smiled at her brother’s very accurate assessment of her steadfast
opinion of the ton. “Something like that,” she said.
“No wonder you’ve got them all falling over your skirts. You’re beautiful, witty, and intelligent—a rare commodity in women.” He laughed at her sour expression. “That Barton fellow has asked me for the third time if he may call on you. I can’t put him off much longer.”
Emily rolled her eyes, letting Ian know what she thought of Andrew J. Barton, Viscount Arondale.
He laughed again. “My thoughts exactly. You’d be miserable with that sniveling creature.” He leaned forward and jotted a note to himself.
Emily watched her brother, admiring the aura of strength and power that emanated from him. He’d returned to England three years ago and she’d lived with him for two. But she didn’t really know him. No one did except his wife. Ian and Emily had shared many meals, attended balls, and soirees, conversed at length and ridden horseback with each other. And yet, he always managed to remain a little aloof.
How she longed for sweet, affectionate Christopher.
The two brothers didn’t even look alike. Ian was a big man, standing well over six feet with a body of bronze and muscle, honed from years at sea. He possessed none of the conventional looks deemed handsome by England’s standards, but that didn’t stop women from seeking him out. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, square jaw and the most arresting pair of indigo eyes. His jet-black hair traveled several inches past his shoulders, definitely longer than the current fashion. And the small golden hoop he still wore in his left ear served as a reminder of his years at sea. Whether he’d sailed as merchant or pirate, no one really knew and he never said. The very fact of not knowing only added to the alluring enigma of the man. She met those watchful blue eyes and willed herself to be strong.
“Emily?” Ian prodded. “Is something wrong?”
She must be strong. Tears brimmed her lower lashes.
“Emily? For Heaven’s sake, what is it?” Ian rounded the desk in a matter of seconds, his deft movements belying his size. Grasping her hands, he sat down next to her and pulled her into his embrace. He spoke gentle, soothing words as he caressed her back. Those single acts of kindness from her usually stoic brother broke her resolve and a tear trickled down her cheek, followed by another and yet another. Hot, sorrowful, burning tears fell that only touched the edges of her grief. She loved Ian, appreciated his caring, but Christopher understood her and supported her need for independence.
Oh, why had he headed for America, leaving her with a head full of ideas and dreams that didn’t fit in with English society? Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as the events of last evening rushed at her again. Desperation had led her to The Fox’s Tail and left its indelible mark on her.
“Emily. Please don’t cry.”
She knew he hated tears, but she couldn’t seem to stop them. Lifting her head from his damp shirtfront, she stammered, “I don’t fit in here, and I can’t be something I’m not. I’ve tried.”
Ian frowned. “Christopher did you no favor by letting you have free reign of Marbrook. He encouraged your outrageous behavior and led you to believe it would be equally acceptable to walk into a room of crowded people wearing breeches instead of a gown.”
“He only wanted to make up for our lack of family.” As soon as the words were out, Emily wished she could take them back. Ian tensed but his expression remained unreadable. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you. I know you had a very good reason for leaving.”
A full minute passed in silence, save the ticking of the old oak clock resting on the mantel. How could she have been so thoughtless? Hadn’t Belle told her just last evening that Ian was overprotective because he’d been away for so long?
His blue eyes darkened, then gentled. “Expectations are different for a woman, Emily,” he said, holding her hands in his. “Women aren’t given the freedom a man enjoys. Unfair as it may seem to you, that’s the way of it.”
“But why?” she insisted. “We come to London every year so you may display me on the marriage mart. I don’t want to get married. Marriage will just make me some man’s chattel and no matter what you say, I know that’s what happens.” Ian raised a dark brow and Emily rushed on, “Except in your case. You and Augusta love each other and you treat her like a queen. She’s the one person you can’t intimidate. Don’t deny it,” she said when she saw the muscles in his jaw twitch. “You share something rare and beautiful, and I’m very happy for you but I’m not willing to risk loving someone who doesn’t love me. The pain would be too deep to watch him cast me aside for his mistresses.”
“And what do you know of such things?”
Emily shrugged. “Gossipmongers abound, whether in London or the country. I heard enough whispered tales about Father and his women to make me vow never to marry.” She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her gown, concentrating on the soft muslin fabric. “So you see, there’s really no reason to refuse my trip to America.”
“Not all men are like Father,” Ian countered.
“But many are. Besides, it’s more than just the idea of marriage. I’m a St. Simon. Adventure is in our blood.” Her voice gathered strength. She would try one more time. “Can’t I please have the freedom to make my own choice?”
She could almost see Ian’s mind, thinking, studying, and assessing. He ran an agitated hand through his long hair and frowned. “I know I’ve fought your travelling to America every step of the way,” he admitted. “But there are several reasons I don’t want you to go. Some of them are selfish. Chris left and if you go too, there’s little chance we’ll see each other more than every five to ten years and I don’t want that, for Augusta or myself. And I want Lucas to know his Aunt Emily, as a person, not just a bedtime story.” He paused a moment, his words settling over Emily like a warm embrace.
“But aside from my own selfish reasons for wanting you to stay here, I’m concerned for you. I’ve traveled the world and it isn’t always a kind place.” He tightened his hold on her. “You’ve led a very sheltered existence at Marbrook with only occasional trips to London. Granted, it’s been said if one survives London, one can survive anything. But I’m talking about foreign lands with different and sometimes unfriendly and dangerous people preying on unsuspecting victims. Not to mention the basic backward elements of living in an undeveloped land.”
“But that’s part of the excitement, is it not?” Emily’s words held a faint glimmer of hope.
“And danger,” Ian said tightly.
She sat up, easing from his embrace and turned toward him. “First,” she began, “Christopher will protect me from any undesirables. Second, I am quite capable of adjusting to a different lifestyle. Why, I could even perform housekeeping duties if necessary.”
“Hah. I doubt you’d be able to find your way to the kitchen.”
“But I could,” she persisted.
“Emily,” Ian began in that placating manner that annoyed her to no end. “To my knowledge you’ve never been in a kitchen other than to steal a tart. And, if the rumor is true, you’d be buried alive under your clothing if it weren’t for your personal maid. I dread to consider what might happen if you tried to mop a floor.”
“Just because I haven’t done any of those things doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“It would be a disaster.”
A wonderful thought struck her. “If I could do all of those things you mentioned, then, would you permit me to go?”
“Cooking and cleaning?” He sounded incredulous.
“Why not?”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, slashing his big hand in the air. “You’re a woman of quality. Even in America, you’d not be expected to perform such manual labor. You would lead a privileged lifestyle, much as you do here.”
“I know all that,” she said, clinging to the hope that he might change his mind. At least this discussion had gotten farther than all the previous ones. “Christopher has written all about the black slaves and the tobacco fields. What I’m asking you is if I can prove you wron
g by doing something you’re certain I can’t, such as learning housekeeping, then will you admit you could be wrong about America?”
“And let you go?”
“And let me go.” She held her breath. Perhaps. Just perhaps he might agree.
Ian said nothing for what seemed like ages but Emily knew better than to interrupt him. He would make his decision when he was ready and no amount of prompting or impatient urgings would hurry him. She leaned against the soft cushions of the sofa, preparing to settle in for a long wait. Closing her eyes she thought of the books she’d been reading about America. New lands, new people.
Endless possibilities.
“I’ll agree on one condition.” Her brother’s words sliced through her thoughts. “For the period of three weeks, you will become a servant here at Greyling Manor. You will dress the part, work with the servants and not socialize with any of your friends.”
“That’s all?” she squeaked, unable to believe what she’d just heard.
“You will cook, polish, and scrub as directed.”
“Fine. Is that all?” He was really going to let her go!
He hesitated, obviously surprised by her rapid consent. “You will wear serviceable gowns. No more silks or satins.”
Emily smiled.
“And no soiree’s or balls either,” he spat out.
“That shouldn’t pose a problem.” She lowered her head, to hide another smile. This servant business had her brother in a major huff. He certainly didn’t seem to like the idea which made her all the more determined to succeed.
“Are you positive you wish to go through with this charade?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck as though he couldn’t wait to be done with this conversation.
“If it’s the only way I can obtain passage to America, then yes, it’s what I want.”
“Before you give me your final answer, there is one more small condition we must agree upon.”
“Yes?” She’d agree to any condition as long as it got her on a ship bound for America.
