She sighed and added shyly, “No doubt this all explains why the dear vicar has not come to call? We never go to church because then Horatia would have to listen to him giving the sermon. I do regret it, and I do so worry about my poor sister’s fate; it is my primary concern.”
Her cheerful face was creased in a frown, and Emily, who thought she had every reason to be concerned about such an unbalanced relative, asked her why it was such a particular worry.
“Well, dearie, what ever is going to happen when she gets to heaven? She has not spoken to a man for thirty years, and how can I be sure I will be by her side to help her?” At Emily’s confused expression, she added, “You see, I don’t think Saint Peter will like it if she turns her back on him and refuses to speak to him; why, he might even send her to that other place.”
She looked so distressed that Emily swallowed the laughter that was threatening to bubble over and disgrace her. “Perhaps, being an angel, it will be different?” she managed to suggest, a little diffidently, and had the pleasure of seeing Miss Hortense’s face brighten at the thought. Angels, after all, were not really one of the earthly them.
While Emily was recovering in the country, it was not to be supposed that the duke had been idle. When he discovered that Mrs. Wiggins had not returned to the employment agency where he had traced her, and that there was no sign of her at any of the others in London in the days that followed, he turned his efforts in another direction and drove his curricle down to Wantage.
He was received courteously by Lord Wyndham, who, after learning the purpose of his visit, was glad that his wife’s absence on afternoon calls prevented her from joining them in the interview. The two men spent an uncomfortable half-hour together, for although the duke was scrupulously polite, Lord Wyndham was left in no doubt as to how he was regarded by the younger man, and in what light the duke considered a family who would not only abandon one of its young female members so callously, but allow her to go into service as well. In vain, Lord Wyndham pointed out that he had had no notion that was her purpose; in vain he expressed his wish to shelter her under his wing again. He was denied in cold, terse words and informed that the protection of Miss Emily Margaret Wyndham would in the future be the sole responsibility of the Duke of Wrotherham, and that this protection would take the form of marrying her as soon as he could locate her once again.
Since Lord Wyndham had no idea where his niece might be, the interview was quickly terminated. As the duke drove away, he was not overly disappointed, for he had never expected Emily to return meekly to her family. He knew her pride. And, he thought as he whipped up his chestnuts and settled them onto the London road, I admit that my journey here was as much for my satisfaction as to discover any hint of her whereabouts. It had done him a world of good to let Lord Wyndham learn of his contempt, and the expression of stunned disbelief and chagrin on the older man’s face when he announced his wedding plans had been worth every tiresome mile.
He spent the return journey planning what he would do next. Somehow he did not think that Emily was still in town. He had no real reason for this supposition; it was more a feeling that if she were so close to him, he could not help but be aware of it. He remembered that Captain Quentin’s sister lived in London, and on reaching Wrotherham House wrote to ask if he might call on her. He had to wait for a week, for Miss Arabella had gone out of town, and he was disappointed when he was finally admitted to her drawing room to find that she was of little help.
Miss Quentin, trying not to raise her eyebrows at the duke’s questions, admitted she had no idea where Miss Nelson might be found, although she did suggest that the duke call on the Quentins’ butler and housekeeper at Number Twelve Charles Street, Mayfair.
“Yes, Miss Nelson was very big with the Goodwells, as I recall,” she said with a sniff. “Perhaps they might know where she is. You say my brother was making plans to return to England, your Grace? I wonder I have not heard from him.”
The duke was about to mention that the Quentins intended to go directly to the captain’s home at Burton-Latimer, but something about Miss Arabella Quentin stayed his tongue. She seemed to be laboring under a heavy cloud of pique, as if she had been misused, and he thought Tony would recover faster with only his wife to care for him. No trace of his thoughts was visible as he thanked the lady and took his leave of her sour face and air of cold authority, however.
The Goodwells, although flustered by the attentions of a duke, could not help him either, for Miss Nelson had not called on them since her return to town.
“Such a sweet young maid,” Mrs. Goodwell mourned. “I am sorry to learn she has left the Quentins’ service, for she did Miss Alicia a world of good.”
“You have no idea where she came from prior to her being engaged here?” the duke asked next.
The old butler screwed up his face in thought. “I seem to remember that she said she had been in Yorkshire, your Grace, but she did not mention the name of the family.”
Both elderly retainers were agog to know why it was so important for a duke to find a mere lady’s maid, but of course they could not inquire, and the duke certainly did not bother to explain.
As he was taking his leave, Mrs. Goodwell came back into the hall from the kitchen, where she had retired when she could be of no further assistance. “Pardon me, your Grace! Perhaps it will not mean anything, but it seems to me that Miss Nelson was staying at Bradley’s Hotel in Davies Street before she moved in here.”
“Of course!” her husband agreed. “I remember now that the boy who brought her luggage wore their uniform. Does that help, your Grace?”
Charles assured them solemnly that it might be very good news, but he had a hard time returning their smiles. What if she had stayed at Bradley’s so many months ago? How did that help him?
Suddenly he stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, greatly upsetting an elderly gentleman who stumbled into him before he could stop himself. By the time apologies had been tendered and bows exchanged, the duke was impatient to be off. Perhaps Emily had returned to the same hotel? Perhaps they would know where she had gone?
His spirits rose and he flagged down a hackney cab, all impatience now, for the length of the short journey. So many dead ends, so much wasted time—pray God he would be successful this time!
And successful he was, for the first person he spoke to at Bradley’s was the porter, who opened the door of his cab for him and who not only remembered the handsome brunette who was posing as Mrs. Wiggins, but also recalled the vital information that she had gone off to Brighton on the stage only a few weeks ago. The duke clapped him on the shoulder, called him an excellent fellow, and rewarded him with such openhanded largesse that the porter could contemplate treating his particular friends to many a round in their favorite pub for weeks and weeks to come.
If the duke arrived back in Park Lane not exactly walking on air, at the least he wore a brighter expression than had been seen on his face for some time. He discovered a letter awaiting him from his aunt, Lady Staunton, and not even her cold formal words requesting him to call as soon as he could possibly contrive it had the power to dampen his spirits. His butler was astounded to hear him humming as he took the stairs two at a time to change for dinner, and when he informed Greene that he intended to toddle around to Brooks and look up some of his cronies later, and that he rather thought he might take a look-in at Brighton for a few days, Mr. Greene was encouraged to hope that his infatuation with Miss Nelson was at an end and life could return to normal at last.
The following morning, the duke was prompt to present himself in his aunt’s drawing room and found his uncle also in attendance. This gentleman looked a little worried, for although the duke was as impeccable as always, he was dressed for riding, a fact he knew would offend his wife. Lady Staunton was a great stickler for the proprieties and would not think it a compliment to be visited by even so exalted a gentleman as the duke unless he wore the proper morning attire. To his surprise, she allowed t
he duke to kiss her hand and motioned him to a seat without even mentioning the unsatisfactory nature of his dress.
Lady Staunton had no intention of upsetting her nephew this morning. As her butler poured them all a glass of sherry and the duke chatted with her husband, she observed him carefully. She had always considered Charles a handsome man, but this morning there was an air about him of some hidden excitement that caused his black eyes to sparkle, and the look of boredom that was his habitual expression was very much in abeyance. Her heart sank. I suppose he has set up a new mistress, she thought dourly, and just when I have arranged to entertain Lady Beardsley and her daughter. How tiresome men were! She would be hard put to gain his consent to attend her in the country now that he had a new amour to intrigue him.
“I suppose you have found yet another suitable, well-bred damsel for my inspection, ma’am? Who is it this time?” the duke began as soon as the butler shut the drawing-room door behind him. His determination to be on his way made him curt, but he did not hear her gasp at his temerity as he added, “This sherry is very tolerable; my compliments, Uncle.”
He bowed slightly to the gentleman, who had choked a little at his first remark, and then turned back to his aunt. “Perhaps I should have called on you as soon as I returned from Brussels, for then I could have spared you the exertion.” He smiled easily at the lady, who sat rigid on the very edge of a gray satin sofa, her slightly protuberant eyes bulging with shock.
“I am sure, Charles, that you will be good enough to explain yourself,” she replied in her stiff, colorless voice. “You know I do not care for careless joking and ill-bred humor, although I am sure I have always borne my part in lighthearted conversation.”
“I cannot call to mind any occasion that you did so, Aunt, but no doubt that is a result of my lamentable memory. Come now, shall we begin again? You asked me to call; behold me, obedient to your wishes.”
His aunt watched him finish his sherry, and as he crossed his well-polished boots and began to swing one gently, she knew he was impatient to be off, and she hurried into speech.
“I meant to ask you to come down to Neerings for some weeks’ stay. I am sure you would enjoy it, for your uncle and I are having a few compatible people to visit. London grows so tiresome with this heat.”
The duke nodded, but said, “Unfortunately I am desolated to have to refuse the treat, Aunt. I am off to Brighton in an hour.”
Lady Staunton moved forward another half-inch on her sofa. “Brighton? I do not think we know anyone staying at Brighton, do we, Jerome?”
In her voice was the suggestion that if none of her acquaintance were there, there was no one in Brighton worth knowing. Her lord shook his head, but he was not required to answer, for the duke interrupted to say, “Possibly you do not, but I think I do.”
The engaging smile that accompanied this statement did not endear him to his aunt, who thought that dear Charles was certainly in an unusual mood this morning. If she had been anyone else, she would have even called it playful. “Indeed?” she murmured.
“Indeed. In fact, I am sure that I will find her there.”
“Aha! I might have known it was a woman.” Lady Staunton’s voice was so full of cold loathing that the duke remonstrated with her.
“Come, come, Aunt! Such aversion, and to your own sex, too. But you are mistaken. It is not just any woman; it is the future Duchess of Wrotherham.”
“Now I know that you are being frivolous, Charles. I have not heard you were at last contemplating the holy state of matrimony, and I am sure I must have done so if it were true, for the sounds of all England rejoicing that you were about to do your duty at last could hardly have failed to come to my attention.”
The duke noticed his uncle scurrying to pour himself another glass of sherry as he replied, “Very well-put indeed, ma’am. That takes the trick and puts me in my place, does it not? But knowing your interest in the matter, I am sure you will be glad to wish me happy. I can assure you, you are the first of the family to know.”
“Who is she?” Lady Staunton asked baldly, cutting through his rhetoric to the heart of the matter.
“She is a Wyndham of Berks, the niece of Lord Gregory Wyndham, the daughter of Captain Thomas Wyndham, late of the Royal Navy.”
“Wyndham ... Wyndham,” his aunt mused.
“It will not be a brilliant match, even though her birth is more than acceptable. However, that is of small concern to me, for I love her and I intend to marry her.”
“Congratulations, my boy, what glorious news,” his uncle said, coming up to pat him on the shoulder and darting only an occasional glance at his wife, whose one aim in life for the past ten years had been to find the future duchess for her nephew, thereby ensuring his undying gratitude, and more important, that a worthy-enough young woman should fill such a high and exalted post.
“Wyndham ... Thomas Wyndham ... the navy...” Lady Staunton murmured again.
“I will spare you any more of these tiring cogitations, ma’am,” the duke said. “The young lady’s mother was Althea Wyndham. Perhaps you knew the lady?”
“Althea Wyndham?” Lady Staunton asked in a voice of doom just before she fainted and fell right off her sofa.
By the time she had been restored to consciousness, the duke was wishing he had gone off to Brighton at dawn, but having opened this Pandora’s box, he could hardly go away and leave his uncle to deal with it.
“No, no, say it is not true, Charles,” his aunt moaned when she was able to speak again, pushing her husband, who was patting her shoulder, away from her. “Not Althea Wyndham’s daughter! You poor, poor deluded boy. Perhaps you were not aware ... I mean, you cannot have heard that the girl’s mother was a ... In fact, at one time your very own father ... but maybe you have not offered for her as yet? I beg you to consider the family, your duty to your name. If you marry Althea Wyndham’s daughter, I shall have to kill myself, for there will be no other course open to me.”
“Uncle, perhaps another glass of sherry for my aunt? Come, ma’am, let us be sensible. It is not Althea Wyndham who is to be my bride; it is her daughter, Emily Margaret. She is nothing at all like her mother, and in this case, the sins of the fathers fall on my head, not hers. Since the unfortunate lady who was her mother is deceased, perhaps we should let her rest in peace? I do not regard her; neither should you.”
Lady Staunton moaned. “The scandal ... the gossip. Charles, tell me you are just funning and you do not mean a word of it and I will promise never to bring another young lady to your attention ever again. Oh, better that you should never marry and the direct line die out than the ignominy of an alliance with the Wyndhams.”
The duke stiffened and rose with alacrity.
“Do me the kindness to spare me any more of your lecturing and prosy, puffed-up conceit for the House of Wrotherham, and if you must, ma’am, take comfort in the fact that you are a Staunton and not directly related to the Saint Allyns. Besides, I am almost thirty. What I do is of concern only to me. I can assure you that Emily is much too fine and good for me; I only hope she can be brought to accept my suit. Up to this time, she has been most unwilling to align herself with our family.”
He stared at his aunt with considerable hauteur. His mother had died when he was only seven, and her sister, Lady Staunton, had never shown him even an ounce of affection. He could not recall her ever kissing or hugging him; her whole attention was for the title, not the little boy who so desperately needed her love. Remembering this made him add as he strolled to the door, “Oh, by the way, Aunt, Miss Wyndham has been in service as a lady’s maid this past year. It is not generally known, and perhaps you would prefer to keep that information to yourself. I quite understand, and now I bid you good day.”
There was complete silence in the drawing room as the door closed behind him and the Stauntons heard his booted feet going down the stairs to the front door. Only when they heard it slam behind him did the frozen tableau dissolve and Lady Staunton toss off her enti
re glass of sherry in one gulp.
“Althea Wyndham ... a lady’s maid ... unwilling to marry him! I feel much better, Jerome, for it is obvious that Charles, if he is not gone completely mad, which I cannot believe to be the case, is indulging in some childish prank at our expense. I shall not regard it.”
10
Life at Rutherford Hall continued on its former placid way now that Emily had been let in on the secret of Miss Horatia’s great distaste for the opposite sex, and she was careful to remove all references to them from her conversation. Her normal good health returned quickly, and even the dizzy spells and occasional headaches disappeared, although she came no closer to discovering her real identity. Sometimes, she thought she saw a glimmer of light, and found herself saying, “No, that’s not the way I do it”; or she would have a brief vision of a smiling face framed with a cloud of golden hair, or see a pair of dark eyes, intent with passion, but when she tried to force her mind to remember their owners, the hazy curtain would come down again and everything that had ever happened to her before she came to Rutherford Hall would disappear.
She discovered she could play the piano but couldn’t cook; that her needlework was exquisite and that she spoke French, but that she could not ride a horse or drive a team, and was worse than useless in the garden. She remembered dates in history and long-ago wars, could recite poetry and discuss philosophy, but she had no knowledge of Napoleon or indeed of any event that had occurred since the turn of the century.
She tried not to brood about it, but even as her strength returned, she began to suffer terrible nightmares. She would sit up suddenly in the dark to find her pillow wet with her tears, but now that she was awake, the dreams that made her so sad eluded her. Why do I cry and sob in my sleep? she wondered. What is there in my past that has caused me such sorrow that it still distresses me now? She began to dread the nighttimes when she had to take her candle from the table in the hall and follow the Misses Rutherford to bed. Miss Horatia, who had the room next to her, had heard her sobbing and had even gone in to her one night to find her fast asleep even as she tossed and moaned in her distress. She watched Emily carefully after that, noting her preoccupation and the frown on her face when she did not think she was being observed. Much concerned, she bade Hortense inquire of the doctor for the cause of this new malady, but that good man could only theorize that the young lady’s memory might be coming back at last, and that perhaps there was some painful past event she was trying to avoid remembering.
The Emerald Duchess Page 18
