She’d never felt more out of her element. Panic took hold and sent her heart racing. She didn’t belong here, and she certainly didn’t deserve gowns like the sample the dressmaker held up for her inspection.
Emma bit her lip, realizing she had to put a stop to all this. It would never work. “I don’t think—”
“Nonsense. Of course you do.” The viscountess studied her as Madame Drusell, the dressmaker, held the sample against Emma. “You’re very intelligent. It would never do to pretend otherwise.”
“It’s just—” Emma tried again, only to be cut off by Madame Drusell who, according to Viscountess Weston, had impeccable taste.
“The blue would be stunning.”
“Not this shade.” Emma remembered only too well that exact color from the day she’d interviewed with the marchioness. “I couldn’t wear this color.”
“I believe you’re right,” the viscountess agreed. “A deeper shade would be better.”
“Ah, yes.” The dressmaker sorted through the swatches and held up one triumphantly. “Perfect! Oui!”
Emma blinked as the two women discussed choices and options as though she weren’t even in the room. Not wanting to be rude, she cleared her throat. “Perhaps two gowns would—”
“Remember, my dear, no half measures.”
“But—”
“Emma, you must trust me on this.” The viscountess reached over and squeezed her arm reassuringly. “All will be well.”
“The cost—”
“Is of little consequence. Madame Drusell is quite affordable. Now relax and enjoy. Try to think of this as fun. Most young ladies your age would.”
Fun? Emma repeated the word in her mind, trying to process its meaning. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d enjoyed herself for the pure pleasure of it, certainly not by spending money. How could she with Tessa so very ill and her mother and Patrick doing all they could to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies?
“On the morrow, you’ll move in with me. Your fittings will begin in earnest. Our first outing will be in three days.”
Emma closed her eyes for a moment as butterflies danced in her stomach. There seemed no possible way she could fool anyone into believing she was a lady. What had she been thinking? Even as she opened her mouth to protest, the viscountess took both her hands in hers, a smile on her lips.
“All will be well, Emma. You shall see.” The twinkle of confidence in the old woman’s eyes struck Emma. “You will surprise yourself. Have faith. Give yourself and our plan a little time.”
Emma nodded, trying to take her advice as Madame Drusell assisted her in stripping down to her chemise so she could take measurements. She hadn’t worn the binding around her mid-section as there didn’t seem to be a point to it any longer. Odd that she felt naked without it.
“You have a delightful figure, my dear,” the viscountess proclaimed as though surprised.
Looking down at her body with a critical eye, Emma could only see her flaws. She was a tad too thin, her breasts could be fuller, and her hips should surely be narrower. But as she could do little about those things, she’d decided long ago there were far more important things to worry over.
Various styles and fabric were discussed until Emma’s head spun with the details. The idea of wearing so many different gowns seemed both impracticable and ridiculous.
“What of her hair?” Madame Drusell asked. “A lemon water rinse should give it some shine.”
“Perhaps some castor oil on the tips?”
“Excellent idea.” The dressmaker took out the pins holding Emma’s tight chignon. “She might wear it looser, yes? So it softens the lines of her face?”
“Very nice.” The viscountess nodded as she eyed Emma. “I look forward to seeing all of this come together.”
The day passed far too quickly. Before Emma could catch her breath, the viscountess had hustled her into her carriage to return home to pack her belongings for the next day when the carriage would fetch her.
Guilt filled her as she hurried down the hall to their flat. She’d spent the day with what had seemed like frivolous activities while her mother and brother had been working. How could her family not resent the time she’d spent away from them?
Mrs. Dobbs, their neighbor, poked her head out the door, leaving Emma to wonder if she’d been waiting for her. “Quite the going-ons, eh, Miss Grisby?”
“How so?”
“You’ve had more visitors these past two days than the whole time you’ve lived here.” The old woman raised a bushy grey brow, obviously hoping for details.
Fear filled her. Had Tessa’s condition worsened? Had they sent for the doctor in her absence? “Please excuse me. I need to make certain all is well.”
Before the woman could comment further, Emma had her key in the lock and opened the door. “Mother?”
“In here, Emma.”
A large basket sat upon the little table, a brightly patterned cloth lining it. Ignoring it for the moment, Emma hurried into Tessa’s room.
Patrick and their mother were gathered around Tessa. Another cloth that matched the one in the basket was spread on top of the bed. A feast littered the surface with more food than their family had seen in the past year. Fruit, bread, biscuits, and thick slices of ham all scented the air, making Emma’s mouth water. A crock sat on the side table and her family all held bowls of steaming soup, but rather than the watery mixture of cabbage and onion, this one contained chunks of meat, potatoes, carrots and other vegetables in a thick brown broth. Her stomach grumbled at the sight.
“Where did all this come from?” she asked.
“Viscount Weston’s footman delivered it and said it was courtesy of the viscount to celebrate your new position.”
Indignation filled Emma. How dare he assume her family needed—
Before she could finish the thought, her gaze caught on Tessa’s smile, the delight in her eyes, and her full mouth.
“Wasn’t it nice of him?” Tessa managed after she swallowed. “So delicious,” she added as she returned her attention to her bowl.
“The food smelled so good, we couldn’t wait for you,” Patrick added then stuffed another bite of bread in his mouth.
“Slow down, Patrick,” her mother admonished. “Wash for supper, Emma, and join the feast.”
Emma looked at the smiling faces of her family, and her heart melted a little. Truly, Michael—rather Viscount Weston—couldn’t have chosen a better celebratory gift for her family.
CHAPTER SIX
Michael waited in the carriage, hoping Emma would emerge from her lodging house soon. He felt uncomfortable waiting here for her, certain she’d think him too forward for doing so. She’d most likely be irritated that he’d sent a carriage for her and even more irritated that he’d accompanied it. It seemed everything he did annoyed her, and for some reason, that only made her seem more intriguing to him.
In all honesty, he wanted to be certain she hadn’t changed her mind. Now that Simmons was dead, Emma was the most likely person the professor would contact. Michael tried to convince himself that the only reason he didn’t want her disappearing from his life again was because he didn’t want to lose their chance of catching the professor.
He’d been pleasantly surprised at his grandmother’s enthusiasm for the task he’d requested of her. She and Emma had apparently gotten along quite well.
Surprisingly well.
He wished his grandmother spoke of Catherine the way she spoke of Emma.
Emma emerged from the lodging house, a large bag in hand, her customary grey dress covered partially by her cloak. He’d be glad to see the last of that dress. Yet he couldn’t quite imagine her dressed in the height of fashion. Lucky for him, his grandmother had excellent taste.
Her gaze immediately caught on his carriage, and he alighted to open the door.
“Good day to you, Miss Grisby. I thought you might need assistance with your things.”
She hesit
ated, eyes narrowing. Already he could see her suspicion, her consideration of refusing his offer. Who had made her so mistrustful of the world and everyone in it? What had changed since he’d known her so long ago?
He stepped aside and gestured toward the carriage’s interior as the footman took the bag she held.
“How...kind of you.” As she moved forward, she glanced up at him from under her lashes.
He caught a glimpse of something for the briefest moment. Something that spread awareness over him. Then the light caught on her spectacles, reflecting the sky, making it impossible to see her eyes.
Surely he’d been mistaken.
Was it his imagination or did her complexion look better today? In place of the pastiness he’d previously noted was a delicate alabaster with a hint of rose. The curve of her cheek, the length of her neck caught his gaze as she stepped up into the carriage. Her hair even appeared darker, less grey. Quite attractive actually.
What on earth was wrong with him today?
“I must thank you for the generous basket you had delivered to our home.”
“Must you?” The spear of resentment he felt surprised him. Why couldn’t she simply thank him? It seemed as if she’d only said it because good manners dictated she do so.
She blinked as though puzzled by his words. “Yes, I must. You were far too generous.”
He pushed aside his irritation, determined not to argue with her. His goal was to see her safely to his grandmother’s, not to annoy her into backing out of the arrangement. “You’re welcome.”
A tiny frown appeared for a moment as if she were confused by his curt response.
Before she said anything else to frustrate him, he changed the subject. “I’m pleased to hear that you and my grandmother came to an agreement.”
“She is an amazing woman.” A small smile graced her lips, lightening her expression. “You’re very lucky.”
“Indeed I am. My grandmother is a special person. You’ll enjoy spending time with her.”
“I believe I will.” She turned to study him. “You are like her in many ways.”
Michael stilled as the warmth of her compliment washed over him. Little else she could’ve said would have pleased him more. He’d been told so often that he was the image of his father that her words came as a surprise. Over the past few years, he’d done everything he could to reverse what his father had done. Doing so had been no easy task, especially when everyone seemed to expect that he was the same man as his father. “That is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “I didn’t say it to be nice.”
“Which makes it even nicer.”
“Well, it’s true. Your straightforwardness, your attitude, and something about your eyes are all very like her.”
He smiled. “Thank you.” For a long moment, their gazes held, and warmth stirred deep within him. Those brown eyes tugged at him. The slight bow in her upper lip beckoned. Desire slid through him, much to his dismay. He was engaged and had no business feeling anything for this woman other than sympathy for her unfortunate circumstances.
Yet there was more to Emma Grisby that he’d suspected. She was an intelligent person who had a completely different life experience than he.
Once again, he found himself on the verge of simply asking her if she’d heard anything from her uncle, but he held back. She had no reason to trust him with an honest answer, and he didn’t know her well enough to tell if she was lying.
The only thing he did know was that the days ahead would be interesting. He had yet to reconcile the memories he had of her with the woman before him.
Perhaps he needed to set those aside and allow events to unfold as they may. Somehow, it seemed as if that would be easier said than done.
~*~
Emma paused at the threshold of the bedroom to which the maid had shown her in Viscountess Weston’s home. She could only stare at the lovely blue and cream colored décor. “Are you certain this is the correct room?”
“If you don’t care for it, miss, I’m certain the viscountess will offer you a different one.”
“No, no. It’s lovely.” The interior beckoned, yet she hesitated.
The canopied bed sat high and was draped in a deep blue with a bedspread in a paler shade. Pillows of various shapes and sizes invited her to sit back and relax. A cozy sitting area with two stuffed chairs and a low table sat before the fireplace. A desk complete with paper and pen stood near the window with a matching chair before it.
Sleeping in such a beautiful room would be impossible. She’d be too afraid she’d mess it up.
Worst of all was her ragged bag sitting open on the floor, its meager contents ready to be unpacked. It didn’t belong in this room anymore than she did.
From the moment she’d seen Viscount Weston waiting for her this morning, she’d felt as if she’d been walking in a dream. As if she’d stepped through the door into a foreign world. A handsome man conversing with her as though he cared what she thought. A beautiful carriage to take her to her destination. A lovely benefactor who’d invited her into her home and given her this room in which to stay.
Overwhelmed, Emma drew a shaky breath. She and her bag were completely out of place here. Who was she trying to fool?
“I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake.”
“Not giving up already, Emma, are you?” the viscountess asked from behind her.
Emma spun to face her, worried she’d offended her. “I’m terribly sorry but I’m afraid—”
“No need for panic, my dear. You’ve barely started.” She dismissed the maid and drew nearer, her gaze steady on Emma. “I know you have more backbone than that. Don’t allow the sight of a bedroom to change your mind.”
Emma looked over her shoulder at the room again. How could she explain that this room was the size of her family’s entire flat? That the cost of the chair and desk would be enough to feed her family for months? She didn’t think she could pretend to be part of this world when she felt so out of place in it.
Could she succeed in this charade? Was it the right thing to do? The best way to aid her family? The stakes seemed so high—a life spent with a man. Did she dare trust someone else with her family’s well-being?
“I’m sure all this must be overwhelming but keep your mind on the end goal,” the viscountess suggested.
Rather than bringing comfort, her words only made Emma further question her goal. “Do you truly think there is any hope of this plan succeeding?”
“How will we know if we don’t try?” The viscountess took Emma’s hand. “Besides, I believe it will be quite delightful once you give the proper effort to our plan. If you’re not enjoying something, it’s not worth doing.”
Based on the fluttery feeling in her stomach, she was not enjoying herself. Nor had her life thus far allowed her such an indulgence.
“New experiences can be daunting, but they help us grow, don’t you think?” Viscountess Weston smiled warmly. “If nothing else, you’ll keep me company for the next few weeks, have some new experiences, and then return home.”
Put like that, it sounded so easy. Why was she making it difficult? What could go wrong?
Unbidden, Michael’s image came to mind. Those blue eyes of his studying her with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe, as though he was seeing her for the first time.
He was what could go wrong. Or rather, her growing feelings for him could go wrong. Putting her trust in anyone other than herself was the one thing she’d sworn never to do. She reminded herself that Michael had so easily abandoned them before. This time was no different. He was merely a passing light in her life. She had to guard herself from becoming dependent on him, from allowing her past feelings for him to grow into the present or worse, the future.
That was what could go wrong.
“No one will force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
She looked at the viscountess, her warm smile and
confident manner easing Emma’s worries. “Thank you. I’m sorry to seem so uncertain.”
“Nonsense, my dear. It’s to be expected when one is thrown into a new situation. Now then, we shall begin. Madame Drusell is here for the final fittings. If one of the gowns can be ready, there’s a small ball I’d like to attend tomorrow evening.”
Emma ignored her suddenly pounding heart and reminded herself why she was doing this. She might meet a man she could come to care for. He might be able to help her and her family.
“That sounds lovely.” She might as well begin this masquerade. The sooner she met someone, the sooner she could aid her family. She need only take this one step at a time.
~*~
Vincent Simmons awoke with a gasp. Heart pounding, he blinked as he glanced around the unfamiliar room, uncertain where he was or how he’d come to be here. Was this hell? Or worse, purgatory? Somehow, he thought he’d feel different in the afterlife. Instead, he simply felt as though he’d had too much to drink the night before. His thoughts were sluggish, his body heavy, his mouth full of cotton. A massive pounding beat a steady rhythm in his skull.
“You’ve decided to rejoin the living at last?” The raspy voice of his uncle sounded all too familiar.
Vincent jerked upright, remembering his last thought—that his uncle had killed him. “I’m not dead?”
“No. You just had a rather long sleep. One of the side effects, I’m afraid.” Uncle Joseph drew near the bed, his damaged face clearly visible in the pale light.
Vincent looked away, still uncomfortable with the sight. The last thing he remembered was his uncle visiting him in prison. He put a hand to his aching head. “What happened? What did you do?”
“An experiment really. I gave you a bit of this and a bit of that. Something to slow your heart rate so the prison doctor would declare you dead.”
“Dead?” The very idea terrified Vincent.
“Describing it as a deep sleep would be more appropriate. It was enough to fool the guards and the doctor. Your body was released for a family member to pick up and I did so, with a little assistance.” He gestured toward his left leg as though to remind Vincent of his disability.
Passionate Secrets (The Secrets Trilogy Book 2) Page 8
