“Oh, that one!” Georgina said, with a dismissive little wave of her hand. “It is full of nothing but scurrilous gossip. I am sure no dogs howled at all during Miss Freeman’s, er, most lovely performance. Don’t you agree, Alex darling?”
“Oh, indeed, my dear,” Alex said. “I do believe it was a cat that was howling.”
“Oh, you!” Georgina cried, laughing as she swatted playfully at her husband’s arm. “Very well, so Miss Freeman’s performance does not seem to improve no matter how many years she practices or how many music masters her father hires. But the rest of the performances were quite fine—there was even the soprano Madame Cascatti from Drury Lane. Poor Em—how tiresome it must have been to spend the whole night at home feeling miserable!”
“Yes,” Emily murmured, concentrating very hard on her plate of eggs and kippers and toast. “Tiresome indeed.”
“Here is an article you might find interesting, Em,” Alex said. “Gemological scholars are coming today to inspect the Star of India at the home of Sir Charles Innis, and by tomorrow it will be on its way to the Mercer Museum.”
Emily’s gaze snapped up from her eggs. “Indeed? Today? That is quite—sudden.” And quite fortunate that she had taken care of matters last night and not tarried.
“Yes, but of course the museum is very eager to take possession. It should herald many new donations to their coffers.” Alex folded the newspaper and tucked it beneath his plate. “It is too bad that Damien lost the stone to Innis so long ago, and that we were unable to fulfill our obligation to Lord Darlinghurst. I did try to purchase it back from Innis, but he was insistent that it go to the museum. And, I suppose, it is truly the best place for it.”
Emily stared at her brother, startled and incredulous. “You knew the story of the Star’s loss, Alex? About how foolish Damien was?”
“Of course. Mother told me, not long after I returned home from Spain. She did not know then who exactly had bought the Star, though, and did not find out until years later. It is a damnable thing, truly.” He frowned fiercely down at the paper. “I have tried to set all of Damien’s wrongs right, but that one will never be remedied.”
“Yes,” Emily whispered. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“Oh, Em.” Alex reached out to squeeze her hand, giving her a rueful smile. “You have been hurt more than anyone by our brother’s vices. You must not worry about it any longer. It is in the past.”
“It is a most unfortunate situation,” Georgina said. “But I think Lord Darlinghurst would rather have another jewel from our family. One far more valuable than any sapphire could ever be.”
Alex grinned. “I think you are absolutely right, darling.”
Emily suddenly felt a bit queasy. All of the chocolate, toast, and eggs she had consumed sat uneasily in her stomach with all this talk of jewels and families, and their two stares on her. “I—hm. Excuse me, please, Alex, Georgie.”
“Are you quite all right, Emily?” Georgina asked in a concerned tone. “Is your fever returning?”
“No, I am well. I just must—Excuse me.” Emily pushed herself back from the table and hurried out of the breakfast room.
“Oh, Alex, you should not have teased her so about Lord Darlinghurst,” she heard Georgina chide her brother.
“I, tease her? What about you, my lady wife? You are constantly asking her about her suitors!”
Emily shook her head, and turned to go up the staircase to her own chamber. As she placed her foot on the first step, she heard the butler call, “Lady Emily. This package just came for you.”
“Thank you, Greene,” Emily said, accepting the small, flat box wrapped in brightly striped paper.
She turned it over in her hand, puzzled. It did not rattle or rustle, and she was not expecting any deliveries today. She sometimes received flowers from various suitors, of course, but that was all. And this was obviously not flowers.
Emily tucked the box beneath her arm and carried it up to her bedroom where she could open it in private. She climbed up onto the high bed and carefully folded back the paper to find a plain wooden case.
It did not appear dangerous in any way, but she was still a bit jumpy after all the excitement of the night before. With a little laugh at herself, she opened the top—and her laughter faded away.
There, nestled on dark red velvet, were the necklace and earrings she had traded for the new Star at Mr. Jervis’s shop. The delicate web of pearls and diamonds that had been Alex and Georgina’s gift to her on her last birthday twinkled. It had pained her so to give them up, but she had pushed that down deep under necessity—as she had been doing for years. Seeing them there now, returned to her, she felt a great lump rise in her throat.
Emily took them out of the box, spreading their sparkle across the satin counterpane. As she fastened the earrings to her lobes, she saw the glint of something else in the case. She reached in and pulled out the wire she had dropped the night before. Wrapped about its thin length, tied with a small red ribbon, was a piece of paper.
Grinning helplessly, Emily pulled it off and smoothed it across her lap to read.
My dear Boudicca—I hope you never have need of this little wire again, but just in case (for one never knows what awaits in life) I am returning it to you. I am also returning something else which I believe belongs to you. It took a great deal of time to persuade Mr. Jervis to show me which pieces were yours, but it will be worth it to see them around your neck and in your ears when next we dance at a ball.
Perhaps you would care to join Anjali and myself at Astley’s Amphitheatre next week? Or, if elephants and acrobats hold no excitement for you, tea again.
Sincerely, your friend, David Huntington
Emily pressed her hand to her mouth. So, last night had not been some sort of dream. His caresses, his sweet words, were real and true. As real as these jewels that sparkled before her.
If only she had a gift half so fine to give him in return.
There was a quick knock at the door, and Emily hastily thrust the note and wire under a cushion. “Come in,” she called.
Georgina stuck her head into the room. “I just wanted to look in on you, Emily dear, to be sure you are not ill again.”
Emily smiled at her. “I am well, truly, Georgie.”
“Yes, I can see that. You have not smiled so in days.” She came into the chamber to perch on the edge of the bed beside Emily. “Oh, I see your birthday jewels are back from being cleaned!”
Cleaned? Oh, yes—now Emily remembered her earlier deception about the gems’ disappearance. “They just arrived.”
“Hm. They do look beautiful, I must say. So sparkling and fresh. Perhaps I should have my emeralds cleaned. But, really, I just wanted to tell you, Emily, that . . .”
Her words were suddenly drowned out by a tumult in the corridor. There was a strange banging noise, and raised voices. Georgina hurried to the door, with Emily close behind.
A procession of footmen were making their way to the staircase, laden with baskets and cases. One of them had just run into the wall with the edge of a trunk, leaving streaks of dust on the silk wallpaper.
Emily recognized that trunk—she had taken clothes out of it just the day before. It was Damien’s. But where was it going?
“What is amiss, Greene?” Georgina asked the butler, who was interrupted in the middle of a brisk scold to the young footman.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” he said. “We were just taking away the cases, as you instructed, when Timothy lost control of the trunk. I fear the trunk was far too wide for the servants’ staircase, or we should never have disturbed you, Your Grace.”
“I am ever so sorry, Your Grace,” young Timothy stammered. “But this here trunk isn’t as heavy as it appears, and I used too much force when I hefted it. It’s very light for its size.”
“Quite all right,” Georgina said reassuringly. “Carry on, please, but carefully.”
“What is happening, Georgie?” Emily asked, staring
after the vanishing luggage.
“Nothing to worry about, Em. It is just that all this fuss about the Star reminded me of all the things your late brother left in the attics. And Greene complained of some strange noises there, as if mice had gotten in amongst all the clutter. We do not want mice, or Damien’s belongings, in our lives any longer, so I instructed Greene to dispose of them.”
“Yes,” Emily muttered. “Quite right, Georgie. No mice.” She was distracted by the way Timothy the footman was able to carry the large trunk on one shoulder. Isn’t as heavy as it appears—she suddenly remembered the hollow thud the trunk had made as she pushed it back against the wall.
“Wait!” she cried out. “Bring the trunk back. Put it here in my chamber.”
“Emily,” Georgina protested. “You do not want that dusty thing in your room. It will just bring up old memories.”
“Do not worry, Georgie,” Emily reassured her. “I just want to go through it, then you may toss it out to your heart’s content.”
Georgina gave her a worried glance. “Emily,” she said quietly. “I do not think it is such a fine idea for you to recall—well, such old occurrences. It is best to let such things go, to look only to the future. Believe me, I know this. There is much in my own past I have had to forget.”
“Georgina, I know you only care about me and want to spare me any pain, and I love you for it. But I promise I only want to glance through those things before you send them away. Who knows, there may be something there we would regret throwing out! And I feel no pain over Damien’s doings now. I feel only pity for him.”
Georgina still did not seem happy about it, but she nodded, and called out, “Bring that trunk back here for Lady Emily to see. She will send for you when she is ready for you to carry it away.”
“Thank you, Georgie,” Emily whispered. “This will not take me very long.”
“I hope not. I am going to the nursery to look in on Elizabeth Anne and Sebastian. Perhaps then we can go to the mantua-maker?”
“Of course.” Emily watched Georgina turn away, then instructed the footman to place the old trunk near the windows. Only when the door closed behind the servants and she was alone again did Emily kneel beside it and raise the lid.
Tiny dust motes rose up, dancing in the sunlight, and she inhaled the old scents of the pine soap Damien used and stale tobacco and brandy. As she stared down at the jumble of clothes and papers, the garments she had rifled and pilfered only yesterday, she realized with a small shock that her words to Georgina were actually true. She felt no pain any longer when she thought of Damien and all the troubles he had caused. She had carried her anger around for years, like a small, hard stone in her heart. It weighed her down, causing such bitterness and confusion that she could not even fully appreciate all the fine things that were in her life.
But last night, in David’s arms in the rich darkness, that stone just dropped away, and her heart could take wing again. Just as it had when she was a child and could dance barefoot in the country grass. The lonely years were behind her. Damien was dead, and she could only feel sorry for him. He had never, could never, have seen the truly valuable things in life as she did now. Jewels, money, position—they were as nothing. Love and family were all.
She loved David, and she wanted to give him a token of that passion, of all he meant to her. If her suspicions were correct, the perfect “token” might be right before her. It had always been here. She was just too blind to see it.
She had been blind to many things for a very long time. Now, there could only be light and truth.
Emily pulled the clothes out of the trunk, the papers and old, string-tied bundles of love letters. She piled them up on her carpet, the detritus of a life ill-spent. As she leaned over to peer into the shadowed depths, she saw she had indeed been right—the interior of the trunk was far smaller than the exterior.
The dark blue velvet was old and worn, shredded in several spots. Emily dug her finger beneath one of the holes and pulled it away. Once the cloth was removed, she saw a thin, cheap wooden false bottom.
“Damien,” she murmured. “You old cheat.” Using a stout letter opener from her escritoire, she wedged up the board—and gave a satisfied sigh.
She was right. There, in a narrow compartment at the bottom of the trunk, was a treasure. A small treasure, to be sure, but far more than she would have imagined her reprobate brother could hold onto. A leather purse clinked with gold coins. A little box held loose, snow white pearls. In a velvet case, she found her mother’s diamond tiara, a piece that had vanished from Fair Oak many years ago.
Emily smiled, imagining her mother’s joy when it was presented back to her.
As she put the tiara aside, her gaze fell on another pouch, tucked in the darkest corner. Holding her breath, feeling her heart pound like thunder in her breast, she grasped the pouch and pulled it out of the trunk.
The Star of India spilled out onto her palm, casting a twilight blue glow over the white fabric of her skirt. This was the real Star—she knew it as well as she knew her own name. It was warm on her skin, the facets seeming to whisper and murmur as she turned it over on her palm. It vibrated with a magic all its own.
The Star was rougher cut than the paste copy and Mr. Jervis’s excellent sapphire. The whiteness of the surrounding diamonds was muted, and the gold setting was dull. But she had never seen anything lovelier—except for David’s dark eyes, and the sheen of his daughter’s black hair.
She was not a superstitious person. But still, she had only one thought as she folded her fingers tightly over the true Star. Safe. They were all safe now.
The jewel would soon be back in the hands where it belonged, and it could never hurt anyone ever again. Emily slammed the lid of the trunk down, catching the past in its dark, dusty depths.
Chapter Fourteen
David stared up at the façade of the Kentons’ grand townhouse before he reached for the polished brass door knocker. The building was quiet in the late morning light, seeming deserted except for the clatter of coal from the servants’ entrance. It was full early for calls—but David had never proposed to a lady before, and found himself impatient to commence. He knew that he could expect a favorable answer from Emily herself. But what about her ducal brother? What would he say to the “Indian earl” paying court to his sister?
He raised the knocker and brought it down with a hollow, purposeful thud. The door handle clicked, and, much to his surprise, he was faced not with a stern butler but with Emily herself. Her smile glowed with a radiance he had never seen; summer sunshine itself poured forth from her pale curls and pink cheeks.
“David!” she gasped, clutching his hands in hers and pulling him into the foyer. As soon as the door shut behind them, she looped her arms about his neck and went up on tiptoe to kiss him. “I have missed you so much.”
He laughed, tightening his clasp to hold her against him. “We only parted a few hours ago. You did not have time to miss me, shona.” Of course, he had missed her, as well, though he would not say it aloud. It seemed absurd to miss someone seen only the night before. But there it was. Something had happened while they were locked in the close darkness of that closet. Something rare and profound. A destiny fulfilled at last.
If there was a curse on his family, as his grandmother believed, surely Emily’s kiss had broken it. He felt free, and as young as the day when he first met Emily Kenton so very long ago.
“Nevertheless, it has been too long.” She kissed his nose and his chin, giggling like a delighted schoolgirl. “I do think that you should—”
A discreet cough behind Emily interrupted her. She swung around, her arms still around David’s neck.
“Oh. Hello, Alex dear,” she said, her voice just the slightest bit more subdued.
David untangled her arms and turned toward her brother, holding her hands in his. The duke’s face was utterly unreadable as he observed the scene his sister was creating in his own foyer. There was no frown, no smile�
��just the blank marble of a Roman statue.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” David said, with a polite bow. “I hope it is not too early for a—business call.”
“Certainly not,” was the reply, made in coolly measured tones. “Depending what that business is. I have been expecting you, Lord Darlinghurst. Perhaps you would care to step into the library? If you will excuse us, Emily.”
Emily nodded, her curls bobbing. As she stepped back, she whispered, “After you speak to Alex, David, meet me in the drawing room. I have something to give you.”
David raised her fingers to his lips for a quick kiss. Something to give him, eh? That sounded promising, indeed.
Emily paced the length of the drawing room, sweeping her fingertips over the tops of the marble and gilt pier tables as she went. She did not see the garden out of the tall windows, or the paintings on the walls or the ornaments scattered on the tables. She just turned at the end of the room and paced back.
David was spending an inordinate amount of time in the library with Alex. Much longer than it should take. Was there a problem of some sort? What was happening in there? She wished she dared go eavesdrop at the door. She also wished Georgina was here to reassure her, but her sister-in-law was upstairs dressing to go to the mantua-maker. Even Elizabeth Anne and Sebastian were occupied with lessons and napping. Emily was quite on her own.
Or perhaps not entirely on her own. She opened the little pouch she held tucked in her hand and peered down at the Star’s flash of blue fire.
Had it truly been only a few days ago that she was so overcome with a strange, restless melancholy she could not explain? When she listened to Georgina express worries about her failure to find a suitable match? That seemed so far away now—part of another life, another Emily. Her heart was still now, bathed in the same blue light of serene happiness and belonging she saw in the Star. It was David who made that happiness. David who showed her in so many ways—especially in the way he so gamely went along with her wild schemes—that they belonged together. Had always belonged together.
Rogue Grooms Page 35
