The Emerald Duchess (12 page)

Emily nodded, wishing he had not moved away to check the broth she had placed on the hob to keep warm. She could still feel the pressure of his strong fingers and it comforted her. I do not think I can stand much more of this, she told herself in despair. The Captain so ill, the mean farmhouse, and having to do things she had never done before—it was all too much. But when the duke stood near her and spoke so kindly, she forgot her exhaustion and terror. He would take care of everything, she told herself, including Margaret Nelson, lady’s maid. With Saint Allyn she was safe—they all were.

When the captain woke, it was only for a moment, but they managed to get him to swallow a few sips of broth, and then some opium. “Nelly, you here?” he whispered, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. “I must be dreaming, for you are in Antwerp with Alicia. She promised.”

“All is well, Captain,” the duke assured him in a voice of command. “Go to sleep now and we will explain everything in the morning.”

Captain Quentin sank back on his pillows and Emily sighed.

“He will be calmer now, Miss Nelson,” the duke told her as he replaced the pan of broth near the fire. “If you need me, knock on the wall here and I will come at once. Deems will soon be on duty to relieve you—good girl! My father always said there was nothing like an Englishwoman for bravery and endurance in the face of terrible odds. In fact, he said your sex easily surpassed men in that respect, and I perceive he was right. But even my father could not know that at the same time a woman could be as beautiful as you are.”

With a last wave of his hand he was gone, and Emily sat down again to ponder his last words while she watched over her master.

Thomas and a large wagon arrived early the next morning, well before noon. The wagon contained all kinds of food and supplies, the duke’s wardrobe, a stout older woman and an even stouter maid, and driving the team and seated somewhat apart from them, an elegant gentleman’s gentleman.

“Sorry, your Grace,” Thomas muttered as he dismounted and heard the duke’s startled oath. “He insisted. Said he had no objection to nursing the captain. What he did object to was having you turned out shoddy, which you would be if you dressed yourself. That’s what
he
said, your Grace,” he added as his master cast a great frown in his direction.

Emily was asleep when they arrived, and with all this new help, Lady Quentin let her sleep on. She herself, relieved that Tony had woken and spoke to the duke, had been able to sleep for four hours and felt much refreshed.

From that time on, life in the Bordreau farmhouse settled down into an almost placid routine, centered around Tony Quentin and his needs. Madame Verge, although horrified at the primitive kitchen, fell to work with a will, and Nicole, the stout maid, was cheerful as she took the more onerous chores onto her own broad shoulders with competence. Mr. Greene, although he was heard to sniff now and then in disdain, was worth his weight in gold, for he turned out to be the best nurse of them all. When Tony Quentin was restless from pain and the slight fever he had developed and could not be made to lie still, Mr. Greene had only to lift one eyebrow to gain his cooperation. Lady Quentin remarked on this one afternoon while she was taking tea with the duke in the parlor, which Emily had just served.

“I do not understand what there is about your man, Charles, that makes Tony obey him as if he were no more than two and ten. He is not so good, even for me,” she said, nodding to Emily to pass the sugar to the duke.

“I know,” the duke replied as he stirred his tea. “But then, Alicia, Greene frightens even me, when he feels I need a setdown. Just one of his sniffs, one frozen glance, and I hurry to do his bidding. A formidable servant, to be sure, and
I
would not tolerate him except he is such a competent valet.”

He smiled his thanks to Emily, and she, noting that perfect coat, the sparkling white of his shirt, and his well-brushed hair, had to agree with him. She got on very well with Mr. Greene, although he never relaxed his formal courtesy to her. Paul was stunned by him, and when he came to the kitchen for his meals, he sat in silent awe of the paragon at the opposite end of the table. Mr. Greene, of course, did not acknowledge the stableboy’s existence by the flicker of an eyelash.

Now that a table had been set up in the parlor, the duke and Lady Quentin took their meals alone, so there was no repeat of that first intimate meal for Emily. Even Corporal Deems was seen less often, for he had taken to helping Paul with the stock and the garden, and Thomas was busy riding on the duke’s errands and fetching the doctor from the village when it was necessary for him to call. Emily found she had very little to do, once she had dressed Lady Quentin for the day. The duke had sent Emily, with Thomas to escort her, to Brussels to bring back the lady’s clothes, but she wore only simple morning gowns, not bothering to change for dinner. It seemed silly, she told her maid, to put on a silk gown even to dine with a duke, when she was going to be in the sickroom afterward.

Lady Quentin had taken to strolling up and down the lane in the afternoons when Mr. Greene was watching Tony, taking Emily with her. The duke found himself admiring the lady’s courage in insisting on nursing her husband, but his eyes went more often to the slender figure of her maid as he wished there were some way he could be alone with her.

One afternoon, Mr. Greene came to ask Lady Quentin to come and see her husband. “I do not like the look of him at all, m’lady. He should be mending much faster than he is doing. That arm, now ... I think perhaps the doctor should be called again.”

Lady Quentin rose at once, putting down her book as the duke begged her to send Thomas on the errand if she felt the doctor was needed.

“Thank you, Charles, I shall. I will come at once, Mr. Greene, Nelly? Nelly!” she called, and Emily came in for her orders. “I am going upstairs with Mr. Greene, Nelly, so I will have to forgo my walk this afternoon. Do go out yourself, though, and get some air. It is a lovely summer day and the cottage is stuffy.”

It was true the day was hot and sunny, and Emily was glad to thank her before she went to fetch her hat. The duke strolled to the door of the parlor as Lady Quentin and his man went up the stairs, deep in conversation. In the hall he heard Nicole ask Miss Nelson a question, and he heard the girl’s soft reply as she tied on her bonnet. Then his brows came together in a frown. The maid, of course, had spoken in French; what was surprising was that Miss Nelson had answered in the same language, fluently and with an elegant accent. The duke was determined to find out more about this unusual lady’s maid who was much too educated and refined for her menial occupation.

Accordingly, he noted which way she turned when she reached the lane, and then he took his hat and followed her. She was not in sight when he came around the first bend, and he stopped for a puzzled moment. The women knew they were not to go out of sight of the farm, for there were still soldiers about, some stragglers from the French army, intent on looting and plunder. Corporal Deems had frightened two such men away the second day of their stay, and he had spoken to the duke and suggested he carry a weapon whenever he went out.

Now Charles felt the pocket of his coat to be sure his gun was still there, and then he hurried down the lane after Miss
Nelson. He would have passed by the small path that led off into the woods if he had not heard her cry out with fear. Pushing past the bushes, he made his way down the path at a dead run. There, by a wide brook was Miss Nelson in the arms of a French soldier, his uniform ripped and filthy, and with several days’ growth of beard on his dirty face.

“Let her go or I shoot,” the duke called in French, drawing his pistol and taking aim.

The Frenchman sprang away with an oath and, seeing the pistol, was quick to jump the brook and take to his heels. The duke waited until all sounds of his flight had disappeared, and then he walked down to where the maid was standing, straightening her gown where the soldier had disarranged it. He noticed that her hands were trembling.

“Little fool! You know you are not supposed to go out of sight of the farm. It’s a good thing for you that I followed you when I did.”

Emily saw his angry eyes and set lips as she curtsied. “Thank you, your Grace. I am sorry to be such a trouble, but the lane was so hot and dusty I wanted to sit here by the brook for a while.”

His expression did not lighten and she turned away to pick up her bonnet where it had fallen to the grassy bank. “
Il
me semble que je vois sauve toujours, ma chere. Qu’ est-ce-que vous auriez fait si je n’avais pas ete ici
?”
the duke asked.

“
Il
est certain que faurais regrette cela beaucoup, monsieur
,” Emily replied, and then her hand went to her mouth in dismay.

The duke came and took her arm. “I think you owe me an explanation, Miss Nelson,” he said, still in French. “Since I have vanquished the enemy and have my pistol handy, let us sit d
own
as you wished to do in the first place, and then perhaps you will answer some of my questions.”

Emily opened her mouth to deny him, and then shut it.

He nodded. “Yes, so much wiser not to claim you have no knowledge of French when
I
have found you out.”

He indicated the stretch of grass by the brook, and Emily sank down on her knees, her mind whirling. She could not refuse to reply; maids were not allowed such arrogance to their betters.

Charles Saint Allyn sat down next to her, stretching out his booted legs and crossing his feet. He removed his hat and lay
back on the grass, propped up on one elbow and completely at his ease. For a moment there was silence except for a bird calling deeper in the wood and the chuckle of the brook as it ran over the
s
tones of its bed.

“Who are you?” the duke asked in English, his voice quiet.

Emily swallowed and stared straight ahead of her. “I am Margaret Nelson, spinster and a lady’s maid, your Grace.”

“You are certainly
employed
as a lady’s maid,” the duke agreed cordially. “As to the rest of it, I have my doubts. But we will leave that for now. Why
are
you a lady’s maid? One so educated, such a lady herself—it is incongruous!”

“I must make my way in the world, sir,” Emily replied in not much more than a whisper. How difficult this conversation was!

“Where were you
born
? Who are your people? And where did you learn to speak French like that?” He sat up suddenly and took one of her hands. “You ask me to believe that this thin, patrician hand came from peasant stock?”

“I ... I was
born
in London, sir. Who my parents are I do not know,” she invented.

“A foundling?” the duke asked with rich scorn. “I will concede the point. Perhaps you did have wellborn parents and your mother abandoned you—that is entirely possible and would account for your looks and breeding. But come! If you were a foundling and then put out to service, where did you learn to speak in such an educated way in both French and English?”

“I ... I went to a house where there was a daughter just my age, and although I was only a maid, Miss liked me and I was allowed to join her for her lessons.”

Still all the duke was allowed to see was her elegant profile, for Emily knew she could never look into his eyes and continue to lie to him.

“Look at me,” he commanded as if he had read her mind. “That is quite a story and it could have happened that way, although it is very farfetched. Perhaps you will trust me enough someday to tell me the truth. I see you do not trust me now.”

His voice sounded so regretful that, without thinking, Emily reached out with her free hand. He was quick to capture it and pull both her hands close to his heart.

“One thing I do know to be true, Miss Margaret Nelson, if that is your real name: you are a very beautiful woman,” he said, his deep voice intimate as he bent toward her.

Emily stared into those glowing black eyes and felt a warmth creep over her body until she was sure he could see the blush rising from the neck of her muslin gown. His eyes grew more intent as he leaned still closer.

“Lorelei,” he said, and then he bent his head and kissed her.

Emily concentrated on staying very still, afraid that if she moved she would tremble. His kiss was warm and gentle, and without meaning to, her lips opened under his and returned his kiss. At that, he grasped her shoulders in both his strong hands and kissed her more deeply. Emily put her hands up to his chest, but it was only a token gesture, for she had no intention of pushing him away. “So,” the little voice in her head said, “so, this is what it is all about.”

She felt as if she were sinking deeper and deeper into a soft warm mist. Vaguely she was aware that his arms had gone around her and he was holding her close as his hands caressed her back. When he raised his head at last, Emily felt as if she had traveled a very long distance to a country hitherto unknown to her. She saw a vein beating in his forehead, and his face
stern
and sober, a little frown between his brows. He did not speak, but she knew he was asking her a question as surely as if she could hear his deep voice. For a moment she hesitated, and then she reached up and put her arms around his neck and his expression brightened. He kissed her cheek and her throat before he began to take the pins from her tight chignon. When he had it loosened, he ran his hands through it until it fell down her back in ripples of pure gold, and he caught his breath in awe. Emily had not taken her eyes from his, and even when he began to unbutton her gown, they only widened and glowed with light. The duke thought he would drown in their green depths, and he found he was holding his breath, as if he were afraid to shatter this perfect moment.

With his hand warm on her breast, he kissed her again, and she closed her eyes at last as he lowered her, unresisting, to the sun-warmed grass.

Later, as she lay on her back, held close to him by one strong arm, she stared up at the blue sky and the few puffy clouds floating so far above her. It was strange. She had
thought she would feel differently somehow, that she would be ashamed and remorseful and embarrassed, but her mood was nothing like that at all. Instead, she felt a great peace and a sense of rightness about their lovemaking. He had hurt her a little in the beginning and she had not been able to restrain a little cry of pain. At once he stopped and raised his head to stare down into her face and ask in a gentle voice, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin, love?” She shook her head, but she did not speak as she pulled him close again, and in a little while the pain was gone and there was only the duke, his body warm and demanding and all-consuming. Now she turned her head to study that aristocratic face with its strong features and chiseled lips. How much younger he looks with his eyes closed, she thought, and all those lines of boredom gone from his dear face, and then she knew how much she loved him. Her mother might have bequeathed to her the sensuality she still felt, but Emily knew that she would feel it for only one man for the rest of her life. There could be no one else for her, not ever, not after today. She sighed a little and he opened his eyes and smiled at her.

“Are you all right, my dearest?” he whispered, pulling her to him again and kissing her.

Emily lay on top of him, her blond hair making a curtain around their faces as if to hide them from sight.

“Oh yes, I am fine ... No, that is not the right word. I am wonderful,” she said, and he laughed out loud. “More than wonderful. There are no words to describe you. I could search the dictionary for hours and not be able to do you justice.”

Suddenly she rolled away from him and sat up, pulling her hair to one side as she studied the sky. “We must make haste, your Grace. See the sun. Why, it must be very late and Lady Quentin will be calling me.”

“Charles,” he said firmly. “Not ‘your Grace,’ not now or ever again.”

“
Dear
Charles,” she repeated as she did up her hair.