The Emerald Duchess (15 page)

She knew that dukes were not as free as other men, and that even a mere baronet would hesitate to align himself with her, because of her occupation and her mother’s reputation. It may be the nineteenth century, she thought, her green eyes growing dark with her anger, but single women are as confined as they were in 1700! Only men were allowed the freedom to take any number of mistresses both before and after marriage. She knew too that wives had more license as well. She had heard the gossip about a certain Lady X, who, after presenting her titled husband with his firstborn son, had foisted several other children on him over the years, none of whom he could be sure were his. Even Lady Quentin had giggled over the juicy
on-dit
last year when Lady X, finding herself pregnant once more, made a hurried trip to Vienna, where her husband had been for some months, to observe the proprieties. What hypocrites members of society were! Strict morality, it seemed, applied only to virgins, and what grand ladies could do had no bearing on Miss Wyndham’s behavior. Ideally, she should have been accompanied by a footman or maid at all times, and shielded from unchaperoned contact with any male not directly related to her, until her hand were given in marriage. She was certainly not supposed to fall in love, and if she was so foolish as to do so, she was never to succumb to her emotions and let the gentleman make love to her until she wore his wedding band. She had flaunted all the rules, spoken and unspoken, from the very beginning, and now there was nothing left for her but loneliness and continued exile from the ranks of the
ton.

She shook her head sadly. She was no Lady Hamilton, able to cuckold an elderly husband and gain at least token acceptance because her lover was a national hero. There was no Lord Admiral Nelson for her, even though she was much better
born
than Lady Hamilton, who had been nothing but a little demimonde from a working-class background before Lord Hamilton married her and brought her into society’s ranks. Together the Hamiltons had lived openly with Nelson both in Naples and here in England, and she had created a scandal when she caused him to abandon his wife and had even borne him a child. Emily had seen some of the coarse cartoons about the lady that the print shops distributed to amuse society at that time. But now Nelson had been dead ten years and the
ton
was paying Lady Hamilton back for her temerity. She was not so much reviled as she was ignored, contrary to all Nelson’s dying wishes that England treat her kindly for his sake. Society always extracted payment from those who flaunted its conventions. What heavy penalty would
the duke have to pay if he married her? Emily raised her chin, her eyes bleak, as she vowed that day would never come.

By the time she was again installed at Bradley’s Hotel, she began to feel a little safer, although she did not dare to remove the heavy, uncomfortable brunette wig Lady Quentin had bought for her. She knew she had to find a position quickly, not because her money was low, but because the longer she continued to be abroad on the streets, the greater the chance the duke would have for finding her. She did not know when he would be in London again, but felt surely she had at least a few days’ grace before that time. She had traveled to Canterbury from Dover instead of taking the stage directly to town, hoping to throw Charles off the scent and never dreaming he was pursuing quite another lady and her precautions were unnecessary. She could not return to the Free Registry for the Placement of Faithful Servants, for it was possible that Mrs. Bromson would still be there to remember her, and her letter of reference spoke only of a Mrs. Wiggins, lady’s maid. Emily resigned herself to the name. What difference did it make after all what she was called now?

She was not any more successful in her search for employment than she had been the first time she was in London, for it was now July and a hot, humid summer. Most of society had retired to their estates, those who did not rent a house at one of the more fashionable spas, and Emily was beginning to feel a little desperate after several days passed and she had trudged from one agency to another, finding nothing that was suitable.

Finally, at Mrs. Finches’ agency, she was told to return the following day when there might be the chance of an interview, and she was climbing the dusty stairs with a glimmer of hope in her heart at last, when the door of the agency opened and a familiar voice spoke harshly above her.

“Thank you! If the lady you have just described returns here, I shall certainly reward you for your trouble if you send me word at once and keep her here until I come. You have my direction.”

Emily stood frozen for a moment, her heart pounding, but then she turned and fled down the stairs and out into the street. She saw Thomas holding the duke’s team, but fortunately he was deep in conversation with another groom, and so she was able to escape around the
corner
before the tall, lean figure of the duke appeared. She watched him leap up into his curricle and drive away, and then she leaned against the palings, trying to control her breathing, and oblivious to the stares of the passersby. What a narrow escape! If he had not spoken when he did, she would have walked right into him. She saw a man leering at her and beginning to approach, and she hurried away, taking the back streets and alleys until she reached the safety of her hotel.

She spent the rest of the day in her room, pacing up and down and thinking hard. London was not a safe haven any longer, and although she felt a kind of glad triumph that the duke had not given her up and was still trying to find her, she knew she had to leave immediately. But where could she go? Perhaps it would be best to travel to some factory town where she would never see anyone but cits, but if she did that, how was she to support herself? Her money would not last forever. Emily ran her hands through her hair in distraction. She was only trained as a lady’s maid, therefore she had to go somewhere the
haut ton
assembled and trust to luck that she could evade the duke.

As she went down for her supper, she passed a middle
-
aged couple on the stairs. The lady was complaining that they had to return to the heat and dirt of town
when the sea air and breezes of Brighton had been so delightfully refreshing. Taking the conversation as a good omen, Emily made arrangements with the porter to take the first Brighton stage in the morning, and retired to her room as soon as she had eaten, to pack her bags. Brighton, Bath, Worthington, Tunbridge Wells—what did it matter where she went as long as she was out of the duke’s immediate vicinity?

She went to bed remembering his deep voice at the employment agency, that voice that never again would roughen with passion as he made love to her, or soften in contentment when she came laughing into his arms, and she shed a few tears before she slept.

When she reached Brighton the following afternoon, she was quick to ask the innkeeper for the address of the best employment agency, and she made her way there early the next morning, not even stopping to stare at the Royal Pavillion.

Mrs. Huddlewick, the owner of the agency, shook her head sadly when Emily explained why she was there.

“I am so sorry, Mrs. Wiggins,” she said, and Emily’s heart sank. “There’s nothing like what you require. Now, if you were a parlormaid or a footman, I could place you in a minute, but there’s no call for lady’s maids this season. Brought their own with ’em from town, I have no doubt.”

Emily thanked her for her time and said she would inquire again, and gave her the name of the inn where she was putting up before she took her leave. If there was nothing in Brighton, she would have to travel farther, she decided, but she would stay here for a few days in case an opening occurred.

As she strolled back to the inn, she took the time to look about her, and wished she might remain here. The salty tang of the air was refreshing and it was nowhere near as hot as London had been. She paused to admire a white straw bonnet covered with tiny pink rosebuds and moss-green netting in the window of a milliner’s shop and became aware of a commotion behind her. As she turned to see what the matter was, she heard people shouting, and then she saw them running to escape. For herself, she seemed unable to move when she saw a large horse bearing down on her. There was an elderly lady on the perch of the old-fashioned carriage the horse was pulling, and her bonnet was askew with her efforts to bring him under control. Too late, Emily made a dive to one side, but she was not quick enough and one of the horse’s hooves struck her a glancing blow on the head, and she slipped unconscious to the cobblestones and knew no more.

“Oh, dearie me!” the elderly lady exclaimed as a groom ran up and grabbed the bridle of her horse, turning it aside before it could kick Emily again or smash the milliner’s window. He backed it into the street, and the lady driver was quick to get down and go to the small, huddled figure of Emily, lying there so still. A crowd was beginning to gather, and the lady pushed her way through, using the point of a large black umbrella to gain her passage.

“Stand back! You there, oh, my, do not crowd the poor dear, she needs air.”

At her refined though nervous accents, two gentlemen, the milliner’s assistant, and a small urchin obeyed her without question. The lady, who appeared spry for her age, knelt beside Emily and began to chafe her hands.

“Hortense! What is the meaning of this? What
are
you doing?” a querulous voice demanded, and the old lady looked up in relief.

“I am trying to restore this lady to consciousness, Horatia, as you can see. Oh, dear, the accident was quite all my fault, but when Pegasus bolted, I could not hold him
...”

“Pegasus?
Bolted
?” the other lady asked, turning to stare at the horse in some surprise. The others followed her gaze to where the horse was now tied to a post. He was a very elderly, placid animal. “A likely story! Hmmph! Pegasus has never bolted in his life. I knew I shouldn’t have let you take charge of him, for a sillier widgeon I have never seen. Get away from there and let
me
see to the woman.”

“Oh, Horatia, I am so afraid She is dead,” Hortense moaned, obediently moving so her sister could kneel beside her.

“Nonsense! She has lost consciousness, that is all. But we must get help. You there,” she snapped to the urchin, not even looking in his direction, “run ahead to Doctor Spears and tell him what happened. Now, you two
...
lift her carefully into the carriage. And as for you, gel,” she said in an acid tone to the milliner’s assistant, who was exclaiming
and sobbing and wringing her hands, “I don’t know what you’re carrying on so for. The horse didn’t touch
you.
Be off with you, this isn’t a raree show!”

“Coo-er,” the girl said, her mouth open in amazement, but she was quick to withdraw into the shop again.

The gentlemen deposited Emily in the back of the carriage, and the first lady got in to support her as best she could in her arms, while her domineering sister collected her umbrella, Emily’s reticule, and her own packages before she climbed into the driver’s seat and took up the reins, nodding to the groom to untie the horse. He did not hesitate, for Pegasus was quiet now to the point of somnolence, and indeed it took Miss Horatia several minutes of determined duckings and rein slappings across his broad back to stir him into his customary slow shuffle.

“I shall never understand what made him bolt,” she muttered over her shoulder. “He never moves above a walk and hasn’t for years. Hmmph!”

“I think it was one of those naughty, er, children, Sister,” Hortense ventured from the backseat, the bouncing of the carriage tipping her bonnet farther over one eye. “I saw them whispering after you refused to give them a penny to hold the horse when you went into the draper’s shop.”

“Hmmph. Very likely, nasty little monsters,” her sister replied, pulling a willing Pegasus to a halt at the door of the doctor’s office. “I knew we should have sent Agnes to do the errands instead of coming into town ourselves. Just see what has happened because we put ourselves in close proximity to
them
.”

The two sisters waited together while Doctor Spears examined the young woman. Hortense sat very still, her hands clasped and her eyes closed in prayer, but Miss Horatia used the time to examine Emily’s purse. “She is a Mrs. Wiggins, a Mrs. Regina Wiggins, Sister,” she announced in her curt voice after she had read Emily’s letter of reference. “A lady’s maid, I
gather. Funny, she does not look like her name is Wiggins, or as if she is in service. I would have taken her for a lady herself.”

“A-men,” her sister whispered, opening her faded-blue eyes very wide. “Oh, dear, do you think you should go through her reticule? So ... so unethical!”

“How else can we find out who she is, or her direction?”
Horatia demanded, fixing an equally faded but sharper eye on her sister.

The two were very much alike, although Miss Hortense favored a hairdo of graying sausage curls, a style that had been popular thirty years before. Her sister, although as tall and thin and with the same gray hair, wore it pulled back in a ruthless, tight bun. On her spare, black-clad bosom hung a pince-nez, which she had used to read Emily’s letter, and now she raised it again as she investigated the rest of the contents of the reticule, ignoring her sister’s distressed murmurs of protest.

“Hmmmph! How very singular,” Horatia said at last. “Now if she is indeed Mrs. Wiggins, Hortense, why does she also carry three letters concerning a Miss Margaret Nelson, tell me that?” She bent her sharp eyes on her sister’s face as if she fully expected the lady to come up with a plausible explanation, although it was plainly not in her power to do so.