The Emerald Duchess (4 page)

2

In December, the Quentins began to make plans to go out of town. They had been invited to a Christmas house party by the captain’s cousin, the Countess of Gault. This lady and her elderly husband, the earl, had an estate in Lincolnshire, and it was their custom to ask several of the
ton,
as well as various relatives, to stay for a few weeks. From what Emily could gather from Lady Quentin’s disclosures, the countess was a dashing figure, adored by her husband, whom she had firmly under the cat’s foot. She went her own way most of the year, but each Christmas returned with him to the ancestral acres, well attended by the most amusing people she could assemble to make the visit bearable. The countess hated the country and she could not stand to be bored. Lady Quentin could hardly wait to join the fun, for at Hartley Hall there was always something going on: an impromptu ball, a riding expedition, or a masquerade.

Emily herself was dreading the experience. She hated to leave her comfortable room for a strange household, full to bursting with guests and their numerous servants. She knew she would have to share a room with another lady’s maid, or perhaps even more than one, and once again she would be pitchforked into the company of strange valets, footmen, and grooms. And then there was the journey itself; the different inns and the other travelers and their servants to be encountered in the halls and on the stairs. She would be fondled and pinched, and there was nothing she could do about it but try to remain as aloof as possible. Pretty servants were fair game to every male in sight, from noble lords to common coachmen. As she fastened her hair in its customary tight bun one
morning, Emily sighed. The only good thing about the trip was that Miss Arabella Quentin had not been included. Emily wondered whether she or her mistress was the more pleased to escape her constant attention and criticism.

The Quentins, with Emily and Perry, the youngest footman, who would serve as the captain’s valet in the absence of his batman, left London the morning of December 16. It was several days’ journey to Hartley Hall, for it was located a few miles from Leadenham. Lady Quentin beguiled the trip with breathless chatter. She was so pleased to have her husband’s undivided attention, she did not even seem to notice the tedious journey. Emily and Perry, sitting facing back and holding various parcels and dressing cases, could not agree.

They spent the last night on the road in an inn in Stamford. The captain wished to make an early start, and so it was barely light when they ate a hurried breakfast the following morning. Emily stood in the posting yard, busy even at this hour with carriages and drays, horses and ostlers as the captain helped Lady Quentin to her seat in the coach. Emily could see her breath in the cold air and she envied her mistress her sable-lined cloak.

Suddenly she was aware she was being stared at, and she looked up to see the gentleman who had rescued her in the park observing her with interest. He was standing beside a smart curricle attended by his tiger, but when he saw the company she was in, and the bags and parcels she was holding, he raised his eyebrows and strolled over to her side.

Now that he was standing, Emily could see he was about, six feet in height and slimly built in spite of a pair of powerful shoulders. As he smiled at her, his air of boredom disappeared and she realized he was nowhere near as old as she had thought, perhaps only in his late twenties. It was obvious that he was an aristocrat from the top of his arrogantly tilted beaver set on shining black hair, to his well
-
polished boots. The devil that gleamed in his dark eyes and his slashing white grin all cried out, “Danger here, beware!” as clearly as if the little voice in her head had spoken aloud. He was obviously a man who got what he wanted, and without a moment’s delay. Emily was glad there was no possibility of his ever giving her a command.

“I see I was in error that day in the park, m’dear,” he drawled, looking her up and down in open appraisal. “How
strange that I mistook you for a lady. I am so seldom wrong.”

Emily was angry at his insolent words and those probing eyes, which seemed to see right through her clothes; and she forgot her station to say in a cold voice, “I have never heard, sir, that being a lady is reserved only for the upper classes. Indeed, I have often found that there are several of the
haut ton
who are sadly lacking in common courtesy and good manners.”

She raised her chin and gave him a sparkling look of scorn. At the expression of arrested surprise on his arrogant face, she remembered her situation and lowered her eyes in confusion.

“Come, Nelly,” Lady Quentin called from the coach window, “we must be off. Have a care for my dressing case, mind!”

Emily turned to do her bidding without another word, being careful not to look into those cold black eyes again. As she moved toward the coach, she heard the stranger muse, “I cannot recall being treated to such a severe setdown in my entire life—and from such an unexpected quarter as well. My congratulations, ma’am.”

Somehow, for the remainder of the ride, Emily found her thoughts returning again and again to the arrogant stranger. He looked so familiar, and yet she was sure she had never known him, even though his type was familiar to her after her two years of servitude. He had all the insolence of the well-born and even more pronounced than most, and the sneering disregard for the feelings of inferior people she had grown accustomed to. She stared out at the bleak countryside they were passing through. It looked so cold and forbidding under its thin blanket of snow that it reminded her of the expression on his haughty face. Clasping Lady Quentin’s jewel case tightly, she could only hope that their paths would not cross again.

At last, some hours later, they drove up the long drive to Hartley Hall, a huge pile of ivy-covered gray stone with narrow windows, whose turrets and towers proclaimed its age. For the next several hours, Emily was too busy to think of the stranger again. She barely had time to glance at the small room up under the roof that she was to share with another maid, or even to unpack her bags, for she was summoned by Lady Quentin to help her change for tea. And then, of course, she had to unpack the lady’s trunks and portmanteaus. Several of her gowns had become sadly crushed; she set them aside to be ironed.

At dinner in the servant’s hall, she made the acquaintance of the dresser who would share her room. Miss Hentershee was a middle-aged woman with sandy hair, very slim and
neat, but somehow she seemed worn and fragile. They sat next to each other at the table, and Emily was amused at the rigid protocol that was followed; the upper servants at the head and foot of the table, and all the others in ranks down the sides, according to their jobs. Next to her on the other side was an older upstairs maid who stared at her dark-blue gown with envy, but spoke not a word.

The butler said grace and the plates were served. There was no general conversation; grooms spoke to grooms while valets and dressers exchanged a few words. Emily discovered that there were some twenty guests expected, with more to attend a gala ball to be given shortly after Boxing Day. These additional guests would spend the night as well, and since each guest had at least two servants, and in some cases as many as four, the servant’s hall would be crowded.

After the meat course, the butler gave the signal for the upper servants to retire to the housekeeper’s room for their pudding and cheese. Emily was glad that the food had been plentiful, if somewhat plainly cooked. She would need her strength, for this was not a compact,
modern
house. There were miles of passageways and stairs to travel, and she knew Lady Quentin would demand the same instant attention she had become used to in town.

In the days that followed, Emily was glad she was young, but even so she was often weary when she fell into bed late at night. Miss Hentershee grew even paler and more frail, and it was not long before Emily discovered that she was troubled by an arthritic complaint, a condition she hid carefully from her mistress.

“She would discharge me in a moment, you know, if she even suspected,” the older dresser confided one morning as she struggled into her clothes. “She’s a hard one, is Lady Williams. And if I lose my place and my salary, I do not know how I shall live. In a few years I will have saved enough to retire, but it is difficult on fifteen guineas a year
to
put anything aside.”

Emily was horrified, especially when she learned Miss Hentershee had been with Lady Williams for twelve years, and from then on she tried to help the older woman as much as she could by taking over some of her chores. This was difficult, for Lady Quentin, entering into all the amusements of the party, changed her clothes several times a day, and when she dropped so much as a handkerchief, never thought of picking it up herself. She might be having a wonderful time with all the dances and teas and card parties, but her maid worked harder than she ever had in town. She could hardly wait to return. Besides, the countess did not believe in indulging the servants. There was no heat in the attics where they slept, and when Emily asked a housemaid to make up the fire in her room, the girl jeered at her.

“And ’oo do you think you are? A princess or summat? We ain’t allowed no fires.”

Emily winced. She had been called “princess” once before in an earlier situation, and the servants there had made her life a misery.

Now Emily could not help muttering, “Spoiled brat!” as she picked up a discarded stole from the floor after Lady Quentin had gone down to dinner on her husband’s arm, laughing gaily as she did so. The dressing table was covered with powder and hairpins and jewelry, and there were slops to carry away and fire to be made up again. Emily knew she could have no respite until she had the room in perfect order. She had been up since six, and her back ached and her feet were swollen. Besides, she did not care to linger on this floor alone. Lord Hunter, the Marquess of Benterfield, had rooms opposite the Quentins’, and Emily had seen him watching her as she went about her duties. She thought he was one of the most unattractive men she had ever seen. Of no more than medium height, with an undistinguished lined face and thinning gray hair, only his great air of consequence told you he was someone of importance. In repose, his face had a hint of cruelty in it; Emily could easily imagine him abusing a servant or beating his horses without a second thought.

But all thoughts of the marquess faded from her mind the afternoon of the long-awaited ball. As she was leaving Lady Quentin’s room with some mending, she saw the arrogant stranger again. He was a little way down the corridor and in the process of entering the bedchamber next to Lord Hunter’s, and his eyebrows rose when he recognized her. Emily lowered her eyes and dropped a hasty curtsy before she hurried away, her heart pounding. She was almost sure she heard a deep chuckle, and she shivered. At least he will be here only overnight, she told herself as she went up the long flight of stone stairs to the sewing room. I wonder who he is?

That evening, Emily hooked her mistress into a new gown of pale-pink silk and dressed her soft brown hair in shining curls on which she set the ruby tiara that had been the captain’s Christmas gift.

She does look
l
ovely, she thought as she knelt to arrange the lady’s skirts, a task made more difficult as Lady Quentin whirled before the pier glass to admire her gown. When she had gone, Emily straightened the room and went to join Miss Hentershee. As she gained the hall, she could hear the strains of a waltz from the ballroom on the floor below. For a moment she lingered, unable to stop herself from taking a few steps in time to the music, her skirts and apron swinging as gracefully as Lady Quentin’s expensive ball gown had done. Emily felt a longing in her breast and such a sudden misery that it was all she could do not to cry out in her pain.

It wasn’t fair! Just one flight below the ladies and gentlemen who should have been her peers were dancing and amusing themselves with light flirtations and sparkling conversation, but she, Emily Wyndham, could not join them. She put a trembling hand to her mouth. I must remember that I am Margaret Nelson now, she told herself. There will be no balls, no parties for me. No, before me is only a life of constant toil, and someday I will be like Miss Hentershee, a middle-aged, worn spinster.

Emily stifled a sob and ran to the stairs and her attic room. It would be hours before she would be summoned to put Lady Quentin to bed, but at least she did not have to remain here and torment herself listening to festivities that she would never know.

It was very late indeed before her mistress retired and Emily was able to blow out the candles and take herself to bed. As she closed the door softly and started down the hall, she realized she was not alone. From a dimly lighted alcove nearby, the Marquess of Benterfield rose from a sofa where he had obviously been waiting for her, and came toward her with a leer. From his uneven gait and flushed face, Emily could see he was drunk and her heart sank.

She tried to scurry past him, but he reached out and slid his arm around her waist and pulled her harshly into his arms.

“Pretty little thing,” he crooned, and then one hand forced her chin up and he bent his head to kiss her.

Emily twisted her head, unable to restrain a whimper of panic as she pushed him as hard as she could, causing him to stagger backward. She was very frightened, for she knew she must not cry out for help; to raise an alarm among the sleeping guests would mean instant dismissal.

The marquess came back to her and grasped her arms in a tight hold. “You must not fight me, dear child,” he said. “You cannot get away.”

“Let me go, sir. Oh, please, let me go,” she pleaded, and he laughed, his bad breath washing over her and making her feel faint. She noticed that he was perspiring and his mouth was wet and loose.

“Let you go? When I have just captured such a prize? No, no! Come now, no more of this innocent cringing.
I
know you maids, and I want my share. Why, you should be honored that I ask you into my bed.”

He laughed again as Emily cried out, “No, no!” She thought she had never hated anyone so much in her entire life as he pressed his body against hers and forced her hard against the wall. Suddenly, behind him, she heard a soft but forceful voice.

“Do you really find rape that amusing, m’lord?”

The marquess dropped his hands and whirled, and Emily saw the arrogant stranger leaning casually against the opposite wall.

“Your Grace!” the marquess sputtered as he attempted a low bow.

“Now,
I
myself prefer a willing partner,” the stranger said in a conversational way as he straightened up. “And this girl does not appear at all willing Bad
ton
, Richard, bad
ton.
Besides, I am surprised you would lower yourself to make love to a common maid. Can it be the highborn ladies all despise your suit?”

His voice was scornful, and the marquess flushed. “Oh, I am sure the mighty Duke of Wrotherham has never had any
need to seek any lady under the rank of countess,” he sneered as Emily gasped. The Duke of Wrotherham? Why, his father had been one of her mother’s lovers! No wonder he had looked so familiar.

The duke nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. “You should emulate my fastidious example, m’lord. Come now, off to bed with you. I doubt that in your condition you would find the encounter at all, er, fulfilling.”

The marquess sneaked a sideways glance at Emily and licked his lips, but when he looked back at the duke, it was to see him advancing purposefully, rolling up the sleeves of the open shirt he wore above a tight pair of evening breeches as he did so.

“I should hate to rouse the house, for then everyone would learn of your indiscretion,” the duke pointed out in a deep
-
voiced whisper.

The marquess tugged at his collar and turned away without another word.

As his bedroom door closed, Emily looked up to see the du
k
e regarding her closely.

“But one must commend the marquess on his excellent taste,” he said softly, and Emily, her hands going to her cap, discovered that her hair had escaped its severe bun and was falling down in disarray. She flushed but spoke up bravely.

“I must thank you, your Grace, for coming to my rescue,” she said as she curtsied, trying to control her uneven breathing. She did not miss the way his eyes traveled so insolently up and down her figure in its neat gown and lace-trimmed apron. She wished it did not fit so well.

“What is your name, girl?” the duke asked, stepping closer.

“Nelson—Margaret Nelson, your Grace.”

He reached out a careless finger and tilted her chin, and Emily did not realize how her emerald-green eyes flashed at the intimacy. Suddenly, the duke laughed softly. “Go to bed, Margaret Nelson. It is very late. And I would advise you to eschew dark hallways until the marquess has left the hall.”

Emily curtsied again and ran to the stairs to the attic. Her heart was pounding in earnest now, for she knew the duke was infinitely more dangerous than the marquess. And why had she had such an urge to tell him she was Emily Wyndham? It had almost slipped out before she could stop herself. He was an alarming man—thank heavens he would be leaving on the morrow with the other guests invited especially for the ball.

Emily was careful to avoid the Marquess of Benterfield for the remaining days of the house party, and she sighed a heartfelt sigh of relief on the morning they took coach again for London. She had not seen the duke again, and although her thoughts often strayed to him, she told herself she was glad that their encounter had been limited to that one meeting in the dark hall.

Life in London resumed its usual pace, and then, toward the end of February, Lady Quentin's mother, the Countess of Ridgely, arrived for a visit. With this lady came her maid, her own footman, and her coachman, and a vast amount of baggage.

Emily saw the lady the next afternoon when she was drying and curling Lady Quentin’s hair. The countess settled herself in a straight chair and began to talk. It was difficult to see any resemblance between mother and daughter except for their slimness. Indeed, the countess was thin to the point of gauntness. She had a cold, dignified manner that became evident after she had stared at Emily and then promptly forgot her as she told her daughter the news of home.

“Your father sends his remembrances, Alicia,” she began, “and of course your brothers. I am delighted to inform you that your sister Agatha is about to make a most satisfactory match—Lord Dale, so well-to-do and of such a good family. Even though he is several years older than Agatha, we are extremely pleased. Well! I have also to tell you that your grandmother has succumbed to the gout on
ce
again and has retired to her own estates.”

“Oh, Mama, how fortunate! I do hope you will make a long stay with us in that case.”

Her mother stared. “Can I ha
v
e heard you correctly? To be pleased when your grandmother is suffering? As for making a long stay, I am sure your husband will have something to say to that. With a new bride he will be wishing me away in a week.”

“Not Tony, Mama,” Lady Quentin protested. “He is so busy now we are back in town that I scarcely see him. I did so hope that now the war is over he would be able to be with me more often.” She sighed and the countess looked at her shrewdly.

“You will remember what I told you when you were married, Alicia,” she said firmly. “It is fatal to hang on a man’s sleeve, even as a bride, for there is nothing that gives a husband such a disgust of a female as her constant begging for his attention.”

“I know, Mama, indeed I remember,” Lady Quentin said, hanging her head and making it difficult for Emily to continue to brush her hair. “I have done just as you told me. In fact, in the beginning, it was often Tony who begged for my company, but I kept your precepts in mind and did not allow him to see me more than once or twice a week.”

“Good! That is the only way to keep a marriage happy.”

“I do wish Tony would talk to me more, Mama. He never tells me why it is important for me to attend this party or that, or be sure to talk to certain people in my most charming manner, and he never tells me what he is doing at the War Office, or why—”

The countess interrupted. “That is none of your concern, daughter. That is man’s business, and of course beyond your understanding. You must not pry.” Then in a lower voice, she added, “I am sure you remember what I told you about gentlemen and their lady friends. It is especially important for you to bear in mind, for the captain is such a handsome man, and you, my dear, are not at all beautiful or captivating, nor do you have much of a ... of a shape. So if you see him in attendance on one of the demireps of the town, you must look the other way and never show him that you think his behavior disgusting.” She sighed and added repressively, “Men are different from women. Their amusements are such that no decent woman would indulge in them. Besides, you must keep your own reputation above reproach. What is sauce for the gander is most definitely not sauce for the goose.”

“How very unfair, Mama,” Alicia exclaimed, but at the sight of her mother’s horrified face, she added, “Not that I have any desire for a lover. My dear Tony is everything a woman could want.”

“It is of course gratifying that you feel that way, Alicia,” the countess said dryly. “But on no account must you let him know it. No silly raptures, no languishing looks—you know the form. You will submit to your husband, Alicia—I am sure I do not need to tell you your duty—but there is no need to pretend any enjoyment in the act. That is why men go with women of loose character; from their wives they expect only a dignified passivity. If you would be a good wife, heed me.”

“But
...
but Mama! Is a woman never to enjoy—I mean, well—sometimes it is so beautiful and overwhelming—”

“
That
is quite enough! To think I should ever hear one of
my
daughters make such a disgusting statement! You seem to forget the captain only married you for your money. He does not love you.”

Lady Quentin paled at her sarcasm and nodded her head. “I know you must be right, Mama, but Arabella says I should stop going about town on my own and be with Tony more often.”

“Hmmph!” Lady Kinsley sniffed. “I did not realize Miss Quentin was still in town. When does she plan to retire to Burton-Latimer?”

“I have no idea; never, I imagine, as long as Tony is in London,” Lady Quentin said tartly, shaking her head.

Lady Kinsley rose. “I can see it is a very good thing that I have come to town, Alicia. I did not expect to hear you speak so of one of your husband’s relations, who has, after all, done everything in her power to assure your happiness. Why, Miss Quentin, if she has any weakness, it is that she does not perfectly understand the married state, never having been so blessed herself. But in other matters”—she shook a bony finger at her daughter—“do not be setting yourself up as an authority, Alicia, it ill becomes you: rather, listen and obey when older and wiser heads take the trouble to advise you. I shall go and rest now before dinner. It has been a fatiguing day, and I see I have quite a task before me to bring you to a correct state of mind.”

“Yes, Mama,” Lady Quentin murmured in a soft, discouraged voice as her mother went majestically to the door.

Emily tightened her lips. She was horrified, for never had she thought to hear a mother speak so to her daughter. It was obvious now why Lady Quentin behaved as she did. No wonder she ran around town, filling her days with shopping and parties. Emily wanted to put her arms around the bride and tell her her mother was wrong, for she was a very pretty girl and in a few years, with more experience, would be a lovely woman. As she took some mending away with her and left her mistress to write a few notes, she shook her head. Between Lady Kinsley and Miss Quentin, they were in a fair way of ruining the girl, for she had little self-confidence and no way of standing up to her elders. Emily wondered what Lord Kinsley was like, and what he thought of his wife’s ideas of marriage, poor man.

Now that Lady Kinsley was visiting, Captain Quentin was seen even less than before. He left early for Headquarters, he played cards with his friends, he had engagements at his club. Through it all, Emily watched Lady Quentin fade into a meek submission, as her mother nodded at each new instance of her son-in-law’s indifference.

She was also privileged to see both the countess and Miss Quentin taking her mistress to task one morning in the drawing room. Miss Quentin had called to welcome the countess to town. When Emily came in with the handkerchief Lady Quentin had dropped in her room, they were deep in a lecture on the responsibilities of the
modern
wife.

“
I
must tell you, dear Lady Kinsley,” Miss Quentin was saying in what she considered a playful tone, “that Alicia has been very naughty. Indeed, she is fast gaining a reputation as a gadabout, care-for-nobody!
”

“Indeed?” Lady Kinsley asked frigidly. “I find it hard to believe of one of
my
daughters. Perhaps you exaggerate?”

“I can assure you that I do not,” Miss Quentin replied, her high color even more prominent. “I wish it were not so, for you must know it is repugnant for me to find fault and have to report such behavior to Alicia’s mother.”

The two older ladies glared at each other as Emily handed Lady Quentin her handkerchief and could not resist pressing her hand warmly as she did so. Lady Quentin looked up to see her maid smiling at her in complete understanding of her predicament, and her expression brightened a little and she sat up straighter on the sofa.

“This is all a farradiddle and you know it, Bella,” she said. “I am very disappointed that you would repeat such untruths to my mother. I am not a gadabout. I attend the parties of the
beau monde
with my husband’s friends when he cannot escort me himself, and as for being a care-for-nobody, that is also untrue. I care very much for my husband. Thank you, Nelly, that will be all.”