The Emperor's New Clothes

by Victoria Alexander

  “Not his horse.” Ophelia released an irritated sigh. “Me.”

  “But I don’t understand. Then why was the horse laughing?” Jenny shook her head as if to clear it.

  “Horses do not laugh!” Tye’s voice boomed through the room. “And I was not seducing you!”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Well…” Tye’s gaze darted around the room as if looking for an answer. “All right, I was seducing you. But you weren’t resisting.”

  “I shot you.” Ophelia squared her shoulders. “I’d say that’s resistance.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You said it was an accident.”

  “My goodness! What’s going on here?”

  Lorelie stood in the doorway, eyes wide, hand clasped to her cheek, shock coloring her face. At once Ophelia realized how very odd the scene must look. She and Tye screaming at each other about laughing horses and seduction and—

  “Countess, I would suggest…” Lorelie nodded discreetly at the front of Ophelia’s riding habit.

  “Ophelia!” Jenny rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

  “Good Lord!” Ophelia grabbed the edges of her blouse, pulled them together and frantically tried to get the buttons in their tiny, little holes. Damn. She had completely forgotten how horribly exposed she was when the gun went off. She glanced up to meet Tye’s gaze. Surely the man was not amused by all this? “You must accept my apologies,” she said. “Lorelie, I was—”

  “Don’t give it a second thought, my dear.” A weak smile touched Lorelie’s lips as if she really wanted to mean what she said but couldn’t quite manage it. “These things happen.”

  Tye gave Ophelia a smug smile. “I’m glad to see you can walk.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re not dead!” Ophelia said sharply.

  He snorted in disdain. “No thanks to you.”

  Ophelia gritted her teeth. “It was an accident. However, given further consideration—”

  “Countess—Ophelia! Tyler!” Lorelie’s voice snapped with the uncompromising tone of a mother chastising bickering children. “That is quite enough. Ophelia, you can continue to disrobe and get in bed. Whether you can walk or not, you took quite a tumble. I daresay you’ll be stiff and in pain by evening. And as for you.” She stepped in front of Ophelia and turned her glare on Tye. “I can’t imagine what you were thinking, forcing your attentions on a guest in my home. Such behavior indeed!”

  “She shot me.” His voice rang with indignation.

  “I probably would have shot you too,” Lorelie said.

  “It was an accident,” Ophelia said. Why wouldn’t the irritating man accept that?

  “Hah! Some accident!” he said.

  “If I did it on purpose”—Ophelia grinned at him from behind Lorelie—“you’d be dead.”

  “Ophelia!” Jenny clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Tye’s gaze slid from Ophelia to Jenny and back. “So this is your maid?”

  “Yes,” Ophelia said cautiously.

  “So why does she call you…Ophelia?” Triumph flickered in his eyes.

  “It’s her name?” Jenny said helpfully.

  Ophelia groaned to herself. Why was it every time she turned around there was some annoying little detail that had completely slipped by her? She didn’t recall the tailors having this much problem with the emperor. She glared at Tye. He had a conceited smile plastered on his face. It was a good thing he hadn’t worn that look when she still had her gun in her hand.

  “Well?” he prompted smugly.

  She should have killed him. “Well…she calls me Ophelia because…” Why? Why? Why? Of course! Gad, she was good. “Because she has a speech difficulty and she can’t pronounce ‘countess.’”

  “Poor little thing,” Lorelie murmured.

  Tye laughed. “Oh, come now. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s true.” Ophelia turned to Jenny. “Say ‘countess.’”

  Panic flashed through Jenny’s eyes; then she pulled herself up to her full, if tiny, stature and said, “C-c-c-c-c-”

  “Very well.” Tye clenched his teeth. “What about ‘my lady.’”

  Ophelia shrugged. “Jenny?”

  Jenny lifted her chin defiantly. “M-m-m-m-m-”

  “This is ridiculous.” Tye snorted in disbelief. “You’re telling me the only words this child can’t say are ‘countess’ and ‘my lady’?”

  “I have a problem with ‘Bridgewater’ too,” Jenny said sweetly.

  “Ah-hah!” Tye pointed at Jenny. “Caught you! You just said—”

  “That’s quite enough.” Lorelie glared at her nephew. “You have thoroughly embarrassed this child and I refuse to let you continue.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Tyler Matthews. You get right down to the kitchen and let Alma take a look at that little scrape of yours.” Lorelie hustled him out of the room. “And Countess, you get some rest.”

  He stopped in the doorway and glared at Ophelia over his shoulder. “You’re lying to me again. And I still say you don’t do it well.”

  “Come along now, Tyler.” Lorelie nudged him down the hall.

  “I do not lie,” Ophelia said in a haughty manner, adding under her breath, “I act.”

  “She shot me, you know.” Tye’s voice trailed after him down the hall.

  “I know, dear,” Lorelie replied faintly. “You’ll live.”

  Jenny turned wide eyes to her sister. “I can’t say ‘countess’? You are good.”

  “Thank you.” Ophelia bit back a smile. “I rather liked your addition of ‘Bridgewater.’ Did you see his face when you pronounced the word you said you couldn’t?”

  Jenny grinned. “I’ve never seen anyone look quite so—”

  “Shocked? Confused? Victorious?”

  “Actually, I was going to say silly.”

  The sisters stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. They tumbled onto the bed in the throes of hysteria until tears ran down their cheeks and their sides ached.

  “Goodness.” Ophelia wiped her eyes, propped her head on her hand and stared at her sister. “That was funny. I really didn’t mean to shoot him.”

  “He’ll no doubt realize that.” Jenny grinned. “When he heals.”

  “It won’t take him long. It’s not much of a wound.” Ophelia chuckled. “I could have done some real damage, but this was, of course, an accident.”

  The sisters fell into a companionable silence. What would have happened if Jenny hadn’t come in when she did? Would Ophelia now be a fallen woman? Regret battled with relief. Not that it really mattered. She was past the point when most women married. Goodness, she was already twenty-three and well on her way to being a genuine spinster. Why, when it came right down to it, what was she saving herself for?

  The feelings Tye aroused in her were at once wonderful and frightening. A sudden thought struck with a surprising clarity: Why couldn’t she relinquish her virtue, give in to her own desires and still remain true to herself? There was no reason why she had to sacrifice her soul in order to experience the bliss Tye so eloquently offered her body. Still, could she really separate one from the other?

  “He knows, doesn’t he?” Jenny plucked at the coverlet on the bed. “About us? About you?”

  Ophelia sighed. “Probably. But he has no real proof and until he does”—she shrugged—“I doubt Big Jack will believe him.”

  “So, what do we do now?”

  Ophelia rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know exactly. I have to figure out some way to get our money.”

  “You mean Big Jack’s money?”

  “Not anymore.” Ophelia couldn’t resist a slight note of satisfaction. “It’s our money now. At any rate, we need to get to it and get out of town.”

  “How are you going to get around this official ceremony they’re planning?”

  “I don’t know that either,” she said, her tone sharper than expected. “I’m hoping
to avoid it altogether. I said I’d write and determine if a British representative can come to Dead End, but perhaps the letter will get lost. It will all work out.”

  Jenny was silent for a long moment. “How do you feel about Tye Matthews?”

  “He’s annoying. He’s irritating. He’s arrogant. He’s smug. He’s—”

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  “Most certainly not!” Then Ophelia sighed. “I’m afraid I do.”

  Jenny’s voice was soft. “Do you love him?”

  “I don’t know.” Ophelia tried to put her thoughts into words. “I’m not sure I know what love is. I know when he touches me I feel like rare crystal that could shatter with the barest pressure of his fingers or his lips. I know he seems to linger always in the back of my mind and I want to avoid him and be with him at the same time. I know at any given moment he makes me long to be in his arms or shoot his head off. And I very much fear—” her voice softened—“when we leave here, I shall miss him quite a bit.”

  Jenny nodded sagely. “It’s love all right.”

  Ophelia groaned. “I certainly hope not.”

  “He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” Jenny grinned. “So tall and strong with all that blond hair and those brown eyes.”

  “Chocolate.”

  “What?”

  “Chocolate.” Ophelia sighed. “His eyes are like chocolate.”

  “Oh, dear,” Jenny murmured.

  “I know.” Regret and resignation sounded in Ophelia’s voice. “I’ve never been able to say no to chocolate.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I really think I’m quite recovered.” A hopeful note sounded in Ophelia’s voice.

  “Well, perhaps today, dear, you may get up.” Lorelie perched on the side of the bed and smiled.

  It had been two full days since her fall, and Lorelie had insisted, no commanded, that she stay in bed every minute of them. Whoever would have thought this tiny, sweet little woman had a will of iron strong enough to rule, not merely her home, but probably the entire world. Queen Victoria herself would likely meet her match in Lorelie Matthews.

  “Actually, I had been thinking of an outing you might enjoy.” Lorelie’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “The Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society meets today.”

  Ophelia sat up straighter. “For cards?”

  “Cards and…other things.”

  “What kinds of other things?”

  “You really have missed a great deal, dear, by staying in bed,” Lorelie said with a shake of her head.

  “But you insisted I stay in bed.”

  Lorelie cast her a knowing smile. “And don’t you feel much better because of it?”

  Ophelia nodded in surrender. She did have to admit her fall had left her bruised where she’d never imagined she’d have bruises, too stiff to move and too sore to really care. But today, at least, she seemed nearly normal.

  “So tell me, Lorelie, what did I miss?”

  Lorelie’s expression brightened. “To begin with The Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society has decided we really must improve ourselves if we are going to have a representative of the Queen visit. Goodness, if Jack is to be a count, we would hate to do anything that would disgrace him.”

  “Of course not.”

  “So, we’d like you to teach us proper deportment.”

  “Proper deportment?” What on earth did that mean?

  “Yes indeed.” Lorelie nodded enthusiastically. “None of us have the faintest idea how to act with an ambassador or a count, even though that will be Jack and I daresay being a count probably won’t change him a great deal, at least I hope not, but one never knows what a man might get into his head. Now, many of us have spent some time with you, but we’ve decided you’re an exception. You’re so pleasant and terribly”—Lorelie shrugged in an apologetic manner—“normal. The ladies have discussed it and we all agree. You’re not much different from an American, except for the accent, of course. Why, you’re not at all the way we expected an English countess would be.”

  “I’m not?” Ophelia said faintly. Mild disappointment and curiosity trickled through her. “Exactly how am I not what you expected?”

  “Well, I don’t know that I can put my finger on it. You simply seem to be so much more on one hand and on the other”—she shrugged helplessly—“somewhat less.”

  Ophelia stared, resisting the urge to shake her head in a futile effort to understand Lorelie’s convoluted comment. “What?”

  “Gracious, I’m not explaining this at all well, am I? Well, then, never mind. And you mustn’t let it worry you, my dear.” Lorelie waved her hand in a vague gesture of unconcern. “We mean it as, well, a compliment.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “Not at all. Now then”—a brisk businesslike tone colored the older woman’s words—“we feel if we are to be ready in time we haven’t a moment to lose. So The Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society will meet every day until further notice. Except for Sundays, of course, and Saturdays. One must draw the line somewhere, I should think.”

  “Why must you meet every day except Saturdays and Sundays?”

  “Why? Well, we all need to learn to curtsy, I suspect, and anything else you wish to teach us.”

  Ophelia could handle teaching them to curtsy, although it could end up a bit more like a stage bow. But who would know? As to anything else…“I’m not sure you need much more than a curtsy.”

  “Really?” Lorelie drew her brows together thoughtfully. “In that case, I suppose we shall simply have to resort to cards.”

  “That would be nice,” Ophelia said. Perhaps here was her opportunity for a little ready cash. Especially since she had yet to determine how to get her money out from under the watchful eye of Dead End’s banker.

  “It will, won’t it?” Lorelie beamed. “Of course we will have to forgo our meeting on those days when we’re involved in construction of the opera house.”

  “The Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society is going to build an opera house?”

  “Don’t be absurd, Ophelia. We won’t be doing the actual work. We shall allow the men to do that. We will simply add moral support.” Lorelie narrowed her eyes knowingly. “I rather suspect it takes a great deal of moral support to build a proper opera house.”

  “Why are you building an opera house?”

  “Honestly, Ophelia.” Lorelie sighed. “If we’re going to have a respectable town with our very own genuine count, we need an opera house. Why, where else would we watch performances of the classics of the civilized world?”

  A nasty, sinking sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. “Which classics?”

  “Oh, the usual.” Lorelie ticked them off on her fingers. “Opera, naturally, and the Greek tragedies. Melodramas—”

  “I would scarcely consider melodramas classics,” Ophelia said wryly.

  “—and, of course, Shakespeare.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “Certainly, my dear. And Tyler mentioned you’re practically an expert on Shakespeare.”

  Ophelia bit back a caustic response. “Tye mentioned that, did he?”

  “Indeed he did. He felt with your expertise you’d be the perfect person to advise us on the construction of the theater.”

  “He’s really very helpful, isn’t he?”

  Lorelie nodded in agreement. “Tyler has always been willing to help.”

  “I’ll bet,” Ophelia said under her breath. The man had a lot of nerve, volunteering her expertise without the slightest thought as to whether or not she’d be willing to engage in such an activity. Although it really wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it might be fun. Enthusiasm built within her. Why, this was her opportunity to assist in the creation of a theater that would keep in mind that the heart and soul of any performance was the actor. Besides, she wasn’t ready to leave Dead End quite yet anyway. And thes
e were such nice people. Assisting with their opera house was the least she could do.

  She gave Lorelie a gracious, countess-like smile. “I would be delighted to help.”

  “I knew you would.” Lorelie nodded with satisfaction. “Now, we don’t have much time. There’s only three weeks left until the ceremony.”

  That unpleasant sinking feeling had returned. “What ceremony?”

  “Ophelia, dear, are you certain you’re all right?” Concern shadowed Lorelie’s face. “What I mean is, you didn’t damage your head when you fell, did you?”

  “My head is fine. What ceremony?”

  “Why the ceremony to make Jack a count, of course.”

  “Perhaps I did injure my head after all.” Ophelia raised a hand to her forehead and winced. “I have absolutely no recollection of writing to the ambassador.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I didn’t?” Ophelia pulled her brows together. “But wasn’t I supposed to?”

  “Well, yes, but after your fall…” Lorelie leaned forward in a confiding manner. “You took a dreadful spill. Why, the sight of you tumbling end over end”—she shuddered—“it was a very unpleasant thing to witness, you know.”

  Ophelia snorted. “I know.”

  “We were concerned about your recovery and Sedge—”

  “Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Of course. Sedge thought he should go ahead and telegraph the British embassy in Washington.”

  “He wired the embassy?” Ophelia fairly choked on the words.

  “Indeed. And he received a telegram back yesterday.” Lorelie glowed with excitement.

  Ophelia bit her lip. “And what exactly did the telegram say?”

  “Unfortunately, the ambassador can’t make it”—Ophelia breathed a sigh of relief—“but there is an Englishman, some kind of lord, a duke, I think, or maybe an earl. No, no, it was something else—”

  “Never mind, Lorelie, it doesn’t really matter.”

  “I suppose not. Still, it is annoying not to remember.” She sighed. “At any rate this gentleman, a genuine representative of the Queen herself, mind you, wired Sedge and said he’d be delighted to officiate at the ceremony and award Jack his title.”