The Emerald Duchess

by Barbara Hazard

  She also saw another duke, the Duke of Wellington, riding with some of his aides. Lady Quentin had given her the afternoon off, since she was attending a cricket match at Enghien with Lady Caroline Capel. As Emily was strolling in the park, the duke cantered by. All the English cheered him roundly, and he raised a casual hand in acknowledgment. Emily thought him most impressive in his uniform, and a very handsome man, even if his nose was a trifle too long.

  Emily was standing by a fountain, watching the play of the water, when she felt someone’s eyes on her and looked up quickly. In shock, she stood frozen while an officer inspected her carefully from head to foot, and then, with a little nod, came to her side and took her arm. “I am sure I am not mistaken,” he said smoothly. “It is Miss Wyndham, is it not? Yes, you have a great look of your mother, although you have indeed grown since last I saw you.” He sneered a little as he ran his eyes up and down her figure, and Emily flushed as she pulled her arm out of his grasp. “How is dear lovely Althea, m’dear? Whose, hm, protection is she under now?”

  “My mother is dead,” Emily whispered through stiff lips, wishing she had the courage to walk away, for this was indeed that selfsame Colonel Rogers of the Coldstream Guards who had offered to pay her mother for her favors ten years ago.

  “How very unfortunate. But I am sure you were not bereft for long,” the colonel said. “Following the drum, are you? Who is the lucky man, Miss Wyndham?”

  “I am not following the drum. There is no man,” Emily blurted out, her face white with shock that he should think her like her mother.

  “I am afraid I do not believe you, my dear. Althea Wyndham’s daughter virtuous? Impossible! And there is no wedding ring on that little hand. Come, I insist you accompany me to the nearest cafe for some refreshment.” He took her arm in his again and squeezed her hand intimately. “You must tell me how you come to be here, and why you dress so plainly and with such a severe hairdo. Whoever your lover is, he does not do you justice, child. You should be decked out in jewels and satins, with blond curls dressed high to tempt a man to let ’em down and run his hands through them. I should treat you better, you know. Perhaps we can come to some agreement of profit to us both—as well as pleasure. My, ten years is a long time for such old acquaintances to be separated. You do remember me, do you not?”

  Emily stood very still, her head high. “I remember you very well, Colonel Rogers, and I have no desire to accompany you anywhere, or make any arrangements with you, ever! Let go of my arm. You may be sure I shall make a scene if I am not immediately released.”

  She stared into those cold, hooded eyes until he dropped her arm, and then she spun on her heel and hurried away, sick to be discovered. Although she took a circuitous route home and often looked over her shoulder, she did not see him following her, and it was with relief that she shut the door of the house the Quentins had hired, and leaned against it, panting.

  She would not have had such a sense of deliverance if she could have seen the urchin who scurried away with her address for the tall Englishman who had promised to pay him so well for the information.

  Because of the crowded conditions in the small, rented house, Emily slept in a little room next to Lady Quentin’s, and the walls were so thin that she soon had a very good understanding of what marriage was all about. No matter what she had thought after reading her mother’s letters, it was obviously pleasurable, not only for the captain, but for his wife as well. Emily could not help comparing the love the Quentins shared with the cold lechery that Colonel Rogers offered her, and she thought it very sad that she would never have that kind of happiness.

  One morning in Lady Quentin’s dressing room, she heard the captain say from the bedroom, “That is enough! Why, Alicia, I do believe you have turned into a witch. Do you know how many times I find myself thinking of you when I should be concentrating on my duty? You were not like this s in London, pet.”

  “That is because my mother told me that decent married ladies do not enjoy making love. But I can go back to my former indifferent state if you wish, Tony.”

  “You must know I do not. Your mother, with all due respect, is an idiot. You are breathtaking—and I adore you! But I must keep my wits about me, for, unless I miss my guess, it cannot be much longer before the battle.”

  “Are you sure, Tony? Why, I have heard that the Duchess of Richmond asked the duke if she might hold a ball next week on June fourteenth, and he assured her he saw no reason not to. In fact, he told her he is planning to give a ball himself on the twenty-first of June, to celebrate the second anniversary of the battle of Vittoria. Surely if Wellington does not expect trouble before then, there can be nothing to fear. Or have you heard differently, Tony?”

  “No,” the captain said slowly. “But I think the duke speaks as he does to reassure the civilians, and to tell the truth, we have not the slightest idea where Napoleon’s army is. Since we are not officially at war as yet—although no one could say we were at peace—we are not allowed to send out cavalry scouts as we did in the Peninsula War to investigate French-held territory. Napoleon may be in Paris still—or just over the next hill. Curse all politicians! It is just a feeling I have, as do many of my fellow officers, that the time is ripe. Do you realize it is almost a hundred days since Napoleon reached Paris? He will not delay much longer, not now when he knows Wellington is here with his army. And that’s another thing. Such a rag-bag, grab-bag army it is. Germans and Dutch and Russians and Austrians and I don’t know what all, all milling about and squabbling about command. Thank heavens we have Wellington at the head.”

  Emily heard him stamping his feet into his boots and then there was a discreet knock on the door. Sergeant Boothby had an urgent dispatch for the captain, and in a moment, he was gone.

  Emily, of course, was interested in the captain’s assessment of the situation, but to be truthful, she was much more concerned with any possible confrontation she might have with Colonel Rogers.

  For several days after their meeting in the park, she had started up every time the knocker sounded on the front door, and she remained inside the house whenever she could. Lady Quentin had found some friends to go about with, and if Lady Caroline Capel or the Misses Ord were about, there was no need for her to take her maid. Lady Quentin did not notice that her Nelly did not take any more walks in the park, or that when she asked her to purchase some small item, Emily sent the scullery maid or Sergeant Boothby on the errand.

  On the few occasions when she was forced to accompany her mistress, there had been no sign of the colonel, and so she relaxed. Perhaps he had been sent away; perhaps he had taken her at her word and intended to leave her alone.

  But Colonel Rogers had no intention of leaving her alone. Instead, he had the Quentin’s house watched, and one evening learned that the captain and his wife had left in a carriage, accompanied by his sergeant. The urchin who brought the information said the lady and gent was dressed very fine, and since Colonel Rogers was well aware that Lord Uxbridge was giving an evening reception and that the duke was among the invited guests, he could be almost positive that the Quentins were even now on their way to attend, with the rest of the haut ton who were still in Brussels.

  He made his way to their house and, marching up to the front door, gave the knocker a mighty swing. The maid answered and he asked for Miss Nelson, for he had investigated the inmates thoroughly while he waited for his opportunity. The maid nodded and led him to the door of the small salon. Emily had taken over tidying the lower rooms, for the housekeeper did as little as possible and left for her own home after dinner each evening, and the maid was slow and a little dim-witted.

  “Good evening, Miss Wyndham—or should I say Miss Nelson?” Colonel Rogers asked, coming in and stripping off his gloves and shako. He turned and handed them to the maid and gestured toward the door. “Out!” he ordered, and the maid was not so slow-witted that she did not understand the brusque command, for she scurried away. The colonel closed the door.

&n
bsp; Emily rose from the carpet where she had knelt to pick up some paper the captain had let fall, and backed away, her heart pounding.

  “Come, my dear, such shyness,” the colonel said, advancing into the room and going toward the fireplace, where there was a small blaze. He rubbed his hands together, his eyes bright with satisfaction.

  “But who would have imagined it?” he asked. “Althea Wyndham’s daughter a common maid. What a waste!” And scornfully he pointed to her apron and cap.

  “I—I must ask you to leave immediately, sir,” Emily said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “My mistress will be home at any moment.”

  “Not unless she or her husband has forgotten something on their way to the Uxbridge reception,” Colonel Rogers said blandly. “Come, aren’t you going to ask me to sit down? Althea would never have been so unwelcoming.” As if it were his own home, he went to pour two glasses of wine from the decanter kept on a side table.

  “You had better sit down yourself. And you look as if you could use this,” he said as he came toward her, and rather than have him make her do so, Emily obeyed. Their fingers touched as he handed her the glass, and she would have dropped it if he had not fastened her fingers around the stem, smiling a little when he felt her tremble at his touch. “Drink it up. You will soon feel more the thing.”

  Emily stared up at him, waiting until he had moved away to a chair opposite. Indeed, she did need the wine, for his appearance had been such a shock. And, she thought desperately, there is no one to call for help, for the housekeeper had left not two minutes after the Quentins’ departure, and Sergeant Boothby had gone with them. By now, the little maid would either be finishing the dinner dishes or dragging herself up to her attic pallet. There was no help there.

  After a few sips, she put the glass down on a table beside her and folded her hands in her lap, trying not to clench them.

  Colonel Rogers stared at her over the rim of his wineglass. The years had not been kind to him. He must now be in his fifties, she thought, and his face showed only too plainly the life of dissipation he had led since last they met.

  “Feeling better?” he asked, his courteous question at odds with the intent leer he gave her. “I had no wish to frighten you, my dear, but you see, I really could not allow myself to be so abruptly dismissed—and by a slut’s daughter, as well.” Emily stiffened.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, nodding to her and saying in a conversational tone, “your mother was a slut. A very desirable, fascinating, and beautiful woman—but a slut, nevertheless. And here you are, her daughter. Did you know, Miss Wyndham, that I once asked your mother for you? She was not at all amused. In fact, it signaled the end of our relationship. I did miss her—for about a week!”

  “My mother was not—not what you said! She was forced by circumstances to behave as she did,” Emily could not help crying.

  “I have no intention of arguing with you about such an unimportant point. I will say, however, that no decent woman would ever have enjoyed herself so much in her, hmm, chosen profession. But who am I to sneer at her, after all? There is a need for women of your mother’s persuasion in this world. Bless me, what would we men do without them?”

  He laughed at his pleasantry, and Emily wished she could kill him.

  “But I am much more concerned about your profession, my dear. Oh yes, very concerned. It is not at all fitting for such a lovely thing to be carrying slops and changing m’lady’s gown, and kneeling to put on her slippers. So much better to have you kneeling at my feet, and not to put on my slippers either!” He laughed, a hoarse, throaty chuckle. “As I said just now, what a waste. Now, I am here to remove you from such drudgery, and you may count yourself lucky that I will do so. In fact, after I have the schooling for you for a few weeks, I am sure you will change your mind about which is preferable as an occupation. And if I cannot, small loss. There is always another lovely girl to be had. Tell me, m’dear,” he said, leaning closer, “can I be so fortunate as to be your first? Somehow I cannot imagine Althea Wyndham’s daughter reaching your current age without losing her virginity. And yet there is an air about you of purity, as if no man has touched you. What a lucky plus if it were so.”

  Emily thought she would have to strike him if he did not keep his filthy mouth off her mother’s name, and something of her feelings must have shown in her face and her blazing emerald eyes, for he stood up abruptly and came to her, pulling her roughly out of the chair and into his arms. At once she began to struggle and beat him with her fists as he ran his hands up and down her back, cupping her buttocks and digging his fingernails into her flesh.

  He laughed at her efforts, for, fifty and dissolute or not, he was very strong. The long years in the service had given him iron-hard muscles, and he easily captured both her hands in one, and with the other pushed her head back by the hair and kissed her. It was a brutal kiss. He forced her mouth open and thrust his tongue inside, and if Emily had not been so angry at his description of her mother, she might have fainted. As it was, she waited until he lifted his head, and then she kicked him as hard as she could. He laughed and held her away from him. “Little wildcat! That’s all right, my popsy, do your worst. I like ’em wild.”

  Suddenly he pulled her to him again and began to caress her breasts, now heaving under her neat apron and dark gown with her efforts to escape. With one hand he began to undo the buttons at her throat, and Emily knew it was only a matter of time before he would have her naked, right there in the salon. All at once he put his hand inside her bodice and yanked, too impatient to bother with the buttons, and the whole top of her dress fell away, leaving her breasts exposed under a thin camisole. As he moved his hand, she ducked her head and bit it, drawing blood. He let her go immediately, but only to raise his other hand and slap her viciously. She staggered away and fell into a chair.

  “Don’t ever do that again!” he growled, stepping back and licking his wound, while Emily, her head reeling, tried to pull the torn fabric of her gown up over her breasts as she struggled to sit upright again. He had hit her with an open palm, but she could still feel the hot sting of his hand.

  “Such ingratitude,” he suddenly bellowed. “Here I have every intention of setting you up in such luxury you may meet your mistress walking and nod to her from your own carriage, dressed as fine as ninepence in satin and laces and jewels. Have a care, wench. I will not hesitate to punish you much more severely than that little love tap!”

  As he came toward her again, Emily spoke in desperation. “Stop! I—I have something to say to you, and you must, you will listen!”

  The colonel paused, admiring the picture she made, her blond hair tumbled around her face, reddened from his slap, and her green eyes sparkling with the tears she was trying valiantly not to shed. Her creamy shoulders and half-concealed bosom aroused his lust again, but he was perfectly content to let her speak while he admired such gorgeous plunder as she displayed.

  “Very well,” he said, sitting down and taking up his wineglass once again. Fifty had learned what twenty did not know: that anticipation could be as pleasurable as the act itself, and there was, after all, no need to rush. Lord Uxbridge’s receptions always lasted such a very long time.

  Emily drew a deep breath and, holding her gown more closely to her, began to speak in what she hoped was a confident, convincing voice. “You asked me earlier, Colonel, if I was aware that you had asked my mother for me, many years ago. As it happens, I did know. Not because she told me, of course, for I was not aware of her activities until after her death, but because I found your letters.”

  She had held his eyes with hers as she spoke, and now she saw him start up in amazement. It gave her the courage to continue. “You were most unwise to put that in writing, sir. As it happens, I still have that particular letter.” She paused and waited for him to comment.

  “Well, and so what if you do, girl? What is that to say to anything?”

  Even to her ears, Emily felt he was bluffing. “You must be aware
, Colonel, that if such a letter should come to the attention of your commanding officer, it would have the most dire results. An officer of the Coldstream Guards, soliciting a mother for her thirteen-year-old child!”

  Her voice was scornful, and he flushed and said quickly, “But you would be most unwilling to air such scandal about your mother and yourself, would you not, Miss Wyndham?” The thought seemed to give him confidence, for he leaned back and finished his wine. “No, I hardly think it possible that you would so demean yourself, for then all the world would know who you are, and more important, what kind of background you have.”

  Before he could rise, Emily held out her hands. Her voice was low and bitter, and it stopped him as effectively as a bullet would have done.

  “But what possible shame can come to me that would be worse than your attention, sir? And since I have changed my name and become what you describe as a common maid, why would having my name bruited about disturb me? My mother is dead: you cannot hurt her anymore. I tell you this: I would do anything in the world to escape you. I will even go as high as the duke himself, if necessary, and I imagine your career would be short-lived if the contents of that letter became common knowledge.”

  The colonel stood up, and for a moment she felt she had failed, but then he turned away from her and stared into the fire. What she said was true; he knew how he would be scorned, he might even be asked to tender his resignation, and he knew also that if he lost his commission, he did not want to live. He was a soldier—it was all he knew or wanted to know. What was one female beside that!

  “Touché!” he said finally. “It appears you have won the engagement, Miss Wyndham. My compliments!” He bowed ironically and turned to go. “By the way, you are making a mistake, you know. No one as desirable as you are was meant for anything but love. I count it a definite loss that I am not to be the man to initiate you in its pleasures.” He bowed again at the door and left the room.