Emily was sure that Lady Quentin would be angry at her for being gone so long, but when she reached the farmhouse, it was to find it in an uproar. She could hear the captain cursing and his wife weeping as she hurried up the stairs. She met Mr. Greene carrying a basin and asked, “What is it? What is wrong?”
“The doctor has been, Miss Nelson, and he says that the captain must have that arm removed, that until he does he will not recover. It has been a sad blow, yes, a very sad blow to him and to his lady.”
He shook his head as he moved to the stairs, and Emily crept into Lady Quentin’s room to check her hair in the mirror and to put on her apron and cap. Poor Lady Quentin, she thought. She had been so sure she could nurse her husband back to health, and now to be faced with this. She straightened up the room, putting away a gown her mistress had left on the bed and hanging up her robe. Her hands paused in their work when she heard the duke’s voice and his footsteps coming along the hall as he went to join the Quentins. How strange it is to know he is so close and yet now so far away, she thought.
When Lady Quentin came in at last, her face was pale and streaked with tears, and Emily went to comfort her. “Can I get you some tea, m’lady,” she asked.
“No, thank you, Nelly. Have you heard? But of course you have heard.” Lady Quentin sank down on her bed as if she were exhausted. “The duke has promised to fetch another doctor from Brussels tomorrow so we might have a second opinion, so perhaps it is wrong to despair just yet, but, oh, Nelly, I have this terrible feeling of dread. And Tony is so upset and distraught. I tried to tell him that it would make no difference to me and that I would rather have him alive even with only one arm, but he will not listen to me. The duke is going to sit with him and take his dinner there, too, so perhaps he can convince him that what happens will be for the best. I am so very tired that I know I must lie down and rest. Do not bother to call me for dinner, Nelly. I know I would not be able to swallow anything this evening.”
Emily put a soft throw over her mistress, who fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, and then she tiptoed from the room.
Lady Quentin slept right through the night, and when Emily came to bed, she did not even stir. The duke had remained with the captain all evening, and as Emily paused for a moment outside the door, she heard his deep voice, calm and reassuring, and the captain’s subdued answer. He seems quieter now, she thought as she blew a kiss through the panels to Charles before she went to her pallet. She had planned to spend some time thinking about him and what she was to do, but instead, worn out from the emotions of the day, she fell asleep immediately.
The duke was gone when she came down the following morning to have her breakfast and prepare a tray for Lady Quentin. She wondered why she felt almost relieved that she did not have to see him and look into his black eyes with other people around. Perhaps it was because she was sure that everyone would see her love for him at once, and she could not bear to have the world know of it as yet. All day she did her chores as if in a dream, and then in the late afternoon she sat down at a window facing the lane to mend some lace on one of Lady Quentin’s gowns. She found her eyes straying to the lane as often as she watched her needle, and just before five she was rewarded by the sight of the duke escorting a gig into the yard. An elderly man climbed down and stretched before his servant handed him a black bag, but Emily had eyes only for the duke. He was searching the windows of the farmhouse and she leaned closer to the panes until he saw her and his face lit up in a warm smile that was full of love. At that her heart gave a great leap of joy, and the familiar wave of warmth swept over her even as she heard her mistress calling her to come at once.
The doctor examined Captain Quentin carefully and came to the same conclusion that the other doctor had. The arm must be amputated as soon as possible. Emily, standing behind her mistress, caught her breath, but Lady Quentin was calm as she held her husband’s good hand. Even he seemed resigned to his fate now, for there were no outbursts, no oaths. Whatever the duke had told him had done the trick.
The doctor agreed to assist in the operation, and it was arranged that the captain should be transported to the hospital in Waterloo first thing in the morning. By evening, he said, he could return to the farmhouse.
The duke took him away to the parlor, and Lady Quentin dismissed her maid, for she wanted to be alone with her Tony now. Emily felt hot tears stinging her eyelids as she went down the narrow stairs. How sad it was, and how strange that it had been less than two weeks since the battle began. It seemed much longer than that, for look at all the things that had happened in the interim.
There was no chance for her to see Charles, for he was busy entertaining the doctor and planned to go with him and the captain on the morrow. Lady Quentin had been persuaded to wait at the farm until their return.
“There is nothing you can do to help, m’lady,” the doctor said firmly. “Besides, your husband will be much calmer knowing you are here and not exposed to all the horrible sights and sounds of the hospital.”
Emily was carrying a pitcher of hot water to her mistress as she prepared for bed, and she met the duke for a brief moment in the upper hall. She could hear Greene at the foot of the stairs, so there was no time for anything but a quick kiss and a murmured endearment before she slipped away to Lady Quentin’s room.
The next day was long and tiresome for everyone. Lady Quentin tried to keep to her normal routines, but with Tony gone there was nothing for her to do. It was hot and humid and she did not feel like a walk, although she paced up and down the parlor until both Emily and Mr. Greene remonstrated with her. She drank endless cups of tea, but she had no appetite for any of the delicacies that cook prepared, and although she lay down for a nap at Emily’s insistence, she did not sleep.
The carriage returned at dusk, the captain supported in the duke’s strong arms. He was under sedation, but his color was good and his breathing normal, and Lady Quentin was able to sigh with relief as she bent to kiss him, trying to ignore that empty sleeve.
On the following day, Tony Quentin made a good recovery, and in a week or so he was able to walk a few steps and then come downstairs for his meals. Sometimes, of course, he was in pain and claimed he could still feel his missing arm, and these were the times his temper was short and everyone in the house trembled before his rage. Everyone but Mr. Greene, of course, and he was always the first one summoned when the captain was in one of his moods. Lady Quentin stayed close to his side as well, talking about the future they would share, and so Emily had more free time than she had ever previously enjoyed. She and the duke met often by the brook on sunny afternoons. She disliked the subterfuge, but she knew there was no other way, and so when the duke would announce he was off for a ride, she would fetch her bonnet and go out for her walk. They went off in different directions and never at precisely the same time, and Emily knew that even if she hated the deceit, she would endure it. Nothing would stop her from going to Charles every chance she got, for she did not know how much more time they would have together.
He talked often of the future now, and she neither denied him nor argued about it, not even when he told her she must leave the Quentins’ employ as soon as they returned to England, and go and live in a house he owned in town; nor when he told her of the gowns and jewels he planned to shower on her, and the team and carriage she would have for her own use. There was something that held her tongue, something that seemed to say that it would never come to that, that she would never have to tell him she could not do it nor why it was impossible. Besides, she hesitated to break the spell of this dreamworld they were living in by speaking of a future she knew they could not share.
Now Captain Quentin was able to walk in the yard for short periods of time, and Lady Quentin was making plans to return to Brussels and then home.
“I am sure Tony will be much better when he is on his own land, Nelly, and so we must get him to Burton-Latimer as soon as we can. I have asked the duke to make the arrangements. What
a dear, good man he is! I do not know what we would have done without his help.”
Emily smiled and agreed, feeling guilty as she hoped the duke would have difficulty arranging their passage too quickly.
She was picking some flowers for the parlor one morning a few days later when a strange horse and rider came up the lane. The duke, who had been leaning out an open window to watch her, saw the young Englishman before she did, and he recognized Lord Andrews. He knew he was a good friend of the Quentins, but he wondered what he was doing here and how he had found them. Then he heard him call in a loud voice, “Emily! Miss Wyndham!”
Puzzled, the duke looked around to see Margaret whirl and drop her flowers and the shears, her hand going to her white face as she swayed for a moment in shock.
“My dear Miss Wyndham! So it is you!” Lord Andrews crowed, and then the duke saw Margaret slip to the ground in a faint, and cursing under his breath, he hurried to her aid.
7
The duke was kneeling beside Emily while Lord Andrew was still tying his horse to the gate, and then he picked her up in his arms to carry her into the farmhouse. As he reached the door, the visitor hurried up, his face earnest with his concern.
“I say, your Grace, I had no idea my surprise would cause such a reaction,” he said in an uneasy voice. Charles paid no attention to him as he carried his Lorelei into the parlor and laid her down on the sofa. Picking up her hands, he began to chafe them and said without turning around, “There is some wine there on the table. Pour out a glass, m’lord, for she will need it presently.”
Her hands felt ice-cold and he wished he could put his arms around her and warm her, cursing the other man under his breath for his presence as he did so. After what seemed an age, her eyelids fluttered and then opened slowly, as if she was reluctant to return to her present situation.
“Charles,” she murmured, her hands turning in his so she might hold them tight.
“Here is the wine, your Grace. I say, I’m most awfully sorry, Miss Wyndham! Never thought you’d go off that way, y’know,” Lord Andrews said, and Emily closed her eyes for a moment as if to blot him out.
“Drink this, my dear,” the duke ordered, helping her to sit up and supporting her with his arm. “Sit down, man, and stay out of the way,” he said to the hovering Lord Andrews. “You have done enough harm as it is.”
The young peer flushed and did as he was bid, and Emily swallowed a few sips of the wine. Her eyes went to the duke’s angry face, and she shook her head a little at him before she sat up straighter as Lady Quentin came in.
“What in the world? ... Good heavens, Hubert, you here? My word, what is wrong with Nelly?”
The duke could see that Lord Andrews was big with his news and would be delighted to relate it, so before he could speak, Charles said, “Do me the kindness to take Miss Nelson upstairs, Alicia. She fainted in the garden just now, probably from the heat.”
Emily stood up and her mistress slid her arm around her. “Poor Nelly! Come away, and I will bathe your forehead until you feel more the thing.” Still talking and soothing, she led her maid away and the two men were left facing each other in a pregnant silence. At last the duke’s eyebrows rose and he gestured Lord Andrews back to his chair.
“A glass of wine, m’lord?” he asked. “You look as if you could use one before you tell me the reason for this extraordinary intrusion, and what you meant by your words to Miss Nelson.”
He poured out two glasses and, after serving the guest, sat down and crossed his legs, the picture of calm and ease. No one could have guessed at the anger that still seethed in his breast, nor his burning desire to hear the whole story.
Lord Andrew sipped his wine and then sat staring at Farmer Bordreau’s worn carpet until the duke purred, “Yes? You were about to explain, I believe...”
At that, Lord Andrew burst into speech. “It is just that after I saw Alicia’s maid in London, your Grace, I could not get her out of my mind, not even after they had gone abroad. You must admit she is a seductive little armful, eh? Such a waste for her to be someone’s maid rather than someone’s mistress! You must agree, for you have seen her yourself.” The duke nodded, although his fingers tightened on the stem of his glass as if he were tempted to throw its contents into Lord Andrews’ fatuous face.
“Well, then, m’mother called me home for a reason that has no bearing on our discussion, and while I was there, I happened to take down a book in the library one day that I had never read. It was a book of old poems, and when I opened it, I discovered that someone, most certainly my father, had carved a niche in the pages in order to hide a miniature of a very lovely blonde. I was stunned, for the lady was the image of Alicia’s maid—she could almost have been her twin. The same green eyes, the same patrician nose, even the same smile! I vaguely remember hearing that my father had had a most expensive bit o’ muslin in his keeping just before his death, and was sure that this had to have been Miss Nelson’s mother. Of course, I thought she had probably abandoned the baby; from her portrait she did not seem to be the motherly type—she had posed, you see, er, with only a flimsy scarf.”
Here he chortled, for telling his story had relieved the tension he had felt at the duke’s initial reception.
Charles nodded again. “Do go on, m’lord. I find I have a great interest in your story.’
“Well, on the back of the portrait was written the name ‘Althea Wyndham.’ I kept it by me when I returned to London, and I asked a few of the older gentlemen who might be expected to remember the lady, if they recalled anyone by that name. Do you know, she must have been notorious, for everyone I approached had heard of her career.”
“Her career?” the duke prompted as Lord Andrews laughed again, another lascivious chuckle.
“Oh, yes, I think you might safely call it that. Mrs. Wyndham was a famous courtesan, and she moved from one member of society to the next almost without pause. I discovered that she was of the haut ton herself, the widow of Captain Thomas Wyndham of the Royal Navy, and the sister-in-law of Lord Gregory Wyndham of Berks, an exceptionally well-thought-of family with its good name and impeccable background—before the lady brought such notoriety to it, of course. She and her husband had a child, a little girl they named Emily Margaret, but after her husband died in battle, the lady began her amatory activities. Why, I found out she was even in your father’s keeping at one time, your Grace.” M’lord sipped his wine again and the duke’s eyes narrowed as he inclined his head at this information. “My father had a weakness for beautiful women, that is true,” he murmured. “It would have been most unusual if he and Mrs. Wyndham had not, er, come to an agreement if she was as famous as you say. But do go on, m’lord.”
“There the trail ended. I could not find anyone who knew what happened to either the mother or the daughter. They just disappeared one day and were never seen again. And then I discovered from Tony’s sister, Arabella, that the Quentins were staying at a farmhouse near Waterloo, and I knew I could not wait for them to return to England. I had to come and claim her. The memory of her was driving me mad, your Grace, and if she is anything like her mother, why is she wasting her time as a maid? The whole thing is incomprehensible. Why did she change her name? Were there no relatives to take her in? And where is her mother now? But let that go. I don’t care about her past; I am only concerned with her future.” Here he leered before he added, “I am sure I can convince her it would be much more suitable for her to follow in her mother’s footsteps, with me, of course, as her first protector.”
The duke rose and advanced to where Lord Andrews was sitting. As he towered over him, there was that in his manner that caused the other man to lean back in his chair in fear.
“I am desolated to have to deny you the adventure, m’lord. The lady is not available for your purposes,” the duke snapped, his black eyes menacing and cold.
“Oh, I see. Like that, is it?” Lord Andrews mourned. “Too bad, too bad. I had no idea you had the prior claim, your Grace.�
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The duke ignored him. “Furthermore, you are to say nothing to either Tony or Alicia, or indeed to anyone else, about what you have discovered, do you understand? If a single whisper comes to me that you have been indiscreet about Miss Nelson’s background or present occupation, it will give me a great deal of pleasure to make sure you never see another dawn. Do I make myself clear?”
The duke leaned over the cowering man and he said quickly, “Of course your Grace! Happy to oblige, ’pon my word! Not a sound from me, word of an Andrews!”
“Very well,” the duke said, moving away, to milord’s relief. “Now, I think you should pay your respects to the Quentins and perhaps join them for luncheon before you ride back to town. I do not want Miss Nelson to have to see you again.”
Lord Andrews was most agreeable, and Greene was summoned to take him up to Tony’s room. Charles poured another glass of wine for himself and sat down to consider the story he had just heard. He never doubted the truth of it for a moment, for it all made so much sense. The way she looked and moved, her education, and her manners, all proclaimed a noble background. He did not know why she was here serving as a maid, but he would find out. Now he remembered something that had puzzled him. Whenever he had spoken of her future as his mistress, she had never agreed, not in so many words, nor had she ever alluded to that time herself. It was as if she were content merely to love him in the present time frame, and to have him love her in return the same way. Miss Nelson—or Miss Wyndham, as he believed she was now—obviously did not feel she could consider a future that included being the Duke of Wrotherham’s light-o’-love, and now he knew why. He got up to pace the parlor. How silly she was not to have told him her real name.
The Emerald Duchess Page 13