The Emerald Duchess

by Barbara Hazard

  “Perhaps I could wear a wig, m’lady?” Emily asked.

  “The very thing! Do you fancy being a redhead or a dashing brunette, Nelly? Oh, this would be just like a novel if it weren’t all so sordid and so sad,” Lady Quentin mourned. “First I had to lose Daffy, and now you as well. But while you fetch my bonnet, I will just tell Tony we are going out. Make haste! I shall never be able to dissemble if the duke arrives and finds me here alone.”

  By evening it was all accomplished, and after a strained farewell, the handsome brunette who was now Mrs. Regina Wiggins was happy to be on her way to Antwerp by barge. Lady Quentin had chosen the name herself, and Emily had not dared protest that she would really rather not go through life as a Mrs. Wiggins, for Lady Quentin, for all her disgust, had been so helpful.

  When the Duke of Wrotherham knocked on the Quentins’ front door the next morning to beg for a few moments of Miss Nelson’s time, he was ushered into the drawing room and left to pace up and down in his impatience.

  Everything had taken much longer than he had thought it would. First, he had to move his household back to Brussels and see that the Quentins were settled before he could go about the business of the special license and all that that entailed at the embassy. The ambassador had been skeptical, but since the duke had secured the Duke of Wellington’s promise to attend his wedding, his misgivings were soon overcome. Wellington was your true English hero, the idol of the moment, and if he was to attend the service, then surely it must meet with everyone’s approval.

  Since it had been more than Saint Allyn could bear, to see his love waiting on Lady Quentin and fetching and carrying for her, he had not returned to the Quentins’ house until this morning when all was in train and he had every intention of removing her from her menial work at once.

  Now he heard a sound at the drawing-room door and turned with a smile only to see Tony Quentin there, his face stern and pale. The duke frowned, aware that his plans had miscarried.

  “She is not here?” he asked. “Then she told you, after all?”

  “Sit down, your Grace,” Tony said, motioning him to a chair. “You know I cannot sit in your presence, and I am not well this morning.”

  The duke took the seat he indicated, and refused a glass of wine.

  “Miss Nelson is not here, that is true. She has left our employ,” the captain said at last. “She told Alicia why she must go, and may I say, both my wife and I respect her for her honesty. I do not know why you wanted to force her into this unsuitable marriage; indeed, I am sure the girl must have been imagining your intent, but even if you did mean to marry her, she has certainly chosen the nobler, saner way.”

  “Nobler! Saner!” the duke raged. “Allow me to know what is best in this instance, if you please, Tony.” His tone was icy as he added, “I never thought to see you serve me such a turn.”

  The captain had paled a little. “It went against the grain, believe me, Charles, but I saw what had to be done. The girl was almost frantic in her desire to escape you. What could I do but help? Besides, it is just as well for you that I am so badly wounded, for I would feel honor-bound to call you out for such dastardly behavior as you have shown. Seducing a young maid in my employ, dallying with her with the intention of making her your mistress. At least by offering for her when you discovered her real name, you behaved as a gentleman.”

  The duke’s face was white with rage, for he was seldom treated to a lecture on his behavior, and he found it hard to bear with any degree of equanimity. Then Tony continued, “But the girl does not want you, so there is no more to be said, and you may count yourself lucky to have had such a narrow escape.”

  The duke had buried his head in his hands, but now he looked up, and Captain Quentin was surprised to see the anguish on his face.

  “A narrow escape, was it? I love her, you fool! I shall always love her. And she loves me as well. Why else do you think someone so fine as Emily would give herself to me? I did not rape her, you know; she came to me willingly. No, what you have done is just to delay the inevitable, for I shall find Miss Wyndham, and when I do, I shall marry her out of hand. I wish you and Alicia had not meddled, Tony. Emily may have said she did not want to marry me, but she was lying, and I have no intention of letting her ruin both our lives simply because of what society may say.”

  He got up and stood over the captain, and his voice was quieter as he added, “She will be my duchess, make no mistake about that. I have seen how happy you are in your marriage—mine will be just as happy. I tell you this, if I cannot marry Emily Wyndham, I shall never marry at all.” He paused for a moment and then he said, “But I suppose, even with these assurances, you will not tell me where she has gone, or when she left, or even give me a clue as to how I might find her?”

  “I cannot, Charles. She has my promise. No, if what you say is true, I am sorry, but not being aware of your real feelings, what should I be apt to think except that you were merely amusing yourself?”

  Tony watched the duke stride up and down the room in his agitation and wished the girl had not thought to wring that particular promise from them both. Then he said, trying to help now, “But consider this, your Grace. You might not be able to find her, but she can always find you. Don’t you think she might reconsider after she has been away from you a little while?”

  A wry smile twisted the duke’s mouth. “You do not know the lady very well, Tony. She has shown me how stubborn she can be and how determined on her noble course. No, it is up to me, but I will find her, never fear. I promised her that, if she tried to run away. And now you must excuse me so I can begin my search. May I wish you a speedy recovery from your wounds? Be sure to give my best wishes to Alicia, and ask her to forgive me if she can. I shall not see either of you for a while, but if it would not displease you, someday I shall bring the duchess to visit you in England.”

  The two men shook hands, a little stiffly on both sides, and parted company, and the duke rode home to the seclusion of his library. A short time later, he called his groom and gave him instructions to search every inn and rooming house for Miss Nelson. Thomas was amazed at his orders, but being well trained, he did not show his surprise as he went out to begin his inquiries at once.

  The duke went to the canal himself to ask about the people who had taken passage on the barges within the last two days. When he questioned the shipping agent, the man was stunned, for although the gentleman gave him an excellent description of the lady’s age, height, and demeanor, he could not remember the color of her hair, nor, more importantly, her name. Unfortunately for the duke, only one of the three unaccompanied females who had traveled on the barges the past week could be discarded as unsuitable, for she had been carrying a baby and had another child toddling at her skirts. That left a Mrs. Regina Wiggins and a Miss Mary Berkley. The duke nodded, distributed largesse with an easy air for this intelligence, and returned home, pleased with the start he had made.

  Thomas did not report until the following afternoon, too late for the duke to travel that day. There was no sign of Miss Nelson anywhere in Brussels, not even under another name or with her hair disguised. The duke sent him running to secure places for them on the morning barge to Antwerp, and then he summoned his valet.

  “Pack me only such necessities as I shall need for a few days, Greene, and then you will close the house here, dismiss the foreign servants, and return home with the rest of the staff and my belongings. Thomas goes with me.”

  “Very good, your Grace,” Greene said, completely unperturbed as he accepted the large roll of bills the duke handed I him for expenses. “May I ask the nature of the clothes you I will require? Shall you be going directly to town or traveling about the countryside?”

  The duke shook his head. “I have no idea where I will be. You are to go to Wrotherham House in Park Lane and await me there. My quest may take a week—a month—I have no idea.”

  Greene bowed as if he received orders of this nature every day of the week and retired. Via T
homas, the duke’s involvement with the lovely Miss Nelson had become well known throughout the servants’ quarters, and although Greene could sympathize with the duke’s infatuation, he could not help but hope that his master would be unsuccessful in his search. He considered the duke’s marriage to be long overdue, and dallying with a lady’s maid, no matter how beautiful, could only postpone that inevitable event.

  The duke did not bother to inquire for Emily at Antwerp, for he was sure she had sailed for home as quickly as she could. Accordingly, he arrived at the coast and took ship without delay. He spent the Channel crossing on deck, his dark eyes intent and impatient as he watched the shores of England slowly loom ever larger before him. Which lady should he pursue first, Miss Berkley or Mrs. Wiggins? He was inclined to favor the former, merely because she had much the more attractive name. To imagine his Lorelei as Mrs. Wiggins was offensive to him, but he knew that was not rational thinking. Emily was intelligent; might she not have chosen a common, homely name as a means to confuse him? He ended up tossing a coin, and when it landed at his feet, he was pleased nevertheless to see that it had come up “tails, Miss Berkley,” and considered it a good omen for his success.

  The lady had made no secret of either her presence or her activities. At one of the smaller inns the duke learned that she had remained there only overnight before taking the stage to London. The innkeeper was most accommodating, agreeing that indeed the lady had been young and pretty, with large blue eyes and brown hair. Upon the duke’s sudden frown and barked query, he was quick to admit that of course the lady’s eyes had been green. What was he thinking of? A very pure and glowing green, your Grace, he assured his impatient questioner. The duke paid him well for his confidences and strode away. While Thomas was hiring them suitable mounts, he also inquired for the other woman, not quite trusting the innkeeper’s memory, or the ease with which he was tracking Miss Berkley, but he was disappointed. Mrs. Wiggins had disappeared without a trace. The duke shrugged. He had never favored Mrs. Wiggins anyway, and was sure that, as Miss Berkley, Emily would make for London. Probably she had it in mind to take another position as soon as she could. His lips tightened with anger and concern. To think she might be in need! Did she have enough money? Had the Quentins’ kindness extended that far? He was brusque with Thomas when the groom arrived back at The Ship Inn with two horses, and spoke very little as they rode to town.

  It was late afternoon and the shadows were already lengthening in the streets when the duke arrived at Wrotherham House in Park Lane, and so he was forced to delay his search until the morrow. He told himself it was just as well, for then, refreshed by a night’s rest, he would be ready to find his lady and deal with her as he had promised.

  He was taciturn with his butler and housekeeper, but since Thomas had been quick to put the other servants into the picture, none of these worthies were at all upset by the duke’s frowns and absentmindedness, and were not surprised that he did not go out to one of his clubs, but remained in the library after his excellent dinner with only a bottle of port and his thoughts to keep him company.

  After he filled his glass for the last time, he raised it in a toast. “To you, Miss Wyndham-Nelson-Berkley! You have changed your name many times; I shall see to it that you change it once more, and for the last time. I drink to her Grace, Emily Margaret Saint Allyn, Duchess of Wrotherham.”

  He went up to bed in a happier frame of mind than he had enjoyed for some days, but it was not long before his spirits sank again into depression, for only two days later he had the felicity to meet Miss Mary Berkley and discover that not only was she not Emily Wyndham, she did indeed have blue eyes, a common voice, and was not averse to flirting with him in the little house where she was at present residing and which was owned by a peer not unknown to the duke. He took his leave of her abruptly, much to her dismay, for she had been dreaming of exchanging her present protector, who had sent her home ahead of him from Belgium, for a nobler, more wealthy paramour.

  The duke forgot her immediately and began to inquire at the various employment agencies. It was the only thing he could think of to do since he knew there was no sense in trying to retrace his steps to Dover and search for Mrs. Wiggins after all this time. Where was she? Where had she Emily had taken ship for England with more than a little trepidation, but the sea that day was not rough, and she was so glad to escape Belgium undetected that she did not succumb to the seasickness that had afflicted her on the outgoing journey. Like the duke, she had remained on deck wrapped in her cloak, but unlike him she gazed astern at the land where she was leaving the man she would love forever.

  As she stared at the wake of the ship, bubbling so cheerfully below her, her thoughts were sad and chaotic. Lady Quentin’s reaction and revulsion had upset her very much, forcing her to realize that in the eyes of the world, there had been no beautiful idyll, no love so pure and precious that she had been unable to deny it. Lady Quentin made her feel soiled and cheap, no better than her mother. She writhed a little remembering, but then she felt a spurt of anger. It was all so unjust! When she was a lady’s maid, she was only good enough to be the duke’s mistress and, as such, an object of scorn and derision to the good women of the world. But when she became the niece of Lord Gregory Wyndham and the daughter of the late Captain Thomas Wyndham of the Royal Navy, why, then, as a member of society, her behavior in taking the duke as her lover was even worse! Yet was she not still the same person? How unfair the strictures of society were! And here was the duke, determined now to marry her because his lovemaking had led to her downfall. She recalled how formal he had been when he asked for her hand, his stern control and measured words. Perhaps he felt trapped and betrayed, and although he had made the offer he did not really want to marry her? Well, then, she had done the right thing in running away from him and he would not bother to follow her, now his honor had been appeased.

  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 socie
ty 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?