Read Online Something About Emmaline by Elizabeth Boyle - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Boyle
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after that kiss. She supposed he kissed ladies like that all the time. All in a day’s work for Lord Sedgwick. Kiss a few birds senseless and then take a respite. Her hands wound into two tight fists at her side. Infuriating man.
Glancing around the empty foyer, she heaved a sigh and flexed her fingers. He wanted her out, and out this very afternoon. Oh, that would never do. She wouldn’t get a farthing if Sedgwick tossed her out too soon.
If only he hadn’t come to town so quickly. Though she probably had only herself to blame for that. Obviously she’d taken to being Lady Sedgwick with a little too much enthusiasm—what with the mentions in the Post, the rather horrendous pile of decorating bills that was giving his cousin fits, along with the collection of vowels from the twice-weekly visits to the dressmakers, glovers and millinery shops in which she’d partaken.
Well, moderation had never been one of her finer skills.
What Emmaline needed was help. Or at the very least a miracle. But since she knew miracles were always in short supply, she’d have to make do. Or better yet, improvise.
Glancing down toward the dining room, she knew there would be no aid from the Denfords. Not that she’d want it.
And she couldn’t expect any help from the servants. In the great houses of the ton, the servants owed everything—their livelihood, the very roof over their heads—to the master of the house. No, as nice as Sedgwick’s help was, none of them was going to go against the baron’s orders.
That she’d been able to gammon them this far was indeed perhaps indication of a miracle. Or evidence of her superior skills at prevarication.
But Emmaline soon discovered that perhaps she’d been too hasty in her estimation of Sedgwick’s staff. From down below she heard a man’s voice rising up the staircase. It was one of the footmen—Thomas, she thought.
“I tell you, Simmons, that new fellow at the duchess’s can’t be beaten.” The footman was trimming wicks andchanging candles in the sconces, while Simmons followed and collected the spent candle ends. Neither of them noticed her standing above them. “He won five guineas off Franklin, then turned around and pigeoned a quarter’s wages off that stuffy fellow from the earl’s. I say something’s not right about the way he plays.”
Emmaline leaned forward. Sedgwick’s servants gambled? And deep, if Thomas wasn’t using a gossip’s inflated tongue about the amounts.
“A quarter’s wages.” Simmons let out a low whistle. “If I lost half such a sum, Mrs. Simmons would have my head. Not that she isn’t going to ring a peal over my head for the bit I’ve lost to that fellow.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Thomas said. “We can’t face them come Thursday night or they’ll clean us out good. We’ll be living on them candle stubs till next Season.”
The butler nodded. “We’ll just have to come up with an excuse not to play.”
“Play what?” Emmaline asked, leaning over the railing.
Both men jumped, startled to be caught gossiping by the lady of the house.
“Nothing, milady,” Simmons offered. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”
“Oh, please, Simmons, don’t fret on my account.” She started down the stairs until she came to the last two steps. There she put her hands on her hips and faced the guilty pair. “Besides, you haven’t answered my question. Play what?”
Thomas’s gaze fell to the floor, his cheeks turning a ruddy shade, while Simmons looked close to apoplexy, given the way his brow furrowed into a deep line.
She tipped her head. “I may be able to offer you some assistance.”
The butler glanced at her, his gaze narrowing and assessing.
Then it struck Emmaline. He knew. Knew she wasn’t Sedgwick’s wife. She’d suspected it all the while, though she’d thought her worried notions impossible—for why would he let her stay if he knew the truth?
Yet there it was—he knew the truth and had held his
Glancing around the empty foyer, she heaved a sigh and flexed her fingers. He wanted her out, and out this very afternoon. Oh, that would never do. She wouldn’t get a farthing if Sedgwick tossed her out too soon.
If only he hadn’t come to town so quickly. Though she probably had only herself to blame for that. Obviously she’d taken to being Lady Sedgwick with a little too much enthusiasm—what with the mentions in the Post, the rather horrendous pile of decorating bills that was giving his cousin fits, along with the collection of vowels from the twice-weekly visits to the dressmakers, glovers and millinery shops in which she’d partaken.
Well, moderation had never been one of her finer skills.
What Emmaline needed was help. Or at the very least a miracle. But since she knew miracles were always in short supply, she’d have to make do. Or better yet, improvise.
Glancing down toward the dining room, she knew there would be no aid from the Denfords. Not that she’d want it.
And she couldn’t expect any help from the servants. In the great houses of the ton, the servants owed everything—their livelihood, the very roof over their heads—to the master of the house. No, as nice as Sedgwick’s help was, none of them was going to go against the baron’s orders.
That she’d been able to gammon them this far was indeed perhaps indication of a miracle. Or evidence of her superior skills at prevarication.
But Emmaline soon discovered that perhaps she’d been too hasty in her estimation of Sedgwick’s staff. From down below she heard a man’s voice rising up the staircase. It was one of the footmen—Thomas, she thought.
“I tell you, Simmons, that new fellow at the duchess’s can’t be beaten.” The footman was trimming wicks andchanging candles in the sconces, while Simmons followed and collected the spent candle ends. Neither of them noticed her standing above them. “He won five guineas off Franklin, then turned around and pigeoned a quarter’s wages off that stuffy fellow from the earl’s. I say something’s not right about the way he plays.”
Emmaline leaned forward. Sedgwick’s servants gambled? And deep, if Thomas wasn’t using a gossip’s inflated tongue about the amounts.
“A quarter’s wages.” Simmons let out a low whistle. “If I lost half such a sum, Mrs. Simmons would have my head. Not that she isn’t going to ring a peal over my head for the bit I’ve lost to that fellow.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Thomas said. “We can’t face them come Thursday night or they’ll clean us out good. We’ll be living on them candle stubs till next Season.”
The butler nodded. “We’ll just have to come up with an excuse not to play.”
“Play what?” Emmaline asked, leaning over the railing.
Both men jumped, startled to be caught gossiping by the lady of the house.
“Nothing, milady,” Simmons offered. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”
“Oh, please, Simmons, don’t fret on my account.” She started down the stairs until she came to the last two steps. There she put her hands on her hips and faced the guilty pair. “Besides, you haven’t answered my question. Play what?”
Thomas’s gaze fell to the floor, his cheeks turning a ruddy shade, while Simmons looked close to apoplexy, given the way his brow furrowed into a deep line.
She tipped her head. “I may be able to offer you some assistance.”
The butler glanced at her, his gaze narrowing and assessing.
Then it struck Emmaline. He knew. Knew she wasn’t Sedgwick’s wife. She’d suspected it all the while, though she’d thought her worried notions impossible—for why would he let her stay if he knew the truth?
Yet there it was—he knew the truth and had held his
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