Read Online Something About Emmaline by Elizabeth Boyle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Boyle
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the day was well spent. And despite a series of fitful dreams featuring a tempting blond vixen, he’d awakened feeling like himself again.
Sensible and ready to conquer the problem at hand—namely, getting rid of Hubert and Lady Lilith.
And then Emmaline.
He opened the clothespress in search of a new waistcoat and suddenly his senses were assailed with the soft scent of violets.
Her perfume.
And upon a closer inspection, he spied a plain brown valise tucked into the back of the armoire. Her valise.
All her belongings, all her secrets, perhaps even her identity might be found in this innocuous, innocent-looking bag.
“No,” he told himself. “That would hardly be fair.” So he closed the door. It wasn’t seemly to go through a lady’s private possessions.
Yet how was he to learn about her mysterious past if he didn’t do a bit of investigation? Didn’t he have a right to know exactly who was parading about town wearing the Sedgwick name?
His hand went to the cabinet door and he opened it.
“No,” he said, closing it again. Where was his honor? His integrity?
Then he opened it once more.
He temporarily disavowed those qualities as he went down on his knees and began pulling open the ancient bag.
But if he’d thought he was going to find anything that might reveal her identity, he was sadly mistaken. Her worldly possessions consisted of a plain muslin gown, a dull gray pelisse. Unmentionables in white cotton. A pair of well-worn shoes. Some mismatched ill-knit stockings. A pair of spectacles. A battered and well-thumbed copy of Debrett’s. And a copy of Billingsworth’s Guide to the Historical Estates of England.
And just as quickly as he’d opened the case, he was at the bottom of it and there was nothing more. Nothing at all.
No telling inscription in the books, not even initials on the bag to give a hint as to the name of its bearer.
Nothing.
“Demmit,” he muttered shoving it away, disgruntled not to have found anything, and dismayed at his own lack of principle.
“Uh-hum,” came a cough at the door.
Alex cringed, then glanced over his shoulder.
There stood Simmons, gazing down at him with a frown creasing his brow and lips. “Have you lost something, my lord?”
“Um. Actually, I found it,” he said, rising and holding up a hastily selected cravat. “Is there something that needs my attention, Simmons?”
“Actually, I had hoped you were up. I wanted to speak to you about Lady Sedgwick.”
Alex didn’t like the sound of that. “What has she done now?”
“Nothing, my lord,” the butler said. “It is rather something I think you could do for her.”
“For her? Simmons, don’t you think the lady has taken full advantage of my largesse already?”
“She has only done what any other lady in her position would have done,” Simmons protested.
Alex resisted the urge to groan. He was going to have to see about Simmons’s pension—the man was rising to the defense of a lady who most likely was no lady.
The butler entered the chamber and drew back the curtains, letting the clear light of day shine into the room. Illuminating Alex’s crimes all too clearly.
Simmons sniffed once or twice, then came over to the wreckage that was Emmaline’s belongings poking out from the hastily closed cabinet doors. Uttering a few tsk-tsks, hebent over and retrieved her things, carefully refolding and replacing her meager and threadbare belongings in her valise and placing it exactly where she had left it.
Then he reached in and got out a waistcoat and jacket for Alex, laying them on the bed as if nothing were amiss.
“Perhaps, my lord, if I may be bold enough to suggest this,” Simmons said, looking him straight in the eye. “Instead of demanding the particulars of her past, or attempting to uproot them,” he said, his sharp gaze straying in the direction of the armoire, “perhaps if you got to know the lady. Gained her trust. Then she would be more inclined to share her
Sensible and ready to conquer the problem at hand—namely, getting rid of Hubert and Lady Lilith.
And then Emmaline.
He opened the clothespress in search of a new waistcoat and suddenly his senses were assailed with the soft scent of violets.
Her perfume.
And upon a closer inspection, he spied a plain brown valise tucked into the back of the armoire. Her valise.
All her belongings, all her secrets, perhaps even her identity might be found in this innocuous, innocent-looking bag.
“No,” he told himself. “That would hardly be fair.” So he closed the door. It wasn’t seemly to go through a lady’s private possessions.
Yet how was he to learn about her mysterious past if he didn’t do a bit of investigation? Didn’t he have a right to know exactly who was parading about town wearing the Sedgwick name?
His hand went to the cabinet door and he opened it.
“No,” he said, closing it again. Where was his honor? His integrity?
Then he opened it once more.
He temporarily disavowed those qualities as he went down on his knees and began pulling open the ancient bag.
But if he’d thought he was going to find anything that might reveal her identity, he was sadly mistaken. Her worldly possessions consisted of a plain muslin gown, a dull gray pelisse. Unmentionables in white cotton. A pair of well-worn shoes. Some mismatched ill-knit stockings. A pair of spectacles. A battered and well-thumbed copy of Debrett’s. And a copy of Billingsworth’s Guide to the Historical Estates of England.
And just as quickly as he’d opened the case, he was at the bottom of it and there was nothing more. Nothing at all.
No telling inscription in the books, not even initials on the bag to give a hint as to the name of its bearer.
Nothing.
“Demmit,” he muttered shoving it away, disgruntled not to have found anything, and dismayed at his own lack of principle.
“Uh-hum,” came a cough at the door.
Alex cringed, then glanced over his shoulder.
There stood Simmons, gazing down at him with a frown creasing his brow and lips. “Have you lost something, my lord?”
“Um. Actually, I found it,” he said, rising and holding up a hastily selected cravat. “Is there something that needs my attention, Simmons?”
“Actually, I had hoped you were up. I wanted to speak to you about Lady Sedgwick.”
Alex didn’t like the sound of that. “What has she done now?”
“Nothing, my lord,” the butler said. “It is rather something I think you could do for her.”
“For her? Simmons, don’t you think the lady has taken full advantage of my largesse already?”
“She has only done what any other lady in her position would have done,” Simmons protested.
Alex resisted the urge to groan. He was going to have to see about Simmons’s pension—the man was rising to the defense of a lady who most likely was no lady.
The butler entered the chamber and drew back the curtains, letting the clear light of day shine into the room. Illuminating Alex’s crimes all too clearly.
Simmons sniffed once or twice, then came over to the wreckage that was Emmaline’s belongings poking out from the hastily closed cabinet doors. Uttering a few tsk-tsks, hebent over and retrieved her things, carefully refolding and replacing her meager and threadbare belongings in her valise and placing it exactly where she had left it.
Then he reached in and got out a waistcoat and jacket for Alex, laying them on the bed as if nothing were amiss.
“Perhaps, my lord, if I may be bold enough to suggest this,” Simmons said, looking him straight in the eye. “Instead of demanding the particulars of her past, or attempting to uproot them,” he said, his sharp gaze straying in the direction of the armoire, “perhaps if you got to know the lady. Gained her trust. Then she would be more inclined to share her
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