Read Online The Star-Crossed Bride by Kelly McClymer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kelly McClymer
Tags: Fiction
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the supremely self-confident Lord Granbury — if she even thought it possible, she would scowl until she was as wrinkled as her mother's favorite pug dog, Daffodil. But sleep was not possible until she knew where Valentine was. Until she knew if he would be able to help her avoid marriage to the marquis of Granbury. And if she could win back Valentine's heart.
Quietly she contemplated her options, which seemed to be shrinking by the minute. How could she convince Granbury that she was not the wife for him? And Valentine that she was? In an hour or two Nancy would be here to dress her for dinner. Dare she ask the girl if there had been a stranger found either in the house or on the grounds? It was a risk, probably too large a risk. Nancy had always seemed a sensible girl, but she was the countess's servant, not Emily's own, and that was a lesson Emily had learned early on. How could she question Nancy without revealing herself — worse, if he hadn't yet been discovered, Valentine's presence in the household?
She was to have a bath and wear a new gown. Perhaps while she bathed, she could toss a question out? Nancy would be occupied with laying out her gown and petticoats, and might be distracted enough not to think too hard about what Emily was asking. And if Nancy knew nothing? To bring up the conversation — even obliquely — at dinner would result in more trouble than it was worth. Her mother had made it clear that she was not to broach the issue of her unfortunate past again. And Valentine was most definitely part of that unspeakable past. What punishment her mother would choose to inflict had been left vague enough to make her uneasy.
Obviously, the countess was concerned that Francis would be swayed by her words, enough to call off the engagement, but Emily couldn't understand why. He had been utterly impervious to the suggestion that he might be in danger of succumbing to the curse that dogged her. He had, perversely, considered it a challenge to be met and mastered. She shuddered. No doubt he thought the same of her. She simply could not marry him.
Having discovered no solution to her dilemma in the hours of quiet contemplation, Emily gave herself up to the ministrations of her maids as they made her ready for dinner with Francis. She asked a few idle questions about the household, but frustratingly she learned nothing of whether Valentine had been captured. Instead, she felt as though she was being readied as a human sacrifice — a sacrifice to the god of the marquess of Granbury to be specific. Every wrinkle in the gown must be smoothed — the gown had gone out three separate times to the ironing room, with much sighing and tsking on the maid's part. Her hair; of course, must be curled into glossy ringlets that looked more like strawberry blond silk than hair and adorned with feathers that scratched at her scalp. And the jewelry was to be an emerald necklace that came from the marquess' family vaults.
Adding to Emily's feeling of being a sacrificial victim were the glances that Nancy sent her occasionally. The girl seemed almost frightened to look at her directly. Her eyes focused on nothing whenever her gaze neared Emily's face. Her terrified manner unsettled Emily even more, as though Nancy knew that Emily was marching downstairs to her death rather than to dinner. Once, when in the hectic pace of work the maid dropped one of the pretty bottles on the dressing table and it broke, she burst into tears.
"Don't worry, Nancy it was an accident," Emily said quickly, but the maid still took several minutes to compose herself. And then, in a fit of nerves she had never displayed before, she gave a wrench to Emily's hair when the countess's maid arrived. Fortunately the countess's maid did not witness this dereliction of duty, as Nancy and Emily returned themselves to more serene countenances in the time it took her to unlock the room and release Emily from her prison — for just the time it took to convince
Quietly she contemplated her options, which seemed to be shrinking by the minute. How could she convince Granbury that she was not the wife for him? And Valentine that she was? In an hour or two Nancy would be here to dress her for dinner. Dare she ask the girl if there had been a stranger found either in the house or on the grounds? It was a risk, probably too large a risk. Nancy had always seemed a sensible girl, but she was the countess's servant, not Emily's own, and that was a lesson Emily had learned early on. How could she question Nancy without revealing herself — worse, if he hadn't yet been discovered, Valentine's presence in the household?
She was to have a bath and wear a new gown. Perhaps while she bathed, she could toss a question out? Nancy would be occupied with laying out her gown and petticoats, and might be distracted enough not to think too hard about what Emily was asking. And if Nancy knew nothing? To bring up the conversation — even obliquely — at dinner would result in more trouble than it was worth. Her mother had made it clear that she was not to broach the issue of her unfortunate past again. And Valentine was most definitely part of that unspeakable past. What punishment her mother would choose to inflict had been left vague enough to make her uneasy.
Obviously, the countess was concerned that Francis would be swayed by her words, enough to call off the engagement, but Emily couldn't understand why. He had been utterly impervious to the suggestion that he might be in danger of succumbing to the curse that dogged her. He had, perversely, considered it a challenge to be met and mastered. She shuddered. No doubt he thought the same of her. She simply could not marry him.
Having discovered no solution to her dilemma in the hours of quiet contemplation, Emily gave herself up to the ministrations of her maids as they made her ready for dinner with Francis. She asked a few idle questions about the household, but frustratingly she learned nothing of whether Valentine had been captured. Instead, she felt as though she was being readied as a human sacrifice — a sacrifice to the god of the marquess of Granbury to be specific. Every wrinkle in the gown must be smoothed — the gown had gone out three separate times to the ironing room, with much sighing and tsking on the maid's part. Her hair; of course, must be curled into glossy ringlets that looked more like strawberry blond silk than hair and adorned with feathers that scratched at her scalp. And the jewelry was to be an emerald necklace that came from the marquess' family vaults.
Adding to Emily's feeling of being a sacrificial victim were the glances that Nancy sent her occasionally. The girl seemed almost frightened to look at her directly. Her eyes focused on nothing whenever her gaze neared Emily's face. Her terrified manner unsettled Emily even more, as though Nancy knew that Emily was marching downstairs to her death rather than to dinner. Once, when in the hectic pace of work the maid dropped one of the pretty bottles on the dressing table and it broke, she burst into tears.
"Don't worry, Nancy it was an accident," Emily said quickly, but the maid still took several minutes to compose herself. And then, in a fit of nerves she had never displayed before, she gave a wrench to Emily's hair when the countess's maid arrived. Fortunately the countess's maid did not witness this dereliction of duty, as Nancy and Emily returned themselves to more serene countenances in the time it took her to unlock the room and release Emily from her prison — for just the time it took to convince
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