The Accidental Duchess by Madeline Hunter Read Free Book Online Page B

helped her out of her still-damp clothes. There had not been time to change before going to Emma. When word is buzzing that there is big news, one wants to hear what it is. She had dried as best she could with a linen while she, Emma, and Cassandra enjoyed a happy time in Emma’s dressing room.
    The excitement had pushed the morning out of her mind, but now it crowded back in, deflating her joy and returning her worries. A week, Trilby had said. It would take a miracle to find ten thousand in a week. Or one very good piece of luck.
    “Sarah, do you tell others here about me, like cook told you about Emma?”
    Sarah did not deny it immediately the way Lydia expected. Instead she set down the damp hose she had just removed and sat, looking thoughtful. “There have been a few times when things have slipped out. Not important ones. It is just that in a big, busy house like this, what is and is not private can become gray, can’t it? I have to remind myself that I may know things your family does not.”
    “If I told you it was important they not know something, do you think you could make sure it never slipped out? I need to talk to someone about something, Sarah, and I cannot share this with Emma or Cassandra.”
    Sarah moved to sit beside her on the divan. She embraced her with one arm. “Of course I can. I always did when we were little, didn’t I? I know that you are milady now, but in my heart you will always be Deea.”
    It was the name Sarah had called her when they were small children. Hearing it now brought unexpected comfort.
    “I am being blackmailed, Sarah.” She told her about Trilby and the novel, and his demands. “The situation is ridiculous, but that does not mean it is not dangerous.”
    Sarah reacted the way a good friend should, with shock and concern. “He sounds too greedy to me. Such a high amount! Does he not fear you will go to your brother with this? That is your best choice now, isn’t it?”
    “What will I say to him? That I wrote a novel that reads like a journal, and someone got his hands on it and noticed that parts of it might be interpreted in ways that paint me as disloyal? So hand me a fortune so I can buy him off, please?”
    She had not told Sarah
everything
. She had left out the parts of the novel that crossed the lines of propriety regarding romantic events. Just remembering the explicit nature of that chapter made her face warm. No respectable novel contained such things, but she had never really believed her manuscript would be published.
    She needed to make sure it never was.
    “Perhaps we can steal it,” Sarah said. “We will learn where he lives, and sneak in, and find it and—”
    “Even if we learn where he lives, there is no guarantee the manuscript is there. I fear that I must find a way to get hold of the money and buy back my stupid words.”
    “Have you not accumulated some from your gambling? By now you should have a good amount, I would think.”
    “You would think so, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately . . .” She shrugged.
    That money did not stay in her purse. She had uses for it. Secret ones, known only to her. She made gifts, often anonymous, to worthy causes.
    She would like to claim some goodness in doing it, but she received so much pleasure that the gestures almost felt selfish. Nor were her gifts only about charity. With each one she made a little declaration to herself that she had a separate life, was a separate person, and had purpose.
    She wondered if the goodness of the acts was diminished by the prideful motivations, or the pleasure she took in winning that money?
    Probably so.
    Sarah stood and started plucking the hairpins out of Lydia’s wet, snarled hair. “Can you borrow the money from a friend?”
    “A lesser amount, perhaps. Such a sum, however—I am sure that neither Emma nor Cassandra could help me without going to their husbands for it. Even women like us do not have this kind of money, Sarah. Not unless it is in trust, which