The Emerald Duchess by Barbara Hazard Read Free Book Online Page A

glad she was young, but even so she was often weary when she fell into bed late at night. Miss Hentershee grew even paler and more frail, and it was not long before Emily discovered that she was troubled by an arthritic complaint, a condition she hid carefully from her mistress.
    “She would discharge me in a moment, you know, if she even suspected,” the older dresser confided one morning as she struggled into her clothes. “She’s a hard one, is Lady Williams. And if I lose my place and my salary, I do not know how I shall live. In a few years I will have saved enough to retire, but it is difficult on fifteen guineas a year to put anything aside.”
    Emily was horrified, especially when she learned Miss Hentershee had been with Lady Williams for twelve years, and from then on she tried to help the older woman as much as she could by taking over some of her chores. This was difficult, for Lady Quentin, entering into all the amusements of the party, changed her clothes several times a day, and when she dropped so much as a handkerchief, never thought of picking it up herself. She might be having a wonderful time with all the dances and teas and card parties, but her maid worked harder than she ever had in town. She could hardly wait to return. Besides, the countess did not believe in indulging the servants. There was no heat in the attics where they slept, and when Emily asked a housemaid to make up the fire in her room, the girl jeered at her.
    “And ’oo do you think you are? A princess or summat? We ain’t allowed no fires.”
    Emily winced. She had been called “princess” once before in an earlier situation, and the servants there had made her life a misery.
    Now Emily could not help muttering, “Spoiled brat!” as she picked up a discarded stole from the floor after Lady Quentin had gone down to dinner on her husband’s arm, laughing gaily as she did so. The dressing table was covered with powder and hairpins and jewelry, and there were slops to carry away and fire to be made up again. Emily knew she could have no respite until she had the room in perfect order. She had been up since six, and her back ached and her feet were swollen. Besides, she did not care to linger on this floor alone. Lord Hunter, the Marquess of Benterfield, had rooms opposite the Quentins’, and Emily had seen him watching her as she went about her duties. She thought he was one of the most unattractive men she had ever seen. Of no more than medium height, with an undistinguished lined face and thinning gray hair, only his great air of consequence told you he was someone of importance. In repose, his face had a hint of cruelty in it; Emily could easily imagine him abusing a servant or beating his horses without a second thought.
    But all thoughts of the marquess faded from her mind the afternoon of the long-awaited ball. As she was leaving Lady Quentin’s room with some mending, she saw the arrogant stranger again. He was a little way down the corridor and in the process of entering the bedchamber next to Lord Hunter’s, and his eyebrows rose when he recognized her. Emily lowered her eyes and dropped a hasty curtsy before she hurried away, her heart pounding. She was almost sure she heard a deep chuckle, and she shivered. At least he will be here only overnight, she told herself as she went up the long flight of stone stairs to the sewing room. I wonder who he is?
    That evening, Emily hooked her mistress into a new gown of pale-pink silk and dressed her soft brown hair in shining curls on which she set the ruby tiara that had been the captain’s Christmas gift.
    She does look l ovely, she thought as she knelt to arrange the lady’s skirts, a task made more difficult as Lady Quentin whirled before the pier glass to admire her gown. When she had gone, Emily straightened the room and went to join Miss Hentershee. As she gained the hall, she could hear the strains of a waltz from the ballroom on the floor below. For a moment she