The Princess and the Peer (25 page)

The modiste clapped her hands dramatically. “Girls, assist Princess Emmaline into her own gown, then we shall be on our way. We have much to do!”

Emma retreated to her bedchamber, standing pliable and silent as she let the two dressmaker’s assistants extract her from the ball gown and button her back into a day dress of pale peach silk. She paid scant attention to them as they gathered up the heavily pinned gown and bade her good day.

Crossing to one of the tall casement windows that lined the expansive room, she contemplated pulling the drapes and climbing into bed. An afternoon nap wouldn’t elicit much comment. Many ladies rested before rising to dress for dinner. The fact that she had never been one of those ladies, at least not before she’d returned to the estate, was of no moment.

She was reaching out to ring for one of her ladies to inform her that she did not wish to be disturbed for the remainder of the afternoon when a soft knock came at the door. Without waiting for permission, her sister strolled inside.

Emma restrained a sigh.

“Your gowns truly are magnificent,” Sigrid stated conversationally as she moved deeper into the room. “I cannot wait to see you made ready for the ball. I have a diamond and pearl diadem I think would look splendid with your hair. You shall have to come to my rooms to try it on.”

“Hmm, that sounds lovely,” Emma told her in an absent tone.

“Wonderful. Then what about now?”

Now?

She almost shook her head. She was going to take a nap now.

She loved her sister, but at the moment she really wished Sigrid would figure out that she wished to be alone and would leave. She desperately wanted to sleep, longing for a couple hours’ escape into nothingness with an ache that was almost physical.

“Perhaps later.” She offered a placating smile. “I want to rest before dinner.”

Sigrid sent her a look that was half exasperated, half concerned. “You are eighteen years old. You shouldn’t need any rest. When I was your age, I raced from one entertainment to the next during the day, then danced every evening away. I don’t think I got more than a night’s sleep each week.”

“How lucky for you,” Emma said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

The exasperation eased from her sister’s face, leaving
only concern behind. “What is it, Emma? What is wrong? You haven’t… Well, you haven’t seemed yourself since your excursion to London. Did something happen there to make you unhappy?”

Emma froze, her pulse racing in alarm at what Sigrid might know or have guessed. Could she possibly have found out about Nick? She was certain Mrs. Brown-Jones would never betray her confidence, and there was no one else who could have told her sister anything. No, she decided, feeling her pulse slow again, she didn’t know anything about him. Sigrid must simply be fishing for information and explanations.

“No,” Emma told her calmly. “Nothing happened. I had a very enjoyable time in the city. If I seem different, perhaps it is because I
am
eighteen years old now. You haven’t seen me for years—not since I was a child.”

Sigrid frowned. “I wanted to come see you, but that dreadful war prevented it. Carlo refused to let me travel, and of course, I had the girls. I couldn’t leave them. They were only babies.”

“Of course you could not,” Emma said softly, thinking of her nieces with their dark ringlets, clear olive skin, and winning smiles. “I understood why you couldn’t visit and I have no bruised feelings over the matter. But we are both older and much has happened since we lived together in Rosewald.”

Sigrid bent her blond head, staring for a moment at her hands. “Yes, much has changed. You are right.” She lifted her gaze again. “But that is no reason why you should rest in the afternoon when you should be out having fun.”

“Having fun where? Here at the estate? If you must know, the place bores me to tears.”

Sigrid laughed. “It isn’t the city, is it?”

“No.”

“Well, we shall be leaving for London soon, and once we do, I expect you to be more engaged and to smile more too.”

Smile more?
The notion made her shudder. Somehow Emma forced her lips to curve upward and her head to dip in a false nod.

Apparently satisfied for the time being, her sister stood. “I shall leave you then, if you insist. Cards tonight, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Yes, cards.”

She could muddle through, she told herself, if only she could have some time alone now.

Sigrid paused again, studying her with kind eyes. “You are sure you are feeling well? You looked quite peaked during your fitting.”

“Yes, I… If you must know, it is my time of the month.”

Stupid, but she’d been disappointed when her menses had arrived a couple days ago. In spite of the appalling furor it would have caused, a tiny part of her had been hoping she was with child. It would have given her an excuse to see
him
again.

But there was no child.

There was nothing between them now.

Sigrid relaxed suddenly. “Why did you not just say? There’s no need to be embarrassed. We women all suffer. Are you in pain? Poor dear, I shall have a compress and a toddy brought up immediately. Go on. Lie down. I will see to everything.”

Suddenly Emma wished she could tell her sister the whole truth, could go to her and take comfort in her words and her embrace. But she didn’t know if she would receive the comfort she needed or find condemnation instead.

In some ways, she and Sigrid really were little more than strangers; they had spent too many years apart for her to know how her sister might react. She knew Sigrid loved her and meant her well, but as for sharing confidences, she decided her secrets and her sorrow were better kept to herself.

Still, the smile she gave her sister was a genuine one as she turned and made her way to the bed in search of the quiet and temporary oblivion she craved.

“A
in’t me place ter say, I suppose, but that butler and valet of yers acts more like the lord of the manor than ye do yerself, Cap’n,” Goldfinch said two afternoons later as he and Nick sat across from each other in Nick’s study. “Mind ye, I’m naught but an old seadog and an ordinary man besides, but at least I don’t put on no airs. Don’t rightly know how Bell stands to be around them two blighters—no offense.”

Nick regarded his former crewman over the rim of his whiskey glass and resisted the urge to smile. He couldn’t help but be aware of the chilly treatment Goldfinch had received from his servants when he had once again presented himself on Nick’s doorstep—the front door rather than the back. Symms, in particular, took issue with Goldfinch not using the tradesman’s entrance, though he never complained openly to Nick about the infraction.

For his own part, Nick didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, a door was a door. But the servants had a protocol and Nick respected their need for order. Goldfinch was a guest, however, and should be treated as such no matter his station in life. Nick made a note to himself to have a word with his senior staff regarding the issue.

“Symms and Puddlemere take great pride in their positions,
which they have held since my brother’s day,” Nick said. “If they seem high in the instep, it is only because they are fiercely protective of maintaining the dignity of the household.”

Goldfinch gave a snort and took a swig of his own drink. “’Tis yer household. Don’t see how it’s up to them.”

“Be that as it may, the next time you visit, you are to present yourself at the front door again. My orders.”

The old sailor grinned, displaying a set of teeth stained by age and tobacco, one of the canines missing. “Thank ye, Cap’n. Ye always was a right fine gentleman.”

Nick idly turned his glass in his hand. “As for Bell, he seems to rub along well with the staff, despite his being new to a life of service.”

“Aye, that’s Bell for ye. He gets on wit everyone. A good lad, and bright as they come, even if he can talk the hind end off a horse.”

This time Nick smiled. Raising his glass to his lips, he took another drink, then set the crystal onto his desk with a thump. “Well then, what progress have you made? Were you able to learn anything from your visit to Covent Gardens?”

Nick waited, hoping against hope that Goldfinch would have positive news. The chances weren’t good, he realized, and yet he couldn’t help but wish otherwise. His pulse beat a little faster, unwilling anticipation coursing through his veins.

Goldfinch shook his head, disappointment clear on his face. “Sorry, Cap’n. Cooper an’ me, we asked everyone we could think of, but ain’t nobody knows nothing. We was careful to be discreet about giving out her description, just like ye said ter be, but it’s as if she weren’t never there. No one remembers a pretty blond lady in the market—least not one who’s a real lady and not some fancy piece already fer sale in one of the local houses.”

Nick’s pulse resumed its usual pace. He’d known it was a gamble with poor odds. Even so, he’d had to try. Finding Emma had become an obsession of his in the weeks since she had left, however foolish and futile such a search might be.

“Yer sure there’s no other way to trace her?” the other man asked. “If ye think of summat, I’d be right happy to try again. Cooper too.”

He’d given Goldfinch and Cooper only the barest information about Emma, just enough to set them on the trail. But that trail was dead, apparently. And why would it be otherwise, he mused ruefully, when he’d already exhausted all the options, when he’d tried every way he could conceive of to locate her?

“No.” Nick sighed. “There’s nothing else. Thank you for the attempt, Finchie. Here, let me pay you for your time.” He reached for the coin purse in his coat, but the old boatswain stopped him with a sharp shake of his head.

“Put that away now, Cap’n. Ye’ve done plenty fer the pair o’ us. We don’t need yer blunt. Cooper an’ me ’ave both found work—not always steady yet, mind, but each of us is on our way. He and I, we’re both glad and proud to lend ye a hand. Jest sorry we came up short when it came to yer girl.”

My girl. Not anymore,
he mused dolefully.
Not ever really, in spite of the intimacy we shared.

“It’s of no moment,” Nick dissembled, lowering his clenched hand into his lap. “She left something here during her stay and I merely wished to return it to her.”

But when he looked up, he caught an expression of sympathy in the older man’s eyes. His former crewman might not know the details of his connection with Emma, but he wasn’t unintelligent. Anyone could tell he was desperate to locate her.

Could Goldfinch see how he was pining for her as well?

Did he realize that his old captain had finally met his match and fallen in love?

Looking away again, Nick silently cursed himself. If he had any self-respect he would do as Mrs. Brown-Jones had advised and forget Emma. But try as he might, he could not put her from his thoughts—or his heart.

At first he’d tried, assuring himself he would get over her. She was just a young woman—lovely, interesting, intelligent,
and kind, but replaceable for all that. With some small effort, he would find another woman to take her place. It wasn’t conceit on his part to know he had his pick of females. He’d never had difficulty attracting members of the fairer sex, and he would have even less trouble now that he held the title of earl. If he wished, eligible, beautiful young ladies would be only too happy to toss themselves in his path, each one praying he would choose her and make her his bride.

But the sad truth was he didn’t want another girl. Neither did he want a wife unless she was Emma.

For nearly two weeks, he’d held out against the need to search for her before finally giving in and returning to Mrs. Brown-Jones’s town house. Instead of gaining another audience with Emma’s friend, however, he’d found the house closed, the knocker removed from the door. Clearly, the woman and her husband had fled.

Undeterred, he’d attempted to speak with the servants that remained, loitering in his carriage as he watched them come and go from the house. Finally, he’d cornered a middle-aged woman with soft features and careworn hands—the cook. But in spite of her obvious willingness to talk, she didn’t know anything. The master and mistress had gone away without a word, she told him, but she didn’t know where or when they might return.

None of the other remaining house servants knew anything either, and so, defeated, he withdrew.

He’d searched for her himself, returning to the various locations they had visited during her stay, but he had no luck. He went to the street where they’d met that first day in Covent Garden, scouring the shop stalls and questioning the vendors, but no one knew anything about her. He even tried the various coaching inns, trying to ascertain if she’d bought passage on any of the mail coaches leaving the city.

Again, nothing.

It was as if she had vanished.

Finally, in a last, likely futile effort, he’d asked Goldfinch and Cooper to search again, to retrace his steps and find out
if there were any clues he’d missed, anyone who might have even a shred of information about her that they had not been willing to share with him. His former crewmen were skilled at ferreting out secrets others tried to hide; if they couldn’t learn anything useful about Emma’s whereabouts, no one could.

His spirits sank low, and Nick faced the sad truth that his search for her was over. There was nothing more left to try.

Emma was well and truly gone, and clearly that was how she wished it.

In need of a distraction, he and Goldfinch talked about other matters for a few minutes more. When that conversational gambit expired, the toughened seaman rose to his feet and bade Nick what he recognized was an overly hearty good day. Nick smiled and shook Goldfinch’s hand, but his false cheer was all for show.

Once alone, he leaned back in his chair and let his mind run, his thoughts tumbling one over the other, each one darker and more depressing than the last.

Bah!
What he ought to do was leave, close up the town house and make the journey to Lynd Park. The Lancashire countryside would be particularly serene this time of year—the hills covered in frost and early snow, the lakes chill enough to sparkle with a thin glaze of morning ice.