Emmeline Read online

  She turned the page, hoping for more, but only a brief mention was made of the debates over the Corn Laws and the growing social unrest. Emmeline folded the broadsheet and set it aside. Perhaps the Evening Post would contain more substantial information and less Society gossip.

  A knock sounded, and she left the room on tiptoe to let in the housekeeper. She’d requested shepherd’s pie for supper and hoped Mrs. Thomas had remembered.

  Emmeline opened the door, and she froze.

  Instead of Mrs. Turner and her daughters, two gentlewomen stood on the outside landing in the alley above the mews.

  Joanna Presley, from their weekly meetings of the London Women’s Society, stood next to her companion, whom Emmeline didn’t recognize. Both women were elegantly attired, and they looked excessively uncomfortable. Emmeline knew the heat of the day and the smell of the stables beneath accounted for only part of their unease. Obviously, neither of the fine ladies was accustomed to paying visits in this area of London.

  What were they doing here?

  Emmeline realized she was staring and remembered her manners. “Miss Presley, what a delightful surprise.” She opened the door wide and curtsied. “Please, do come in.”

  Miss Presley smiled as she entered. “Miss Newton, I’m so very glad to see you.” The young lady’s smile was genuine, and it had the immediate effect of brightening the room. She was short, with blonde hair and dimples, and Emmeline had found over the past months that she could not help but be happy in her company. Miss Presley motioned to her companion. “Allow me to introduce my dear friend Mrs. Harriet Griffin.”

  “A pleasure.” Emmeline curtsied again, deeper this time. She knew of Mrs. Griffin—or at least of her husband, Mr. William Griffin. A Tory, unfortunately, but he consistently voted in favor of reduced taxation and Catholic emancipation—both issues Emmeline felt strongly about—so she supposed she couldn’t judge him too badly, nor his wife. Mrs. Griffin was exquisitely beautiful—tall and slender, with smooth dark curls, fair skin, and a long neck. And she possessed an exceptional eye for fashion.

  Emmeline glanced back at the door to her mother’s bedchamber. “I’m afraid my mother is indisposed at the moment, but if you’d care to make an appointment . . .”

  Miss Presley’s smile grew, her dimples deepened, and her eyes appeared to actually sparkle. “Miss Newton, we’ve come to see you.”

  “Oh.” Emmeline blinked, confused. “Of course.” She led them into the parlor, trying to remember the last time she’d received a social call. It had been years, she realized. And never since they’d moved to London.

  Emmeline ignored the large round table that took up one side of the room, showing the pair instead to a sofa in the corner. She left them for a moment and returned with a tea tray, feeling very self-conscious that she had no servant to prepare it.

  As she poured the tea for her guests, Emmeline tried to imagine what they could have come to discuss. Neither woman seemed old enough to have a child in need of tutoring. Perhaps they came at the behest of a family member. Or maybe Mrs. Griffin was considering joining the London Women’s Society. But if that was the case, certainly there were other ladies with whom she was more closely acquainted to consult. And neither purpose seemed sufficient reason for a formal visit.

  Miss Presley thanked Emmeline for the tea, looking as if the day could not be happier.

  Mrs. Griffin smiled as well, but her expression seemed a bit forced. Her gaze flicked around the room as if she were nervous that something might jump out at her.

  In spite of herself, Emmeline felt her shoulders tighten defensively. The rented rooms might be in a less glamorous part of town, the furniture worn, the décor old-fashioned, but she still took pride in her home.

  She pulled over a chair from the table and sat facing the visitors with her own cup and saucer in her lap. “What can I do for you ladies?”

  Miss Presley took a sip of tea and glanced at her companion with wide eyes and a smile on her lips, as if she held a secret.

  Mrs. Griffin set her cup on its saucer. “Miss Newton, my husband and I are to host a house party in two weeks’ time.”

  Miss Presley nodded, looking back and forth between the two women.

  “And I would be very pleased if you would attend.”

  “You need a tutor,” Emmeline guessed.

  “No.” Mrs. Griffin lowered the saucer to her lap. “I hope you will come as my guest.”

  Emmeline stared, not knowing what to say. Surely there was some mistake.

  “Me? But—”

  “Miss Presley speaks so highly of you,” Mrs. Griffin said. “And we—”

  “Please say you’ll come,” Miss Presley burst out, speaking over her friend. “So many diverting activities are planned: lawn games, cards, dramatic charades, picnics. There is a splendid lake where we might go for a row or where the gentlemen can fish, and, weather permitting, we will even take a daytrip to Wolvesey Castle.”

  Mrs. Griffin didn’t seem at all offended by her friend’s interruption. She smiled softly, nodding. “I hope it will be enjoyable for all. It is my first time hosting such a gathering.”

  “It will be talked about as the most diverting house party any of the guests have ever attended.” Miss Presley patted her friend’s arm reassuringly. She grinned and turned back to Emmeline. “And, Miss Newton, I’ve not yet told you the very best part. There will be, of course, handsome gentlemen in attendance.”

  Miss Presley’s cheeks reddened, and Emmeline supposed there was one gentleman in particular whose presence she anticipated.

  “And,” Miss Presley continued. “The duke of Southampton himself has extended all of us an invitation to his ball.”

  “It all sounds marvelous,” Emmeline said, feeling a flutter of excitement, but she still felt wary. There must be more to this invitation than they were letting on. “And I do not wish to sound ungrateful for the honor you have extended me. But, forgive me, I can’t imagine why you’ve done it.”

  Mrs. Griffin glanced at her companion.

  Miss Presley’s smile dimmed, and her eyes tightened the slightest bit.

  “My husband is fascinated by the supernatural,” Mrs. Griffin said. She pursed her lips, looking as though she were not pleased with his interest. “I suppose it can be attributed to losing his sister at a very young age.” She glanced at the round table. “He hoped the baroness might be persuaded . . .” She left the question hanging, and Emmeline’s stomach felt heavy. She understood now. “You wish for my mother to come perform a séance.” She spoke in a measured tone, not wanting them to hear her disappointment.

  Miss Presley’s smile was now more of a grimace. “Yes. If she is agreeable to it. But we want you to attend for the entire three weeks. Not just come for the séance and leave. You will enjoy yourself immensely, and we will enjoy having you there.”

  “And I will be very pleased to become better acquainted with you,” Mrs. Griffin said. She set her teacup on the low table beside the sofa. “Whether or not your mother can attend.”

  Emmeline was saved from answering when another knock came at the door. She stood, feeling self-conscious again at performing the duties of a servant in front of these ladies. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just—”

  The ladies stood as well. “We should be going anyway,” Mrs. Griffin said. “Might I expect a response within a few days?”

  Emmeline nodded, her mind whirling with the implications. A house party with ladies and gentlemen and a duke’s ball . . . all things she’d thought lost to her when her father had died. It seemed unreal.

  She opened the door for the housekeeper and her daughters. Mrs. Turner’s eyes went wide at the sight of the fine ladies. She curtsied deeply, and her daughters followed her example.

  Emmeline bid her two visitors farewell from the doorway as they descended carefully the outside steps to the alley
below.

  Just as she was turning back to go inside, Miss Presley hurried back up to the landing. She grasped Emmeline’s hands. “Harriet is shy, but you will simply love her once you are better acquainted.” She tipped her head toward her friend. “I do hope you’ll come. We will have a wonderful time—you’ll see.” She kissed Emmeline’s cheek and hurried back down to join Mrs. Griffin.

  Emmeline watched as the two climbed into a fine carriage at the mouth of the alleyway. She and Miss Presley were friendly enough at the women’s meetings and the marches they’d attended, but she hadn’t expected a social call from the woman, let alone an invitation such as this.

  Later that evening, with both the shepherd’s pie and the Turners gone, Emmeline and her mother cleaned the dishes. She hadn’t realized before what a chore it was to do something that sounded like such a simple task. She’d gone four times down the stairs and across the alley to fetch water at the public faucet, making certain she had enough for the dishes, as well as filling the washbasin pitchers in both sleeping chambers for the next morning. And she’d had to hurry to get it all done before darkness fell. Though the neighborhood wasn’t a slum, it was still unsafe for a young lady to be out at night alone in any part of London.

  As she rinsed off the plates, she told her mother about Miss Presley and Mrs. Griffin’s visit and their unexpected invitation.

  “Why do you sound so hesitant, dearest?” Her mother dried the plates and set them on a cupboard shelf. “It sounds like a wonderful experience. You know, I met your father at a house party. And won’t it be lovely for you to make some new friends?”

  “But they didn’t invite me in hopes of gaining a friendship,” Emmeline said, feeling the tingles of shame burning up her neck. “They just—”

  “The reason behind the invitation matters not,” her mother interrupted, holding up a hand to stop Emmeline’s argument. “It matters only that you were invited. They will see soon enough that you belong there. And once they realize what a treasure they’ve found in you—and how could they not?—you will be invited to future events.”

  Emmeline gave a small smile in spite of herself as she wiped the crumbs from the table with a wet towel. Her mother’s faith in her was never in doubt.

  “An opportunity such as this is not one you should ever discount simply because of the blow to your pride, do you understand?” her mother continued. “Three years ago, invitations like this were so plentiful we could afford to be selective. But as it is . . .” Her mother held up her palm and shook her head.

  Emmeline knew she was right. She just wished the humiliating feeling that soured her throat would abate. She wanted to be known for herself or even as the child of the Baron and Baroness Newton, not as the fortune-teller’s daughter. And she was ashamed at the thought.

  She hung up the dishcloth and sat in her chair at the table. “I suppose I could attend for a day or so, but I cannot stay for the entire time.”

  “And why is that?” Her mother sat across from her, clasping her hands on the table and leaning forward. “You’ve no reason to hurry back.”

  “There is to be a ball at the Duke of Southampton’s,” Emmeline explained, feeling the hot tingles return to her neck. “And I couldn’t possibly . . .” She rested her chin on her palms, sighing.

  Her mother grinned.

  Emmeline stared at her, confused. “What is it?” After a moment, she couldn’t help but grin in return.

  Her mother shook her head in pretend pity. “Oh, poor darling,” she teased. “You remind me of Cinderella in the German fairy tale, wanting to go to the wedding ball.” She stood, holding out her hand. Emmeline took it, letting her mother pull her off her chair and across the kitchen into the baroness’s bedchamber. “But instead of an enchanted bird bringing a golden dress, you will have to be contented with these.” The baroness opened the trunk at the foot of her bed and pulled out dress after dress, laying them over the bed.

  Emmeline had forgotten her mother owned such beautiful gowns. She lifted one, holding it in front of her, and a flicker of something hopeful glimmered inside her heart.

  “I know it’s here somewhere,” her mother muttered, digging deeper into the chest. “Aha!” From beneath a pile of shoes, underclothing, gloves, and silk stockings, she pulled a glorious gown.

  Emmeline gasped, clasping her hands together. “Mother, I have never seen this.”

  Her mother held it up in front of her. The dress was a light-rose color with a lace overlay. Pearl beads decorated the neckline, and a wide silk ribbon ran around the waist. It was stunning.

  “It will need some alterations,” her mother muttered, tipping her head to the side. “As will all of these”—she motioned with her chin to the other gowns—“if they are to be in accordance with the latest fashion.” She pressed the dress to Emmeline’s shoulders, and when Emmeline held it in place, her mother fussed with the waist, leaning back and tipping her head to the side. “And I think you are a bit slimmer than I was.” She laid the gown on the bed and pulled out more. “I’ll hire a dressmaker tomorrow,” she said. “I’m certain any would be pleased for work with the Season over.” She glanced at Emmeline. “And don’t go lecturing me about the cost.”

  Excitement started to replace Emmeline’s worries. She bounced on her heels as her mother opened her hatboxes, pulled out a particularly lovely straw hat with bunches of silk flowers around the rim, and put it on Emmeline’s head, tying the ribbon under her chin. “Perfect for a picnic, don’t you think?” Her mother turned her around to look in the mirror, resting her hands on Emmeline’s shoulders and speaking to her reflection. She tipped her head, looking at her daughter with fondness that brought tears to Emmeline’s eyes. “My dearest, do not let anyone make you feel as if you do not deserve to be at the party. You are a gentlewoman, and if you behave as such, you will leave them in no doubt—” Her hands stilled, and her eyes closed. She blinked rapidly, as she did when experiencing some type of psychic phenomenon.

  Emmeline didn’t pull away, though she was sorely tempted.

  “I see you at peace, my dear. Happy and . . .” Her mother’s head wove from side to side, and her face was slack. “Berries on a bed of words . . . golden stars floating in a green sea . . .” Her voice was low and the sound haunting.

  It was all nonsense, of course—vague images that clients would later match to random experiences and believe the baroness had indeed predicted their future.

  Emmeline put her hands on her mother’s and lifted them gently from her shoulders, then released her hold, making the baroness gasp. This was the part of the demonstration where the connection to the other world was broken. Emmeline had seen it plenty of times over the years, and she thought there was no need for the dramatics when it was just the two of them.

  She helped her mother to a chair to rest after her psychic episode while Emmeline put the gowns away and tidied the room. In spite of her mother’s eccentricities, she knew the baroness wanted the best for her daughter.

  She smiled as she moved the rose-colored gown, laying it carefully over the trunk and imagining twirling on the dance floor with a handsome gentleman.

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  Chapter 3

  Arthur rode up to the gate and paused, glancing up at the two large griffin statues that sat on high pillars on either side, like mythical guards. But to him, they had always appeared welcoming instead of forbidding. The metal gates were open wide—he’d never seen them any other way—but he paused all the same, feeling the significance of returning to a place where he’d spent so much time as a young man.

  He glanced at his friend. The two grinned, and at the same moment, they took off, pushing their tired horses at a gallop. Years seemed to fall away as they followed the familiar paths through the woods where they’d once playacted as bandits or members of Robin Hood’s merry men. They crossed streams where they’d splashed and shouted on sc
hool holiday and rounded the large pond where they’d spent endless hours fishing and racing in rowboats, and then they continued through a green meadow and up a gradual slope past a forest. They came to a stop at last beneath a copse of grand oak trees overlooking Griffin Park.

  “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Lord Chatsworth’s smile was wide as he surveyed the scene below.

  “It does indeed.” Arthur could feel the horse panting beneath him and felt a bit sorry for the animal. The stallion had obliged him with an entire day’s journey only to be rewarded with an exhausting sprint at the end. He leaned forward and patted the horse’s neck. Soon enough, they’d both be able to rest.

  “Old Griff hosting a house party.” Chatsworth clicked his tongue and shook his head. “It seems so domestic of him. Nothing like the lad who used to rock the rowboat until we all fell into the lake. I guess marriage has a way of subduing even the most—” He cut off his words, darting a quick look at Arthur and grimacing. “Sorry, old boy. I didn’t mean—”

  “No apology necessary,” Arthur said, feeling guilty that the reminder of his dead wife didn’t make him as sad as everyone assumed it did.

  “Marriage didn’t change you at all, Mather,” Chatsworth said. “You’ve always been the levelheaded one.”

  Arthur shifted in the saddle. “I think you mean the intelligent one.”

  Chatsworth laughed, shrugging good-naturedly.

  “My cousin Joanna Presley will be here,” Arthur said, wishing to change the topic from both himself and his marriage. “I imagine that’s why you insisted we make the journey in one day instead of two.” He raised a brow at his friend.