Something About Emmaline (6 page)

His hand went to the cabinet door and he opened it.

“No,” he said, closing it again. Where was his honor? His integrity?

Then he opened it once more.

He temporarily disavowed those qualities as he went down on his knees and began pulling open the ancient bag.

But if he’d thought he was going to find anything that might reveal her identity, he was sadly mistaken. Her worldly possessions consisted of a plain muslin gown, a dull gray pelisse. Unmentionables in white cotton. A pair of well-worn shoes. Some mismatched ill-knit stockings. A pair of spectacles. A battered and well-thumbed copy of
Debrett’s.
And a copy of
Billingsworth’s Guide to the Historical Estates of England.

And just as quickly as he’d opened the case, he was at the bottom of it and there was nothing more. Nothing at all.

No telling inscription in the books, not even initials on the bag to give a hint as to the name of its bearer.

Nothing.

“Demmit,” he muttered shoving it away, disgruntled not to have found anything, and dismayed at his own lack of principle.

“Uh-hum,” came a cough at the door.

Alex cringed, then glanced over his shoulder.

There stood Simmons, gazing down at him with a frown creasing his brow and lips. “Have you lost something, my lord?”

“Um. Actually, I found it,” he said, rising and holding up a hastily selected cravat. “Is there something that needs my attention, Simmons?”

“Actually, I had hoped you were up. I wanted to speak to you about Lady Sedgwick.”

Alex didn’t like the sound of that. “What has she done now?”

“Nothing, my lord,” the butler said. “It is rather something I think you could do for her.”

“For her? Simmons, don’t you think the lady has taken full advantage of my largesse already?”

“She has only done what any other lady in her position would have done,” Simmons protested.

Alex resisted the urge to groan. He was going to have to see about Simmons’s pension—the man was rising to the defense of a lady who most likely was no lady.

The butler entered the chamber and drew back the curtains, letting the clear light of day shine into the room. Illuminating Alex’s crimes all too clearly.

Simmons sniffed once or twice, then came over to the wreckage that was Emmaline’s belongings poking out from the hastily closed cabinet doors. Uttering a few
tsk-tsks,
he
bent over and retrieved her things, carefully refolding and replacing her meager and threadbare belongings in her valise and placing it exactly where she had left it.

Then he reached in and got out a waistcoat and jacket for Alex, laying them on the bed as if nothing were amiss.

“Perhaps, my lord, if I may be bold enough to suggest this,” Simmons said, looking him straight in the eye. “Instead of demanding the particulars of her past, or attempting to uproot them,” he said, his sharp gaze straying in the direction of the armoire, “perhaps if you got to know the lady. Gained her trust. Then she would be more inclined to share her confidences.”

Alex supposed Simmons had a point. Why should Emmaline trust him? He hadn’t done anything to gain her favor.

Other than taking advantage of her kiss and then storming away like a conceited fool.

“How might I do that?” he asked, wondering if he really wanted to hear his butler’s answer.

Simmons’s brows furrowed, a silent protest that said such a matter was well beyond his realm. “Perhaps that is best left to your discretion,” he finally said.

Discretion and Emmaline were two words at odds, Alex wanted to tell him. Even so, he finished dressing and followed the man out of the room and down the stairs.

Everywhere he looked, he spied the changes she’d wreaked upon his house. One that barely resembled the home he’d left just a few months ago.

There wasn’t a wall, corner or floor that didn’t cite evidence of Emmaline’s handiwork. Or at least he assumed it was hers, given that he had the recent bills to prove most of the changes.

The new drapes (green silk brocade, Leahy & Sons,
Drapers, £72), the matching elegant and graceful Grecian styled end tables under the windows on the second landing (Bradley Brothers, Cabinet-Makers, £47 apiece) and a series of watercolors for which he couldn’t cite a bill.

He came to a stop before one of the paintings and realized it was of the south meadow at Sedgwick Castle. The one where the family liked to picnic in the summers.

When there had been family enough to do those sort of things, he mused. His mother had always seen to those events, merrily inviting relations and friends for the summer months and holidays…With his parents gone all these years, he’d all but forgotten those languid days. How quiet the abbey had become since his father passed away from a heart ailment and his mother shortly afterward from a fever. What had it been? Ten? No, nearly fifteen years.

Yet the sight of the verdant fields, the small lake, the grand oak at the far end, it sent a thread of nostalgia through him, and he could almost see his mother sitting by the water, his father fishing nearby.

“Simmons,” he called after his butler. “Where did these come from?” He’d never seen any of them. And certainly Emmaline couldn’t have commissioned them in such a short time.

The butler glanced at them and smiled. “The attics. I believe those were painted by your grandmother.”

Alex took another glance at the compositions.
His grandmother?
He didn’t know she could paint, let alone capture such magical moments. The distraction the images provided ended abruptly when a bell rang upstairs, jangling with a discordant note.

“That will be Lady Lilith,” Simmons said. “
Again.
My lord, how long will the Denfords be staying this time?”

“Not much longer,” Alex promised. They continued down the hall going past more new drapes (explaining the additional entries on Mr. Leahy’s bill for yellow brocade and white trim), the carpet beneath his feet (something imported and expensive, if he recalled correctly) and a pair of chairs (more evidence of the Bradley Brothers’ handsome work).

He shook his head. For such a petite thing, she had gone through his house like a whirlwind—transforming the once dark and drearily formal apartments into…well, as much as he hated to admit it, into a home.

Assembled at the doorway to the ballroom appeared to be his entire staff, besotted with whatever was taking place inside.

“Ahem,” Simmons coughed.

Startled gazes turned in their direction, and then, like deer having heard the huntsman’s horn, they fled back into the deep reaches of the house, bowing and apologizing as they went.

Alex stepped forward to see what was so enticing, taking a cautious peek into the ballroom. At first he thought he was in the wrong house, for the large room before him certainly bore no resemblance to the one that had been a fixture at the Hanover house since…well, since the square had been built.

Gone were the dark red drapes, the gilt furnishings, the endless rows of uncomfortable chairs. The Flemish wall hangings, the dark-framed paintings, the ornate sconces, all of it had been stripped away.

Simmons beamed like a proud parent. “Don’t blame the staff, my lord. It is an honor and a pleasure to see her work,” was all he said, before he too left to attend to his duties.

Alex’s gaze returned to the chaos before him. There were tarps spread about the floor, while workmen on scaffolding labored at repainting the ceiling. He stepped farther inside and found overhead the miraculous sight of a dreamy sky that spread from the rosy fingers of dawn to the starry wonders of the night. It looked so real, one might think one could reach up and do the impossible—touch the very heavens.

Then, as if bidden by a sly, whispering breeze, he looked across the room and spied her watching him. She stood there, looking breathless with anticipation as she awaited his verdict. That she had taken it upon herself to reorder his house was incorrigible, yet what she had done left him spellbound—just as the lady herself did.

And while he didn’t want to concede to her in any fashion, he couldn’t help but smile. Let his astonishment at her accomplishments unfurl between them like a white flag.

She grinned back, then turned to the tradesman who was standing by with a large sample of paper in his hands.

“Mr. Starling,” she began, “I asked for a chinoiserie that made one feel as if one had stepped into a summer bower. Those…” she said, pointing at the sample he held, “why, those birds look as if they would peck one’s eyes out.”

“These are some of the finest examples of wallpaper to be had in London,” the man said. “My clients have the highest regard for my wares.”

“Of course they do,” she agreed, “but this is Hanover Square.” She made it sound as if the land beneath them towered somewhere between the highest steeple of St. Paul’s and the realm of angels. Shaking her head at the next three samples, she finally said, “I would like to see birds who look capable of lulling one to sleep with their sweet song,
flowers that make me want to inhale deeply, and twining vines that could conceal a pair of lovers.”

The man heaved a sigh and burrowed further into his portfolios. “I have a piece that may be of interest to you, my lady,” he said. “My other clients found it too provincial for their taste, but it may suit your bucolic tendencies.”

Alex ruffled at the man’s tone, for he hadn’t seen a single sample about which he didn’t agree with Emmaline’s assessment. The woman had excellent taste and obviously knew good wares from bad.

“Here it is,” the man said, holding it up.

The moment he saw the wallpaper—with its robins and wrens, tangles of roses and arching sprays of ivy—he realized what had been Emmaline’s intent with the ballroom—to make their guests feel as if they were in the midst of an elegant garden. Though it may be a chilly February night outside, and surrounded as they were by the brick and mortar of London, everyone who entered this room would have nothing but thoughts of June and romance.

He almost jumped forward to tell the man to measure the walls and put the paper up, but Emmaline was once again shaking her head.

The exasperated man held out a larger section for her to survey. “What is there not to like about this one?”

“The price, for certain,” she told him. “I cannot pay that. Why, it is more dear than half the Chinese silks you’ve shown me—which, while you claim were painted in the East, have all the markings of east Cheapside.”

The man’s face flushed. “Milady, I would never—”

“Of course you wouldn’t, Mr. Starling,” she said, soothing his ruffled feathers. “But I don’t think that shade of green will look good with the draperies I’ve ordered.” She
tipped her head and eyed it again. “No, not at all. I’m sorry, but I fear I will have to look elsewhere. Especially with so much of the room to be covered.” She waved her arms around the expansive walls, while the man’s avaricious gaze followed her movements.

Alex could see by Mr. Starling’s squinty gaze that he was calculating the square footage to be covered and the profit to be had but for the whimsical taste of the lady before him.

“Lady Sedgwick, I think you should take another look, over here by the light. Are you sure this is not the perfect shade of green?” he asked, moving toward the window and holding the sample up so it could take advantage of the afternoon sun.

She looked again and sighed. “It’s just that when we have the opening fête for next Season, which his lordship is insistent we do, I would like to be able to tell all two hundred of our closest and dearest friends that the wallpaper came from you. Especially Prinny, who I know will be most insistent on having me reveal all my suppliers. And while I make it a rule never to divulge the names of my select tradesmen, for I abhor imitation, I would be very neglectful if I didn’t credit you completely for adorning our ballroom with the perfect wallpaper.”

Alex watched the man’s mind tallying such a disclosure. Telling the crown prince would be better than taking out a front-page ad in the
Morning Post.
Why, it could lead to a Royal Warrant! And with that added cachet, in addition to the amount of walls that needed to be covered, the man would pocket a tidy profit.

Even at half the price.

Mr. Starling adjusted his glasses. “Did I say fourteen pounds? I meant seven. But only for you, milady. And only
in the strictest confidence, for I can’t make such an allowance for all my clients.”

Emmaline beamed. “As long as I won’t see this wallpaper hanging anywhere else in London.”

“Absolutely not, madame.” The man nodded, basking under her smile even as he waved for his assistants to start measuring.

Smart minx,
Alex noted. She’d given the man permission to copy her room in every country house in England, and it would be, once the fashion-mad
ton
caught sight of her innovations.

He was so caught up in her negotiations, much like his staff had been, he didn’t realize he was no longer alone until his cousin spoke up.

“She’ll spend you into debtor’s prison if you don’t put your foot down,” Hubert said, having crept up to his elbow in his usual sly way.

Alex bit back the first remark that sprang forth.
It is none of your affair, cousin.

However, it wouldn’t do to offend Hubert. The odious fellow would stay around for weeks trying to reingratiate himself into Alex’s favor. So he said, “From what I’ve seen, she’s done nothing but improve the house by reestablishing it as the jewel of May fair.”

Hubert’s nose wrinkled as if he didn’t agree in the least but wasn’t so foolish as to say so twice.

“Oh, Sedgwick, darling,” Emmaline called out. “There you are. I’d all but given up that you would be down in time to lend me your opinion on Mr. Starling’s samples.” She caught him by the arm and dragged him through the warren of scaffolding and workmen. Picking up the sample, she held it out for him to see. “What do you think? I’m worried
the green is too dark and the price too dear.” She leaned forward and whispered loudly. “’Tis five pounds per panel, and I know you’ve been quite vexed with me of late for overreaching my allowance, yet I would love to have this paper, for it is the only one Mr. Starling has that does this room to advantage.” Then she showered a brilliant smile on him and one for poor Mr. Starling.