Alex had forbidden anyone to leave the house without his expressed order. How was she to accomplish such a feat? It would have to be right then, while Lorraine was still abed, and Sean still looking over Alex’s belongings for any clue as to who might be targeting them.
There was no sight nor sound of another living soul as Emmaline slipped past the butler’s office. A quick glance inside told her the man had finally lost his battle to exhaustion as his head was rested upon his arms on his desk.
The next door was a closet, one she had seen open on only one of two previous visits she had made down into the servants quarters when she had insisted upon speaking with the cook. It had been a supplies closet. Surely there had to be something in there she might use to disguise herself.
And, as luck would have it, she quickly found a spare maid’s dress. It was a size too large for her, but it would have to do. Whatever her father had to speak with her about, she had a gut feeling it had something to do with their quarry. No doubt, word had reached his ear of what had happened at the Tillington’s the night before.
All she had to do now was make it across the square, down two streets and across the second square to make it to the back door of her old home.
Even as she slipped from the servant’s entrance, she couldn’t help but wonder,what if the house is being watched?
Sneaking about in a maid's costume was rather easier in the early light of dawn than Emmaline ever would have imagined. Slipping her feet into a pair of riding boots that had been left for polishing beside the back door, after having left a note for her husband somewhere that Benedict might find, she hurried swiftly as possible to her father's house.
Nobody was to expect a duchess to be skulking around in a maid's uniform at dawn, but she kept her head down, turning from the few she met along the way. The lamp boys seemed far too preoccupied to notice her and the single gentleman already upon a stroll with his dog did not think to look twice at her.
Before she knew it, she had slipped around the back of her father's house to knock upon the servant’s entrance.
It was only when it opened upon a familiar face that she remembered to breathe. Though it was clear from the maid's expression that she had caused some breathlessness on her part.
“My… Your Grace!” Molly, one of the youngest maid’s in her father's employ dipped low after only a moment stuck in comprehension.
“May I come in, Molly? My father sent for me,” Emmaline whispered, looking back over her shoulder to be certain she had not been followed.
“Oh yes, of course, Your Grace,” Molly said, holding open the door and stepping out of the way. “Shall I have someone send for your father?”
“No, please, do not trouble yourself,” Emmaline insisted. She kicked off the riding boots and started to make her way toward the servants stairs. “Shall I find him in his study?”
“I believe so, my la… Your Grace,” Molly called after her, clearly flustered.
Emmaline wasted no time. She raced up the stairs, even stubbing a toe on the stone steps as she went. The pain was throbbing, but she ignored it. If her father had some information that might help them, she had to know what it was. She had to get word to Alex. She had promised him, and herself, that one day she would see him out of that devil's mask for good and she would be damned if she fell at the first hurdle.
Out of breath, she knocked on the study door and entered the moment she heard her father’s voice.
“Emmaline!” he exclaimed, jumping up from his chair so swiftly that his spectacles started to slip down his nose. He barely gave himself time to push them back up as he moved to meet her. “I did not expect you to come so swiftly!”
Emmaline had been embraced by her father on multiple occasions but the way he pulled her in and clutched her tightly now brought tears to her eyes.
“I came as soon as I got your note,” Emmaline said, pulling back. She wanted so desperately to make this reunion last. She had seen her father so little since being married, only twice in all these weeks, but there were pressing matters to be discussed. “Do you know something, papa? About the accident last night?”
She looked him dead in the eye and saw the confusion stream his gaze. “Accident? What happened? Are you hurt?”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her up and down. Emmaline's stomach twisted. If this was not about last night, then what was it about?
Feeling deflated, Emmaline said, “If this is not about last night then what is it about, papa?”
A look of frustration passed over her father’s face. “What happened last night?”
Emmaline gritted her teeth. “We ought to sit.”
“Of course,” her father said, gesturing to the couch across from his desk. His eyes never left her, examining her up and down as if still looking for some injury, as he led her to the couch, and they sat together. Hand in hand, they sat, and for a moment neither spoke.
Then, Emmaline finally plucked up the courage to tell her father all that had happened the night before. She watched his face grow pale and his eyes widen, praying his heart could take all that she was telling him.
By the time she had finished, he clutched his chest in a way that made her anxious. “This is even worse than I imagined.”
She was about to ask him exactly what it was he had imagined when he released her hand and stood, crossing the room to his desk.
“Papa? What is it?” Emmaline asked, feeling a distinct sensation that she was missing something.
