“And some strong coffee for you. Plus a few sandwiches. Yes, I know.”
“You are an angel, Lady Emmaline.”
“False flattery,” she drawled. “Exactly what every girl longs to hear.”
“Emmaline!” her mother exclaimed. “Such a thing to say!”
Emmaline didn’t have to respond because she was already headed for the kitchen. Unfortunately, she wasn’t far enough away to miss her mother’s next words.
“Don’t mind her, Lord Christopher. She’s out of sorts because she’s afraid she won’t take this Season. It’s making her irritable, and me miserable!”
Oh good God. She wasn’t afraid she wouldn’t take. She was afraid there would be no gentleman worth the effort of getting caught. After all, she was the daughter of a duke. She was intelligent, reasonably fair of face, and possessing an acceptable dowry. Several someones would undoubtably try to win her affection, just as they had for the last two Seasons. But not a one was worth a second look.
And true to Mama’s perverse nature, she blamed Emmaline for the problem and not every single boring, stupid, and rude gentleman in London.
Emmaline made it to the kitchen only to find it abuzz with gossip. It was quickly silenced when she appeared, but she knew someone would ask soon enough. Sure enough, their chef Mr. Gaudreau nodded to her.
“Is it true that I shall have to cook for a regiment of Chinese, my lady? If so—”
“I hardly think it will be that many,” she said. “But for now, you should expect a few more for dinner.”
He frowned at her. “A few more,” he deadpanned.
“Yes—”
“How many is a few more?”
“I don’t know as yet, but I promise to send word as soon as possible.”
“And what shall I feed them, my lady? What do they eat?”
She had no bloody idea. “Whatever we eat, I expect. ‘When in Rome’ applies to them. They’re here unexpectedly, therefore they shall eat what we do. At least until we are told differently.”
The man thought about it for a moment, then gave a regal nod. “Very well, my lady.”
“Excellent, and in the meantime—”
A young woman’s voice interrupted. “Tea service for you and the duchess,” said their housekeeper Mrs. Pizzi. “Coffee for Lord Christopher,” she said as she added it to the tray. “I’ll send sandwiches up directly.”
“I am most grateful,” Emmaline responded. She waited while a footman gathered up the large tray then began to precede him up the steps. But just as she set her foot on the step, a maid ran down the stairs crying out in excitement and alarm.
“They’re ’ere! A whole lot of them Chinese. And ain’t it a si—” The girl drew up short when she saw Emmaline. “Oh blimey. Pardon me, milady. I didn’t see you there.”
No point in chastising the girl for improper decorum. To be honest, everyone was twitching to get upstairs and see the sight. Herself included.
“Well, then,” she said as she started up the stairs. “Bring the tea service and sandwiches and let’s have a look.”
Chapter Four
Max was closeto strangling the lead Chinese official who had finally deigned to introduce himself. He apparently wanted to be called Wong Mandarin which was not his name but some sort of title that meant big man or important man. Most likely the latter because the mandarin certainly enjoyed his consequence. Even Max’s father—the most pompous duke imaginable—rarely wanted such deference.
But until Max knew the exact lay of the land, it did little harm to play into the obnoxious man’s ego. No matter how much it irritated Max.
Once Chris had departed, Max focused on moving everyone to his home in Grosvenor Square. For the mandarin and the captain who acted as translator, nothing but the plushest carriage would do. The woman, however, had her litter awkwardly raised onto a donkey cart and unceremoniously left there. She looked like an elaborately dressed monkey in a cage. Or a prisoner on her way to the Tyburn gallows.
“I insist she sit inside the carriage with us,” he told the captain. “That cannot be comfortable for her.” She’d be breathing the London dust without even a cushion to ease the jolts.
“Aw milord, that’s kind of you to think that,” the captain said, “but Chinese women are kept separate, you see. It wouldn’t be right for her to sit with us in the carriage—”
