Chapter Five
AT THE APPROACH OFfootsteps, Emilia looked up from the sketch on which she worked. Seated in the inner courtyard of the school, she sought to capture the soaring oak that grew in the center. She’d done so many times, but never failed to see something new in the arching branches. She hoped, should she be fortunate enough to find a husband, he would have a garden even half as lovely as the school’s.
Quick steps brought the approaching maid, Mary, to stand before her. The girl bobbed a curtsey. She proffered a wrapped package. “Miss, this arrived for you. There’s no note saying who from, so we thought it best to accept it.” She darted a glance about the courtyard, but they were alone. “I was told to remind you, though, that accepting letters or gifts from gentlemen to whom you are not related, engaged or wed is against school policy.”
Emilia took the package with a twinge of trepidation. “I am very much aware of that, thank you. I wish I could say I’m not violating that policy, but I haven’t any notion who this is from.”
Mary shrugged. A grin dimpled her cheeks, giving her an innocence Emilia didn’t quite trust. Mary was Lady Peddington’s favorite and a consummate spy for the headmistress. “What’s wrapped in there doesn’t matter really, Miss. So long as you don’t make a scandal for the school, no one cares much.”
Emilia smiled, for Mary likely meant well. Emilia cared, though. She didn’t want to accept packages from men. Especially from a certain man. The small wrapped parcel was there now, though, so she hadn’t much choice. “Thank you.”
Mary offered the package a lingering look, obviously disappointed at being dismissed before the paper was removed. Emilia kept a bland, pleasant expression until the maid turned and walked away. She was never comfortable with dismissing servants, and couldn’t bring herself to order them to leave. At home, they’d only two footmen, two maids, a cook and a house keeper. The six lived with them and had for as long as Emilia could recall. They were more family than staff.
Once alone, she drew off the paper. A note lay tucked beside a small box embossed with a jeweler’s mark she didn’t recognize, not that she knew many. The placement was clever, for a note on top may very well have been opened by the zealous staff, but they wouldn’t unwrap the package. Unease making her fingers clumsy, Emilia unfolded the message.
Consider this but a glimpse of my generosity, and a thank you for services you shall one day render. That slender neck of yours shouldn’t go unadorned. - VD
Emilia grimaced. She looked down at the box in distaste. Did she even wish to open it?
An inspection of the note revealed no address, no way to send the gift back. She stared at the box, this present which, if discovered, would tarnish her reputation, perhaps beyond repair. Open or not, whatever was inside was in her keeping until she could figure out a way to rid herself of it. She lifted the lid.
A pendant lay on black velvet. The accompanying chain looked too delicate to bear the weight of the monstrosity. Gold, diamonds, sapphires and rubies winked at her. The stones themselves were lovely, but the conglomeration overdone to the point of distastefulness. She snapped the lid closed, wishing she dared curse like some of the other country bred girls she knew.
With quick hands, she gathered her work, then tucked the note and box in with her drawing tools. The message she could burn. The despicable pendant she would have to hide. Perhaps she could make an excuse to visit the more expensive shopping districts. If she could glimpse the jeweler’s marks in a shop, she could determine where to divest herself of the monstrosity.
She was halfway across the yard when Mary reappeared. The girl hurried toward Emilia, leaving little doubt she was the goal. Mary curtsied when they met near the entrance to the school. Nervous fingers smoothed her uniform.
“Miss, you’ve a caller.” Mary’s tone held an odd note.
“At this time of day?” Emilia squinted upward. “The hour cannae be much past noon.” When Mister Banbrook said afternoon, she assumed a time much later.
“The visitor is a viscountess, Lady Cinthia.”
Emilia recognized the note in Mary’s voice now, mingled worry and awe. She didn’t share the maid’s reverence, but did appreciate her apprehension. The name twisted a knot in Emilia’s gut. Viscount Dunreid’s wife coming to call could not be good.
She pursed her lips. To carry her sketchbook and satchel of drawing tools into an audience with the viscountess would be unseemly. She could hardly ask Mary to take them to her room, though. The satchel contained the necklace, and servants snooped, especially Lady Peddington’s Mary. The girl would report the necklace within moments of its discovery.
“I’ll be only a moment. I must return to my quarters.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, Miss, her ladyship seemed agitated, and specifically said she wished to see you immediately.”
Emilia winced. Well, if Lady Cinthia wished to see her in a hurried fashion, she would bear the disrespect of Emilia’s encumbrance. She nodded and gestured for Mary to lead the way.
The walk to the front parlor wasn’t long. Though not the largest receiving room, the space was the most opulent the school boasted. Emilia knew the servants had standing orders to place anyone of noble birth or considerable wealth there. She squared her shoulders as Mary knocked once on the open door.
“Miss Glasbarr, as you requested, my lady,” Mary said, then bowed and stepped inside. She moved to stand to the right of the doorway, gaze ahead and unfocused, awaiting any further orders.
Emilia’s steps faltered as she entered. Straight backed, Lady Cinthia sat perched on the edge of a red velvet, gold fringed settee. White-blonde curls, china-fine skin and graceful limbs, all arranged in stiff perfection. Light blue eyes, not hazel ones of an undefinable color like Emilia had, regarded her above high cheek bones. With a woman as beautiful as Lady Cinthia in his home, how could the viscount possibly care to stray?
Emilia managed a somewhat graceful curtsey, which Lady Cinthia acknowledged with a nod. When Emilia straightened, she took up a study of the opulent red and gold carpet, aware the viscountess scrutinized her. Emilia glanced up in time to see those ice blue eyes look past her to the maid.
“We do not care for refreshments, or to be disturbed,” Lady Cinthia said in perfect English tones, rarely heard in Edinburgh. “Close the door when you leave.”
Emilia’s face heated. To offer refreshments and dismiss the maid was her role. She hadn’t, though. She’d stood there like the country dolt she was.
The door closed with a thud. Silence stole over the room. Emilia felt like a child called before her mother to answer for her crimes.
“Well, come here, girl.” Lady Cinthia’s words snapped with impatience.
