Chapter Eleven
EMILIA DIDN’T PREPARE FORthe final ball. Instead, she looked over her belongings to judge what should be packed first. Tomorrow, she would write to her father and ask him to bring her home. Her dreams of living in Edinburgh, of a life of theater, music and art, seemed silly now. She didn’t belong in the city, with the complex, fickle folk who dwelled there. She belonged in a small home with a garden, and only chickens and a goat for company. Perhaps the occasional goose. They made more sense than men like Robert Banbrook.
She settled onto the foot of her narrow bed with a sigh. Robert. Tall, handsome, with the most fascinating grey eyes she’d ever seen. So often, he seemed withdrawn, even cold, but when he was happy, laughing, he made her happy, his joy, a rare gift. Everything she’d dreamed of.
Emilia shook her head. No, not everything. She didn’t dream of a man who was hopelessly in love with Viscountess Dunreid. Only a fool would dream of that.
She reached for her sketchpad and flipped through the thick pages to his face. Heaven help her, she was a fool, for she could think only of him. Her heart beat quicker at the sight of his face, even on a page.
She snapped the book closed. Packing for her journey home, that was her chore. Not woolgathering over Robert.
A knock brought her to the door. The maid, Mary, waited on the other side. Unlike any other time Emilia had seen her, Mary appeared unhappy. Emilia frowned.
“There’s someone to see you, Miss, in the small parlor.”
The small parlor? A titled someone, or wealthy. Not Robert. Somehow, she was certain of that. Robert wouldn’t bring such worry to Mary’s face, even in one of his darker moods.
Dunreid, then. Would he ever take no for an answer? Frustration bloomed in Emilia. She firmed her lips into a hard line. This time, he would.
“Thank you, Mary. I’ll be right down.” She made to close the door, but Mary’s foot blocked the way.
“Miss, I know it isn’t my place to say, but I don’t think you should.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mary never voiced suggestions. She was Lady Peddington’s creature, there to see all, report all, and not develop attachments.
“The lady waiting for you, Viscountess Dunreid, she can’t have anything to say you’ll want to hear, Miss.”
Not Dunreid, but his wife, Lady Cinthia, who hadn’t been shy in her desire never to set eyes on Emilia again. What could possibly bring her? “Be that as it may, I can’t simply ignore her.”
“I could say I couldn’t find you, if you like.”
Emilia studied Mary’s worried expression. Worried for her? For the school, should Lady Cinthia be angered? Emilia was tempted to take the offer. “No, but I do thank you. I will speak with her. Perhaps I can end the fiasco my life has become.”
“Yes, Miss.” Mary, expression neutral once more, nodded and backed away.
Emilia closed the door and went to her mirror. She wore her plainest gown. Her hair was pinned up in a severe fashion, no curls to hide the roundness of her face. She had not a single adornment. No mark of sophistication about her.
What did her appearance matter? Lady Cinthia wouldn’t care. Her judgement had long since been passed. Likely, Emilia looked like the artless country girl she was. That would please the viscountess. She offered her reflection a shrug and headed for the small parlor. She would look even less grand surrounded by the opulence there.
Lady Cinthia stood framed in the window, gazing out over Charlotte Square. Emilia closed the door quietly behind her, more as a kindness to Mary than to keep the conversation secret. The maid’s eavesdropping would be made easier if she could press her ear to the door.
“You asked to see me, my lady?”
Lady Cinthia turned, grace in every limb. Emilia curtsied. She received a nod as regal as any queen’s, followed by a disdainful perusal of her person.
“I did,” Lady Cinthia said in her cultured, clipped English accent. “I’ve come to make sure things are clear between us, Miss Glasbarr.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t realize there was anything between us, my lady. I rate myself less than a passing acquaintance in your eyes.”
“You are a clever girl, then, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t know, my lady.”
“Hm.” Lady Cinthia made an airy gesture. “I heard Robert gifted you a necklace, but that you ran from the ball before speaking with him.” She leaned forward, the eagerness in her face repulsive. “May I ask why? Was he inexplicably angry with you? He has high emotions for an Englishman.”
“I don’t know what he was, my lady. I was in a distraught state myself. Something I overheard upset me, and I left.” What could the creature possibly want? Emilia had refused Dunreid, lost…rather, never possessed Robert. Perhaps the viscountess wanted her to leave Edinburgh, altogether? Well, she would have that as well. “But I’m afraid my acuity is not what you think, if you deem me clever. In fact, I’m so out of my depth here, I plan to return home at my father’s earliest convenience.”
Blue eyes brightened—sparkled like Robert’s sapphire and its false promise of his affection. “You plan to leave? I’m pleased for you, child. You’ll be much happier back with your own kind.”
