The Second Lady Emily (8 page)

* * * *

“You rang, my lady?” Dawn had broken more an hour earlier, allowing sunlight to stream into the room. The maid’s face suddenly changed to horror. “The window is open again! You’ll catch your death, and no mistake.”

“Stop!” Cherlynn’s voice halted the maid in her tracks. “Leave it. Fresh air will speed my recovery.”

“Still delirious,” muttered the maid.

Cherlynn bit her lip. She had no idea what Emily had been like, but suspected the girl had been a wimp – biddable and conformable, as she would have said in one of her books. Though she would try to emulate that in public, there was no hope of fooling the maid. Everything she recalled from her illness confirmed that Emily had confided freely in this servant. Amnesia wouldn’t account for all her differences, so she needed an explanation for the change.

“I am not delirious,” she said gently, “though this illness has left me weak. I need your help – and your silence.”

The maid’s eyes blazed with suspicion.

“My head has healed and my fever is gone, yet my memory has not returned,” she announced slowly. “You must teach me about myself and the people I should know. Announcing my condition to the world will harm my family, but I cannot wait patiently for the affliction to right itself. I must live as though it is permanent.”

“Very wise, my lady.”

“What is your name?”

“Grace.”

“Very pretty. It fits you.” Grace was about thirty, with a willowy figure and ease of movement that did not match the literary description of the servant class. “Have you served me long?”

“Since your birth. I started as a nursery maid, but was assigned and trained as your lady’s maid at your request.”

“I trust I have good judgment. Let’s start with my family. I have spoken with Charles and my mother, but I know little about them.”

She listened for nearly an hour as Grace described Charles, Lady Clifford, and a younger sister, Mary, who had remained at Clifford Abbey. The more she learned, the more daunting her assigned role seemed. Emily was a typical Regency miss, barely educated and dependent on others for everything. She never raised her voice, never put herself forward, never disputed a gentleman. All in all, she sounded like a boring doormat. Impersonating her would be impossible. But that explained why the girl had dumped the job of preventing the curse onto someone else’s shoulders. The real Emily wouldn’t have known where to start.

And the task was potentially more dangerous than she had first suspected. If she acted like Emily, she would have little chance of learning enough to break Drew’s betrothal. But asking the necessary questions meant that Emily must undergo a character transplant. Damn! How was she to keep the damage to a minimum so that Emily’s return wouldn’t cause worse trouble? There was a limit to how much she could blame on amnesia.

She snapped her attention back to Grace’s words, which had moved on while she was lost in thought.

“If only that man hadn’t intruded,” Grace was saying stoutly. But her face suddenly flushed.

“What man?”

“Nothing, my lady. I’ve tired you with all this talk.”

“What man, Grace? Lord Thurston?” At the maid’s flinch, she continued. “I already know that he and I had an understanding that has since been abandoned. What was it?”

“Not now, my lady,” begged Grace. “If you don’t remember, it’s all for the good.”

“Hardly. I need to know how to behave. Since I remember nothing, learning the facts can hardly bother me. It would merely be a story about strangers.”

“Very well,” agreed Grace, though she was obviously uncertain what she should do. “You have known each other most of your life. He has occupied the next estate for four years and is Lord Clifford’s closest friend, so he was often in the house. Some years ago you formed a
tendre
for him that blossomed into love. Last fall he began courting you.”

“Why has Charles not mentioned it?”

“His lordship didn’t know,” admitted Grace. “Lord Thurston wished to gain his father’s approval before openly pursuing a connection. When he left for Broadbanks in March, you believed that he would announce his intention to wed you and would return within a fortnight. But he did not. You clung to your certainty long after everyone else had learned the truth. His betrothal to Miss Raeburn was announced at the ball three weeks ago, but the arrangement had been made when he was a child.”

“So it was contracted by the families,” she murmured, frowning. Either Emily had been a complete widgeon – a distinct possibility, though not one she could broach to the loyal maid – or Thurston was no gentleman. He had not behaved as a dishonorable cad during her illness, but that meant nothing. She’d been in no shape for dalliance. And her impressions of him might all be wrong. She had a long history of poor judgment. Perhaps his hovering had had a more prosaic purpose – making sure that delirium did not reveal their relationship.

He must have had dishonorable motives for pursuing Emily. No gentleman during the Regency could get away with terminating a betrothal. Never mind that his bride was unworthy. Yet if Drew had pursued Emily solely for seduction, why had the girl brought Cherlynn back through time? Emily had been certain of his love. Had he gone home to terminate the understanding, but found himself outmaneuvered? It was a comforting theory, but she didn’t know him well enough to judge.

“My lady?”

“I’m sorry. I was thinking of something else. Help me dress now. I need to sit up if I am to regain my strength.”

“It’s far too soon,” protested the maid.

“Nonsense. Remaining in bed weakens you more than illness does.”

“You don’t sound at all like yourself,” admonished the maid.

Of course she didn’t, but she must convince Grace that all would be well. She would need the woman as an ally if she was to succeed. “I am not myself,” she said slowly. “Perhaps if I tell you why, you will understand. But the tale is to go no further.” She stared at the maid until the woman nodded, then dropped her voice into the cadence of storytelling. “My earliest memory is of falling. I awoke in a brightly lit meadow full of wondrously strange flowers in colors for which we have no name and shapes that cannot be described. One moment I was alone; the next a man stood at my side. He radiated peace and harmony, but his words denied them to me. ‘It is not your time,’ he began quietly. ‘You must complete a great task before the garden will be open to you.’ I protested, for I wished to stay, but he insisted. Before he sent me back, he laid a hand on my head and promised me success. I can only guess that he bestowed gifts to aid me, but I do not wish the world to view me as odd. Thus you can speak of this to no one. And you must teach me all that I have forgotten so that others do not guess the truth.”

“You saw God . . .” The awe on her face was too much.

“He did not introduce himself, but I do not believe so. At most, I met a messenger. And he did not define my task. All I can do is live my life as best I can – with your help.”

Grace nodded.

“But I now have urges I cannot deny, even if they counter convention. Compulsions this powerful can only have come from him. One of these is to revel in fresh air, even at night, though I will ask for an additional comforter to keep me warm. Another is to rise from this bed and regain my strength. I will expect you to accede to my wishes, but we will not speak of this again.”

* * * *

“Are you finally recovering?” asked Charles as he approached her couch that afternoon.

“Physically, though I still remember nothing before my fall,” she replied calmly. “But I wish to minimize that fact in public. Have you any idea why I tripped so clumsily? People are bound to ask.”

Charles sighed. “I did not actually see you fall, so I can only guess. You were quite blue-deviled that evening.”

“Because Lord Thurston was to wed another?” she asked bluntly.

His eyes widened, but her matter-of-fact tone calmed him. “No. Because he had spoken not a single word to you since our arrival two days earlier. Despite our many discussions of your air dreams, I doubt you accepted his betrothal until the ball itself. A group of ladies were discussing it just before you fell. Confirmation may have shocked you into staggering back and tripping on the hearth.”

“Gauche of me.” Her mind was working furiously. “So we never had an understanding.”

His face registered shock, but he apparently recalled her condition, for he reined in his fury and sighed. “We’ve had this discussion too many times, Em. You were obsessed with the man, but Drew would never behave so dishonorably. He paid no more attention to you than to Mary, knowing that his father expected him to wed Miss Raeburn. You knew that, but you were ever one to ignore facts. I hope you have learned your lesson.”

“Perhaps this illness has steadied me.”

“I am glad to hear it. We will remain here until Drew’s wedding – which should be plenty of time to assure your recovery – then spend the autumn in London. I let you talk me out of a Season last year, but it is time to seriously look for a husband. Autumn entertainments will be a good place to hone your social skills.”

She made no protest, allowing him to direct their conversation into impersonal channels while her mind tried to make sense of these new facts. Grace claimed that Thurston was serious but secretive. Charles didn’t think he had singled her out. So whose head was in the clouds? If Drew had courted Emily secretly, it didn’t speak well for either his intentions or his honor. But perhaps Emily had magnified simple courtesy to fit her own fantasies. Grace had only Emily’s word for Drew’s behavior.

Cherlynn had no way of knowing. And despite the fanciful tale she had spun, she had received no special powers to solve this mystery.

CHAPTER SIX

Another fortnight passed before Cherlynn was strong enough to leave her room, and even then she wasn’t up to the lengthy dinners typical of the Regency period. She spent her days trying to improve her stamina.

Cherlynn’s mother had once tried to turn her into a dancer. Cherlynn had hated every minute of those classes, but now she blessed them. The stretching routines dancers used were excellent warm-ups for her daily regimen of calisthenics, aerobics, and the kicks and dodges she’d learned in a self-defense course. Her physical exertions probably delayed her recovery for a few days, but the conditioning might prove vital. The few facts she’d gleaned about Fay made the girl sound dangerous when crossed. Terminating Drew’s betrothal would hardly sit well.

Few callers intruded. Drew had ceased visiting once her fever broke, though he continued to supply whatever foods she requested. Charles likewise avoided her company, which relieved some of her stress. His visits always included animadversions against her dietary regimen despite its obvious success. If he learned about her exercise program, he might commit her to Bedlam. Dr. McClarren returned to London, promising to return when he judged she would be completely restored to health. Thus her only regular visitors were Lady Clifford – whose diatribes were a trial she found hard to endure – and Lady Anne, Drew’s shy young sister, who stopped briefly each afternoon to inquire about her condition.

A fortnight of exercise energized her until she could no longer remain in her room. She had come to England to research the Regency period. What better source would she find than actually living in it?

On that thought, she set out to explore the house, or at least the Regency wing.

She was familiar with the layout from her tour, but the decor was different than she recalled – which was only to be expected. The faded Regency furniture occupying the National Trust property had been installed by Drew after he acceded to the title. Most of the rooms now contained heavy seventeenth-century pieces that she found oppressive. Whatever Drew’s morals, she had to admire his taste.

The fifth marchioness had decorated the morning room in a light French motif that had survived into Cherlynn’s time, but she again noted differences. Accustomed to the faded splendor of 1998, she found the original furnishings almost garish. Yet a moment’s thought explained the bright colors. German chemists would not discover the artist’s palette hidden in petrochemicals until the mid-1800s. Many natural dyes were expensive. Thus using a broad range of bright colors indicated wealth. That was even more true because the Regency also lacked good color fixatives, so every cleaning dulled the fabric.

Leaving the morning room, she entered the library – which contained only half the volumes she had last seen on its shelves – and avidly perused the titles. No one had thought to supply Emily with books during her convalescence, and she hadn’t wanted to make an issue of her differences, but she was bored out of her mind. A section in the corner contained a collection of gothic novels, each inscribed
Elizabeth Villiers
, Anne’s older sister, who was now Lady Lindleigh, mother of two children. Apparently Anne had purchased no novels of her own. Even Jane Austen’s first published work,
Sense and Sensibility,
was absent, though it had come out more than a year before.

But no matter. Grabbing the first volume of
Otranto
, she settled contentedly into a chair and was devouring its pages when the door opened to admit Thurston.

“You like novels?” he asked in surprise, identifying the book in her hand.

“I love them,” she answered truthfully before recalling that she was supposed to be Emily. Lady Clifford was both empty-headed and dictatorial, so the girl probably disapproved of them. But since these books belonged to his sister, he could hardly revile her for reading them.

“Are you sure you should be up and about so soon?” The frown this time was merely worry.

“Of course. It is two weeks since my fever broke and five since my fall. Prolonged bed rest weakens the body, delaying recovery.”

He collected a newspaper from the desk and sank into a nearby chair with a sigh. “I don’t know where you get these odd notions, Lady Emily. You never showed any sign of medical pretense before.”

“Since I have no recollection of that, I will have to take your word for it. But what is the news today?” She nodded at the paper, hoping to distract him to a less personal topic.