Prologue
Boston, Massachusetts
February, 1816
"You're sending me away?"
Emma Dunster's violet eyes were wide open with shock and
dismay.
"Don't be so dramatic," her father replied. "Of course I'm
not sending you away. You're just going to spend a year in
London with your cousins."
Emma's mouth fell open. "But. . . why?"
John Dunster shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I just
think that you ought to see a little more of the world,
that's all."
"But I've been to London. Twice."
"Yes, well, you're older now." He cleared his throat a few
times and sat back.
"But--"
"I don't see why this is such a hardship. Henry and
Caroline love you like their own, and you told me yourself
that you like Belle and Ned better than any of your friends
in Boston."
"But they've been visiting for two months. It's not as if I
haven't seen them recently."
John crossed his arms. "You're sailing back with them
tomorrow, and that's final. Go to London, Emma. Have some
fun."
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to marry me off?"
"Of course not! I just think that a change of scenery will
do you good."
"I disagree. There are a thousand reasons why I cannot
leave Boston at the present time."
"Really?"
"Yes. There is this household, for example. Who will manage
it while I'm gone?"
John smiled indulgently at his daughter. "Emma, we live in
a twelve-room house. It doesn't require much managing. And
I'm sure that the little that is necessary can be most ably
performed by Mrs. Mullins."
"What about all of my friends? I shall miss them all
dreadfully. And Stephen Ramsay will be most disappointed if
I leave so suddenly. I think he's on the verge of
proposing."
"For God's sake, Emma! You don't care two figs for young
Ramsay. You shouldn't raise the poor boy's hopes just
because you don't want to go to London."
"But I thought you wanted us to marry. His father is your
best friend."
John sighed. "When you were ten I might have entertained
thoughts of a future match between the two of you. But it
was obvious even then that you would never suit. You would
drive him crazy within a week."
"Your concern for your only child is touching," Emma
muttered.
"And he would bore you senseless," John finished gently. "I
only wish Stephen would realize the fruitlessness of it.
It's all the more reason for you to leave town. If you're
an ocean away, he might finally look elsewhere for a bride."
"But I really prefer Boston."
"You adore England," John countered, his voice bordering on
exasperation. "You couldn't stop talking about how much you
loved it last time we went."
Emma swallowed and caught her lower lip nervously between
her teeth. "What about the company?" she said softly.
John sighed and sat back. At last, the real reason why Emma
didn't want to leave Boston. "Emma, Dunster Shipping will
still be here when you return."
"But there is still so much more for me to know! How am I
going to take over eventually if I don't learn all I can
now?"
"Emma, you and I both know that there is no one I would
rather leave the company to than you. I built Dunster
Shipping up from nothing, and Lord knows I want to pass it
on to my own flesh and blood. But we have to face facts.
Most of our clients will be reluctant to do business with a
woman. And the workers aren't going to want to take orders
from you. Even if your last name is Dunster."
Emma closed her eyes, knowing it was true and nearly ready
to cry over the unfairness of it all.
"I know that there is no one better suited to run Dunster
Shipping," her father said gently. "But that doesn't mean
that anyone else will agree with me. Much as it angers me,
I have to accept the fact that the company will falter with
you at its helm. We'd lose all of our contracts."
"For no other reason besides my gender," she said sullenly.
"I'm afraid so."
"I'm going to run this company some day." Emma's violet
eyes were clear and deadly serious.
"Good Lord, girl. You don't give up, do you?"
Emma caught her lower lip between her teeth and stood her
ground.
John sighed. "Did I ever tell you about the time you had
influenza?"
Emma shook her head, confused by the sudden change of
subject.
"It was right after the disease took your mother. You were
four, I think. Such a tiny little thing." He looked up at
his only child, warmly regarding her bright auburn hair and
earnest expression. "You were very small as a child --
you're still small as an adult, but when you were young --
oh, you were so, so tiny I didn't think it possible that
you'd have the strength to fight the illness."
Emma sat down, deeply moved by her father's choked words.
"But you pulled through," he said suddenly. "And then I
realized what saved you. You were simply to stubborn to
die."
Emma wasn't able to suppress a tiny smile.
"And I--" her father continued, "I was too stubborn to let
you." He straightened his shoulders as if banishing the
sentimentality of the moment. "In fact, I may be the only
person on this earth who is more stubborn than you are,
daughter, so you may as well accept your fate."
Emma slumped. There was no way she was going to avoid going
to England. Not that a trip abroad could be considered
punishment. She adored her cousins. Belle and Ned were the
sister and brother she'd never had. But still, one had to
think of the serious things, and Emma didn't want to
neglect her self-imposed commitment to Dunster Shipping.
She glanced back over at her father. He was sitting behind
his desk, arms crossed, looking implacable. She sighed,
resigning herself to a temporary setback. "Oh, all right."
She got up to leave -- to pack, she supposed, since she'd
be leaving the very next day. "But I'll be back."
"I'm sure you will. Oh, and Emma?"
She turned around. "Don't forget to have a little fun while
you're there, all right?"
Emma flashed her father her most mischievous
smile. "Really, Papa, you don't think I would deny myself a
good time in London just because I didn't want to be there?"
"Of course not. How silly of me."
Emma put her hand on the doorknob and opened the door a few
inches. "A girl only gets a London season once in her
lifetime, I suppose. She might as well enjoy herself, even
if she's not the society type."
"Oh marvelous! Then you got her to agree?" Lady Caroline,
John's sister, suddenly barged into the room.
"Hasn't anyone ever told you that eavesdropping is
impolite?" John asked mildly.
"Nonsense. I was walking down the hall and I heard Emma
speaking. She had the door slightly open, you know." She
turned to Emma. "Now that we have this settled, however,
what is all this I hear about you punching a thief in the
nose today?"
"Oh, that," Emma said, pinkening.
"Oh what?" John demanded.
"I saw someone trying to take Ned's wallet. He and Belle
were bickering about something or other, like they always
do, and he didn't notice that he was being robbed."
"So you punched him? Couldn't you have just screamed?"
"Oh, for goodness sake, Papa. What would that have
accomplished?"
"Well, then, did you at least throw a good punch?"
Emma bit her lower lip in a sheepish gesture. "Actually, I
think I broke his nose."
Caroline groaned audibly. "Emma," she said softly. "You do
know that I am very much looking forward to having you in
London for the season?"
"I know." Caroline was the closest thing Emma had to a
mother. She was always trying to get her to spend more time
in England.
"And you know that I love you dearly and would not want to
change a thing about you."
"Yes," Emma said hesitatingly.
"Then I hope you won't take offense when I say that proper
young ladies really don't go about punching unsavory
characters in the nose in London."
"Oh, Aunt Caroline, proper young ladies really don't do
that sort of thing in Boston, either."
John chuckled. "Did you by chance get Ned's wallet back?"
Emma tried to throw him a haughty look, but she couldn't
stop her lips from turning up at the corners. "Of course."
John beamed. "That's my girl!"
Chapter One
London, England
April, 1816
"You realize, of course, that there will be hell to pay if
my mother catches us." Arabella Blydon looked over her
costume with a skeptical eye. She and Emma had borrowed
frocks from their maids -- much to their maids' dismay --
and were presently creeping down the back stairs of Belle's
London house.
"There will be a lot more hell to pay if she catches you
swearing," Emma commented wryly.
"Quite frankly, I don't care. If I have to supervise one
more flower arrangement for your party, I'm going to
scream."
"I hardly think a scream would be appropriate when we're
meant to be sneaking down the stairs."
"Oh, hush," Belle muttered ungraciously, tiptoeing her way
down another step.
Emma surveyed her surroundings as she followed her cousin.
The back staircase was certainly a change from the one she
and Belle usually used in the main hall, which curved
gracefully and was cushioned with luxurious carpets from
Persia. In contrast, the polished wooden steps of the back
stairs were narrow, and the walls were whitewashed and
unadorned. The quiet simplicity of the stairwell reminded
Emma of her home in Boston which was not decorated in the
opulent London style. The Blydon mansion, located in
fashionable Grosvenor Square, had been in their family for
over a century and was filled with both priceless heirlooms
and exceedingly bad portraits of Blydons of yesteryear.
Emma glanced back up at the plain walls and sighed softy as
she fought back a pang of homesickness for her father.
"I cannot believe I'm creeping around my home like a
burglar to avoid my mother," Belle grumbled as she reached
the bottom of the first flight of stairs and rounded the
corner to begin the second. "Frankly, I'd rather curl up in
my room with a good book, but she's sure to find me there
and make me go over the menu again."
"A fate worse than death," Emma murmured.
Belle looked at her sharply. "I'll have you know that I've
gone over that blasted menu with her countless times. If
she corners me one more time with questions about salmon
mousse or roast duck a l'orange, I really don't think I can
be held responsible for my actions."
"Contemplating matricide?"
Belle shot her a wry look but didn't reply as she daintily
moved down the stairs. "Watch out for this step, Emma," she
whispered, hugging the wall. "It creaks in the middle."
Emma swiftly followed her cousin's advice. "I take it you
sneak down these stairs often?"
"I used to. It's quite handy to know how to get around this
place without anyone knowing what you're up to. I just
usually don't go around dressed like my maid."
"Well, it wouldn't do to wear silks if we're going to help
Cook get all the food prepared for tonight."
Belle looked dubious. "Frankly, I don't think she's going
to appreciate our help. She's quite traditional and doesn't
think it's proper for the family to be belowstairs." With
that, she flung open the door to the kitchen. "Hello,
everyone. We're here to help!"
Everyone looked absolutely horrified.
Emma quickly tried to remedy the situation. "You could use
two extra pairs of hands, couldn't you?" She turned to Cook
and flashed her a wide smile.
Cook threw up her arms and shrieked, sending clouds of
flour billowing through the air. "What in God's name are
you two doing down here?"
One of the kitchen maids stopped kneading dough for a
moment and ventured a question. "Pardon me, miladies, but
why are you dressed like that?"
"I don't think the two of you ought to be in my kitchen,"
Cook continued, placing her hands on her formidable
hips. "You'll get in the way." When neither of the two
young ladies showed any inclination of leaving, Cook
clenched her teeth and started waving a wooden spoon at
them. "In case you hadn't noticed, we have a lot of extra
work to do down here. Now off with you before I call the
countess."
Belle quaked at the mention of her mother. "Please let us
stay, Cook." She was fairly sure that Cook had a proper
name, but everyone had called her that for so long that
nobody actually remembered what it was. "We promise not to
get in the way. We'll be a great help to you, I'm sure. And
we'll be quiet, too."
"It just isn't right having you down here. Don't you two
have anything better to do than play at being kitchen
maids?"
"Not really," Belle answered truthfully.
Emma smiled to herself, silently agreeing with her cousin.
She and Belle had gotten into nonstop mischief since they
had arrived three weeks earlier. It wasn't that she'd meant
to get into trouble. It was just that there seemed so
little to do in London. Back home she kept busy with her
work for Dunster Shipping. But in London, bookkeeping was
not deemed an appropriate pastime for women, and it seemed
that proper young English ladies had no other duties
besides getting fitted for gowns and learning how to dance.
Emma was bored beyond belief.
Not that she was unhappy. As much as she missed her father,
she rather liked being a part of a larger family. It was
just that she didn't feel useful. She and Belle had started
to go to great lengths to entertain themselves. Emma smiled
guiltily at their exploits. It had certainly never occurred
to them that the stray cat they'd taken in only two weeks
earlier might be infested with fleas. There was really no
way they could they have guessed that the entire first
floor of the Blydon mansion would have to be aired out. And
Emma hadn't really intended to give the entire household
such a good look at her undergarments when she'd shimmied
up a tree to save that same cat.
Her relatives really ought to have thanked her. During the
week they were getting rid of the fleas, the entire family
quit London and had a marvelous holiday in the country,
riding, fishing, and staying up all night playing cards.
Emma taught her relatives how to play poker, a game she had
bribed her neighbor into teaching her back in Boston.
Caroline had shaken her head and sighed that Emma was a bad
influence. Before Emma's arrival Belle had only been a
bluestocking. Now she was a bluestocking and a hoyden.
"Goodness," Emma had replied. "That's better than being
just a hoyden, isn't it?" But she knew she could tease
Caroline. Her aunt's love for her was apparent in both her
endearments and her scoldings, and they usually acted much
more like mother and daughter than aunt and niece. That was
why Caroline was so excited about Emma's debut into London
society. Even though she knew that Emma ought to return to
her father in Boston, she secretly hoped Emma would fall in
love with an Englishman and settle down in London. Perhaps
then Emma's father, who had been raised in England and
lived there until he married an American woman, might also
return to London to be near his sister and daughter.
So Caroline had arranged a huge ball to introduce Emma to
London society. It was to be held that night, and Emma and
Belle had fled belowstairs, not wanting to get trapped into
taking care of all the last minute arrangements for the
party. Cook was having none of it, however, telling the
young women over and over again that they would only get in
her way.
"Please, can't we assist you down here? It's a ghastly
scene upstairs," Emma sighed. "Nobody speaks of anything
besides this party tonight."
"Well, you'll find that's all we're talking of down here,
little missy," Cook replied, wagging her finger. "Your
auntie is having four hundred guests tonight, and we've got
to cook for the lot of them."
"Which is exactly why you need our help. What would you
like us to do first?"
"What I'd like for you to do is get out of my kitchen
before your mama finds you down here!" Cook exclaimed.
Those two had come down to the kitchen before, but this was
the first time they'd been so audacious as to actually
dress up in plain clothes and offer to help. "I can't wait
until the season gets started so you two scamps have
something to do with yourselves."
"Well, it starts tonight," Belle stated, "with Mama's ball
to introduce Emma to the ton. So maybe you'll get lucky,
and we'll have so many suitors that we won't have time to
bother you."
"God willing," Cook muttered.
"Now, Cook," Emma put in, "have mercy on us. If you don't
let us help out down here, Aunt Caroline will have us
arranging flowers again."
"Please," Belle cajoled. "You know how much you love
ordering us about."
"Oh, all right," Cook grumbled. It was true. Belle and Emma
did cheer up the kitchen staff with their crazy antics.
They also lifted Cook's spirits; she just didn't want them
knowing it. "I s'pose you two devils will annoy me all
morning 'til I give in. Goes against my good judgment, this
does. You need to be getting ready abovestairs, not dancing
around my kitchen."
"But you adore our charming company, don't you, Cook?"
Belle grinned.
"Charming company, my foot," Cook muttered as she hauled a
sack of sugar out of the pantry. "You see those mixing
bowls out on the counter? I'll want six cups of flour in
each. And two cups of sugar. Now be careful with that and
stay out of everyone's way."
"Where's the flour?" Emma asked, looking about.
Cook sighed and started to head back to the pantry. "Wait a
minute. If you're so eager to have my job, you lift those
big sacks."
Emma chuckled as she easily carried the sack of flour back
over to where Belle was measuring out sugar.
Belle laughed, too. "Thank goodness we escaped Mama. She'd
probably want us to start getting dressed already, and the
ball is more than eight hours away."
Emma nodded. In all honesty, she was quite excited about
her first London ball. She was eager to put all those
fitting sessions and dancing lessons to use. But Lady
Caroline was nothing if not a perfectionist, and she was
issuing orders like an army general. After weeks of gowns,
flowers, and music selections, neither Emma nor Belle
wanted to be found anywhere near the ballroom while Lady
Caroline was getting everything ready. The kitchen was the
last place Caroline would look for them.
Once they started their measuring, Belle turned to Emma,
her blue eyes serious. "Are you nervous?"
"About tonight?"
Belle nodded.
"A little. You English can be a little daunting, you know,
with all of your rules and etiquette."
Belle smiled sympathetically, pushing a lock of her wavy
blond hair out of her eyes. "You'll do fine. You've got
self-confidence. It has been my experience that if you act
like you know what you're doing, people will believe you."
"Such a sage," Emma said affectionately. "You read too
much."
"I know. It will be the death of me. I will never--" Belle
rolled her eyes in mock horror. "--find a husband when I've
got my nose in a book."
"Did your mother say that?"
"Yes, but she means well, you know. She would never make me
get married just for the sake of getting married. She let
me refuse an offer from the Earl of Stockton last year, and
he was considered the season's biggest catch."
"What was wrong with him?"
"He was a bit concerned by the fact that I like to read."
Emma smiled as she scooped some more flour into bowls.
"He told me that reading wasn't appropriate for the female
brain,Ó Belle continued. "He said it gave women 'ideas.'"
"Heaven forbid we have ideas."
"I know, I know. He told me not to worry, however, that he
was certain he could break me of the habit once we were
married."
Emma shot her a sideways glance. "You should have asked him
if he thought you'd be able to break him of his pompous
attitude."
"I wanted to, but I didn't."
"I would have."
"I know." Belle smiled and looked up at her cousin. "You do
have a talent for speaking your mind."
"Is that a compliment?"
Belle pondered the question for a few moments before
answering. "I rather think it is. Redheads aren't really in
fashion just now, but I predict that you -- and your
outrageous mouth -- will be such a success that by next
month I will be informed -- by Those Who Inform -- that red
hair is positively the latest thing and isn't that lucky
for my poor cousin who has the misfortune of being
American."
"Somehow I doubt that, but it's very kind of you to say
so." Emma knew she wasn't as lovely as Belle, but she was
satisfied with her looks, having long ago decided that if
she couldn't be a beauty, at least she was unusual. Ned had
once called her a chameleon, pointing out that her hair
seemed to change color with each shake of her head. One
glimmer of light set her locks aflame. And her eyes,
normally a clear violet, smoldered and darkened to
dangerous black when she was in a temper.
Emma scooped some flour into the last bowl and wiped her
hands on her apron. "Cook!" she called out. "What next?
We've measured out all the flour and sugar."
"Eggs. I want three in each bowl. And no shells, you hear
me? If I find any shells in my cakes, I'll keep them in the
kitchen and serve up your heads instead."
"My, my, Cook is fierce this morning," Belle chuckled.
"I heard that, missy! Don't you think I didn't. I'll have
none of that. Now, if you're going to be in my kitchen, get
to work!"
"Where did you put the eggs, Cook?" Emma rummaged through
the box where perishable food was stored. "I don't see them
anywhere."
"Well, you can't be looking hard enough, then. I knew you
two would have no cooking sense." Cook stomped over to the
box and flung it open. Her search, however, proved as
fruitless as Emma's. "Well, I'll be. We're out of eggs,"
Her scowl returned with a vengeance and she bellowed, "Who
was the fool that forgot to get eggs from the market?"
Not surprisingly, no one raised her hand.
Cook scanned the room, her gaze finally resting on a young
maid who was hunched over a pile of berries. "Mary," she
called out. "Are you done washing those yet?"
Mary wiped her wet hands on her apron. "No, ma'am, I've
still got pints and pints to go. I've never seen so many
berries."
"Susie?"
Susie was up to her elbows in soapy water as she hurriedly
washed dishes.
Emma looked around. There were at least a dozen people in
the kitchen, and all of them looked terribly busy.
"Well, this is just dandy," Cook grumbled. "Four hundred to
cook for, and I've got no eggs. And no spare hands to go
fetch more."
"I'll go," Emma volunteered.
Both Belle and Cook looked at her with expressions that
were somewhere between shock and horror.
"Are you crazy?" Cook demanded.
"Emma, it simply isn't done," Belle said at the exact same
moment.
Emma rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not crazy, and why can't I
go to the store? I'm perfectly able to fetch some eggs.
Besides, I could use a little fresh air. I've been cooped
up inside all morning."
"But someone might see you," Belle protested. "You're
covered with flour, for goodness sake!"
"Belle, I haven't met anybody yet. How could I be
recognized?"
"But you can't go about in your maid's frock."
"This frock is exactly why I can go out," Emma explained
patiently. "If I wore one of my morning dresses, everyone
would wonder why a gentle lady was out without an escort,
not to mention on her way to the market for eggs. No one
will look twice at me if I'm dressed as a maid. Although
you certainly cannot accompany me. You'd be spotted in a
second."
Belle sighed. "Mama would kill me."
"So you see. . . if Cook needs all her help in the kitchen,
I am the only solution." Emma smiled. She smelled victory.
Belle wasn't convinced. "I don't know, Emma. This is highly
irregular, letting you go out by yourself."
Emma let out an exasperated sigh. "Here, I'll pull my hair
back tightly just like our maids do." Emma hastily
rearranged her hair into a bun. "And I'll spill some more
flour on my frock. And maybe smear a little on my cheek."
"That's enough, now," Cook interjected. "We don't need to
be wasting any of my good flour."
"Well, Belle?" Emma asked. "What do you think?"
"I don't know. Mama wouldn't like this one bit."
Emma put her face very close to Belle's. "She isn't going
to hear about it, is she?"
"Oh, all right." Belle turned to all of the kitchen maids
and wagged her finger. "Not one word of this to my mama.
Does everyone understand?"
"I don't like this at all," Cook said. "Not at all."
"Well, we haven't much choice, have we?" Emma put in. "Not
if you want cakes at the ball. Now why don't you put Belle
to work squeezing those lemons, and I promise I'll be back
before you even notice I'm gone." And with that, Emma
grabbed some coins out of Cook's hands and slipped out the
door.
Emma took a deep breath of the crisp spring air when she
reached the street. Freedom! It was so nice to escape the
confines of her cousins' home every now and then. Dressed
as a maid, she could walk along unnoticed. After tonight,
she'd never again be able to leave the Blydon mansion
unchaperoned.
Emma turned the final corner on the way to the market. She
took her time as she ambled down the sidewalk, stopping to
glance in every store window. Just as she'd expected, none
of the ladies and gentlemen out strolling gave more than a
passing glance to the small, red-haired maid covered with
flour.
Emma hummed cheerfully as she entered the bustling market
and purchased several dozen eggs. They were a little
awkward to carry, but she was careful not to grimace. A
kitchen maid would be used to carrying such burdens, and
Emma did not want to spoil her disguise. Besides, she was
fairly strong, and it was only five short blocks home.
"Thank you very much, sir." She smiled at the grocer,
nodding her head. He returned her grin. "Aye, you new
around here? You sound as if you hail from the Colonies."
Emma's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't expected
questions from the grocer. "Why, yes, I did grow up there,
but I've been living in London now for many years," she
lied.
"Aye, I've always wanted to see America," he pondered. Emma
groaned inwardly. The grocer seemed ready for a long,
engaging conversation, and she really needed to get back
home before Belle started worrying about her.She started
backing out the door, smiling all the way.
"Now you come back sometime, little missy. Who did you say
you worked for?"
But Emma had already scurried out the door, pretending that
she hadn't heard his question. By the time she was halfway
home, she was in high spirits, whistling happily, quite
certain that she'd pulled off her charade without a hitch.
She walked slowly, eager to prolong her little adventure.
Besides, she enjoyed watching all the Londoners go about
their daily business. In her maid's costume, no one paid
her any mind, and she could stare quite shamelessly as long
as she looked away whenever anybody glanced back at her.
Emma craned her neck to watch an adorable little boy of
about five or six years scamper out of an elegant carriage
drawn by a pair of matched bays. He clutched a small cocker
spaniel puppy, scratching it between its ears. The black
and white puppy returned his affection by licking the boy
across the face, and he squealed with laughter, prompting
his mother to poke her head out of the carriage to check up
on him. She was a beautiful woman with dark hair and green
eyes that shone with obvious love for her son. "Don't you
move from that spot, Charlie," she called to the boy. "I'll
be with you in one moment."
The woman turned back toward the interior of the carriage,
presumably to speak to someone. The little dark-haired boy
rolled his eyes and shifted his weight from foot to foot as
he waited for his mother. "Mama," he implored, "hurry up."
Emma smiled at his obvious impatience. From what her father
had told her, she'd been exactly the same way when she was
small.
"Just one minute, scamp. I'll be right down."
But right then, a calico cat streaked across the street.
The puppy suddenly let out a loud bark and jumped out of
Charlie's arms, chasing the feline into the street.
"Wellington!" Charlie shrieked. The little boy broke into a
run, following the dog.
Emma gasped in horror. A hired hack was barreling down the
street, and the driver was completely engrossed in
conversation with the man sitting next to him, not paying
the least bit of attention to the road. Charlie would be
trampled underneath the horses' hooves.
Emma screamed. She didn't stop to think as she dropped the
eggs and raced into the street. When she was but a few feet
away from the boy, she made a headfirst dive through the
air. If she had enough momentum, she prayed, she'd knock
them both out of the way before they were run over by the
hack.
Charlie yelped, not understanding why a strange woman had
jumped at him, slamming herself into his side.
Just before Emma hit the ground, she heard more screams.
And then there was only darkness.