Chapter 1 #2
“As it happens, Papa has written to me on this very subject.” Leaning forward, she spread open the single sheet, covered with Justin St. Briac’s bold writing.
“It is as if he read my mind. He wrote that winter is coming, and they believe I should return to London. Papa knows of an aristocrat who requires that someone do research for him. The man is willing to remunerate us very generously.”
Louise blinked. “What sort of research?”
“Some sort of antiquity, I believe,” Emeline replied with a negligent wave.
“Hmm. How very fortuitous!”
“I can see that you are skeptical…”
“I know my Uncle Justin very well,” Louise murmured, “and he has been known, let us say, to shape events and people to his will.”
“But listen, cousin! Papa knows that we wish for our independence, and he suggests that we might live on our own. He even knows of a small townhouse near my family in Grosvenor Square. Because you are thirty years of age, there will be no question of impropriety if we two females share a home.” Emeline heard the excitement in her own voice and suddenly felt more alive than she had in a very long time.
“We shall chart our own course! We will earn our own way in the world without resorting to such demeaning occupations as seamstress, serving maid, milliner, or governess.”
In the lamplight, a telling flush spread over Louise’s cheeks. “It sounds…too good to be true.”
“Only consider, Papa is helping to make it so. He desires that we return to London, but he knows it must be under our terms.” She held her breath and reached for Louise’s hand. “Just imagine of all the pleasures that we can enjoy as independent women in London!”
“What sort of pleasures do you mean?”
“Never fear, nothing that has to do with the social games of the ton or angling to catch the latest eligible nobleman.” She felt her inner glow, so long tamped down, kindle again.
“Rather than succumbing to the allure of romance, we shall find fulfillment in friendships and scholarly pursuits.” After a moment, Emeline dared to add softly, “I mean to be admitted to the library at the British Museum.”
Her cousin closed her eyes, then opened them and smiled. “All right. I am convinced. It sounds quite mad, but perhaps at my advancing age, it’s time to throw caution to the wind.”
“Hurrah!” Emeline jumped to her feet, causing the dozing Bartholomew to spiral from her lap onto the rug. Quickly, she scooped the kitten back up into her arms and danced around the tiny kitchen. “Yes, let us throw caution to the wind!”
Suddenly, it seemed that the future could not come soon enough.
“I must say, darling, you are a marvel,” Mouette St. Briac murmured to her husband as their carriage rolled to a stop before a modest townhouse on Chesterfield Street.
“Eh bien, I know that very well,” came Justin’s ironic, French-accented reply. “Yet did you not doubt that I would find a way to bring our wayward Emmie back to us?”
“Perhaps, for she is as stubborn as her papa.” Mouette looked out at the bottle-green front door topped with a charming fanlight and shook her head.
“Before we go inside to greet Emmie and Louise in their new home, do reveal the identity of the gentleman who has engaged them to do research. Who is he, and by what miracle did you find him?”
“You should know me better than that.” Justin flashed a wicked smile just as a groom opened the door and put down the step.
“There is no gentleman. Only this wealthy papa you see before you, tired of waiting for our daughter to admit how bored she has grown, digging for fossils. Emmie is too stubborn, too proud! I was forced to take matters into my own hands.”
“You are shocking,” Mouette accused, but of course she was not truly shocked. Her charming husband could also be outrageous, even manipulative. “Do not imagine you can conceal this ruse from her for long. What do you mean to do next?”
He winked at her with his eye that was not covered by a black patch. “Ma belle, when I hit on the right plan, I promise to tell you.”
Emeline wore a voluminous white apron as she wielded her feather duster in the snug, pale yellow parlor of their new home.
The unusually sunny London morning seemed to foretell good fortune for Emeline and Louise as they embarked on life as independent females.
Just as she was brushing a few specks of dust from a pair of chairs near the bow window that overlooked Chesterfield Street, she spied her parents emerging from a dashing green landau. The sight of them made her heart soar.
No sooner had Emeline lifted the latch on the front door than the portal burst open, and her father was enfolding her in his strong embrace.
How could she have endured the last two years of nearly constant separation?
Justin St. Briac exuded the same sort of energy that flowed through her own veins, and once again it came to her how alike they were.
“At last,” he proclaimed, lifting her off the floor as he had done when she was a little girl, “you are back where you belong, with your family.”
Emeline glanced over at her mother, who watched them with a faintly wry smile.
“I’ll own I am feeling quite happy to have returned to the hustle and bustle of London. Louise and I are elated to have a home of our own…and is it not providential that Papa knew of a gentleman who wishes to engage our services as research scholars?”
Louise came in at that moment, carrying a tea tray, which Justin promptly took from her and placed on a fluted table near the window.
“It’s wonderful to see you both!” she exclaimed warmly. “I’ll own, Uncle Justin, that you have outdone yourself with this agreeable house. We love it, though I’m not at all certain we can afford it.”
He held her at arm’s length and shook his head. “It is a very modest place, I think.”
Emeline spoke up. “But, Papa, we are in the very heart of Mayfair. The rent must be exorbitant.”
“Pas du tout! Not a bit. Your papa knows exactly the right people to call on when a favor is needed.” As if sensing that Emeline meant to question his last words, he rushed on, “Which is not to say that you have received special treatment. I can promise you that your new employer means to remunerate you very well for your services.”
As he spoke, he began to pour tea for all four of them, and soon they were facing each other on two petite sofas.
“Mouette,” her father declared as soon as they had all sampled the hot tea, “no doubt you are already making plans for this humble parlor. It was convenient that this furniture was already in place, but how much better it will be when it can be changed.”
Mama glanced at him, brows aloft, and replied mildly, “Really, Justin, do you think these young women want you to take charge of their home decor?”
“Who better?” he demanded, only half in jest.
“Papa, do stop,” Emeline said, and wagged a finger at him. “This is why I stipulated that Louise and I must have a home of our own. I am well aware that if I lived under your roof, you would be an intolerable overlord.”
“Intolerable?” One brow slanted upward. “Many have said that great strength is my best quality.”
Her mother laughed at this and cuffed his coat sleeve.
“Really, Justin, you are the outside of enough.” Turning back to Emeline and Louise, she said, “If you should desire to change anything in your new home, do call on me. I love to decorate! And, more seriously, your Grandmama Raveneau means to send you a cook. Dora has been learning to manage a kitchen from old Mrs. Butter, and this seemed a perfect opportunity for her to practice her skills.”
“But I don’t think we really need a cook,” protested Louise. “We have done without one until now! It’s just the two of us, and our tastes are simple.”
Papa looked shocked. “Of course you need not only a cook, but also a butler or housekeeper. But one thing at a time.” He consulted his pocket watch and abruptly rose to his feet. “Ah, I have an appointment, so I regret to say I must leave…”
“But you have just arrived!” protested Emeline.
He smiled. “Never fear, your mama will stay. Helivet will wait here to take her home in the carriage. I am only going a short distance to my office. I can walk.”
It came to Emeline that somehow the entire visit had been taken up with Papa leading them in conversational circles.
She pointed a finger at him. “I will not let you go until you reveal the identity of our employer. Who is this aristocrat who wishes to hire both of us to do research for him? If he is a scholar, why doesn’t he do it himself?
And has it not occurred to any of you that Louise and I may not be permitted, as women, to set foot in the Reading Room of the British Museum?
That is the only place in London where any proper scientific papers can be found. ”
To her consternation, her father tucked his watch away and drew on his gloves. “You worry too much. What does any of it matter, as long as he remunerates you two ladies handsomely?” Bending, he kissed her brow, as if she were still a little girl. “And now, I must take my leave. Au revoir!”
When the door had closed behind Justin St. Briac, Emeline turned to her mother and threw up her hands. “Oh, how very maddening he can be. Do you know the identity of our mysterious employer, Mama?”
“No…I do not.” She sipped her tea and added with a hint of amusement, “However, I can share the latest on dit. I was riding in the park with Frederica yesterday when we encountered Lady Clarissa Graystone. She confided that the notorious libertine, Lord Jasper Hartcliffe, is back in London, after two full years on the Continent. Everyone is waiting to discover what he will do next.” Eyes twinkling, Mouette pretended to fan herself.
“They call him Hart the Heartless. I’ll own, if I were younger and not wed to your papa, I should be plotting to cross paths with him myself. ”
“Really, Mama, you sound like a green girl in her first Season!” Emeline chided fondly. “Is this man truly so mesmerizing?”
“Well, I can only say that Lord Jasper is known to be fatally attractive.” A dimple winked in Mouette’s cheek.
“No doubt his appeal is heightened because he is notoriously elusive. His lordship seems to care nothing for the ton and comes and goes from London without a care for the usual activities of the Season.”
Louise sat up straight, flushing. “Yes, I remember, Hart the Heartless! I encountered him at a garden party, when I was much younger. He is an infamous rake.”
Emeline pretended to yawn. “That’s all very well, but we are not interested in men, are we, Louise? Especially not men known to be fatally attractive.”
Her mother lifted both brows and glanced toward Louise, who confirmed, “Emmie is quite right. We have renounced romance in favor of intellectual pursuits.”
“Indeed? Hmm.” Mouette nodded, but the dimple quivered again in her cheek. “Fascinating.”