Chapter 17
There was absolutely no chance Emmeline would be able to accompany Theo to Plymouth; almost on cue, after he left, the duchess threw an impromptu house party, inviting various acquaintances from the area.
As the soon-to-be Lady Farenham, Emmeline’s attendance was non-negotiable, and while the grand meals verged on overwhelming, she enjoyed the other activities, such as playing charades.
In the afternoon of the third day, Emmeline arrived on the lawn behind the manor after being detained by the duchess for the of-the-utmost-importance decision on the slippers she’d wear with her wedding dress.
The party guests were gathered in two groups, all of them carrying arm-length wooden bats.
“Miss Grey, exactly the reinforcement we needed!” Mr. Wexley approached, greeting her with his typical easygoing smile. “We’re a member short for the cricket game, and you simply cannot deny us.”
“Oh, I’d love to!” She had no idea they played, and even then, she’d never expect they’d do so at a house party.
As she went to grab a bat, Louisa came to her. “I’m sorry we can’t be on the same team. Mr. and Mrs. Thomas elbowed their way into our group before you came.” She glanced over her shoulder at her two teammates.
“It’s all right. At least you don’t have to be on the team with Mr. Vex-Me.”
Louisa giggled. “Maybe a lucky ball will find its way to his head. And I mean lucky. I’ll be happy if I can hit one at all.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Emmeline did a double take. “Louisa, where are your glasses?”
“Can’t wear them for this. Either they fall off, or I smash them with my own bat.”
“Is it safe for you, then?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine. Mr. Vex-Me’s head, on the other hand …”
Emmeline laughed and lightly punched her in the arm. They separated, heading for their respective sides of the field, where wickets had been set up.
“Striker position, Miss Grey?” Mr. Wexley offered.
“I’ll take it.” She moved in front of the wicket and crouched into a defensive stance, as much as the skirt of her dress allowed.
She’d never played cricket, but she figured it would be similar enough to baseball for some skill to transfer.
When she was little, she became obsessed with baseball after seeing a match—it was one of those delightful childhood obsessions that lasted for a few months, at best, but made her think it would be a lifetime.
Her father was never much for baseball, but when she asked him to play, he went out and got all the equipment and studied all the books and diagrams and illustrations so that he could teach her.
“First, your stance,” he’d said. “Head level, eyes straight ahead—that’s it.” He crouched in front of her, mimicking the pose, and smiled when she copied it.
“Now, you grip the bat like this … oh, that’s a strong grip. Good. But make sure your wrists are flexible so you can whip the bat in a fluent motion.”
She made a few test strokes. “Like this, Papa?”
He returned a wide smile. “Perfect. Now, where are our balls …” He went over to a bag, retrieved a couple, and moved a few feet away. “Don’t worry, I’ll throw them softly.”
“But when I play in the League, they won’t be throwing them softly!”
“I know. It’s because your strikes will be so good by then, they won’t dare to go easy on you. But we’re just practicing now.”
“When will I be good enough?”
“Very soon, I’m sure.” He positioned for the throw. “Tell you what. We’ll do ten throws—and once you hit the ball, I’ll throw it slightly harder. And then we can go for an ice cream.”
“Yes!” She jumped. “Go, Papa, I’m ready!”
Something whizzed past her ear, blowing the memory away. Emmeline blinked, and the image of her father turned into one of the party guests, waiting on the opposite end of the field.
“It’s all right, Miss Grey.” Mr. Wexley retrieved the ball she’d missed. “Would you like to be the nonstriker instead?”
“I …” Damn you, memory. Why now, of all the places and times? She was doing fine. She was having fun. “No, I’ll stay.” She gripped the bat tighter and gritted her teeth, directing every thought toward the ongoing game. Remain in the present.
The game progressed, strikes and runs falling on either end. They circled through positions, and eventually, Louisa came to be a striker on the opposite team. Daniel, the bowler, came over to Emmeline’s side of the field.
“You’re not going to try to sabotage me, are you?” he said, mouth quirking in a smile.
“You get no concessions from me.” She lifted her chin.
Daniel threw the ball; it arced over the field as Louisa clenched the bat, shifting her feet. The ball approached, her arms twitched—and she smacked the ball, sending it over their heads.
For a moment, Daniel stood frozen as if he couldn’t believe it. “Louisa, you hit it!” he yelled. “Run, run!”
Louisa blinked, stunned, but then picked up her skirts and sprinted toward Emmeline. Emmeline wasn’t sure what kind of counter-play existed in cricket, but even if she was allowed to go retrieve the ball, she had no intentions of doing so.
“Miss Grey, I believe we should try to hit the opposite wicket.” Mr. Wexley lazily inspected his fingernails.
“Right. Yes.” She strolled over just as Louisa reached them, practically throwing herself over the crease line.
“Did I—” Louisa fixed her dress as she scrambled to her feet. “Ha! I won! I won!” Her eyes stopped on Mr. Wexley. “You didn’t let me win, did you?”
“My dear Lady Louisa, I’d never dare to.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You did, didn’t you? I knew it …”
Daniel came to stand next to Emmeline as Louisa and Mr. Wexley continued to bicker. “If I’d known house parties were this entertaining, I would’ve hosted more.”
“You still can.”
“Yes.” Daniel whirled his bat and dropped it at his feet. “I suppose we can.”
We. The familiar feeling wormed its way into her belly—the one that always lingered somewhere between excitement and nervousness. Who was “we”—a duke’s son and a fraud? An impostor? “Daniel …”
She almost said it. The words itched on the tip of her tongue. I’m not Maria. And as much as I wish to belong here, I don’t know if I do.
“Miss Grey.” He took her hands in his. “You’re worried. About Saturday?”
Their wedding day. “A—a little, I suppose.”
He gave her a comforting smile. “Don’t be. All will be well, I promise.”
There was no heedless passion behind his eyes—or perhaps, she didn’t know how to discern it. But there was kindness and sincerity, and they were just enough to tip the scale. Emmeline repeated the reasonings again in her mind.
Daniel only knew her, not Maria.
Maria ran away from her engagement.
And Emmeline had a point to prove. She’d make her own choice in this life.
“Thank you,” she said to Daniel.
He patted her hand, and for the moment, all was, indeed, well.
The guests left after dinner; it was only as Emmeline collapsed on her bed, still in her evening dress, her feet aching from hours of activities, that she realized it was nearly midnight.
Theo would be back already.
Fatigue forgotten, she jumped to her feet and ran downstairs. She found Theo in the servants’ quarters, alone at the table, an empty cup next to him.
“I’m sorry I’m late!” She whirlwinded onto a chair. “How was it? What did you find out? Did you meet Lady Scarlet? What did she say?”
“Emmeline,” he said, in a calm-down voice. “I found a ship, but Lady Scarlet wasn’t there. She did, however, leave a message with the captain for us.” He slid over a single sheet of paper. “It’s another riddle.”
Emmeline flicked through it. “Interesting spelling of ‘hide’—do you think she means it as in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—”
“Who?”
Oh—that book didn’t exist yet. “Never mind, it could also be … hold on.” She twisted on the chair, leaning her elbow on the table. “You already solved the whole thing, didn’t you?”
He gave the slightest shrug. “I did have almost two days of free time on the way back. But I won’t tell you the answer if you don’t want to. Lady Scarlet is your mission. And this is yours.” He tapped on the paper.
“But we said …”
“Emmeline.” He lowered his hands into his lap. “I believe it’s time for me to leave.”
She felt as if she’d been hit in the stomach by one of the cricket bats. “What?”
“There is very little sense in me staying. I appreciate what you did for me—offer me cover because of the position I was in—but your own position is changing soon. You’ll have a husband, your own household, your own servants to direct.
You won’t need a false one. Besides, the rumors and paranoia about the possible French spy have died down in the last few weeks. I think I’m safe to leave.”
“But …” She shook her head. “Where will you go?”
“I’m not that helpless,” he said, with only a slight grimace. “I have something I can do in London.”
“Theo …”
He stood. “The duchess has been made aware, though technically, you’re the one to dismiss me.”
He meant it. He was actually, truly leaving.
She didn’t know what she’d expected. Like he said, it made all the sense. But she hadn’t imagined it would hit her this hard.
“Miss Grey?” he prompted.
“You …” She closed her eyes. “You’re dismissed.”
“Thank you. The best of luck with your husband, and your hunt for Lady Scarlet. If you’d like one hint …”
She nodded.
“I think she wants to meet you in London.” And he left.
***
Theo fed Nero a sugar cube and gently ran his hand along the horse’s head. As he moved away, Nero whinnied.
“Oh, come now.” Theo patted his cheek. “You were fine before I got here; you’ll be fine after I leave.”
Nero huffed.
“Make sure he’s good to her, yes?”
Someone cleared their throat; Theo moved away from the horse. His heart did a somersault and then sank, remembering reality, when he noticed Emmeline standing at the stables’ gate. The early morning sun shone from behind her, its rays lending a golden halo to her dark hair.
He couldn’t get out of here sooner—and at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.