Chapter 18
Comprising a Brief Description of a Room with a View and a Horny Toad; Followed by a Short Account of How to Manage a Particular Domestic Disaster; And Concluding with a Disconcerting Discussion About Nightcaps and Gloves…
No truer words were ever spoken than home is where the heart is.
Indeed, St Lawrence House suddenly felt exactly like that to Emmeline—a true home in every sense—now that her father was safe and sound.
The rest of the duke’s staff appeared to readily accept Edward Evans into their fold, and Woodley, without even raising an eyebrow, allocated him a cozy bedroom of his own not far from the butler’s pantry on the ground floor.
It had its own little fireplace with a comfy armchair on the hearthrug, and the single bed had a wonderfully soft mattress.
The kitchen was nearby, so delicious cooking smells floated in, and there was a casement window with a view of the back walled garden.
With the window open, bees could be heard droning lazily in the lavender and borage hedge.
Her father declared he couldn’t have been happier and more content.
Emmeline, while overjoyed at the sudden reversal in her father’s fortunes, was torn. The duke had not intended that she or her father would feel indebted to him, but she couldn’t help it if she did. Just a little.
Actually, a lot.
As she took dinner with her father and the rest of the duke’s servants around the vast oak table in the kitchen—Fanny had returned and had kindly offered to supervise teatime in the nursery while she was away—Emmeline supposed that she would eventually become accustomed to the idea that she didn’t owe the duke anything.
That he’d taken it upon himself to free her father out of the goodness of his heart and had no other agenda.
She would also endeavor to be as professional as she could be.
Which meant, she must not entertain any more improper thoughts, daydreams, or fantasies about her employer.
She most certainly wouldn’t revisit their kiss in the rain.
This time, she really, truly, cross-her-heart-and-hope-to-die meant it.
After her father was all settled in his room for the night (he was quite content to read Ivanhoe ), and the children had gone to bed, Emmeline retired to her own bedchamber.
She donned her plain white flannel nightgown (Parasol Academy issue, of course), then unpinned her hair before wrangling it into a plait.
When she was a newly wedded bride, Jeremy had always liked her to wear her hair out when she came to bed.
She supposed she should have known he was being unfaithful when he started not to care how she dressed her hair at night.
Revisiting his betrayal always used to bring tears to Emmeline’s eyes and a fresh ache in her chest. She’d even believed at one point that she wasn’t enough for a man.
That she was somehow lacking. But after her Parasol Academy training, she knew this to be a falsehood.
She was a strong, intelligent, hardworking, good-hearted woman who hadn’t wed a charming prince but a right royal horny toad who was so weak-willed, he hadn’t been able to keep his trousers buttoned.
She deserved better than the likes of Jeremy Chase. Not that she was looking to ever get married again. She had a career now and that was all she needed to make her feel fulfilled.
Odd to think that her employer, a duke, seemed to respect and care for her well-being more than her husband ever had.
With a sigh, Emmeline slid between the chill sheets of her single bed.
Even though it was April, it was still cool in the evenings.
She was regretting the fact that she hadn’t thought to prepare a warming pan of hot coals like she had for her father.
The night air seemed to exacerbate his cough, but he’d taken his tonic and when she’d bid him goodnight, he was rugged up in bed before a toasty fire.
Emmeline trusted that in time, his chest would clear altogether.
Emmeline put aside her copy of the Parasol Academy Handbook (she’d been rereading the chapter on maintaining professionalism) and tucked her quizzing glass into its case (the special blue lens was needed to read the contents of the handbook, otherwise the text looked like nonsense).
Then she snuffed out her bedside candle and snuggled down beneath the bedcovers.
Thoughts of what she’d do with the duke’s wards tomorrow filled her head as she watched her own fire dying down in the grate.
If the weather held fair, perhaps they could make a trip to London Zoo.
In the morning, she’d check with the duke if he could spare a carriage. It was too late now.
Besides, during dinner, the duke’s valet, Babcock, had reported that His Grace had gone out for the evening—to attend a Royal Horological Society meeting and thence to a late dinner with a good friend, Viscount Hartwell, at one of their clubs. He wasn’t expected back before midnight.
Blast. Emmeline sat up in bed. In all the excitement that had accompanied her father’s arrival, she’d completely forgotten about checking on the clocks about the house; it was clockwinding day for all the larger timepieces which were on an eight-day schedule.
Of course, Woodley might have taken on the task already.
But she was the one who possessed the most accurate pocket watch.
Sliding from her bed, Emmeline relit her candle, then flipped open her watch.
It was half past eleven. It shouldn’t take her too long to check on all the longcase clocks and mantel clocks in the main rooms. Even if she made sure the vestibule longcase clock and the clocks in the duke’s study were all on time, that would be a start.
It was the least she could do, given everything the duke had done for her father.
Emmeline pulled on her Parasol Academy navy-blue dressing gown (complete with a magical pocket—one’s charges might need help during the night) and cinched it firmly about her waist. Then she donned her Academy-issued muslin and blond lace nightcap to add an air of “matronly” respectability to her appearance.
Aside from the night footman, most of the staff would be abed.
But still, it was always best to be appropriately attired, no matter the occasion.
It’s a pity that the Parasol Academy Handbook doesn’t contain an incantation for setting clocks and watches to Greenwich Mean Time , thought Emmeline grumpily.
Now that would be exceedingly helpful. She eyed the hefty tome accusingly as she thrust her feet into her slippers.
To her astonishment, the handbook’s blue leather cover shimmered, like a scattering of stardust had drifted over it.
It was almost as though the handbook was beckoning to her.
Curious, Emmeline got out her quizzing glass then flipped open the handbook.
And then she gasped. The book had opened onto a page that contained an entry entitled: Timepiece Incantation to Reset Persistently and Irritatingly Irregular Clocks and Watches (to Ensure the Smooth and Efficient Running of the Household).
What. On. Earth?
She must be dreaming. No, a firm pinch applied to the underside of her wrist confirmed she was wide-awake.
Emmeline knew this book inside out and back to front.
Every word, every line was as familiar to her as the back of her own hand.
She had never, ever seen this spell before.
She flipped back and then forward a few pages.
Yes, this was the chapter covering incantations and this was the subsection related to Managing Domestic Disasters of All Kinds .
Excitement bubbling in her veins, Emmeline bit her lip as she contemplated the possibilities.
What harm could it do to try out this spell?
It wasn’t as though she’d be traveling through time, or moving it backwards or forwards, or changing the very fabric of existence itself.
She was simply setting clocks and watches “to ensure the smooth and efficient running of the house hold.” Apparently, one only had to perform the spell once, and the “ensorcelled” timepieces would remain synchronized to Greenwich Mean Time unless someone physically reset them.
Emmeline took a minute to commit the method and Faerillion incantation to memory, and then, pocket watch in hand and magical words all but dancing and fizzing on the tip of her tongue, she quit her bedroom.
According to the handbook, she could only reset the clocks within a single room, not every clock in the house all at the same time.
To that end, she’d start in the duke’s study.
Emmeline took the servants’ stairs to the second floor. Upon entering the study, she found that it was deserted—as she had expected. Horatio usually spent the night on a perch in the duke’s suite, and if the duke had returned to St Lawrence House early, no doubt he’d retired for the night too.
Apart from a soft golden puddle surrounding a gas lamp on the duke’s desk, the only other sources of light came from the glowing coals in the hearth, a pair of gaslight wall sconces, and a stray moonbeam that had managed to slip through a gap in the claret-red velvet curtains at the casement window.
But Emmeline didn’t mind. Performing magic in discreet corners and in the shadows was the Academy’s preferred mode of practice anyway.
She took up a position in the very center of the room. According to her pocket watch, the duke’s mantel clock was running five minutes late while the longcase clock in the corner was two-and-a-half minutes fast. It just wouldn’t do.
Holding her watch by its silver chain, Emmeline extended her arm and began to gently swing the timepiece back and forth, back and forth like a pendulum.
When it began to spin in tiny circles on its own, she crossed her fingers for luck (this was an untried spell after all), drew a fortifying breath and then murmured the magical words, “ Setify Greenwich Time. ”