Chapter 18 #2
Almost immediately, a silvery-blue sphere of light enveloped the watch.
It grew and spread rapidly until the entire room was filled with an ethereal iridescent glow.
Emmeline felt like she was bathing in shimmering moonlight.
And then almost as quickly, the light faded.
When Emmeline compared the time on her pocket watch to the time showing on the mantel clock and the longcase clock, all three timepieces were perfectly synchronized.
“Well, that worked rather well, if I do say so myself,” she murmured proudly.
It was like her pocket watch had become the “queen” clock and the other clocks were “courtier” clocks.
While the duke’s electromechanical clock prototype in the adjacent Horology Room was a remarkable feat of ingenuity, she rather thought the Parasol Academy’s spell was wonderfully effective too.
It was definitely time to move on and sort out the other household clocks.
It also occurred to Emmeline that if any of the clocks in the house did lose or gain time from now on, it would confirm that a household member was behind the tampering, that it wasn’t a mechanical fault of the clocks themselves.
She was just quitting the room when she heard a snick and a soft whoosh behind her. There was the rustle of fabric, and the study grew slightly brighter.
“Mrs. Chase?”
Spinning around, her pulse quickening, Emmeline discovered the Duke of St Lawrence standing by the open jib door that led into his Horology Room.
“Y-Your Grace,” she stammered breathlessly as she bobbed a curtsy. “I-I had no idea that you were in here. Or at home for that matter. I didn’t mean to intrude. I-I popped by t-to reset the clocks. So they wouldn’t bother you by chiming or bonging at different times. I know how that annoys you so.”
Oh dear. She was babbling but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I-I suppose I should get on with resetting the others.” She took a step toward the door.
“No, don’t worry about them,” said the duke. He was coatless and his necktie and collar were loose. In one hand he held a cut-crystal tumbler of an amber-hued liquid. Brandy perhaps. “It’s too late for that. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”
“If you’re sure…” Reaching behind her, Emmeline felt for the door handle. She was in her nightclothes. She should go. “I shall bid you goodnight then, Your Grace.”
But the duke didn’t seem ready for her to leave.
He gestured toward the fire with a gloved hand.
“Why don’t you stay? Sit with me awhile.
It feels like ages since we last spoke.” He paused and then his eyes narrowed.
He ran his assessing gaze over her from the top of her cap-clad head to the tips of her blue velvet slippers.
“I’m sorry. I can see you’re dishabille.
If you’d rather not, I would understand. ”
Heat flared in Emmeline’s cheeks. “I…” All sorts of reasons not to stay formed in Sensible-Emmeline’s head. But Not-So-Sensible-Bold-As-You-Please Emmeline discarded them and said instead, “I would like that, Your Grace. As long as I might have a sherry.”
Emmeline held her breath. Did I really have the effrontery to say that? I really did. Oh no, I really—
The duke’s eyes gleamed with an emotion Emmeline couldn’t quite place. “Certainly, Mrs. Chase,” he said. “As long as you take off that godawful cap.”
Emmeline touched the lace edge framing her face.
“I think it looks quite fetching.” A lie of course, but she was already in danger of falling under the duke’s spell and her nightcap made her feel like she was playing the part of the prim-and-proper-all-kinds-of-respectable nanny, even though she feared that deep down, her far more wanton-and-wicked self was preening and flouncing, waiting in the wings for her chance to sneak on stage.
“It helps keep my hair in place,” she added for good measure.
“It makes you look like one of my old maiden aunts,” grumbled the duke. “Great-Aunt Agatha, to be precise. There’s a portrait of her on the first-floor landing, not far from my Uncle Nevergrin’s.”
Emmeline crossed her arms and adopted a stern-nanny frown. “I’m sure you didn’t employ me because of my looks, Your Grace.”
The duke gave a snort of laughter. “Very well. You have me there. Take a seat, Mrs. Chase, and I will try to put up with the visual abomination of yet another cap that should be consigned to the fire.”
Emmeline selected her usual wingchair (oh dear, she did indeed have a usual chair) and the duke returned with her sherry. Before he claimed his own seat, he threw a few logs on the grate and very soon there were bright flames and sparks leaping up the chimney.
“So tell me how your father is settling in,” the duke said in a conversational tone as he sat across from her. “And I’d like to hear how my wards are doing.” Leaning back in his chair, nursing his brandy glass in his gloved hands, he propped his feet on a footstool and fixed his gaze on Emmeline.
Emmeline set aside her untouched sherry and proceeded to do as the duke had requested.
She gave an account of how contented her father was and relayed his wards’ academic progress as well as a few amusing anecdotes about the latest harmless nursery shenanigans.
The duke gave her permission to take a carriage to the zoo on the morrow and then they lapsed into silence.
Emmeline would have liked to have said it was companionable silence, but there was a strange vibration in the air. A crackling energy.
Perhaps a few remnants of the time spell lingered. It couldn’t be anything else…
The duke tossed back his brandy and sighed. “I’m afraid I’m in one of my bitter-as-black-coffee moods tonight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Emmeline. “Babcock mentioned you were attending a Royal Horological Society meeting?”
“Yes, I went.” The duke smiled tightly. “Sir Randolph was there being his usual asinine self. George Airy, the Astronomer Royal, attended too. He sounds very interested in my electromechanical clock prototype. He’s keen to see how it all works at the Great Exhibition.”
“That sounds promising,” said Emmeline. “Did something else untoward happen? Did someone follow you again when you left?”
“No. Nothing like that. That’s not the reason for my somber mood.
” The duke paused. “After the meeting, I went to another club with a friend. I should have known better. Gentlemen’s clubs are not my cup of tea.
Not my cup of anything really. You walk in the door, thinking that you’re going to be served a fine brandy”—he lifted his glass and examined the glowing amber liquid within—“but then you discover it’s absinthe.
A tentative sip promises pleasure but all you’re left with is a bitter taste in your mouth and a gnawing, hollow feeling in your gut. ”
Emmeline frowned. Was the duke a little in his cups?
Given Jeremy’s propensity for drink, she knew the signs well.
She studied the duke’s face. He was certainly brooding and melancholy, but his words weren’t slurred.
His eyes were clear, not glassy. His movements weren’t lacking in coordination, or very slow and deliberate, as though he were concentrating on not being clumsy. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He arched a brow in query. “For what?”
“I don’t like seeing you so out of sorts. I was… sympathizing.”
His mouth twitched. “Well, seeing you in that cap isn’t helping my mood. I wish you’d relent and take it off.”
Emmeline straightened in her seat. “It’s regulation,” she said firmly, even though her wicked self was practically lifting her skirts and flashing her ankles offstage.
The duke snorted. “Rules again. Rules have their place of course. God knows, I have enough of my own.” He took a sip of his brandy then set it aside.
“Rules, structure, schedules, strict habits, I thrive on them. They are essential for my peace of mind. Take these gloves for instance.” He held up a hand and examined the fine black leather that practically resembled a second skin.
“Touching anything, unless it’s as smooth as satin or a polished surface, feels excruciatingly uncomfortable to me.
Rough textures in particular set me on edge, making me grit my teeth.
It’s almost as though I’m listening to fingernails constantly scraping down a chalkboard.
I can’t suppress the sensation. My silk-lined gloves make my days… bearable.”
“How dreadful.” Emmeline’s heart ached with sympathy. “I can’t even imagine what that would feel like. And obviously, I have wondered why you wear gloves all the time. Thank you for the explanation.”
The duke caught her gaze. Held it. “I’ve seen you watching my hands. You’re probably curious about whether I ever take my gloves off.”
Emmeline retrieved her sherry and took a hasty sip. “I… I might be…”
“I do. Sometimes,” he said, his deep voice a dark velvet stroke reaching toward her, coaxing her closer.
“Especially if there’s something feather-soft and silky that I long to touch.
” He extended his index finger and traced a seam on the arm of his leather wingchair.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Mrs. Chase. I’ll remove my gloves right now if you remove your cap… ”
Oh, if she acquiesced, Emmeline was sure to feel like she was making a bargain with the devil himself.
But it seemed she could not resist temptation, even though there were a thousand sensible reasons—most of them delineated quite clearly in the Parasol Academy Handbook —not to give in.
“Yes,” she murmured before she could stop herself.
Offstage Emmeline began to sashay about, hips swaying. “I agree.”
The duke’s chiseled mouth curved into a wicked smile. “Excellent. We have a deal.”