Emma blushed at the woman’s frank assessment.
Clarice stayed to chat for a little longer before having to go back about her business.
But after she left, while Emma tried to return to her work, the housekeeper’s comments stuck in Emma’s mind like spreading molasses. She tried to ignore it, but an idea sparked and shifted and reformed until it completely took over every bit of focus.
Before she could change her mind, she stood and strode to the bellpull. Then she started pacing around her office as she ran over the details of her formulating plan. The idea took on more and more momentum. She considered all the angles, and by the time there was a polite little knock at her door, she had made her decision.
And with the decision made, all there was to do was forge ahead.
She called for the maid to enter and was relieved to see Jillian step through the door. The new maid often responded to Emma’s rings lately, and today, she could not be more grateful to see the young woman.
“Hello, ma’am, is there something I can get for you?”
Emma took a deep breath and tried to ease the frenetic energy flowing through her at the thought of what she was about to put into motion.
“I am afraid I have a rather unusual request to make of you.” She hesitated, not wanting to offend the girl, yet needing her help for the plan to work.
The maid’s brow furrowed and she clasped her hands at her waist, obviously growing uncomfortable.
Emma nearly changed her mind then, but this was the only way. Her final chance. She couldn’t be prudish about it. The plan was a good one, if a bit risky.
All right, a lot risky.
But a big payoff required a big leap of faith, and that was about all she had left.
“Jillian,” she began carefully, “what I am going to ask of you must be kept a secret, even from Mr. Bentley.”
Suspicion flashed across the maid’s face. She admirably squared her shoulders.
“I won’t do anything against Mr. Bentley or the club, ma’am.”
“No, no. This is a request of a personal nature,” Emma said quickly. Trying to ease into the topic was not going well. “I am in need of a particular style of gown.”
At Jillian’s blank expression, Emma realized she was not managing this very well. Shoving aside her desire to avoid being rude, Emma decided to speak plainly.
“Would you or any of your friends in the west wing have a gown of my size I might borrow for tomorrow night?”
It took only a moment for the maid’s eyes to widen and her mouth to form an O of surprise. “You mean…” she began as she brought her hands up to pantomime the act of lifting her breasts.
Emma blushed. “Something like that.”
“Oh.”
The two women stared at each other for a few moments. Emma could feel Jillian assessing the situation, wondering if her acquiescence could jeopardize her new position. The girl was suspicious, and Emma became worried. If Jillian refused to help her, she wasn’t sure what she would do.
This plan could work.
It would work. She would make sure of it.
But she needed help.
“I am afraid I am a bit desperate,” she said quietly, willing the other woman to understand.
Jillian’s eyes softened then as she rested one hand over her still-flat belly. She narrowed her gaze to eye Emma’s figure closely from head to toe, her pert features pinched into an expression of earnest consideration. Then she began to nod slowly. “Yes, I think Sarah’s gowns might fit you. Could be a mite tight across the bosom—she don’t have as much to offer there—but it’ll be the best bet. Plus, she owes me a favor. I will talk to her, but first you should maybe tell me a bit more of what you’re looking for.”
By the time Emma left for home, she had arranged for one of Sarah’s gowns to be sent over, along with a masquerade mask. Emma had forgotten that vital accessory until Jillian mentioned it. Luckily, the maid had one in her possession. Emma had much to be grateful to Jillian for.
With Bentley’s anniversary celebration taking place the next night, Emma had little time to prepare. She would have to make her excuses to Lily and Portia for not accompanying them to Lady Sherbrook’s dinner party. She could claim a headache or something. Angelique would simply have to do her full duty as chaperone.
If everything went as intended, Mr. Hale would get his payment the following morning and Emma would be free to return her focus to ensuring her sisters’ future happiness and security.
That night, the Chadwicks and Angelique attended a gathering at Lord Mawbry’s, where a popular stage actor was to perform a reading of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s The Daemon of the World.
Emma didn’t even bother trying to pay attention to the performance. For days her thoughts had been like leaves scattering in an autumn wind. It had been so unlike her and distressing in the extreme. Now, with a plan firmly in place, she managed to resume her typical focus with a vengeance. Her brain operated with renewed efficiency as she systematically went through every detail, every contingency, every possible snag or difficulty she may face in her plot to get Hale’s money. She had just about everything perfectly in place for success. The only variable remaining was herself.