Emma nodded, understanding such grief. She’d had a younger brother who had died at age four from an ague of the lungs. She often wondered what he would be like now had he lived. At present, there was just her ailing father and two older siblings—Rupert, and her sister, Sigrid.
She hadn’t seen her sister in more than five years, learning by letter that Sigrid had been widowed many months ago and had recently returned to Rosewald from her marital home in Italy. Come to think, she hadn’t seen Rupert in a long time either—three years this December. She knew they would find her much changed, since she had been only a girl when last they had met. Would she find them greatly altered too? she wondered. With Rupert’s continued delay, she would obviously have to wait a while more to find out.
For now, she had the incorrigible Nick Gregory with which to deal, she thought. A frisson of warmth chased through her veins at the reminder of the earl—the sensation no doubt inspired by her continued irritation with the man. Yet she couldn’t help but be intrigued by him as well. From remarks he’d made, she sensed he wasn’t necessarily comfortable with his new title, a curious reaction for a man raised in the aristocracy.
“What did his lordship, the present earl, do prior to coming into the earldom?” she asked the maid before she thought better of the question.
“Master Nick?” the maid piped, her expression relaxing. “Oh, he were a captain in His Majesty’s Navy. Decorated any number of times for bravery in battle, though he ain’t one to brag. Way I heard, he were due to be made rear admiral when he got word about poor Lord Lyndhurst. Near broke his heart, I expect, losing his brother and having to resign his commission in a single stroke, as it were.”
A captain of the high seas? Somehow it fit, seeing in her mind’s eye Nick Gregory standing on the deck of a ship, the waves churning blue-gray and foamy white against the vessel’s fast-moving prow. Suddenly she thought again of his unusual footman and wondered if Bell had been one of Nick’s crew.
“Well, I’d best leave ye to rest, miss,” the maid said after a long moment’s silence. “If ye need aught else, ye’ve only to mention it.”
“Thank you. I shall keep that in mind,” Emma murmured, letting the girl withdraw and close the door behind her.
Finally alone, Emma took a few moments to inspect her surroundings again before moving to the washstand on the far side of the chamber. She washed her face and hands, then scrubbed her teeth with the toothbrush and cinnamon tooth powder she found in one of the drawers. Unfastening the buttons on her half boots, she toed them off with a grateful sigh, then turned toward the bed.
Lying back across the mattress, she found the feather tick plump and comfortable, the buttery yellow counterpane soft and smelling ever so faintly of lavender. Considering the scant amount of rest she’d gotten the night before, it should have been an easy thing to drift off. But after ten long minutes, she knew she would not be able to rest.
I’m simply too wound up to sleep, she realized, knowing it was futile to continue trying.
Wondering how to occupy herself, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and gazed around again, taking note of a fine rosewood writing desk placed in a sunny spot near one of the windows.
Why, of course, she thought. She would compose a letter to Ariadne and Mercedes; it would be just the thing. Leaping to her feet, she padded stocking-footed across the room and sank down onto the small rosewood chair at the desk. Inside one of the drawers, she found paper, ink, and pens.
After arranging everything to her satisfaction, she dipped her neatly sharpened quill into the ink and prepared to begin. But in spite of her closeness with her two friends and the need to share her news, she found herself hesitating over exactly what to write. And even more, what seemed safe to reveal under the circumstances.
To her knowledge, Countess Hortensia and the teachers at the academy didn’t normally read student mail. But would they intercept and read a letter from her, she wondered, if the duchess had written first to inquire after her whereabouts? If that were the case, then revealing too much could not only get her summarily returned to the estate, but might put her friends in a very awkward position.
Tapping the feathered end of the quill pen against her cheek, she considered possible phrasing.
Dear Ariadne and Mercedes. I have run away and am living with a man I met only this morning. He helped me after I was robbed in the market, but he’s perfectly respectable… if you consider roguish ex-navy captains respectable. Oh, and he is an earl. Did I mention that he’s mouthwateringly attractive and so charming he could tempt a nun to break her vows? Not that I’m interested in him in that way, since I’m not. Still one cannot help but admire beauty in whatever form it may take.