Chapter 23

Emmaline had barely slept by the time the sun rose the next morning. She sat in the window seat of the master bedroom, overlooking the street below, praying that her husband would return.

He had been gone all night long without word, off with his uncle and Tiny to learn what they could about the mystery sender of the threatening letter. And with him gone, Emmaline had asked Lorraine to bed with her, just as she and her own sister had often done during traumatic events, like when her youngest brother had fallen sick of a fever or Sebastian had fallen from his horse with severe injuries that had left him on the brink of death.

Those nights had turned out to be just bad nightmares she woke up from when the dawn arose, but she feared that would not be the case with their current situation.

Lorraine's gentle breathing, having finally passed out sometime around the chime of the fourth bell of the church tower down the street, was the only thing that broke the silence of the room. And in the din, Emmaline wondered where her husband might be, if he might be hurt, if he would ever return to her.

Clutching her robe close to her chest, she reached out a finger and brushed it over the condensation that had gathered on the windowpane. It was raining outside but still, she could just see the street below, the lamplighters going about their work extinguishing the previous night's lamps.

And as she watched, a curiosity caught her eye: a small boy in a dark hood, scurried down the pavement, his head darting this way and that beneath the heavy cowl.

Before she knew it, he had disappeared from her view, darting towards the gate at the bottom of the garden.

Alex! She thought, racing from the room. He had finally sent word.

Careful not to awaken Lorraine, she slipped from the room and rushed bare foot down the hall towards the servants stairs. There was only one entrance a dirty little street urchin like that would dare to knock upon and so, Emmaline fled down the stairs towards the servants quarters and the servant's entrance beyond.

"Your Grace!" Benedict's voice startled her as she raced past the open door of his office without so much as a glance. Skidding to a halt in her night gown and robe, she wrapped her arms around her chest and took a step backwards.

"Benedict, I had no idea anyone would be up this early."

"I have not slept, Your Grace," Benedict told her, and Emmaline remembered Alex's words from the night before. Clearly, he had not been jesting when he had told them that all the men would not sleep a wink until they had gotten to the bottom of this.

The butler rose from where he had been seated at his desk and crossed the room to stand in the doorway. He was a somewhat imposing figure standing at a foot taller than her, but Emmaline quickly reminded herself, she was the lady of the house.

"Please, do not trouble yourself, Benedict," she insisted. "I merely came down to get a glass of water."

"You ought have rung for one of the servants, Your Grace. It is much too cold and dreary down here."

Emmaline shook her head. "With everything going on, I did not wish to trouble anyone. Please, go back to your rest. You must be exhausted."

She was most relieved when the butler did not take too much convincing. Clearly, he was simply too tired to argue. He stifled a yawn and bowed low. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Emmaline fought the urge to hurry off, letting her feet carry her swiftly but not so fast as to cause alarm, right to the kitchen door down the hall. She did not go any further until she heard the squeak of the butler's chair legs on the floor.

Breathing only a half-sigh of relief, she continued on to the servant's entrance and carefully unlatched it. The hooded boy stood just beyond, arm raised as if about to knock.

When he lifted his head, his hood falling, his eyes were round with astonishment at the sight of her. "Your…Your Grace, a message for you."

"Thank you most generously, good sir," Emmaline said, taking the letter from him. "I shall see you well compensated."

She cursed herself then for not having brought him a coin in thanks for easing her terrified heart. The boy dipped his head and hurried off back into the rain before Emmaline could even think to offer him a towel and a warm drink before he went on his way.

Closing the door with her breath held, Emmaline placed the latch back in its metal and hurried to the kitchen before she dared to open the note.

And the second that she did, her heart sank. It was not an update from her husband but in fact a note from her father, a note asking her to visit him. Secretly and discreetly were his words, and Emmaline's insides twisted into knots all over again.

Alex had forbidden anyone to leave the house without his expressed order. How was she to accomplish such a feat? It would have to be right then, while Lorraine was still abed, and Sean still looking over Alex's belongings for any clue as to who might be targeting them.

There was no sight nor sound of another living soul as Emmaline slipped past the butler's office. A quick glance inside told her the man had finally lost his battle to exhaustion as his head was rested upon his arms on his desk.

The next door was a closet, one she had seen open on only one of two previous visits she had made down into the servants quarters when she had insisted upon speaking with the cook. It had been a supplies closet. Surely there had to be something in there she might use to disguise herself.

And, as luck would have it, she quickly found a spare maid's dress. It was a size too large for her, but it would have to do. Whatever her father had to speak with her about, she had a gut feeling it had something to do with their quarry. No doubt, word had reached his ear of what had happened at the Tillington's the night before.

All she had to do now was make it across the square, down two streets and across the second square to make it to the back door of her old home.

Even as she slipped from the servant's entrance, she couldn't help but wonder, what if the house is being watched?

Sneaking about in a maid"s costume was rather easier in the early light of dawn than Emmaline ever would have imagined. Slipping her feet into a pair of riding boots that had been left for polishing beside the back door, after having left a note for her husband somewhere that Benedict might find, she hurried swiftly as possible to her father"s house.

Nobody was to expect a duchess to be skulking around in a maid"s uniform at dawn, but she kept her head down, turning from the few she met along the way. The lamp boys seemed far too preoccupied to notice her and the single gentleman already upon a stroll with his dog did not think to look twice at her.

Before she knew it, she had slipped around the back of her father"s house to knock upon the servant's entrance.

It was only when it opened upon a familiar face that she remembered to breathe. Though it was clear from the maid"s expression that she had caused some breathlessness on her part.

"My… Your Grace!" Molly, one of the youngest maid's in her father"s employ dipped low after only a moment stuck in comprehension.

"May I come in, Molly? My father sent for me," Emmaline whispered, looking back over her shoulder to be certain she had not been followed.

"Oh yes, of course, Your Grace," Molly said, holding open the door and stepping out of the way. "Shall I have someone send for your father?"

"No, please, do not trouble yourself," Emmaline insisted. She kicked off the riding boots and started to make her way toward the servants stairs. "Shall I find him in his study?"

"I believe so, my la… Your Grace," Molly called after her, clearly flustered.

Emmaline wasted no time. She raced up the stairs, even stubbing a toe on the stone steps as she went. The pain was throbbing, but she ignored it. If her father had some information that might help them, she had to know what it was. She had to get word to Alex. She had promised him, and herself, that one day she would see him out of that devil"s mask for good and she would be damned if she fell at the first hurdle.

Out of breath, she knocked on the study door and entered the moment she heard her father's voice.

"Emmaline!" he exclaimed, jumping up from his chair so swiftly that his spectacles started to slip down his nose. He barely gave himself time to push them back up as he moved to meet her. "I did not expect you to come so swiftly!"

Emmaline had been embraced by her father on multiple occasions but the way he pulled her in and clutched her tightly now brought tears to her eyes.

"I came as soon as I got your note," Emmaline said, pulling back. She wanted so desperately to make this reunion last. She had seen her father so little since being married, only twice in all these weeks, but there were pressing matters to be discussed. "Do you know something, papa? About the accident last night?"

She looked him dead in the eye and saw the confusion stream his gaze. "Accident? What happened? Are you hurt?"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her up and down. Emmaline"s stomach twisted. If this was not about last night, then what was it about?

Feeling deflated, Emmaline said, "If this is not about last night then what is it about, papa?"

A look of frustration passed over her father's face. "What happened last night?"

Emmaline gritted her teeth. "We ought to sit."

"Of course," her father said, gesturing to the couch across from his desk. His eyes never left her, examining her up and down as if still looking for some injury, as he led her to the couch, and they sat together. Hand in hand, they sat, and for a moment neither spoke.

Then, Emmaline finally plucked up the courage to tell her father all that had happened the night before. She watched his face grow pale and his eyes widen, praying his heart could take all that she was telling him.

By the time she had finished, he clutched his chest in a way that made her anxious. "This is even worse than I imagined."

She was about to ask him exactly what it was he had imagined when he released her hand and stood, crossing the room to his desk.

"Papa? What is it?" Emmaline asked, feeling a distinct sensation that she was missing something.

He didn't answer. Instead, he picked up a piece of paper from his desk and returned to her, handing it over immediately. "Read this."

Emmaline furrowed her brow. Taking the letter from him, she started to read. And upon reading the first few lines, she paused and looked at him. "I don't understand. This is dated just last week."

Her father nodded. Pointing over the edge of the paper, he said, "And you see the signature?"

"Yes, it is the signature of the captain of the India Rose but that cannot be," she said, handing the letter back to him. "This suggests that the ship is bound to arrive in London today but that cannot be."

"Look at the letter head," her father said, holding the letter so she could see.

Emmaline looked. To her it looked like any other letter head she had seen from the shipping notices and letters they had received from the docks. Though, somehow, there was something not quite right about it.

Her confusion clearly read upon her face for her father jumped up once more and hurried back to his desk. When he returned, he held the first letter and another, one she had seen before, one that filled her with dread.

"Look, Emmaline, the letter heads are different," her father insisted. Taking the letters from him, she looked closely and sure enough there were several inconsistencies. They were small, but the more she looked, the more she saw.

With a gasp, her insides quivering with something akin to hope, she asked, "What does this mean, papa?"

"This," her father said, plucking the letter of the ship's destruction from Emmaline's trembling hand, "Is a forgery."

Emmaline's mouth dropped open. "How can you be so sure?"

The look of triumph in her father's face was intoxicating. Already she could feel a certain excitement bubbling up inside her.

"When I received that letter yesterday," he said, gesturing to the one still in her hand. "I personally visited the docks and spoke to the dock's clerk. He told me himself it had to be a forgery."

"But who…who would do such a thing?"

Emmaline's entire body trembled now. She had the distinct feeling she was going to like the next words that came from her father's lips.

"Isn't it obvious, my dear?" he demanded. "Who stood to gain the most from a lost shipment that wasn't truly lost? Who might have hoped to gain all of the profit for himself?"

No, papa, do not say it! Emmaline pleaded with him silently for her heart was already breaking.

"The devil himself!"

"No!" Emmaline cried, jumping to her feet. The letter fluttering from her hand and landed on the seat beside her father. He picked it up and clutched both, shaking them before her.

"Don't you see? He had this planned all along. He falsified that letter to send me into ruin to take all of the profit himself and he even manipulated me into giving you as collateral to boot!"

The words spilled from his lips like poison and though Emmaline turned away, it did nothing to stop her from hearing them.

"Alex wouldn't do that."

"Are you on such familiar terms with him?" her father's tone seethed.

"He is my husband!" Emmaline protested, whipping around to face her father. "Of course I am on familiar terms with him!"

A look of sympathy flashed across her father's face. He slowly rose to his feet, dropping the letters where he had been sitting before he moved to take hold of both her hands.

"You are a good woman, Emmaline, one just like your mother," he said, sighing deeply. He shook his head, a look of failure in his expression. "You always wish to see the good in others but sometimes there just is no good to be found."

"I have found it. Alex is not the man you believe him to be!"

Emmaline fought with everything she had not to snatch her hands from her father's and run. She had to make him believe. She had to make him see that he had all of this wrong.

Slipping both her hands into one of his, he raised his other to cup her cheek softly. His smile was sad, his eyes filled with tears as he said, "Your mother would be so proud of you, Em."

Emmaline's throat constricted.

"But the devil lord is the cruelest, most vicious man there is and any kindness he may have shown you is all for his own ends," he insisted.

Emmaline could not take it a moment longer. She stepped away quickly, causing her father's hands to fall to his sides.

"No. I will not hear another word of this!" Again, she turned away, ready now more than ever to leave. "I never should have come."

But before she could go anywhere, her father gripped her wrist and urged her back around to face him. "Give me until tomorrow morning to prove it."

Emmaline's skin crawled. "How?"

"I shall return to the docks myself and await the shipment. When the devil turns up to collect his prize, I shall catch him red-handed."

"No, papa, it is too dangerous! This could be anyone's doing. They might be even more dangerous than you imagine!"

She clutched her father's hands then pleadingly.

"I must go," he said, squeezing her hands in return. "However it is. I cannot face ruin."

"I should go home," Emmaline insisted. "I should ask Alex myself. He will tell me if this is true or not."

"No! Emmaline, you shall play right into his hands if you return to him!" her father protested, and his grip tightened on her hands. "I cannot allow you to leave. That dark place is not your home. You belong here with your family. This is your home."

The desperation in his voice was heart-shattering but all Emmaline could think about was proving her husband's innocence.

"I have to go, papa, I have to…" she half-turned away again only to feel his anxious hands tugging her back close.

"No! Emmaline, I cannot bear to lose you," he cried out loud enough that she was sure most of the house could hear. "I already lost your mama. I cannot lose you too."