Chapter Eighteen

E mmie paced the hallway just outside Mrs. Winterbourne's parlor door, half insane from the wait. Mr. and Mrs. Crampton were in that room talking about her with her mother. Emmie's legs shook, and she flexed her fingers, impatient for the moment that the door would open, and she would be invited inside.

It surprised her that Mrs. Winterbourne's servants hadn't bothered her, and nor had the widow herself. But that was all right, because Emmie didn't want to explain who she was. Introductions would come later.

Pausing by the door, she breathed deeply and smoothed her hands down her dress. For today's visit, she had chosen to wear the same blue-mint velvet dress, with the black lace over-bodice, that Georgia had given her. Would her mother recognize it from her sister's collection? Emmie shrugged. Probably not.

She took a deep breath and slowly released it as she pressed her ear to the door, hoping to hear something, anything, that would calm her jittery nerves right now.

Mr. Crampton's voice boomed through the room. From what she could gather, he was discussing last night's dinner party at Mr. Goodfellow's house.

Then she heard the loveliest voice, sweet and tender. Mother. Tears collected in Emmie's eyes, and her throat grew dry. Feelings she hadn't experienced before blossomed in her chest, and she craved the moment she would be in her mother's embrace.

"Daphne," Mr. Crampton said, "there is something I must tell you, but I have avoided doing so thus far in our conversation."

"Why, Henry? What is it about?"

He cleared his throat. "As I mentioned earlier, it was quite a shock to discover you are alive when fifteen years ago we heard your ship had been attacked by a fearsome pirate. Anyway, I'm here to tell you that there have been others who thought you were dead, too."

"Henry, this is all such a shock to me. But my family knew the truth."

"Well… um, not all of them. There are a few family members who still thought you had died."

There was a pause, and Emmie held her breath.

"What do you mean by that, Henry?"

"Well, you see… um… As miraculous as it sounds, um…" He cleared his throat again.

"Henry," Mrs. Crampton interrupted. "Why don't we just bring her in?"

"Uh, yes. Splendid idea," Henry answered.

Emmie's heart nearly knocked right out of her bosom. Her hands were cold, yet sweaty at the same time. And she feared her legs would not be able to hold her up much longer. She took two steps away from the door, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin, preparing herself for when the door would open.

Finally, it did, and Mrs. Crampton smiled as she motioned for Emmie to enter. On shaky legs, she walked the best she could into the room. When she rested her gaze on her mother, a knot of emotion caught in her throat, and immediately, her eyes watered. Never had she seen a lovelier woman. Dressed in a silver and white gown, the older woman had her hair tucked up neatly into a white cap, but her grayish-brown hair still showed around her forehead. Big, blue, wondrous eyes watched Emmie carefully.

Then her mother's eyes widened, and her face paled slightly. She ran her gaze over Emmie, from the top of her ringlet hair all the way down to her heeled shoes. When her mother's attention landed on Emmie's eyes again, they, too, were watery.

"You… you look like my sister, Victoria, but I know you aren't—" She stopped with a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth as a tear slipped down her cheek. "It cannot be…" She took a deep breath. "Emiline? My sweet little Emmie?"

Emmie's heart sang with gladness upon hearing the name she'd missed being called all these years. Tears swam in her eyes, impairing her vision. "Yes, Mother. I'm your little Emmie."

Her mother stood and slowly walked to her, tears streaming down her face. She gently touched Emmie's hair, and then her cheek. "Is it really you, or am I dreaming?"

"If you are, then I'm having the most perfect dream as well."

"Oh, my little Emmie." Her mother sobbed and threw her arms around Emmie, pulling her in for a tight hug. "I thought I had lost you."

"Mother," Emmie cried, wrapping her arms around her mother's waist. "We thought you had died. If we had known you were still alive—"

Daphne pulled back and looked into Emmie's eyes. " We? Who else are you referring to?"

Emmie offered a shaky smile. "Father and I."

"Your father is alive, too?"

"Yes."

"Oh dear. I had better sit before I swoon." Daphne pulled Emmie to the sofa, where they both sat, still in each other's embrace. "But this doesn't make any sense. I was told you and Byron were coming to join me here when your ship was attacked by the fearsome Captain Hawk, and everyone on board was killed."

"That is the same story we heard happened to you."

Daphne shook her head and pulled Emmie against her again. "We'll find out the truth, but right now I want to hold my little Emmie."

Emmie breathed a sigh of relief and cuddled her mother, who smelled like fresh flowers. Lilies. Emmie smiled—just as she remembered from fifteen years ago.

As she glanced around the room, she realized Mr. and Mrs. Crampton had left them alone. How very thoughtful.

Her mother stroked Emmie's hair and kissed her forehead. "Sweetheart, I need to tell you something that will come as a shock to you. But if I don't tell you now, you will find out soon enough."

"What is it, Mother?"

"You have a brother."

Emmie sucked in a quick breath of air and sat up, breaking her mother's hold. Daphne clasped Emmie's hands in hers and nodded.

"Yes, my dear. You have a brother. From what he has told me—and from what Mr. Crampton said about last evening's party—I think you have already met Elias."

"I have?"

"Yes. He was the one that caught you climbing a tree."

Stunned, Emiline couldn't speak for a few moments. I have a brother? "But Mother, he was very rude. I cannot possibly have a brother who is that spiteful."

Daphne laughed. "When Elias told me about the girl he found in the tree last night, he said she was very ill-mannered, and he could not believe how disrespectful she was—for a footman."

Although Emmie should be insulted, she couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Mother. I was only pretending to be a footman so I could spy on Mr. Goodfellow's party to find you."

Daphne cupped her daughter's face and smiled. "And now you have found me." She kissed her.

"But did you remarry?" Emmie held her breath. "Is that why I have a brother?"

"No, my dear. I was pregnant with Elias when I sailed to visit my family—although I didn't know I was with child. It wasn't until a month after I had heard you were dead that I realized I was going to have a baby."

Emmie grinned. "Father will be very pleased. He always wanted a son to teach to walk in his footsteps."

Her mother arched an eyebrow. "Pray tell, what has he done with himself all of these years?"

"He has been completely miserable. We both have."

Daphne placed a hand on her chest and breathed deeply. "As have I."

Emmie hugged her mother once more. "Oh, Mother, I'm so happy I found you. This time I will never let you go."

"And neither will I."

*

Broderick sat at the rickety table inside a tavern, sipping his ale. He wanted to drink himself into a stupor but had learned by now the consequences of drinking were not good. He needed a clear head to think—and because of his way of life, he had to be cautious from sunup to sundown.

A few times in his life he hadn't been cautious, which got him into trouble. He soon learned to be leery of everyone. So then why was he idiotic enough to let his heart get involved with a woman? Never had he felt this way, but he should have known better than to fall in love…

Groaning, he tipped back his mug and gulped down the remainder of the ale. "More ale over here," he called to the barmaid.

As he waited for the wench to bring him more, he gazed around the room at the other drunks. They were well into their cups, and it was still early afternoon. Apparently, their lives were more pathetic than Broderick's.

The tavern door opened, and he squinted against the blinding light. Once the door closed, he focused on the man coming his way. He smiled. "Phillip, would you like to join me?"

"I would, indeed." Phillip waved to the barmaid. "Bring me a mug, too." He sat next to Broderick and grinned. "It's been a while since we were able to drink like this."

"It has been quite a while, my good friend." Broderick patted his shoulder. "What's wrong with us? All work and no play?"

Phillip laughed. "Well, we are in hiding, so why shouldn't we play as well?"

"Exactly!"

The barmaid brought the drinks and left.

Broderick lifted his mug in a toast. "Here's to playing."

Phillip raised his mug and then clinked it against Broderick's before gulping the ale down. "Tell me, what has crawled into your head lately to get you like this? Not often do I see you this way. In fact…" He tilted his head, his narrow eyes studying Broderick. "If I'm not mistaken, I would think you are acting like a lovelorn fool."

Shaking his head, Broderick laughed. "Your eyes are not mistaken, Phillip." He frowned and stared at his mug. "Indeed, I have been a fool."

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No."

"Come now, my good man. How else are you going to work through your pain?" Phillip pointed to Broderick's mug. "You have learned by now that ale is not going to help you through this."

Broderick nodded. "You are wise beyond your years, Phillip." Sighing heavily, he raked his fingers through his hair as he stared at the grimy table. "Once again, in my wretched life, I have let a woman's lies woo me. I have only found a few women who could turn my thoughts to love, but they have lied to me. Now, I find a woman I can easily talk with who makes me feel desirable. She makes me feel like her hero. Then I discovered she lied to me. She isn't the woman I thought she was."

"What are you saying? You have charmed many women, Broderick. Have none of these others made you feel desirable?"

"Not one. Most of them were brainless twits, and conversing with them became futile. But then I met… her. She is well educated, and she knows how to make me laugh." A wistful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, so he quickly took another drink.

"Are you talking about the woman I caught you kissing last night?"

"Aye. The very same."

"But I thought you were interested in wooing Lady Sarah."

Broderick snorted a laugh and looked at his friend. "I discovered an interesting tidbit last night after Mr. Goodfellow's party. Apparently, my Emiline has been masquerading as a lady's companion since the first time I met her." He shook his head. "She is the real Lady Sarah—not the woman we have come to know as Lady Sarah Langston."

Phillip's jaw dropped and he set his mug back on the table. "Are you jesting?"

"Not in the least."

"Why did she do that?"

Broderick shrugged. "I wish I knew. After my uncle told me of the switch, I didn't care to hear any more."

Phillip blew out a heavy breath. "Indeed, this is quite a shock."

"That it is." Broderick drank the rest of his ale. "But why am I so surprised that she lied to me? After all, I haven't met a woman who knows how to be truthful."

Phillip leaned in closer. "Did you tell her about Captain Hawk?"

Broderick scowled. "Don't be ridiculous."

"So, you lied to her as well. Two wrongs don't make a right, you know."

"But I had to lie to her. I cannot have people know I'm the fearsome pirate," he whispered.

"Then I assume she has her reasons for keeping the truth from you."

Broderick smacked the table. "Why are you defending her?"

"I'm not. I'm trying to make you see that sometimes people have reasons for lying to those they love."

Growling, Broderick pushed both hands through his hair, wishing the confusion in his skull would disappear.

Phillip slapped Broderick on the back. "Come. Let me get you out of here before you are too drunk to walk."

Nodding, Broderick dug into his pocket and threw some coins on the table to pay for both of their drinks. "I would appreciate that."

As Broderick stood, the room tipped for a moment. Groaning, he rubbed his forehead. He shouldn't have had that last mug of ale. Slowly, he walked to the door. When Phillip opened it, Broderick squinted against the bright light and moved outside. He inhaled several deep breaths of fresh air before proceeding to walk.

After a few minutes, his head began to clear, and when it did, thoughts of Emiline returned, as did the pain in his heart. His heartache and frown would be his constant companions until he figured out how to forget about her.

"Um, Broderick. You had better prepare yourself," Phillip muttered, glancing up the street.

Broderick focused in that direction until his fuzzy vision cleared. Up ahead, he saw Emiline walking with her mother and another man. She was wearing the same dress as that day they left her grandmother's house—the same one that had him tongue-tied and feeling like the most fortunate man alive.

He certainly didn't feel that way now, and he didn't want to see her, let alone talk to her. Unfortunately, her little troupe was heading right for him. Fortune wasn't on his side today, because her gaze met his and held.

How could he get himself out of this?