1
London - August 1820
“Must you leave?” Emily Parr flopped ungracefully onto the bed in a fashion more becoming of a girl of seven rather than seventeen.
Her mother, Clara, smiled at her as she pulled on a dark-red pelisse and fastened the buttons. She presented an elegant and willowy figure. Emily hoped she would someday be as beautiful as her mother. They shared the same violet eyes and dark-auburn hair.
“Yes, my heart. Your father and I need to have some time together. You know I don’t like it when he leaves us.”
“So instead you leave me to go to New York,” Emily reminded her. “I’ll be coming out soon. What if you miss my first Season?”
“I would never miss that. I have the most wonderful plans for your debut. I promise to be there.” Her mother leaned in and embraced Emily in a fierce hug. “You will be fine. Mrs. Danvers will take care of you, and your uncle Albert is here in London if you need him.”
Emily winced. Her father’s brother was not a pleasant man. He cared little for his brother’s family. Her mother straightened and started for the door. Something about seeing her mother leave sent a sharp cry of warning through her, almost feverishly, that she should say something.
“Mother! I love you!” she called out.
A deep sense of dread filled Emily’s chest in that heartbeat of an instant before her mother glanced over her shoulder and replied, “I love you too, darling . . .”
Emily tried to leave the bed as her mother and the sunny room dissolved around her.
Emily bolted upright in bed with a start. She blinked, breathing hard as a sob caught in her throat. The air was silent, cold, and stagnant around her, and the darkness that was usually a comfort was now oppressive. A light sheen of chilled sweat covered her skin. She trembled.
It was a dream. Just a dream. A dream she’d had so often of late.
What she’d seen in the dream hadn’t happened a year ago when her parents left. Emily had never said goodbye or that she loved her mother and father. No, she had decided that sketching a bunch of silly flowers was more important than making sure to be home when they left for New York. Now she would never have the chance again.
Emily sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and stared into the dim, moonlit room. It was not her bedchamber that she now slept in, but one of the spare rooms in Uncle Albert’s townhouse.
She had been here almost a year, ever since her parents’ ship had sunk on its return journey from New York.
Everything had changed. She was eighteen now. Her beloved governess, Mrs. Danvers, had taken another post with a little girl in need of a good tutor, and Emily had no choice but to live with her uncle. His London townhouse had perhaps been impressive once, but it was clear that her uncle’s mismanaged investments had made a decent upkeep of the house almost impossible. They had only a butler, a cook, one groom, one maid, and one footman to tend to the large townhouse.
Much of the furniture from her parents’ country home had been sold, and her beloved horse had been auctioned off so her uncle would have money to keep her fed and clothed. She’d had barely a few days to resign herself to losing everything of her old life before Uncle Albert had taken it all away from her.
She’d thought she had two choices: live with Uncle Albert or travel to Yorkshire to live with her mother’s distant cousin, Mr. Garrity. He was placed in charge of Emily’s inheritance, a small but decent-sized fortune that had been put into a trust for her. When Emily had asked Mr. Garrity whether she could live with him, he had objected quite strongly, asserting that he traveled often and could not see to the needs of a child. So her only option had been to live with Uncle Albert.
A child . . . Emily hadn’t been a child in a long time. If anything, in the last year she’d begun to feel ancient, in soul and spirit. It was clear that Uncle Albert did not want her either. She had done her best to leave him undisturbed as often as she could, and she tried to help around the house as best she could. But he usually grumbled about her being underfoot. A bloody nuisance, he always said.
Emily lay back down in bed. Dawn was still a few hours away, but fresh worries danced sinisterly around the edges of her mind like dark wraiths. Today her uncle would meet with two new business partners, and she had been ordered to be invisible while the men paid their calls. One man, a Mr. Blankenship, had had discussions about investing with Albert before. But the second, whose identity her uncle wouldn’t disclose to her, was new.
Perhaps her uncle would have some luck, and things would turn around. Uncle Albert hadn’t been pleased to learn that Mr. Garrity was Emily’s trustee, and that only small amounts of money were to be released each month for Emily’s care. It wasn’t enough. Even when Emily had pleaded her own case, Mr. Garrity had refused. He cited her uncle’s poor investment history as a dangerous circumstance, and he did not trust her uncle to spend the money on her.
Uncle Albert wasn’t so villainous as that, she thought, but he would certainly enjoy more money now that Emily was contributing to his bills. She had to agree that they needed more to live on, since she had her first ball in a month. If she didn’t have enough money to present herself well to society, she’d be trapped with Uncle Albert even longer than either of them wished—possibly forever.
Emily lay awake, exhausted from her dream, and when the clock in the hall chimed eight, she dragged herself out of bed. She rang the bell cord, and the maid, an older girl named Mary, eventually came to help her change and put her hair up. The blue day gown Emily wore was at least a year old, but it was made of a good strong muslin and still looked new. Some of her other gowns were not faring so well, as they were a few seasons old.
Having not yet debuted in society, she hadn’t needed new gowns each year. But that was about to change. She was eighteen now and would be stepping out into London society to present herself on the marriage mart. She couldn’t wear worn gowns to lavish balls. The delicate silks and satins she had were therefore well cared for and kept untouched unless she absolutely needed to wear them. As she had nowhere to go and needed to remain out of the way, the blue day gown seemed a sensible choice.
“Do you know when my uncle expects Mr. Blankenship?” Emily asked Mary.
The woman shook her head. “He made no mention to the staff, miss.”
“Right, well, I’d better go down and see if the cook needs help.” Emily left the maid to see to her duties. The amount of cleaning for such a large house truly required another three maids, but they couldn’t afford such luxury.
Emily touched the banister, and a thin layer of dust coated her fingertips. She softly cursed, something that would have made her mother frown and her father chuckle. So much for assisting the cook. She retrieved a white cloth and dipped it into some water, then carefully wiped the entire length of the wood until it gleamed. She let out a relieved sigh. At least all the small chores kept her busy. But she did miss the days when she could curl up in the library at her parents’ townhouse and read until dinner.
Emily put the cloth away and started for the kitchen, but her uncle’s voice stopped her.
“Emily?”
“Yes, Uncle Albert?” Emily approached her uncle’s study with trepidation. The door was ajar. She nudged it farther open and stepped inside.