Page 4 of Lady Emily’s Matchmaking Mishap (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #5)

Chapter Two

“Cissy, I’ve got the solution to all our problems.” Emily burst into their room, breathless, for she’d scrambled up the stairs in a very unladylike manner, two steps at a time.

Cissy was sitting in an armchair, her foot propped up on a cushion, looking up from her embroidery with mild interest. “Really? What has happened? And what on earth has happened to your dress? It’s all wet—is that mud? And you’re all red in the face and your hair is in disarray, worse than it usually is.”

“Is it?” Emily glanced into the mirror hanging over the fireplace and grimaced as she saw her brown, wispy hair more out of its bun than in it. “No wonder he looked at me like I was Medusa. I look terrible!”

“Who do you mean, Emmy?”

“Him. The coachman. A most annoying, oafish person.” Emily knelt beside Cissy and took her hands in hers. “I meant it when I said I had the solution to all our problems.”

Unimpressed, Cissy picked up a pair of scissors and cut a thread in two. “I can’t wait to hear what story you’ve concocted now.”

“You won’t believe who just arrived at this very inn.” She gripped her sister’s hands with excitement.

“The King of England?”

“Almost.” She drew in a breath. “The devil himself.”

Cissy paused, threading a new needle. “Who?” She looked at Emily with a slightly tilted head. Then her eyes widened. “Surely you don’t mean, you can’t mean... ”

“Wolferton,” they said in unison.

“The devil, indeed,” whispered Cissy, pale. “He’s here? Truly?”

“He arrived the moment I stepped out into the yard. This is courtesy of his coachman.” Emily gestured at her mud-splattered dress and grimaced.

“I told you we shouldn’t have come here. Nothing good will come of it,” Cissy wailed.

“Hush. But think about it, it’s perfect! You know what we overheard last night, in the taproom.” The two ladies at the next table had not been at all discreet when they had discussed the exclusive house party to be held at Ashbourne House. “Wolferton has arrived in person. He is on his way to Ashbourne House, which, as you know, is only a few hours from here. His coachman confirmed it.” Emily bit her lower lip for a moment as she recalled her interaction with the coachman. “Come to think of it, he didn’t actually confirm that there was to be a country house party, but he didn’t deny it either.”

Cissy tugged the thimble from her finger. “The maids are talking about nothing else. He wants to settle down. Could there be some truth in that? Could he really be looking for a wife?”

Emily nodded. “Imagine that: England’s most sought-after bachelor finally puts himself on the marriage mart.” She clasped her hands in mock reverence.

Cissy shuddered. “Apparently, he is ruthlessly pursued by every creature in London who wears a petticoat, so he mostly avoids social events. On the rare occasions when he does show his face, such as at Almack’s, he causes quite a stir. The dances are disrupted as all the women flock to him. Or so the maids say. You know how unreliable all the on-dits can be.” She wrinkled her nose. “Honestly, I don’t understand it, Emmy. Who on earth would want to marry that hateful man?”

“I know exactly who’d want to marry him.” Emily paused dramatically, then pointed a finger at her. She took a big breath before proclaiming, “You.”

Cissy blinked back in incomprehension.

Emily stood in front of her with her hands on her hips. “I’m terribly sorry, Cissy, but you will have to marry him.”

“Emily White!” Cissy threw down her embroidery. “This is not a joking matter.”

“I’m not joking. I am deadly serious. If there is to be a party at Ashbourne House, with the sole purpose of Wolferton choosing a bride, you will, most definitely, be there.”

“No, Emily. Never.” Cissy shook her head.

“Yes, Cissy. Absolutely. You will be a smashing success. You will bowl him over and marry him.” Emily paced the floor in front of her. “Think about it! It is the solution to all our problems.”

“Marry the Devil Duke?” Cissy shrieked. “Are you out of your mind? He’s awful!”

Emily dropped down beside her and grabbed her hands. “Yes, he is, you’re right. He’s awful, and terrible, and everything that’s bad under the sun. Like, like—” She lifted a finger and crunched up her forehead in thought, searching for a simile. “Like a rotting carcass that stinks to high heaven.” She pinched her nose for emphasis.

“Overflowing cesspits,” Cissy added with a shudder. “That’s worse.”

“The slaughterhouse.”

“The urine pots of the tanneries.” Cissy choked.

“Rotting fish.”

“Unwashed feet.”

The girls looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“But you know what rather surprised me?” Emily said, still catching her breath. “When I saw him, my first impression was that he didn’t look like rotten fish and unwashed feet, Cissy. On the contrary; he was young, and very well dressed, and as he walked past me he smelled of violets, blast the man. You know how much I like violets.” Her nose wrinkled, as if it hurt her to admit that there was something admirable about the Duke. “He’s an out-and-outer, looking more like a dandy than a devil. Not bad looking at all, if you ignore that silly hairstyle of his.” She gestured with her hand to her forehead, mimicking the Duke’s hair with an exaggerated sweep of her hand. “There is nothing terrifying about him in the least.”

Cissy's hand flew to her chest. “What are you saying, Emily? That you like him?”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Like him? Good heavens, no! I mean, he’s just a man. A corrupt man with too much money, power, and a title. A man who needs to be taught a lesson in humility. A man in search of a wife. You. You will be a duchess!”

“A duchess?” Cissy echoed weakly.

“Yes.”

Cissy shook her head. “You know I don’t care about any of this. Least of all a title.” She stuck out her lower lip stubbornly.

“But we both care about Meadowview Cottage.” Emily resumed pacing. “And about finally returning home.”

“Home,” Cissy whispered, her wide blue eyes filled with yearning.

“Home.” Emily nodded. She stopped pacing and sat on the floor, leaning her head against Cissy’s arm as she continued. “Do you remember what that feels like? No more endless travelling from Paris to Brussels to Scotland to Wales to Cornwall to Bath under false identities and false names. Aren’t you as tired of this lifestyle as I am? Never belonging, only pretending to belong. Never quite at home. Never really getting close to people. Only pretending to be. And with it, the constant unease, the perpetual fear of being exposed. Think of it: it can finally come to an end, this awful life of pretence and dissimulation. If you marry the Duke, we can finally have a home. And Meadowview Cottage can be ours. Forever.”

Cissy shook her head firmly. “Not true. Meadowview Cottage is located on Ashbourne Estate, so it’ll belong to the Duke, even after marriage.”

Emily pressed her hands together. “But you can ask him for it as a wedding gift. Meadowview Cottage can be yours. It can be our home again.”

“The price is too high. Marry that devil?” Cissy shuddered. “He has no conscience and a heart harder than stone.”

“True. But think of what you would gain.”

“Other than material possessions, I can’t think of anything I would gain from such a union.”

Emily stood and stared out of the window, watching the sun set orange in the distance beyond the fields.

“Revenge,” she whispered. “Revenge for Papa. Revenge for us.” She let the words sink in. Then she added quietly, “It would be the perfect revenge. The perfect opportunity. Everything we’ve lost—restored. He won’t know what hit him. He won’t suspect our true identities—until it’s far too late. This will be our final, grand deception. Our grand finale, if you will.” She whirled around to look at Cissy, a gleam in her eyes. “Don’t you think that alone is worth the endeavour?”

Cissy looked at her doubtfully. “Revenge? How unlike you to even mention the word. It doesn’t sound like something we could ever achieve successfully. Not with a man like him.”

Emily tried to stifle a grin, but it did not escape Cissy’s watchful eyes. She brushed a stray thread from her skirt. “What? I know that look on your face. You’ve done something. Tell me!”

Emily picked invisible specks of dust from her sleeve. “I may have seen his hat sitting on a chair, quite unattended. It’s a ghastly one, with peacock feathers this high.” She lifted a hand to indicate the height. “Fashion like that should be forbidden, I tell you. And I may have seen a pair of scissors lying on the bar... ” She looked at Cissy with wide, innocent eyes.

“You didn’t!” Cissy gasped. “Emily. He’s a duke! You don’t do these things with impunity. What if you were caught?”

“But I didn’t get caught,” Emily replied smugly. “I just improved his hat a bit. It looks so much better without all that frippery.”

Cissy put her hand over her mouth. “What did you do with the feathers?”

She blinked innocently at the ceiling. “A handful of peacock feathers now decorate the pigsty.”

The look of comic horror that crossed Cissy’s face caused Emily to burst into laughter. She took her sister in her arms. “Don’t worry, sister. I won’t get caught. This is just a silly, childish prank.” She pulled away and gave her a more sober look. “What I was talking about before wasn’t such petty revenge. I mean righting a wrong. The wrong that was done to Papa and to us.”

There was a tense silence in the room; only the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece was heard.

Emily smiled sadly. “But I won’t force you to do this, Cissy, if you don’t want to. You're right. A lifetime of marriage to a devil like him is indeed too high a price to pay for one small moment of petty triumph. I don’t want you to live an unhappy life. But, oh, for a moment, allow me to dream.” She sighed. Then she gestured to the half-unpacked trunk on the floor. “Otherwise, let us pack up and go back to Scotland. We can be Ladies Annabelle and Honey Hepplewhite again, and convince a lonely old lady living alone in her big house that we are her long-lost great-grandnieces. We’ll look after her, treat her well, and be the family she needs. In return, she will give us food and a temporary home. That’s all we need, isn’t it? It has worked like a charm every time. How many times have we done this? Three, four times?”

“Five times,” Cissy whispered. “We were Lady MacCullen’s granddaughters until she died. Then we moved to Brussels, where we were the nieces of Colonel Billington, until he died at the Battle of Waterloo. Then we were Miss Marianne Stephenson’s cousins, fresh from India. Dear old Mr Sylvester Johnson’s granddaughters, until, alas, he too died. And finally, Lady Henrietta Hepplewhite’s great-nieces in Bath... ” Her voice choked with tears.

Parting with Lady Henrietta had hurt the most. She’d been a kind, frail lady, and they’d had a truly affectionate relationship. They’d lived peacefully in her townhouse in Bath for the last three years, not taking part in any social life aside from going to the theatre now and then and taking the waters at the Pump Room. Their life with Lady Henrietta had been the closest thing to a home they’d had since Papa died.

“My girls, you are a blessing in my life,” she’d often told them. “You are the light in the life of an old woman like me. What would I do without you?”

They’d been so happy. Then, out of the blue, a real cousin, a certain Lord John Hepplewhite, had appeared and begun to question their presence in his aunt’s house. His interrogation began over tea.

“The daughters of which of the Hepplewhite sons did you say you are, exactly?” He’d looked at them with suspicious, narrowed eyes, a lock of yellow hair falling into his high forehead.

“George, of course,” Emily had said with aplomb. It was a safe choice, since every second man was called George these days.

“George.” His eyes had been cold. “I find that odd, because as far as I know, Uncle George died of smallpox when he was ten.”

Emily waved her hand airily. “Of course he did. What I meant to say, of course, was that our father was Uncle George’s brother. His name was... ”

“These are Edmund’s girls, John. I told you,” Lady Henrietta cut in, her usually quiet, frail voice unusually firm. “There’s no doubt about it. Now, instead of interrogating my girls and ruining our tea time with your rude behaviour, which I find most unpleasant for it spoils my appetite entirely, let us change the subject. Did you see Kemble’s latest performance at Covent Garden in London? Tell me all about it.”

But Lord John remained suspicious. When, shortly before his departure, he said he was going to London to investigate the matter and find out the exact whereabouts of his Uncle Edmund and his two supposed daughters, Emily knew with a heavy heart that their time with Lady Henrietta had come to a resounding and final end.

They had no choice but to pack their bags quietly and disappear from Lady Henrietta’s life before she discovered the truth.

For the truth was that she and her sister Cecily were not ladies at all.

They were impostors.

They were born as simply Miss Emily and Miss Cecily White, the daughters of a modest village schoolmaster and a Berkshire lace maker, poorer even than beggars in Piccadilly.

No one had ever doubted their false identities. It was, Emily reasoned, because Cissy was so very beautiful. One look at her and people were dazzled. A creature like Cissy could pass for the Queen of England herself if she set her mind to it. Anyone would believe her in a heartbeat.

They had yet to test that.

Emily was growing weary of it all. So very weary!

No one had ever questioned their name and background. No one had questioned their heritage. No one had ever asked if her father was really a duke or a marquis or an earl.

Until that accursed Lord John Hepplewhite had come along and upended their lives. They'd packed up and fled, boarding the next coach, which happened to be bound for London.

Cissy had cried the entire trip from Bath to Newbury. “Who will remind her to take her pills every morning? Who will take her for walks and make sure she doesn’t trip over the cobbles? Who will finish reading Northanger Abbey to her?” she sobbed into the handkerchief.

Emily had simply answered with a heartfelt sigh.

They’d been on the road ever since. When they passed through Berkshire, so close to Ashbourne Estate, Cissy's tears had dried as she stared at the familiar landscape.

“We really shouldn’t be here,” she’d whispered.

Emily had initially agreed.

But fate had other plans. When the coach pulled into a coaching inn, Cissy had slipped and twisted her ankle, leaving them no choice but to take a room until she recovered. Perhaps—just perhaps—Cissy’s injury was a convenient excuse to linger a little longer in the place of their childhood. Still, they couldn’t stay indefinitely. Room and board came at a steep price, and their funds were far from limitless.

“Revenge is tempting,” Cissy finally admitted in a quiet voice. “Shocking, isn’t it? That I’m actually saying that. But it is the truth. Besides, I am tired of this life. It is time for us to settle down. And marriage may well be the only option left to us. What is your plan?”

“The plan,” Emily replied, her eyes glowing with a belligerent spark, “is to continue the charade for a little while longer and attend Wolferton’s country house party. Once we’re there, things will take care of themselves.” Such was Emily’s confidence in Cissy’s charms. She would sweep him off his feet. She could sweep anyone off their feet. Even the Devil Duke himself.

Cissy made a weary gesture with one hand. “But how?”

“I’ve tried to win over his coachman, but he’s proving uncooperative—a vexatious, odious creature.” Emily’s cheeks flushed as she remembered his insolent wink. How dare he? “It cannot be helped. You must go down to the taproom, where he will no doubt be dining. All he has to do is see you, and I have no doubt he’ll extend an invitation on the spot. I’ll have to assume the role of your sister, Lady Poppy Featherstone, as you’ll need a chaperone.”

“But if I approach him first, he’ll think me forward, terribly ill-bred. If he’s a stickler for appearances, and he might be, it’ll ruin our chances before we even set foot in his house,” Cissy countered.

Emily’s eyes flashed with determination. “Then we’ll have to make sure he approaches you first. Leave that part to me.”

“What about my foot?” Cissy gestured to her swollen ankle, still propped up on the pillow.

Emily inspected the foot. “Has the swelling gone down?”

“It has. It has improved considerably. But it still hurts a bit when I try to walk.”

“You will have to bear it for a little while longer. But you must leave the room. How else are you going to meet the Duke?”

With a grimace, Cissy struggled to her feet, leaning on Emily’s arm for support. “It might put him off when he sees me limping across the room.”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “We’ll use that to our advantage. Trust me. We will catch that Duke, come what may.”