Luck Is No Lady (5 page)

Mr. Hale did not seem the type to give up altogether.

Emma kept the notes from Hale in her personal desk here in her bedroom rather than with the rest of her financial paperwork in Angelique's study. She did not want to risk her sisters coming upon them. There was no reason for them to start worrying about something Emma didn't yet fully understand.

For the moment anyway, there was nothing more she could do other than wait to see if the enigmatic Mr. Hale made further attempts at obtaining repayment. If he had intended to report the debt to the authorities, she would have been thrown in debtors' prison by now.

A chill ran through her at the thought.

Stubbornly looking away from the writing desk, Emma rose to extinguish the candles and remove her robe. Then she slipped into bed and rolled to her side, urging herself to fall asleep.

Tomorrow would be another day and another ball. Time was ticking steadily by and the Chadwicks could ill afford to waste a bit of it.

She certainly could not allow herself to be distracted by thoughts of a man like Mr. Bentley. But as the memory of the rogue's sardonic expression and whispered voice slid into her consciousness, thoughts of her family's debt started to drift to the back of her mind. And as she recalled the way his warm lips had covered hers in the darkened study, her anxiety melted into a strange and different kind of tension.

In spite of her exhaustion, Emma did not fall asleep until the faint tinge of dawn crawled across the sky.

Six days later, Emma found herself in a hired hack rolling through London in the late hours of morning.

She had taken extra care to dress in a style more serviceable than fashionable. Her blue gown was several years old and the color was slightly faded, but it was far more suited to her purpose than any of the gowns she had been wearing out in town recently. She wore a wool pelisse buttoned up to her chin, shoes of simple brown leather, and a wide-brimmed bonnet. She had chosen the bonnet specifically for the fact that if she lowered her chin, the oversized brim worked well to conceal her features from casual glances.

If anyone discovered the eldest Miss Chadwick on a mission to trade what skills she possessed in exchange for an appropriate wage, all of her efforts in giving Lily and Portia a proper presentation would be null and void. No gentleman would desire to take on the burden of a wife from a family so desperately in need of funds they would resort to seeking common employment.

Emma traveled a fine line this morning between salvation and destruction, but desperation had guided her decision and she would see it through. In another couple of weeks, her funds would completely dry up. To maintain a presence in society, Emma needed to earn a steady income.

It was rather serendipitous how she came across the posting of the position.

Angelique read
The Times
every morning over breakfast. Several days ago she had commented through the rustling pages how valuable it was these days for a person to have a good grasp on arithmetic. The Chadwicks were becoming accustomed to their great-aunt's odd ways and just smiled through the irrelevant comment.

However, later in the day, Emma came across the pages Angelique had been reading. They were folded open to the section advertising opportunities for employment. One post in particular caught Emma's eye. It announced an available position at a successful London social establishment. Applicants were required to possess a solid knowledge of mathematics and accounting, as well as an honest, dependable character. The post instructed interested parties to arrive at a particular address just off St. James's Street and inquire at the side door between the hours of nine and eleven.

Emma had always had an almost unnatural affinity for mathematics. It had been a source of curiosity and amusement in her family since she had been a young girl.

The general description in the advertisement certainly fit her, but she did not at first consider the possibility of applying. Despite her skill in arithmetic, she had no experience with bookkeeping beyond household accounts and she had no references to offer a prospective employer. That alone should have discouraged her from the idea.

Still, she had taken the advertisement up to her room and read through it several times over the last few days, wondering why she couldn't seem to disregard the notion completely.

Then this morning, as Lily and Portia slept off the effects of another late night, Emma found herself pulling the old gown from her wardrobe and twisting her hair into a simple bun at her nape. If she was quick about it, she could be gone and back again before her great-aunt or her sisters even awoke. Certainly, there was no harm in learning the details of the position and perhaps trying to obtain an interview. If it paid well and kept her evenings free, it could be the perfect solution to her immediate problem.

Of course, she would have to prove herself qualified and they would have to hire her first.

And she would have to keep her employment from becoming known amongst the
ton
or the entire endeavor would be for naught.

Emma was rarely uncertain about anything. When she had to make any decision, whether large or small, she made a practice of considering every angle and studying every possible outcome. In this instance, however, her decision to follow up on the advertisement had been more a leap of faith than conscious intention.

She sighed. It was a heavy weighted sound that filled the small confines of the hired cab. Cringing at how downtrodden she sounded, Emma stiffened her spine and her resolve.

When the carriage came to a jostling stop and the driver jumped down to open the door, Emma did not hesitate to exit the vehicle.

Looking up, she saw a somewhat large red-brick Tudor structure with wide granite steps leading up to the front door. The building held little in the way of extra adornment. Ivy had been left to grow up one side of the building, veiling the windows there. The windows in the other side were of dark leaded glass, allowing no glimpse of the interior.

She felt a rush of trepidation and lowered her head, shadowing her face with the brim of her bonnet. Squaring her shoulders and keeping her chin down, Emma approached the steps. She was halfway to the front door when she recalled the advertisement had instructed applicants to go to a side door. A gravel drive ran along one side of the building, most likely to an entrance for employees and deliveries. Descending the front steps, she turned down the drive and continued alongside the building until she came to a service entrance. Rapping sharply on the solid wood, she tucked her anxiety beneath a layer of thick fortitude and waited as she heard rough scuffling beyond.

The door opened swiftly, nearly catching her toes. A short, hulking man with extremely close-cropped gray hair and a nose that looked like it had been broken more than any man should endure suddenly filled the doorway. He looked more like a street brawler than a doorman.

“Wotchya want?”

Emma took a breath. “I am interested in the position—”

She was abruptly cut off as the stout-legged hulk shook his head. “Mrs. Beaumont's entrance is on the other side of the building. But she don't have need for any more girls right now. Check back next month.”

Emma frowned, searching for a proper response to the odd instruction. As the door began to draw closed again, she took a hasty step forward.

“Wait. I wish to speak with the party who placed the advertisement in
The Times
.”

The hulking doorman paused with a dubious expression. “Wot advertisement?”

“For the position of bookkeeper.”

The narrowing of his eyes caused his nose to bunch grotesquely as he dropped his gaze along her person, giving her a rude once-over. Emma refused to reveal her sudden discomfort. Such blatant discourtesy did not deserve a reaction.

After a moment she asked, “Will the interview take place here on the stoop, or do you intend to let me in?”

“But ye're a woman.”

“Is that a problem?” Emma did not care that she was starting to sound imperious. She had not intended to spend her morning arguing in a doorway. “The advertisement did not indicate the position was open only to men.”

The doorman began to appear quite put out as he ran a rough hand over the prickly surface of his scalp. He glanced over his shoulder then back at Emma.

She remained unmoving on the stoop, her gloved hands clasped at her waist, her gaze directed straight ahead at the thick curve of the man's chin. She could not let him turn her away. She was here now, and she would see this through to its final conclusion. She intended to gain an interview and would not leave until she did.

Softening her voice a slight degree, she asked, “What is your name, sir?”

The hulk's expression turned suspicious, but he answered. “Snipes.”

“Mr. Snipes—”

He interrupted with a gruff snort. “Just Snipes.”

Emma smiled. “Of course. Snipes. I can see you are apprehensive at the possibility of incurring the dissatisfaction of your employer. While such concern is admirable, I assure you the advertisement does not in any way indicate a woman cannot apply. I have the post with me if you would like to read it yourself.” She reached into the pocket of her skirt, but withdrew her hand again as Snipes gave a rough shake of his head.

“May I suggest you leave concerns regarding my gender in the hands of your employer? If he did not wish to receive female applicants for the position, he really should have stated so in his advertisement.”

Snipes eyed her with clear suspicion for another long moment before he gave a low harrumph and turned back toward the interior of the building. With a jerk of his head, he grumbled over his shoulder, “Come along.”

Emma followed the man's lumbering form down a narrow hallway to a servants' stair. The place smelled as though it had recently received a thorough scrubbing. The walls were whitewashed, the steps were swept clean, and the banister was polished to a rich shine. The proprietor obviously put significant importance on presenting a neat and tidy appearance.

Emma nearly nodded her approval, but managed to resist.

Snipes led her up to the second floor. From there he took her through a pair of double doors into another hallway very different from the one she had traversed below. The floor was thickly carpeted in dark royal blue and the walls were covered in a patterned wallpaper of a similar hue. Here and there stood various antique display tables. One held a large Oriental vase painted in rich, vibrant colors, another a carved bust of an unknown Roman figure, and yet another table held a gilded and filigreed clock. Small framed paintings depicting various outdoor scenes and landscapes lined both walls. The paintings were interspersed occasionally with sconces that utilized gas rather than candles. With the wide windows that spanned the far end of the hall, allowing in a significant amount of daylight, there was no need for them to be lit this morning.

The overall impression was one of understated but undeniable luxury.

And this was just a hallway.

Emma clenched her hands more tightly together as she fought to find a source of inner confidence.

Snipes slowed and turned to gesture for Emma to enter a small sitting room.

“Wait here. Someone'll fetch you.” Without waiting for her acknowledgment, the surly doorman turned and headed back the way they had come.

Emma looked into the room. The walls had been painted in a blue a few shades lighter than the hall. Two sofas sat facing each other, and the pale morning light flowed in through tall windows. A vase of roses softened the atmosphere with its subtle perfume.

Emma chose a seat where she had a clear view of the door with just a slight tilt of her head. The sitting room's emptiness was disconcerting. She had expected to see other applicants. Did the fact that there was no one else there indicate the position had been filled?

Surely Snipes would have said so if that were the case.

The anxiety she had been holding at bay quivered at the edge of her composure. She could not afford to allow any room for doubt to wiggle in. She hoped her talent for calculations and her practice in countering her father's reckless financial activities afforded her enough experience to avoid making a total fool of herself.

Fortunately, she was saved from going too far into conjecture over whether or not she had been rash in answering the advertisement. Though she had been watching the door intently, or perhaps because of it, she gave a start when a young man no older than Portia appeared. He wore the uniform of a footman, but rather than a colored livery, he was in all black with the exception of his snowy white shirt and stockings. The moment his gaze found her in the corner of the sofa, his youthful face split into a wide and winning grin.

“I was told there was an applicant for the bookkeeper's position. Be that you, miss?” His voice was pleasant and his speech carried a subtle hint of cockney, though it was barely noticeable.

Emma stood with a nod, hoping she would not meet more of the resistance she had gotten from Snipes. “It is.”

“Right. This way then.” He gave a beckoning jerk of his head as he swung back around and headed down the hall.

Emma frowned. Despite his impeccable and elegant appearance, the young footman had a manner far too familiar for a servant. She had to take swift strides to catch up to him as he continued down the hall in a long, rolling gait. He led her past three closed rooms before coming to a stop in front of a set of open double doors suggesting a large, well-lit room beyond. As he lifted his hand to rap his knuckles on the door frame three times, he turned and tossed her a jaunty wink.

Emma blinked. Far too familiar for sure.

There was an immediate call to “enter,” and the impertinent footman made a flourishing gesture to indicate she was to go into the room.

Jittering nerves tickled her spine, but she stepped forward resolutely, determined to give an impression of confidence and competency.

A massive desk sat before a row of windows, taking up much of the room. With the light directly behind him, the man seated at the desk was cast into gentle shadow. He sat with his head bowed and his elbows resting on the desk, appearing to be quite focused on the paperwork and books spread across the surface before him.

“The applicant,” the footman announced unceremoniously as he stepped backward into the hallway, pulling the doors closed. He hadn't even bothered to ask her name so she could be properly announced.

Emma was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as she waited for the man at the desk to acknowledge her presence.

It took him a rather long minute to do so. Her toes started to tingle from limited circulation as she refused to relax her posture or shift her weight to become more comfortable. Finally, he straightened in his chair and slid the papers together into a neat stack before he leaned back and lifted his head.

Emma's heart dropped to her feet. She found herself staring into eyes of the brightest, truest blue she had ever seen, surrounded by the unmistakable features of the notorious Mr. Bentley.

The intense focus of his gaze came to rest on her, causing her heart to leap back into her chest as it initiated an unruly rhythm. Only the instinct for survival kept her from dashing out of the room. How could she be so terribly unlucky?

If she had had any idea the advertisement had been placed by this man, she would have remained safely tucked in her bed that morning.