"That is for the law."
Nan agreed with him, "'Tis not for the likes of a lady like you to be putting yourself in danger. Leave it to others to make sure the marquess doesn't get away with his misdeeds, my lady."
She cocked her head sideways, in quintessential Emily challenge. "Do they suspect him?"
What answer could he give her that would convince her she must put her own safety ahead of exposing the marquess' misdeeds? "I believe they do, but that was not my first concern. I've come to help you break your engagement. You must understand that we can see to justice only after that is accomplished."
"I suppose I do." She stared at him as if seeing him clearly for the first time, and a smile tugged reluctantly on her lips. "I nearly choked on my lemon tart when I saw you there. What possessed you to pretend to be a footman?"
He relaxed, glad that she had finally shifted the topic, though he wondered if she had truly reconciled herself to doing nothing about Granbury's crimes. "I'm not pretending."
"What do you mean, you are not pretending? You are a viscount, you are Valentine Fenster. You cannot be a footman, no matter how pretty you might be."
The compliment was unexpected. So she thought him handsome, did she? "Pretty? Handsome, I will concede, but I have impeccable references, I assure you."
"References, from whom?"
He said nonchalantly, "Soames was impressed with my reference from the household of the duke of Kerstone. He hired me this afternoon, right on the spot."
Emily gaped at him. He had hired himself into a household which wanted his blood?
"Are you mad?" Or, more likely, was he simply foolishly bravehearted? And all for a woman who he had once loved, with a young and foolish heart. The cad dared to laugh at her reaction.
"Don't blame me, the idea was Nan's."
Emily turned to her maid. The girl obviously had skills at subterfuge. After all, she had Valentine using her below stairs nickname with friendliness and familiarity in under a day's time. "Nancy, I can only say that I 'm sorry you weren't my maid three years ago."
Nancy blushed and bobbed a confused curtsey. "Thank you, my lady."
But Emily needed to know more about Valentine's narrow escape, especially as it seemed to have ended in voluntary servitude. "How can no one have noticed who you were?"
His gaze shifted from hers for a moment, as if he was embarrassed. "Nan found me some suitable clothing for a man looking for work as a footman, and she took a pair of shears to my hair." He smiled, and her heart melted again. Why couldn't he have come here tonight to ask her to run away with him?
Unaware of how her thoughts had turned, Valentine continued, "It seems my haircut was simply too perfect for any servant."
"I see." But she didn't, really. She couldn't recall ever paying close attention to a footman's features, but to be so oblivious when it was someone she knew well was an uncomfortable revelation. "And voila, you were transformed?"
"Nan assured me that no one looks at servants, and it seems she was right." His voice was quiet, and she sensed his unhappiness.
"Isn't that what you wanted?" It shouldn't make her happy that he was bothered that she had not noticed him at once, but somehow it did.
"Yes." He shrugged. "But it takes getting used to, this business of waiting on people who don't even want to look in your face and remember who you are."
His words stirred up an unpleasant memory. A cold shiver chased down her spine as she remembered the look on her governess' face when the woman finally left her post. She had had a bleak, haunted look as she stared from the carriage. Emily, eager to begin her first Season, had thought she was just a bitter woman. But now she rethought her conclusion. Was that what she would be in for if she did end up having to seek work as a governess, or worse, a paid companion to an invalid or a recluse?
At the very least, Valentine was fortunate that his servitude would end very soon and he would once again regain his status. She sighed. "I suppose anonymity is a good thing, though, for you — and for Nancy. Otherwise, you would have been dealt with severely. My mother is not one to make idle threats."
He brushed her concern away as though her mother had threatened to make him eat burnt scones for breakfast. "That is of no consequence, not until we can find a way to break this engagement of yours without raining scandal down upon your head. Whatever payment I might make, it will be worth it."
Her heart ached at the sight of him, so generous and serious. The knowledge that he did not love her any longer had no effect on the longings of her own heart. Which perhaps made her harsher than she might have been otherwise when she said, "I know you had intended not to involve yourself in this personally. I assure you that your added assistance will be well rewarded, when I am safely out of this engagement."
It was his turn to gape. "That is not necessary I came to your aid as a friend, and in the stead of your cousin the duke."
She did not allow herself to soften, even when she saw the hurt shining so clearly in his eyes. "You risk not only your own life, but the happiness of your sisters, Valentine. And all for a woman to whom you owe no allegiance? She paused briefly hoping that he would, somehow, declare that he loved her still.
He did not, merely staring mutely at her with no expression at all upon his face. "If you do not allow me to pay you, when this is all behind us, I cannot accept your help." She thought he would refuse, the way his hand reached out and then stilled.
But he did not protest, merely stiffened, and said softly, with a bow, "I understand."
It was much easier to be a nobleman, even an impoverished one, than to be a footman, Valentine found. His duties kept him in the house for the most part, where he could keep an eye on Emily, but he was not free to speak to her, nor even to look at her without causing attention to be drawn to him. It was sheer torture to help her on with her wrap, careful to be circumspect. He could not look her in the eye. He could not ask how she was bearing up under the strain of entertaining the marquess. The only comfort was that she was now convinced not to put any more effort into making Granbury believe she was star-crossed.
Star-crossed.
He had laughed when she had explained the concept to him. But now he wondered if Emily herself had begun to believe what she was telling Granbury? He hoped not. Still, despite the fact that the engagement was soon to be broken, she must spend time in the marquess's company. She must pretend to have become resigned to the engagement. Perhaps, he thought with a twinge of jealousy she even tried to seem to welcome the marriage itself?
To his great frustration, he was not privy to much of their direct conversation. During the day he was rarely even in the same room as Emily. Dinners were, to the casual eye, uneventful evenings full of polite conversation about when the guests would begin arriving and what the arrangements were for the wedding trip. They were often sparked by Emily — long monologues on the marquess's travels and his unique and essentially tedious opinions on the morals and customs of those inhabitants he had come across.
Still, there was no doubt that the days were taking their toll on Emily, no matter how prettily she smiled, or how often she drew the marquess into one-sided conversation.
Dark circles had begun to appear under her eyes, and he suspected she was not sleeping well. He had not dared to ask Nan to sneak him back into Emily's room again, and the tension was becoming unbearable.
Though the maid would reassure him that Emily was bearing up under the strain of her pretense, he could see Nan's worry for her mistress. He both admired and found frustrating the maid's loyalty, however, which led her to say little of Emily's true state. Not that he would have taken Nan's word on the matter. He wanted to hear from Emily's own lips that she could bear this masquerade for at least a little while longer. He wanted to see the truth reflected in her eyes when she answered.
His dreams were haunted by visions of Emily escaping Granbury and Eddingley Castle only to be taken up by brigands on the road. She had managed to slip him one note, but the marquess had paid such close attention to her that they had otherwise remained steadfastly in their roles as mistress and servant, with Nan giving them both highly abbreviated assurances that the other was not in dire need of rescue.
At last, he knew that he must do something. It had been over a week and the duke had still not appeared, nor sent a note to the countess's household to announce his imminent arrival. He and Miranda had, of course, been invited to Emily's wedding ceremony. They were, however, not expected to arrive until the day before the ceremony. That was cutting the timing too fine for Valentine's comfort. He did not think that Emily's reputation would survive her actually jilting her bridegroom at the altar, with all the guests as witnesses.
After a great deal of thought, Valentine decided to force matters to a head. He would send the countess the damning letter anonymously. Most likely she wouldn't believe it. Still, there was a possibility — as long as she didn't realize the letter was from him — that she would recognize the authenticity and realize, at last, the danger her daughter was in.
He approached the countess's small parlor, the room she preferred for her moments of solitude, and wondered if he was making a mistake. He imagined her there, plotting some new way to move the wedding forward and hesitated at the door. Just as he began to turn the handle, he stilled. There was someone inside the parlor. Was it a parlor maid? His hand poised upon the doorknob, he debated whether he should give up before he was discovered, or wait until whoever was inside departed. He leaned his ear against the door. He heard the countess's voice and froze in confusion. Hadn't he just seen her walk off with the marquess for a stroll around the garden? How could she be inside?
A moment's thought made him realize that the countess's parlor had doors which led out to the garden. Thank goodness he had not been any quicker, or he'd have been in the room when she entered from outside. He would have backed away then, except there came the sound of a second voice, that of the marquess, which said quite clearly, "Have you heard any more of Fenster?"
The countess answered with a sneer. "No, he seems to have come to his senses and returned to London without contacting Emily."
"Is that confirmed by your acquaintances there?"
Apparently Granbury was willing to take no one's gossip as truth without confirmation.
"I will know shortly, but I expect to find that he has gone home. He has enough troubles with those five sisters of his, he can't possibly want to take on the responsibility for Emily as well."
Granbury demurred silkily. "Unless he thinks her fortune worth a little inconvenience."
"I convinced him well enough that there would be no luck for him in that arena. I maligned poor Harold a bit, but it did the trick. I am glad for Emily's sake — and my own — you do not need a fortune along with a wife. Harold keeps me on such a meager allowance I swear I do not know how I manage. It is a great boon to me that you will allow me to keep her dowry."
The marquess murmured agreement. "The girl need only provide me an heir, my dear, not renew my fortune."
The countess laughed in return, but it ended on a bitter note. "Not all women are capable of giving their husbands a male heir, my lord. Emily will do her duty, I have no doubt of that. But if fate — "
"As I have said before, I do not believe in fate. I will have a son. I will not settle for less."
"Then I wish you well with her."
Valentine felt a chill run up his spine. He had hoped that Emily was wrong about Granbury's attraction to her. That would ensure the danger to Emily was less than to the marquess's other victims. An unhappy life, a husband who was, indeed, monstrous. If she gave him a son, that would be the best — and the worst — that she could expect.
He had not considered one additional outcome. If she did not provide the required heir . . . the marquess had proved his ability to dispose of inconvenient females permanently, and with an utter lack of conscience. What would he do if Emily were to disappoint him with a daughter or two — or fail to conceive at all?
He knew that it was not unusual to marry only to provide an heir, but Granbury did not even deign to hide his own motivations in this marriage. One thing confused him more now that he had overheard this conversation.
What would make the countess agree to wed her daughter to this man for money? Did the marquess hold some secret indiscretion over her head, that she would sacrifice her daughter to a heartless beast so that she would have more pin money?
The countess answered his question with her next words. He was shocked by the bitterness and the anger as she spoke of her own daughter. "Then I hope Emily does not fail you, as she failed her father and I by being born female."
Valentine wanted to burst through the door and take the countess to task. It was only because of the risk to Emily and to his sisters as well, from the countess's wrath that he stopped himself from coming to Emily's defense. Perhaps it was his own sister's mistreatment by their father that fueled his anger. As twins, he as the male and heir had received favored treatment, while Miranda was expected to be faultless and yet trusted to do nothing without guidance. It had rankled her all her life.
The marquess, however, seemed to find nothing objectionable in the countess's attitude. "I shall do my best to see that she bears me a son, rest assured."
Valentine clenched his fists, thinking of Emily as she had been the night he spent in her room, vulnerable and yet brave. He could not allow this marriage. He would not allow it.
The countess's laugh was not pleasant. "I have perfect confidence that you will, my lord." Valentine backed away from the door, glancing left and right to make certain that he had not been seen spying here at the door. He was cold and numb. Emily's mother would not change her mind. Part of her was actually hoping that Emily would be miserable — that she might not even bear the marquess a son.