Chapter Sixteen

"I'm not certain this lady's maid business will work out after all."

Mary blinked at her. "But last night, we agreed—"

"Not truly. I'm certain we were all tired when we came up with that nonsense. In the light of day, things are much clearer."

Mary sat up straighter. "Is that so?"

"Indeed it is," Prudence said with a cunning smile. "You see, there's something--"

"Perhaps I misunderstood, but I thought we agreed that poor Maggie must not be worked too hard."

"It's Meg," Emilia said tightly. Though she would be happy not to tend to Mary, she also didn't like the idea of Meg doing it. She'd seen how she'd berated the poor girl already.

"It's very kind of us," Mary said, delicately taking a dainty bite of her sliver of toast. "As I was saying, my dresses--"

"There's something you've not told us, Mary, and it's really quite unfair." Prudence turned and strolled to the window with a wink at Emilia. "If you are to be privy to our secrets, I think it only fair for us to know yours. How else can we help each other?"

"I have no secrets," Mary said blandly, now nibbling delicately on one of her six raspberries.

"Do you not?" Prudence turned back with a flourish fit for the stage. "Then perhaps it's common knowledge that your mother not only disapproved of your coming here, but expressly forbade it. However did you change her mind?"

Mary's lips thinned. "Whatever Cecilia says, she exaggerates. Perhaps Mama would rather I come home earlier, but that is not the same as...as... If that little sneak—"

"Cecilia Marbury told her nothing," Emilia broke in urgently. From what she gathered, the poor girl was being insulted by Mary enough. She would not add to her burden. Besides, it was true. Cecilia had provided nothing, except confirming that Mary was as much a beast as ever.

"Miss Marbury?" Prudence scoffed. "Honestly, she believes me a maid. Do you think she would betray confidences to me?"

"Ah, so it was her maid that—"

"No!" Emilia broke in, catching Prudence's elbow until she turned to her, then giving a very slight shake of her head. "No... no one told her anything, except..." She couldn't think of a thing to finish that with, but she didn't want poor Meg punished by whatever means Mary saw fit. "...except your own mother," Emilia finished, wondering if that would wash. It was partially true. "She... she..."

"She came to tea at Crewe House just before we departed," Prudence supplied, quick as ever.

Emilia nodded eagerly. "Aye, Miss Prudence told me all about it."

"Yes! I told her where we were bound and... and she informed us -- and quite vehemently, mind you --  that you would never attend an affair like this and..." Prudence pretended to search her mind, tapping her chin. "And that you would not only never marry beneath you, but that you would be forbidden to mingle with such rabble... something like that."

Mary stared at her a moment, frowning. "That does sound rather like Mama."

It should. It came from her letters.

"But she's not truly a woman of the world," Mary said, squeezing lemon into her tea, calm as she pleased. "I daresay she's not been away from Pickering nearly as much as I have. At her age, she doesn't see that the world is changing. Mother wants one kind of life for me and I... disagree. She thinks nothing less than an earl will do, so much that she'd even settle for one who's old. And I think there is more to life than titles."

"Such as?" Prudence prodded. "Never tell me you believe in true love."

"Of course not." Mary tittered. "I've far too much sense for such a thing. I believe in living a fashionable life. One where I'm not holed up in a country house near some miserable village that's probably no better than Pickering. One where going to London doesn't mean I must put up with staying with some friend or relation. One where I never have to wear the same gown twice. Just little things."

"Little things that cost a lot of money," Prudence said dryly.

"Pru! Don't be so crass. 'Tis only comfort I seek. We simply happen to live in a world where comfort is more easily had with money. And why shouldn't I see to my own comfort? It's not as if I have nothing to trade for it. I have been instructed in all the delicate arts that make for the sort of wife and hostess that would benefit a man of standing and, though I'd never say so myself, people always tell me how uncommonly pretty I am. Sometimes I think they must be teasing, but they say it so often that even I might believe it to be true." She glanced down demurely, as if anyone in that room would believe her bashful.

Prudence, in fact, scoffed loudly, at which Mary dropped her pretense, again gaining that shrewd look that seemed much more at home on her face.

"Besides that, my mother would forgive me anything. She always has done. I am her one and only child. And this wasn't precisely forbidden. It was, I dare say, no more than a disagreement," Mary said, her brows drawn sharply together. "Rabble or not, I refuse to turn my head away from a match that would give me the life I am accustomed to," she said, almost to herself. "Titles or trade... they are all the same to me as long as I will not be poor. I won't!" She stared at her tray as if it had offended her.

"Then perhaps I should write to her. As a dear friend of my mother's, it is my duty to—"

"Now, let's not be so hasty. After all, the same goes for me." Mary glanced up with wide, blinking eyes. "I could consider myself duty-bound to inform your mother, but..." She paused rather long. "I could also reconsider that."

"Very well, write to her." Prudence huffed, a clear sign that she was beginning to feel defeated. "What I am doing is no more than an amusing lark. What you are doing would affect your entire future."

"Perhaps. But even if my mother were to receive word of my presence here, by the time she came to collect me, I would very likely be toasting my engagement — which she will surely celebrate, if only because people would be watching. When yours came... Well, I highly doubt she'd be in a celebratory mood, the poor dear," Mary tutted. "We all know how she despairs of your hoydenish ways. I wonder how she might punish you to be certain you learn your lesson. Would she take away your books or your paints? Or would it be both?"

The dratted girl had an answer for everything. And while Prudence was clever, so was Mary, but with a ruthlessness that lent a certain bite to her threats. Lady Crewe had already deprived Prudence of her books and paints for this party. She would probably lock up the library and the attics once she got wind of this.

"So we are in agreement," Mary said blithely. "Now, as to my gowns—"

"Not quite," Prudence burst out. "We might be in accordance on keeping each other's secrets, but forcing us to play lady's maid need not be part of this."

"Surely you don't suggest," Mary said, sounding almost shocked, "that I suffer this entire party with no one to tend to me?"

"How is that suffering?" Prudence rolled her eyes. "But if you insist on having something for your... efforts at playacting, then I can offer you something better."

Mary put her tray aside and sat up, looking much more interested.

"You may join me next season in London."

Mary screwed up her face.

"Sponsored by the Duchess of Dartmore. You will be invited to the best parties."

Mary still looked unimpressed.

Prudence sighed, muttering, "And I will personally purchase you three gowns of your choosing with matching gloves, slippers, and reticules."

So these were Prudence's cards? Emilia thought Mary looked tempted for a moment, but she quickly hid it, shrugging.

"Really, Mary! If you are looking for an advantageous match, a proper season is the way to find one."

"Not if you're any indication, Dear. And is there some reason you think I won't be married by next season?" Mary looked offended. "I might be engaged by the end of this very week. One never knows." She stared quite hard at Emilia before turning her gaze back to Prudence. "And next season is eight whole months away."

"Not necessarily. I could very well convince Aunt Muriel that I wish to go for the winter season as well."

Mary seemed to be considering it before she shook her head. "I confess I cannot wait that long."

Prudence threw up her hands. "Why? I know that you are three and twenty, but surely there's no need to rush—"

Mary stood now, looking incensed. "I am two and twenty!"

"Aye, but only for another month," Prudence pointed out with a bland smile to rival even Mary's.

Mary could not gainsay that. Prudence had been forced to attend every one of her birthdays. Even before Emilia worked for Crewe House, she knew that.

But Mary quickly turned her scowl into a smirk. "Very well. If you must tout my age, then there is a need to rush. And, no harm meant, but do you really think being seen with you would attract a suitor? I hear you repel them!"

"Aye, but only because I mean to—" Prudence shook her head. "I really don't understand you. You would truly rather torture us than have the advantage of—"

"Of what? Of your connections? I assure you. I have no need."

"Yes, I know Miss Marbury moves in a fine circle, but believe me, the members of The Ton invite a Duchess to everything."

"Reluctantly, I hear," Mary said, as if bored. "Everyone knows her origins, after all."

"Didn't you just say you didn't care about trade? I dare say my aunt could get you presented at court. You would benefit more from—"

"Miss Marbury benefits from her connection to me," Mary said with narrowed eyes. "Even her own mother thinks so." Mary suddenly smiled. "And what is this talk of torture? You are my oldest friend. I would never dream of putting you out. I only ask some trifling assistance from this one," she said, gesturing vaguely toward Emilia.

Emilia would have rather Mary continued to pretend to ignore her.

"Is it truly so hard to dress my hair and help me in and out of my gowns?" Mary stared at them. "As you wish. I shall bid Milly attend me again."

"Meg," Emilia corrected through clenched teeth. "And if we agreed she need not be burdened, then--"

"Of course not, the poor little dear." Mary sat at her dressing table and sighed. "Then I suppose I must ask Mrs. Baddeley if one of the maids can attend me. I think I heard one of them was seeing to that... French one? She may just as well--"

"No!" Emilia broke in. God, not poor Evie! She was overworked enough! And not Meg either! Dash it all, there was nothing else for it... "Now that I think of it, I am certain we can see to you just fine."

Prudence pulled Emilia to her side, muttering, "You're doing it again."

"I'm well aware," Emilia hissed, "but someone must save these girls from her tender mercies."

"How lovely that we all agree!" Mary said, either oblivious to their chagrin or pretending to be. "And I shan't ask much. Just some help in the mornings, at midday, before supper, before bed and with mending and embroidering and... well, if other needs arise."

"I warn you," Prudence began, "I might be able to fasten up a dress, but everything else is beyond me."

"But isn't that where the other Miss Crewe can aid me best?" She said, not even glancing at Emilia.

Emilia felt she needed to answer nonetheless. "But won't people become suspicious of my entering your room constantly?"

Mary still didn't meet her eyes as she picked up her brush and began dragging it through her hair... and all wrong. "Miss Crewe and I are fast friends, are we not? There's nothing suspicious about us dressing together."

Prudence stared at Emilia for some time, as if asking if she was certain she would accept this. When Emilia nodded, she said, "Very well. When you ring for me, we will be here."

Mary turned to her. "Oh, Pru! There is no need to trouble yourself. Didn't you just say you have no skills beyond fastening a dress." She turned to Emilia. "I'm certain this one can see to my needs without—"

Emilia gripped Prudence's arm, a reflex to a threat.

"This one is Em... Miss Finch. She is an upper servant and deserves to be addressed as such," Prudence said, at which Emilia gave her a slight smile. "And I must insist that I am present. Else no one will believe I am tending to you."

Mary looked quite put out. "If you insist, but Miss... Finch," she said as if it pained her, "should join me early so we can discuss our strategies for the—"

"All the better for me to be there," Prudence said. "It is my name being used, after all. What could you possibly have to discuss without me?"

Emilia wasn't sure what, but she suspected Mary wanted to be free to be as nasty as she wished. Surely this sweetness and light act was hard to keep up without some release.

"You are quite right," Mary said, surprising both of them. "It shall take all three of us to maintain this." She plucked a bottle from the dressing table, sniffing it and wincing. "Ugh! Lemon verbena. I don't know why Mama insists on sending this nasty scent with me. I would so prefer something lighter." She paused a moment. "I say... Last night, I'm certain I smelled something among your things." She turned around. "It was a sort of... floral scent. Would you be a dear, Prudence, and fetch it for me? It would only strengthen our ruse if anyone saw."

Prudence rolled her eyes. "How on earth am I to know what you smelled?"

"It was the rose oil," Emilia supplied, rather annoyed as she did consider it her own scent. She had made it, after all, pressed the petals and snatched every bit of essence. The idea of Mary wearing it rankled her. But she was too tired to fight this anymore. All that was left was surviving this day. "It's in the little glass bottle on the dressing table."

"Aye, then. I shall fetch it," Prudence sighed. "Quickly."

Mary wasted no time. The moment Prudence shut the door, she said in clipped tones, "So it's Miss Finch now, is it? You must be very pleased with yourself."

"Tis no more than is custom for a lady's maid," Emilia said, holding out her hand for the brush Mary had been misusing, and not mentioning the fact that Prudence was more likely to call her Emilia than not.

"And is it customary for lady's maids to get ideas above themselves, to flirt with gentlemen, to duck behind couches, speaking closely? I'm certain such behavior wouldn't be tolerated, even with such lax employers as the Crewes."

"I was not flirting with him," Emilia said as patiently as she could, brushing out Mary's ends before working from the roots. "I had lost my glasses and he was helping me retrieve them."

"A very likely tale," Mary scoffed.

"It's no tale, it's the truth." But was it all of the truth? He'd touched her... quite tenderly. And she'd liked it. That was until this morning showed her that he was no different from the rest and she'd do best to remember it. "Should you like your hair all up or partially."

"Up. And mind not to drag that brush through harshly. My scalp is very delicate."

"I haven't so far, have I?" Emilia asked, trying to keep her tone light.

"I suppose not," Mary said, sounding almost disappointed. "Lady Crewe is always boasting of your skills. I wonder why she does it. Does she have some ridiculous notion that we regret tossing you out?"

Emilia held in a growl. "As I recall it, I offered proper notice. I would certainly remember if there was tossing involved."

"And where were all these alleged skills when you worked for my family?" Mary went on as if she had not spoken.

"I applied for advancement several--"

"Ah, yes. Now I recall. But I believe someone said you were slow and lazy enough as a scullery--"

Emilia stepped away. "I think I'd best see what's keeping Miss Prudence."

"Oh, Miss Finch! It wasn't I who said so. It was only something I heard. Personally, I wish you'd been given a chance. I do hope you aren't offended."

Emilia moved back to her reluctantly, though she was quite certain Mary did say so. Mary never had a kind word for any of the staff. None of the family did. She'd never been able to advance her position at Hartley Hall. Even though she'd lasted longer than any scullery maid before or since, from what she heard, she left paid no more than what she'd started with at the age of twelve.

"I am simply concerned for you," Mary said with cloying sweetness. "That business with you and Mr. Byrne last night was--"

"There was no business between myself and Mr. Byrne," Emilia broke in, valiantly keeping her tone even. "I have no ideas above myself and, even if I did, I would not encourage the attentions of a rake."

"Is he a rake?" Mary looked surprised, then smiled smugly. "But what does it signify? Only that he is a single man who is susceptible to feminine charms." She tilted her head in what she obviously thought was a tempting way. "Something people tell me I have in excess."

Emilia gritted her teeth, but said nothing. So it was Mr. Byrne she'd set her cap at. As annoying as the thought had been and still was, she knew it was none of her business. He might have started no richer than her, but he was a rich and powerful man now. Perhaps he wanted someone like Mary.

"He paid me such marked attention in London. I dearly hope he isn't so obvious this time."

Emilia was quite certain Mr. Byrne wasn't the obvious one. Prudence had laughed over Mary's attempts at flirtation more than once.

She does this little ritual where she glances them up and down, lingering on their breeches, mind you. Then she fans herself rapidly, as if she's overcome, but since the fanning is always directly below her bosom, I doubt it's doing much good.

"Whatever it is you are playing at, I really hope I don't observe you so close to him again," Mary said with narrowed eyes. "You'll only be wasting his time and hurting his chances at an eligible match, the kind he might actually desire."

Mary was right about that, Emilia thought as she twisted and pinned Mary's hair. She was certainly not eligible and could she really be called desirable? At best, and only as Miss Crewe, she was fashionable.

True, she hadn't seen Mr. Byrne pay much attention to the other girls, but perhaps that was because he was waiting for Mary. Her arrival might have been a surprise to all, but perhaps not to him.

And even what attentions he paid to Emilia ... He'd simply come to her rescue, really. At their first meeting, she'd been tossed over a trunk. At their second encounter, she'd been plopped in a stream. At the third, Mopsy had trussed him up in the hallway. And last night, she'd ruined a dance and knocked her glasses clear across the room. If he seemed to be looking at her at times, it might be in dread of what mess she'd get herself into next.

Perhaps it was unfair to call him a libertine or a seducer. What had he done that could be called such? Just because she felt seduced didn't mean he was doing anything seductive. This flirtation was likely all in her mind.

"Once again, I have no pretensions toward any man here," Emilia droned. "I simply wish to survive this party."

"Then why are you doing this at all? Don't tell me you don't enjoy playing at being a real lady."

For a hundred pounds, Emilia was tempted to say, but she didn't. She was certain it wouldn't help.

"I confess, even dressed so and putting on accents, I still see you as you were, as you are still. So I really do worry for you. Thrust into society. I hope you don't become accustomed to it. You'd only be hurting yourself."

Yes, she did enjoy wearing the gowns she'd modified or dressing her hair in all the ways she wished to dress Miss Prudence's, but that didn't mean she desired this life for herself. "I am in no danger of mistaking this ruse for reality. I only agreed to this because—"

"Because I forced her into it," Prudence said, pushing through the door, carrying a tray of glass bottles. "Sorry it took me so long. Could not tell which little bottle you meant so, in the end, I brought them all." She stilled, meeting Emilia's eyes in the mirror. "I hope you haven't been interrogating Miss Finch, Mary. None of this is her doing."

"Not at all," Mary lied. "We were discussing my gowns. Emilia thinks all the necklines should be lower and I quite agree." Mary stared at her hard, as if daring her to contradict her.

And how she wished to but, while Emilia felt a certain comfort arguing with Miss Prudence, the idea of arguing with Miss Mary made her stomach turn over. "Yes, we were," she mumbled, casting her eyes down.

"And perhaps embellished, too? I do love these little roses on the bodice." Mary gestured behind her to the deeper burgundy flowers on the pale pink morning dress Emilia was wearing. "But it's wasted on this Miss Crewe, as it might draw far too much attention. You see, we were also discussing her dress and hair on the whole," Mary said with a sickly sweet smile. "Her hair should be simpler and her dresses..." Mary seemed to think it over. "Isn't there a brown frock you are very fond of, Pru? It would be vastly more suitable."

Dear God, not that one.

It was as if Mary was finding every possible way to make her feel as low as dirt. "I will simplify where I can," Emilia said. But not that brown dress. Never that! "Is your hair satisfactory?" It better be. If nice dresses are wasted on me, then my talents are wasted on you!  What she'd done was a sight better than Mary's customary cluster of tight curls on either side, which did nothing to balance her plump cheeks. The side-swept twist with a cascade of natural curls on the left suited her face much better and drew attention away from her uneven eyebrows.

Mary sighed, as if saying so was a chore, "I suppose it will have to do."

"Ungrateful shrew," was what she thought but, "I'd best get to work on your mending straight away," is what she said. Mary looked as if she might protest, but Emilia backed away, saying, "'Miss Finch' here can certainly help you dress." She gripped Prudence's arm as she neared the door, hissing, "Never leave me alone with her again."

Prudence tossed a baleful glance at Mary, then nodded.

**********

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