The Emerald Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page B

hopes of a cup of tea. That lady was much more unbending than her husband, even introducing herself as Mrs. Goody, and over a good tea, she lost no time in telling Emily all about the household.
    “Lady Quentin, now, she’s a new bride, and it’s a good thing she has me, I can tell you, Miss Nelson,” Mrs. Goodwell said, rocking comfortably. “No more sense than a baby, she has, although a sweeter young lady I never hope to see. The captain now, he knows what’s what, but he’s not home often.”
    “Is he on duty a great deal?” Emily asked.
    Mrs. Goodwell nodded. “You’d think, now that that nasty Napoleon has been exiled to that island—whatever is the name of it, I can’t recollect—the captain would have more time to spend with his wife, but Lady Quentin goes about without him. Of course, his sister, Miss Arabella, is here more often than not, but that’s not my idea of how to treat a bride. But there, I do hope she’ll be happy.”
    Just then Mr. Goodwell came in, and his wife abruptly stopped gossiping. Emily thanked her for the tea and went back upstairs to lay out the deep-rose satin gown Lady Quentin planned to wear to dinner. Emily was busy in the dressing room when the bedroom door was thrown open and an author it ative voice cried out, “Don’t fuss, Goodwell! I shall just leave a note for Lady Quentin before I go, there is no need for you to escort me. Heaven knows I have been up here often enough.”
    Emily came around the corner to see a dark-haired lady firmly shutting the door in the butler’s face.
    “Old fussbudget,” she muttered, and then, catching sight of Emily, she said, “ ’Pon my soul, who are you?”
    “I am Margaret Nelson, Lady Quentin’s new dresser, ma’am,” Emily replied with a curtsy.
    “Indeed?” the lady asked as she removed her gloves, looking her up and down intently. “Now, why didn’t Alicia consult me before she took such a step? You are much too young—and much too pretty! But there, Alicia is such an unworldly baby, she probably never even considered that. By the way, I am Arabella Quentin, her sister-in-law.”
    Emily curtsied again as the lady continued, “I suppose you had good references? I must assume you have all the necessary skills: hairdressing, sewing, cleaning clothes of stains and candle wax, and painting the face. However, to be sure, I give you a small test. What is virgin’s milk made from?”
    Emily was indignant to be quizzed by an outsider, but since she was not sure of Miss Quentin’s role in the household, she thought it best to answer her as humbly as she could. “Tincture of benzoin mixed with water, miss,” she said. Emily had often prepared this mixture for her mother, for it gave a lovely rosy coloring to the complexion. “But if I may say so”—she waited until Miss Quentin inclined her head an inch—“I do not hold with the use of such cosmetics for a young lady. At Lady Quentin’s age such preparations are unnecessary, and to begin their use too early is to risk the most dangerous consequences: loose teeth, swollen eyes, and coarsened skin texture, to name but a few. I would never employ them on any one but an older lady well past her prime. The young need very little in the way of artifice to show them at their best.”
    She stopped, for Miss Quentin was sputtering, and two bright-red spots burned high on her cheekbones under what Emily now saw was a heavy maquillage.
    “That will be quite enough! I am not interested in your insolent opinions,” the lady managed to get out as she went to sit down at a small writing table set against the wall. She then proceeded to ask several more questions about Emily’s past—where she was from and for whom she had worked — and Emily made herself answer in an even voice.
    “Very well,” Miss Quentin said at last. “If you are not satisfactory, we can always discharge you. By the way, stay well away from my brother or you will be back in the street before you know