Page 4 of The Earl's Hired Bride
Miss Paxton gasped. “Why you grasping little cheat!”
“Katharine, come along!” The stout matron ahead beckoned Miss Paxton. “We do not dawdle in the street!”
“Ten pounds,” Emily said flatly. “Or I start to cry about the poor, mistreated earl. Loudly. In detail.” She steeled her nerves and tilted her head. “I could mention that tryst in Green Park, perhaps? The one in which Mr. Holt tore the sleeve of the rose under-dress you wore beneath a green pelisse?”
“I don’t have ten pounds.” Miss Paxton could barely speak for gritting her teeth. “Ladies do not carry such vulgar amounts of money.”
Emily raised her chin. “Nor do they carry on in such vulgar ways in the shrubbery.” She pursed her lips. “An earring will do—if those diamond chips are real.”
“Of course they are real. As is the ruby!” Miss Paxton’s face had gone red with outrage. “Even one is worth far more than ten pounds!”
“Is it worth more than your betrothal?” Emily asked heartlessly. Shehopedshe sounded heartless—and convincing. “I won’t get its full worth when I pawn it, in any case.”
Miss Paxton speared her with a deadly glare. Emily gave her credit. She showed more spunk than she had expected—growing angry instead of dissolving into a teary puddle of guilt and fear. Good heavens, she would never have had the spine to stand there emanating hatred and calculation.
Luckily, the reckoning went Emily’s way. Without another word the heiress removed the earring and tossed it at her.
Emily caught it with shaking fingers and tucked it away.
“Give me the kerchief,” her victim hissed.
“No.” Emily turned to go. “I’ll think I will keep it for insurance.”
She walked off into the dark, leaving Miss Paxton fuming behind her—and telling herself that she felt not a smidgen of remorse. Girls like Miss Paxton did not deserve it. She’d been born with everything—health, wealth, a large, warm home, fine clothes, a name that meant something, and a family that cared for and wanted the best for their daughter. So she’d been engaged to an older man? By all accounts the Earl of Ardman was a kind man, a good caretaker of his properties, a fair lord to his servants and tenants. Perhaps the gentleman had lost a few hairs—he also had a ready smile and a good heart and a willingness to lay them all at Miss Paxton’s feet. And she had repaid him with betrayal.
Nothing riled Emily Spencer more than watching a person in possession of a treasure willfully toss it aside.
She stuffed the linen into a pocket as she left the scene. It was still in good shape. She could pick out the initials and use it again—if she could stiffen her backbone enough to try something like this again.
“She’s a stone-cold ‘un, ain’t she?” The boy, several years younger than she, melted out of the darkness to walk at Emily’s side.
“Yes. Be sure to steer clear of her. I don’t want her to catch a glimpse of you and figure out that you had a hand in watching her.”
Jasper shrugged. “I talked to Finch. He’ll open early and said for ye to come to the back door.”
“Thank you.”
“They looked real sparkly in the street lights,” he said eagerly. “Will we get the month’s rent out of it, d’ye think?”
“First thing, we must give the modiste her share for that gown. It’s only fair, even if she doesn’t know how or where the money came from. But we should cover this month, and next month too, as long as long as Miss Paxton has not played her family as false as she played her betrothed.”
“No fancy mort could be that wicked,” Jasper said cheerfully. “We’ll be on easy street for the next few weeks, Em!”
“I hope so, Jasper.” She thought of her mother’s fingers, lying still in her lap while she rested her head against a window frame. “I hope so.”
***
“Paste!” Mr. Finch announced with a shake of his head. “What is the world coming to when the young ladies wear paste to the theatre?”
Emily’s heart sank. “I should have known,” she groaned. “It’s what I get for allowing myself to sink to her level.”
The fence gave an apologetic shrug. “I can take it apart, make somethingnewand fake out of it—but I can only give you a few shillings.”
“I’ll take what I can get, I suppose.” Emily fought back a surge of despair. She wouldn’t have pulled such a trick had she not been desperate. But her mother was growing thinner and more tired by the day. She’d given up full-scale sewing several months ago, leaving Emily to fill those few orders they could get from busy modistes. Emily had convinced her mother to restrict herself to the fancy ribbon embroidery she was so skilled at—and that was still popular with both the modistes and the high-end milliners.
But her mother’s fingers moved slower these days. She didn’t walk out to take the air like she used to, but stayed at the window, working longer hours—and producing fewer finished pieces. Emily knew she wasn’t eating well. Their meals were meager enough, and still her mother slipped some of her share to Jasper, or tried to push it on her daughter.
They couldn’t go on like this. Emily wouldn’t allow it. Her mother was the sweetest, gentlest soul that ever lived and Emily would not allow her to fade away—even if she had to get up to a bit of wickedness to prevent it.
