Page 14 of Dancing with an Enigmatic Duke
“No, not really,” Emmeline said with a smile at the young maid over her shoulder. “I just wanted to freshen up.”
Jasmine was about to respond when there was a knock at the door. Francesca called from the hallway, “My Lady, may I enter?”
“Come in,” Emmeline called.
Francesca came in, and Emmeline saw the woman’s bright smile dim just a bit when she spotted Jasmine. “I was just coming to aid you in getting ready for the evening meal.”
“That is not necessary,” Emmeline said with a wave of her hand.
Francesca gaped at Emmeline. “My Lady, do you not wish to apply some colour to your cheeks or change clothing?”
Emmeline faltered and looked at her reflection again. She did look a bit plain. “Do you think it necessary?”
“I know that it is only an evening meal with your brother, but Lord Torrington is also here. You might not have interest in him as your husband, but he has leverage with other members of society. He could aid you in securing invitations to exclusive balls, My Lady.” Francesca’s words rang true, even if Emmeline did not want them to.
Emmeline had been viewing Lord Torrington as a friend, her brother’s friend, and only as that. He was a powerful ally to be sure, and she might need his help if she was as hopeless as Francesca and her brother seemed to think. “You are right. I should have thought of it.”
Jasmine whispered, “I think you look lovely the way you are.”
“She might look well enough to marry a peasant, but she will need to look like a princess to marry above her station.” Francesca clucked her tongue at Jasmine. “Do go help with the meal preparations, child.”
Jasmine beat a hasty retreat out of the room. Emmeline frowned. “I do wish that you would not talk to Jasmine so. She is a dear girl, and she means well.”
“I apologise, My Lady. I just do not want her simple ways leading you astray. My one concern is helping you get the best match possible. That is why your brother hired me, after all.” Francesca gave Emmeline a smile. “I promise that I will try to be kinder to her, but she really should learn her place. It is better for her that way.
Emmeline did not like it, but she did not have to. There was little she could do to change the way things were, and she might as well start getting used to it. She just needed to endure the French maid’s presence a bit longer and then perhaps, once she was more confident, Francesca’s presence would not be necessary.
She sat down at her dressing table and allowed Francesca to apply cosmetics to her face. Emmeline did not simply sit back though. She paid close attention to what the woman did and tried her best to remember how to make her face up for herself. In essence, there was not much difference in how Francesca applied the cosmetics, except perhaps she was more liberal with the colours and the quantity.
Emmeline noticed a mark on the woman’s arm as she moved. “What is that on your arm?”
“What?” Francesca asked.
Emmeline turned and waved her hand at the spot on the woman’s upper arm.
Francesca covered the place with her hand almost as if she were self-conscious of it.
“I did not mean to offend you,” Emmeline said. She truly had not meant any harm and guilt welled up in her. She had not seen the beautiful maid hide much about herself and it was such a tiny spot. “Is it a birthmark?”
“No,” Francesca said with iciness.
Emmeline tried again. “I am sorry. I was only curious, Francesca. Is it an old injury? I have a scar above my knee where I fell as a child.”
“Yes, it is an old injury. It was one I would rather not speak of, if you do not mind, My Lady,” Francesca’s tone might have been polite, but there was tightness in her voice.
Emmeline simply nodded and hoped the woman would forgive her intrusion. She had not known it would be such a sore topic for her. How could Emmeline have known?
The words seem to hang between them as Francesca finished making up Emmeline’s face. It would be a long evening if the woman was going to be cold to her all night. Emmeline suddenly very much did not want to go to the evening meal, even if she was starving.
“There,” Francesca said with accomplishment. “What do you think?”
Emmeline stared at her reflection. “I do not even look like myself.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Francesca asked as she put everything away.
Emmeline shook her head. “I suppose it is not.” Francesca had already moved away and was laying out a soft dress. Emmeline stood up and allowed the woman to assist her in getting dressed. She supposed that her day dress was probably fairly sweaty and dirty.
“There,” Francesca said, pulling the laces and tying the dress. “The only thing left is your hair. We should at least brush it.”
