Chapter 1

London, England
April 1816

"You realize, of course, that there will be hell to pay if my mother catches us." Arabella Blydon looked over her costume with a skeptical eye. She and Emma had borrowed frocks from their maids—much to their maids' dismay—and were presently creeping down the back stairs of Belle's London house.

"There will be a lot more hell to pay if she catches you swearing," Emma commented wryly.

"I really don't care. If I have to supervise one more flower arrangement for your party, I'm going to scream."

"I hardly think a scream would be appropriate when we're meant to be sneaking down the stairs."

"Oh, hush," Belle muttered ungraciously, tiptoeing her way down another step.

Emma surveyed her surroundings as she followed her cousin. The back staircase was certainly a change from the one she and Belle usually used in the main hall, which curved gracefully and was cushioned with luxurious carpets from Persia. In contrast, the polished wooden steps of the back stairs were narrow, and the walls were whitewashed and unadorned. The quiet simplicity of the stairwell reminded Emma of her home in Boston, which was not decorated in the opulent London style. The Blydon mansion, located in fashionable Grosvenor Square, had been in their family for over a century and was filled with both priceless heirlooms and exceedingly bad portraits of the Blydons of yesteryear. Emma glanced back up at the plain walls and sighed softy as she fought back a pang of homesickness for her father.

"I cannot believe I'm creeping around my home like a burglar to avoid my mother," Belle grumbled as she reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs and rounded the corner to begin the second. "Frankly, I'd rather curl up in my room with a good book, but she's sure to find me there and make me go over the menu again."

"A fate worse than death," Emma murmured.

Belle looked at her sharply. "I'll have you know that I've gone over that blasted menu with her countless times. If she corners me one more time with questions about salmon mousse or roast duck à l'orange, I really don't think I can be held responsible for my actions."

"Contemplating matricide?"

Belle shot her a wry look but didn't reply as she daintily moved down the stairs. "Watch out for this step, Emma," she whispered, hugging the wall. "It creaks in the middle."

Emma swiftly followed her cousin's advice. "I take it you sneak down these stairs often?"

"I used to. It's quite handy to know how to get around this place without anyone knowing what you're up to. I just usually don't go around dressed like my maid."

"Well, it wouldn't do to wear silks if we're going to help Cook get all the food prepared for tonight."

Belle looked dubious. "Frankly, I don't think she's going to appreciate our help. She's quite traditional and doesn't really think it's proper for the family to be belowstairs." With that, she flung open the door to the kitchen. "Hello, everyone. We're here to help!"

Everyone looked absolutely horrified.

Emma quickly tried to remedy the situation. "You could use two extra pairs of hands, couldn't you?" She turned to Cook and flashed her a wide smile.

Cook threw up her arms and shrieked, sending clouds of flour billowing through the air. "What in God's name are you two doing down here?"

One of the kitchen maids stopped kneading dough for a moment and ventured a question. "Pardon me, miladies, but why are you dressed like that?"

"I don't think the two of you ought to be in my kitchen," Cook continued, placing her hands on her formidable hips. "You'll get in the way." When neither of the two young ladies showed any inclination of leaving, Cook clenched her teeth and started waving a wooden spoon at them. "In case you hadn't noticed, we have a lot of extra work to do down here. Now off with you before I call the countess."

Belle quaked at the mention of her mother. "Please let us stay, Cook." She was fairly sure that Cook had a proper name, but everyone had called her that for so long that nobody actually remembered what it was. "We promise not to get in the way. We'll be a great help to you, I'm sure. And we'll be quiet, too."

"It just isn't right having you down here. Don't you two have anything better to do than play at being kitchen maids?"

"Not really," Belle answered truthfully.

Emma smiled to herself, silently agreeing with her cousin. She and Belle had gotten into nonstop mischief since they had arrived three weeks earlier. It wasn't that she'd meant to get into trouble. It was just that there seemed so little to do in London. Back home she kept busy with her work for Dunster Shipping. But in London, bookkeeping was not deemed an appropriate pastime for women, and it seemed that proper young English ladies had no other duties besides getting fitted for gowns and learning how to dance.

Emma was bored beyond belief.

Not that she was unhappy. As much as she missed her father, she rather liked being a part of a larger family. It was just that she didn't feel useful. She and Belle had started to go to great lengths to entertain themselves. Emma smiled guiltily at their exploits. It had certainly never occurred to them that the stray cat they'd taken in only two weeks earlier might be infested with fleas. There was really no way they could have guessed that the entire first floor of the Blydon mansion would have to be aired out. And Emma hadn't really intended to give the entire household such a good look at her undergarments when she'd shimmied up a tree to save that same cat.

Her relatives really ought to have thanked her. During the week they were getting rid of the fleas, the entire family quit London and had a marvelous holiday in the country, riding, fishing, and staying up all night playing cards. Emma taught her relatives how to play poker, a game she had bribed her neighbor into teaching her back in Boston.

Caroline had shaken her head and sighed that Emma was a bad influence. Before Emma's arrival Belle had only been a bluestocking. Now she was a bluestocking and a hoyden.

"Goodness," Emma had replied. "That's better than being just a hoyden, isn't it?" But she knew she could tease Caroline. Her aunt's love for her was apparent in both her endearments and her scoldings, and they usually acted much more like mother and daughter than aunt and niece. That was why Caroline was so excited about Emma's debut into London society. Even though she knew that Emma ought to return to her father in Boston, she secretly hoped Emma would fall in love with an Englishman and settle down in London. Perhaps then Emma's father, who had been raised in England and lived there until he married an American woman, might also return to London to be near his sister and daughter.

So Caroline had arranged a huge ball to introduce Emma to the ton. It was to be held that night, and Emma and Belle had fled belowstairs, not wanting to get trapped into taking care of all the last-minute arrangements for the party. Cook was having none of it, however, telling the young women over and over again that they would only get in her way.

"Please, can't we assist you down here? It's a ghastly scene upstairs," Emma sighed. "Nobody speaks of anything besides this party tonight."

"Well, you'll find that's all we're talking of down here, little missy," Cook replied, wagging her finger. "Your auntie is having four hundred guests tonight, and we've got to cook for the lot of them."

"Which is exactly why you need our help. What would you like us to do first?"

"What I'd like for you to do is get out of my kitchen before your mama finds you down here!" Cook exclaimed. Those two had come down to the kitchen before, but this was the first time they'd been so audacious as to actually dress up in plain clothes and offer to help. "I can't wait until the season gets started so you two scamps have something to do with yourselves."

"Well, it starts tonight," Belle stated, "with Mama's ball to introduce Emma to the ton. So maybe you'll get lucky, and we'll have so many suitors that we won't have time to bother you."

"God willing," Cook muttered.

"Now, Cook," Emma put in, "have mercy on us. If you don't let us help out down here, Aunt Caroline will have us arranging flowers again."

"Please," Belle cajoled. "You know how much you love ordering us about."

"Oh, all right," Cook grumbled. It was true. Belle and Emma did cheer up the kitchen staff with their crazy antics. They also lifted Cook's spirits; she just didn't want them knowing it. "I s'pose you two devils will annoy me all morning 'til I give in. Goes against my good judgment, this does. You need to be getting ready abovestairs, not dancing around my kitchen."

"But you adore our charming company, don't you, Cook?" Belle grinned.

"Charming company, my foot," Cook muttered as she hauled a sack of sugar out of the pantry. "You see those mixing bowls out on the counter? I'll want six cups of flour in each. And two cups of sugar. Now be careful with that and stay out of everyone's way."

"Where's the flour?" Emma asked, looking about.

Cook sighed and started to head back to the pantry. "Wait a minute. If you're so eager to have my job, you lift those big sacks."

Emma chuckled as she easily carried the sack of flour back over to where Belle was measuring out sugar.

Belle laughed, too. "Thank goodness we escaped Mama. She'd probably want us to start getting dressed already, and the ball is more than eight hours away."

Emma nodded. In all honesty, she was quite excited about her first London ball. She was eager to put all those fitting sessions and dancing lessons to use. But Aunt Caroline was nothing if not a perfectionist, and she was issuing orders like an army general. After weeks of gowns, flowers, and music selections, neither Emma nor Belle wanted to be found anywhere near the ballroom while Belle's mother was getting everything ready. The kitchen was the last place Caroline would look for them.

Once they started their measuring, Belle turned to Emma, her blue eyes serious. "Are you nervous?"

"About tonight?"

Belle nodded.

"A little. You English can be a little daunting, you know, with all of your rules and etiquette."

Belle smiled sympathetically, pushing a lock of her wavy blond hair out of her eyes. "You'll do fine. You've got self-confidence. It has been my experience that if you act like you know what you're doing, people will believe you."

"Such a sage," Emma said affectionately. "You read too much."

"I know. It will be the death of me. I will never"—Belle rolled her eyes in mock horror—"find a husband when I've got my nose in a book."

"Did your mother say that?"

"Yes, but she means well, you know. She would never make me get married just for the sake of getting married. She let me refuse an offer from the Earl of Stockton last year, and he was considered the season's biggest catch."

"What was wrong with him?"

"He was a bit concerned by the fact that I like to read."

Emma smiled as she scooped some more flour into bowls.

"He told me that reading wasn't appropriate for the female brain," Belle continued. "He said it gave women 'ideas.'"

"Heaven forbid we have ideas."

"I know, I know. He told me not to worry, however, that he was certain he could break me of the habit once we were married."

Emma shot her a sideways glance. "You should have asked him if he thought you'd be able to break him of his pompous attitude."

"I wanted to, but I didn't."

"I would have."

"I know." Belle smiled and looked up at her cousin. "You do have a talent for speaking your mind."

"Is that a compliment?"

Belle pondered the question for a few moments before answering. "I rather think it is. Redheads aren't really in fashion just now, but I predict that you—and your outrageous mouth—will be such a success that by next month I will be informed—by Those Who Inform—that red hair is positively the latest thing and isn't that lucky for my poor cousin who has the misfortune of being American."

"Somehow I doubt that, but it's very kind of you to say so." Emma knew she wasn't as lovely as Belle, but she was satisfied with her looks, having long ago decided that if she couldn't be a beauty, at least she was unusual. Ned had once called her a chameleon, pointing out that her hair seemed to change color with each shake of her head. One glimmer of light set her locks aflame. And her eyes, normally a clear violet, smoldered and darkened to dangerous black when she was in a temper.

Emma scooped some flour into the last bowl and wiped her hands on her apron. "Cook!" she called out. "What next? We've measured out all the flour and sugar."

"Eggs. I want three in each bowl. And no shells, you hear me? If I find any shells in my cakes, I'll keep them in the kitchen and serve up your heads instead."

"My, my, Cook is fierce this morning," Belle chuckled.

"I heard that, missy! Don't you think I didn't. I'll have none of that. Now, if you're going to be in my kitchen, get to work!"

"Where did you put the eggs, Cook?" Emma rummaged through the box where perishable food was stored. "I don't see them anywhere."

"Well, you can't be looking hard enough, then. I knew you two would have no cooking sense." Cook stomped over to the box and flung it open. Her search, however, proved as fruitless as Emma's. "Well, I'll be. We're out of eggs," Her scowl returned with a vengeance and she bellowed, "Who was the fool that forgot to get eggs from the market?"

Not surprisingly, no one raised her hand.

Cook scanned the room, her gaze finally resting on a young maid who was hunched over a pile of berries. "Mary," she called out. "Are you done washing those yet?"

Mary wiped her wet hands on her apron. "No, ma'am, I've still got pints and pints to go. I've never seen so many berries."

"Susie?"

Susie was up to her elbows in soapy water as she hurriedly washed dishes.

Emma looked around. There were at least a dozen people in the kitchen, and all of them looked terribly busy.

"Well, this is just dandy," Cook grumbled. "Four hundred to cook for, and I've got no eggs. And no spare hands to go fetch more."

"I'll go," Emma volunteered.

Both Belle and Cook looked at her with expressions that were somewhere between shock and horror.

Copyright © 1995 by Julie Cotler