Free The Second Lady Emily by Allison Lane

She had no family or close friends who would miss her if anything went wrong. Plus, she knew much about the Regency era – knowledge essential to anyone who wrote about the period. Then there was the information on herbal medicine she had learned from Willard. How ironic that he had actually saved her life.
    But Emily could have found a helper long ago if those were the only requirements. Many people fit that description. Cherlynn Cardington was so ordinary, she was negligible. Thus it must be the title. In buying the Broadbanks title, she had purchased everything that went with it, including the curse. So she had a personal stake in the outcome. Or the title may have been the conduit that allowed Emily to bring her back. She might be the first available marchioness who knew how to survive the injury that had originally killed the girl. No family member had visited the house since it had been turned over to the National Trust during World War I. Ghosts were usually tied to a specific location. If the title was the conduit, then Emily would have had no opportunities in over eighty years – which didn’t do much for Cherlynn’s confidence. Had the girl grabbed her because she was the only choice instead of the best?
    “Enough.”
    Rehashing how she got here accomplished nothing. She needed to consider the stakes instead of wallowing in her own inadequacies. Seventy-one dead marquesses, including Drew, who had blown his brains out on September 15, 1815.
    His kiss again tickled her forehead. She could no longer see him as a historical entity, or even as the grim-visaged portrait of a man long dead. He had fought hard to save her life, willing to try anything, no matter how odd, if she claimed it would help her survive.
    “He does not deserve to die.”
    Her expression firmed. If she was to carry this out, she must start thinking of herself as Emily and must try to act like Emily. She could help no one if they locked her away for insanity.
    * * * *
    “You rang, my lady?” Dawn had broken more an hour earlier, allowing sunlight to stream into the room. The maid’s face suddenly changed to horror. “The window is open again! You’ll catch your death, and no mistake.”
    “Stop!” Cherlynn’s voice halted the maid in her tracks. “Leave it. Fresh air will speed my recovery.”
    “Still delirious,” muttered the maid.
    Cherlynn bit her lip. She had no idea what Emily had been like, but suspected the girl had been a wimp – biddable and conformable, as she would have said in one of her books. Though she would try to emulate that in public, there was no hope of fooling the maid. Everything she recalled from her illness confirmed that Emily had confided freely in this servant. Amnesia wouldn’t account for all her differences, so she needed an explanation for the change.
    “I am not delirious,” she said gently, “though this illness has left me weak. I need your help – and your silence.”
    The maid’s eyes blazed with suspicion.
    “My head has healed and my fever is gone, yet my memory has not returned,” she announced slowly. “You must teach me about myself and the people I should know. Announcing my condition to the world will harm my family, but I cannot wait patiently for the affliction to right itself. I must live as though it is permanent.”
    “Very wise, my lady.”
    “What is your name?”
    “Grace.”
    “Very pretty. It fits you.” Grace was about thirty, with a willowy figure and ease of movement that did not match the literary description of the servant class. “Have you served me long?”
    “Since your birth. I started as a nursery maid, but was assigned and trained as your lady’s maid at your request.”
    “I trust I have good judgment. Let’s start with my family. I have spoken with Charles and my mother, but I know little about them.”
    She listened for nearly an hour as Grace described Charles, Lady Clifford, and a younger sister, Mary, who had remained at Clifford Abbey. The