Free The Adventuress: HFTS5 by Marion Chesney, M.C. Beaton

the night was still young and that Emily could be worshipped just as easily on the morrow. Soon the last carriage had rolled off down Clarges Street.
    Emily and Mr. Goodenough retired to a corner of the dining room upstairs and left the servants to clear up the mess, Emily wondering if she would ever get used to being waited on.
    “Well, that went very well, my dear,” said Mr. Goodenough. “But it might have turned out to be a disaster had not the Earl of Fleetwood stepped in. You do have an awful tongue, Emily. And you should have warned me you meant to pass yourself off as a princess.”
    “I know,” said Emily. “I should be grateful to Fleetwood, but there is something about that man which frightens me. I sometimes suspect he knows exactly who I am and is laughing at me, and, yes, laughing at society at the same time for being such fools as to believe my story.”
    “You cannot hope to marry an earl,” said Mr. Goode-nough with a little sigh. “It is not likely you will see him again. He did not seem very much interested in you and only stayed for a little.”
    “Why cannot I marry an earl?” asked Emily curiously, although she herself had never thought such a thing possible. “When we first hit on this plan for a Season in London, you said I could marry a duke.”
    “We are dreamers,” said Mr. Goodenough. “But even dreamers such as we must face reality. It is not just because Fleetwood is an earl, it is because he is a very
rich
earl. Should, say, he propose to you, then I should be confronted by a battery of his lawyers, all firing questions at me, talking about marriage settlements, and demanding particulars of your ancestry. No, no. A poor gentleman—well, not too well-heeled—is what you require. A poor gentleman’s lawyers, if he can afford any, are not going to disaffect a good parti with probing questions.”
    “Then it is as well Fleetwood does not interest me.” Emily laughed. “What is this business about this house being unlucky?”
    “Ah, we should have known there was a reason for the low rent. I gathered from various guests that all sorts of frightening things have gone on under this roof: a beautiful girl murdered, her murderer unmasked while trying to kill one of the tenants, a family ruined, and even a dreadful suicide.”
    “What was the dreadful suicide?” asked Emily faintly.
    “That of the former Duke of Pelham.”
    “Merciful heavens! I am surprised anyone dared to call!”
    “Oh, they felt the bad luck only applied to those who live here. I do not believe in such stuff and nonsense. Do you?”
    “No,” said Emily stoutly.
    But when she went to bed that night, she asked Joseph to light the way upstairs, and lay awake for quite a long time, watching the patterns made by the rushlight on the ceiling, and remembering that mischievous mocking look in the earl’s eyes.
    “Trouble is coming,” thought Emily with a shiver. “I can feel it!”

Chapter
Six
     
    Come to our fête, and bring with thee
Thy newest, best embroidery!
Come to our fête, and show again
That pea-green coat, thou pink of men!
Which charmed all eyes, that last surveyed it;
When Brummel’s self inquired “who made it?”
    —Thomas Moore
     
    “And how was your drive in the Park with the fair princess?” asked Fitz the following evening as both gentlemen with their bicornes and canes tucked under their arms made their way to the opera.
    “I did not have an opportunity to take Miss Goodenough driving. Her drawing room was packed with curious society, all content to stare at her as if she were a freak at Bartholomew Fair. I presented my compliments, promised to call again when I should find her not so besieged, and took my leave,” said the earl.
    “She must be enjoying all the attention.”
    “Not she,” said the earl, tossing a coin to a crossing sweeper. “She remained calm and stately, but at the back of her eyes was a flicker of fear. Our princess is not only not a princess but, I should