Free Twilight with the Infamous Earl by Alexandra Hawkins Page A

maid looked after her and her sister Judith, and when she wasn’t needed she was given other chores by their housekeeper. Mercy helped her undress, and when Emily could manage on her own, the maid slipped out of the room to check in on Judith.
    Turning away from the mirror, she grabbed her hairbrush from the dressing table and walked over to her bed. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and brushed her hair. Occasionally, she paused to pluck a hairpin that Mercy had missed, but it did not take long before her strokes were unhindered from crown to the ends of her hair.
    Emily was too distracted by the events of this evening to find pleasure in the task. When she was a child, Lucy used to brush Emily’s hair each night. However, her sister had to catch her first. This often involved Lucy pushing her to the ground and sitting on her back. Emily retaliated by pulling her sister’s hair. Once the yelling and name-calling had ceased, the pair had settled down and focused on the task.
    They talked about their day. They shared their joys, the real and imaginary slights—usually their brother Ashley was to blame—and their discoveries. In hindsight, Emily had been too young to appreciate those unguarded moments with her sister.
    Lucy often complimented Emily’s red hair, declaring it her best feature. Naturally, she had envied her sister’s golden-blond tresses, similar in hue to their mother’s. Her red hair was a legacy from some unknown ancestor, and as a child she considered it too garish to be pretty. She had longed for hair like her sister’s.
    Lucy.
    Not all of her recollections of her sister were happy. She recalled one afternoon when Lucy had been furious at her for eating the last gooseberry tart. She called Emily a red-haired changeling. Six years old at the time, she had thought it an unforgivable insult. She had sobbed in her mother’s arms for almost an hour, and her sister had been sent to bed without supper as a punishment.
    When her parents had sent her off to Miss Swann’s Academy for Young Ladies, Emily had begged them not to. It had seemed frivolous to be acquiring the social polish reserved for noblemen’s daughters and heiresses. She blamed her mother for the decision. As Viscount Ketchen’s youngest daughter, she expected her daughters to eventually make respectable matches even though they were commoners. Although her mother’s life no longer revolved around the ton, she had high hopes that one of her girls would marry a nobleman.
    By the time Emily had returned home, it was obvious that their mother had placed all her hopes in her eldest daughter. Lucy’s first season in London had been a success. Using the family’s connections, her sister had been presented to members of some of the most influential families in England. And while the Earl of Leventhorpe was not the only gentleman to fall in love with her sister, he had been one of the richest. His offer had been overly generous, and her parents eagerly accepted.
    Emily had assumed that her sister was overjoyed by the prospect of marrying Lord Leventhorpe. Her letters from London implied she was enjoying herself, and she had made dozens of friends. Eventually, Emily had traveled to London for a visit. She had been too young to join her sister as she made the rounds to the countless fetes and balls, but there were other amusements to entertain her.
    Lucy had changed .
    Even now, she struggled to accept it. Emily did not know if the years they had spent apart had altered their friendship or if London had ruined her. Something had changed her sister.
    Or someone.
    Emily stopped brushing her hair. If she persisted she would end up bald, and then her mother would make her wear those unattractive headdresses many matrons preferred. She set down the hairbrush and used the bedpost for support as she climbed to her feet.
    Pressing her face against the carved wood, she groaned. “He can’t be the one. Lucy was confused. She did not know what she