Page 12 of His Duchess in Disguise
Rags whimpered back in sympathy and kept on walking beside her. Suddenly, he gave a “Yarp!” and bounded off into the mist.
“Rags! Rags!” Emma called. “Don’t leave me! I’ll never find you!”
Tears ran down Emma’s face, partly from the piercing wind and partly from sheer fatigue and frustration. With Rags gone, she was completely alone and absolutely lost.
For a few minutes, there was no sound but the wailing of the wind, her breathing and the little sob that she could not quite swallow down. Then Rags was back, barking excitedly, and tugging on her cloak. With no better direction than that of her lapdog, Emma allowed Rags to pull her along.
In a few minutes, he tugged her into a rude lean-to. The floor was littered with sheep droppings, and the walls had wide cracks, so they did little to keep out the wind. But the roof seemed to be whole, and there was a pile of hay in one corner.
Shivering, Emma took off her sodden cloak and hung it on a knot on one of the central posts that held up the roof. Her dress and shawl were also soaked, so she slid out of those too. After all, who was here to see? She hung them up on another knob, and with shaking fingers began to undo her bundle.
The outer shawl was just as wet as everything else, but she discovered that the worn blanket she had bought and stuffed into the saddlebags when they were far enough out of town was still dry, and so were the contents of the valise. She pulled off the rest of her wet things and pulled on the boy’s trousers she had purchased and a dry chemise. Even with the blanket wrapped about her, she was still cold, but at least she was no longer wet.
Next, she investigated her provisions. The bread and cheese in the pillowcase were a sodden mess, but she scooped it out and ate it anyway, realizing that she was glad of the moisture as she sucked the goo from her fingers. She then fed Rags another piece of dried meat, saving the last bit for his breakfast. With their meager repast finished, Emma reached out to the drip from the roof, and caught some of it in her hands, rinsing them off then cupping them to catch a little of it to drink.
“I should have left you at home,” she said to Rags. “How can I manage to feed you out here? But perhaps we shan’t have to worry about that. We shall freeze to death tonight, for I have no way to make a fire.
None the less, she used some wisps of hay to rub across Rags curly fur to help him dry a bit, and creating a nest in the hay, tucked him up on her lap. Snuggling the small dog, she began to feel warm and drowsy.
This is dangerous. People who are freezing go to sleep and never wake up.
As she struggled to stay awake, something bumped against the outside of the shed, and a dark form appeared at the front of the shed. Emma held Rags tight against her in absolute terror. Then the creature let out a fearsome braying noise, and Emma gave a soft hiccup of laughter. It was the faithless donkey, come to share their shelter.
Emma knew she probably had only one chance to catch the beast. She held very still, keeping one hand on Rags’ muzzle until the donkey came over and nosed the hay. By chance, one of the trailing reins fell across her hand, and she gripped it tightly. She pulled the donkey to her and fumbled around until she was able to tie the reins to the support post nearest the pile of hay.
The donkey lipped at the hay and settled in to munch steadily. Emma gave a shaky little laugh. “Well, at least one of us will have a good supper. And since you’ve seen fit to return, Sir Faithless, perhaps I can find someplace tomorrow to buy breakfast for the rest of us and maybe even a place where we can freshen up so I can look for work.”
The donkey didn’t pay her any mind, but Rags put his cold nose against her ankle.
It didn’t seem quite right to settle back in the straw with the donkey munching on it, but in a few minutes, he folded up his legs and settled into it himself. Emma only hesitated a minute before snuggling against the warmth of the large creature. Rags cuddled up against her front, and she fell asleep almost at once.
Chapter 10
Gilbert Hoskins, Baron of Calber, woke with a raging headache. That fool girl! All she needed to do was what she was told, and they would both be set for life. The Earl of Cleweme was obviously doing well for himself. But he was a dangerous man with whom to play a card game. Damn! If he had only been able to win enough to redeem that ring.
Emma was right, of course. He had sold the real ring months ago and had a paste replica made so that he could continue to do business. If only he had not offered it to Sir Draper as a bet. Even that would not have been a real disaster, but Draper had to turn right around and bet it in the very card game that they were both playing with Lord Harlow, the Earl of Cleweme. Harlow was well known as a card shark, but Gilbert had hoped to be able to win the ring back before anyone else could take possession of it.
But Emma shouldn’t have cut up stiff about marrying the man. What was wrong with marrying a fortune and political influence? It was said that Lord Harlow had Prinny’s ear and that if you wanted the Prince Regent to move on your behalf, then the Earl was the gentleman to see.
Well, he would make it right with the girl. Some gewgaws, and maybe some of those fool books that she loved, and she’d come around.
He hoped she’d come around. He hadn’t really meant to hit her, but the whole evening had just boiled to the top, and it had to go somewhere. Too bad that his daughter’s pretty face was in the way.
He rang for his man. Mr. Jones, the stableman, answered the ring. “What are you doing here? Where is my valet?”
“He left early this morning, Lord Hoskins. Incidentally, he said that he didn’t care about a reference, that he already had a position lined up. For what it is worth, he wished you luck.”
“Then what about one of the men-servants or a footman?” Gilbert glowered at the stableman.
“You dismissed them last week, sir. You said that their salaries were fripperies you could do without.”
Had he said that? He had been saying a great many things of late that he couldn’t seem to quite remember when he was sober. “Very well, then. I must dress, so let’s get on with it.”
Mr. Jones was by no means a competent valet, but he managed to get his employer into pantaloons and a walking jacket. “I’ll get a shave at my club,” Gilbert growled. “I value my throat.”
“As you wish, Lord Hoskins,” Mr. Jones said.
“Now, will you please fetch my daughter? There are things I need to say to her.”
