ondon, 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 ala 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 Lady 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 Lady Caroline 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.

"Are you crazy?" Cook demanded.

"Emma, it simply isn't done," Belle said at the exact same moment.

Emma rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not crazy, and why can't I go to the store? I'm perfectly able to fetch some eggs. Besides,

I could use a little fresh air. I've been cooped up inside all morning."

"But someone might see you," Belle protested. "You're covered with flour, for goodness sake!"

"Belle, I haven't met anybody yet. How could I be recognized?"

"But you can't go about in your maid's frock."

'This frock is exactly why I can go out," Emma explained patiently. "If I wore one of my morning dresses, everyone would wonder why a gentle lady was out without an escort, not to mention on her way to the market for eggs. No one will look

twice at me if I'm dressed as a maid. Although you certainly cannot accompany me. You'd be spotted in a second."

Belle sighed. "Mama would kill me."

"So you see... if Cook needs all her help in the kitchen, I am the only solution." Emma smiled. She smelled victory.

Belle wasn't convinced. "I don't know, Emma. This is highly irregular, letting you go out by yourself."

Emma let out an exasperated sigh. "Here, I'll pull my hair back tightly just like our maids do." Emma hastily rearranged her

hair into a bun. "And I'll spill some more flour on my frock. And maybe smear a little on my cheek."

"That's enough, now," Cook interjected. "We don't need to be wasting any of my good flour."

"Well, Belle?" Emma asked. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. Mama wouldn't like this one bit."

Emma put her face very close to Belle's. "She isn't going to hear about it, is she?"

"Oh, all right." Belle turned to all of the kitchen maids and wagged her finger. "Not one word of this to my mama. Does

everyone understand?"

"I don't like this at all," Cook said. "Not at all."

"Well, we haven't much choice, have we?" Emma put in. "Not if you want cakes at the ball. Now why don't you put Belle to

work squeezing those lemons, and I promise I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone." And with that, Emma grabbed

some coins out of Cook's hands and slipped out the door.

* * *

Emma took a deep breath of the crisp spring air when she reached the street. Freedom! It was so nice to escape the confines

of her cousins' home every now and then. Dressed as a maid, she could walk along unnoticed. After tonight, she'd never

again be able to leave the Blydon mansion unchaperoned.

Emma turned the final corner on the way to the market. She took her time as she ambled down the sidewalk, stopping to

glance in every store window. Just as she'd expected, none of the ladies and gentlemen out strolling gave more than a

passing glance to the small, red-haired maid covered with flour.

Emma hummed cheerfully as she entered the bustling market and purchased several dozen eggs. They were a little

awkward to carry, but she was careful not to grimace. A kitchen maid would be used to carrying such burdens, and

Emma did not want to spoil her disguise. Besides, she was fairly strong, and it was only five short blocks home.

'Thank you very much, sir." She smiled at the grocer, nodding her head.

He returned her grin. "Aye, you new around here? You sound as if you hail from the Colonies."

Emma's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't expected questions from the grocer. "Why, yes, I did grow up there, but I've

been living in London now for many years," she lied.

"Aye, I've always wanted to see America," he pondered.

Emma groaned inwardly. The grocer seemed ready for a long, engaging conversation, and she really needed to get back

home before Belle started worrying about her. She started backing out the door, smiling all the way.

"Now you come back sometime, little missy. Who did you say you worked for?"

But Emma had already scurried out the door, pretending that she hadn't heard his question. By the time she was halfway

home, she was in high spirits, whistling happily, quite certain that she'd pulled off her charade without a hitch. She walked

slowly, eager to prolong her little adventure. Besides, she enjoyed watching all the Londoners go about their daily business.

In her maid's costume, no one paid her any mind, and she could stare quite shamelessly as long as she looked away

whenever anybody glanced back at her.

Emma craned her neck to watch an adorable little boy of about five or six years scamper out of an elegant carriage drawn

by a pair of matched bays. He clutched a small cocker spaniel puppy, scratching it between its ears. The black and white

puppy returned his affection by licking the boy across the face, and he squealed with laughter, prompting his mother to poke

her head out of the carriage to check up on him. She was a beautiful woman with dark hair and green eyes that shone with obvious love for her son. "Don't you move from that spot, Charlie," she called to the boy. "I'll be with you in one moment."

The woman turned back toward the interior of the carriage, presumably to speak to someone. The little dark-haired boy rolled

his eyes and shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waited for his mother. "Mama," he implored, "hurry up." Emma smiled

at his obvious impatience. From what her father had told her, she'd been exactly the same way when she was small.

"Just one minute, scamp. I'll be right down."

But right then, a calico cat streaked across the street. The puppy suddenly let out a loud bark and jumped out of Charlie's

arms, chasing the feline into the street.

"Wellington!" Charlie shrieked. The little boy broke into a run, following the dog.

Emma gasped in horror. A hired hack was barreling down the street, and the driver was completely engrossed in conversation with the man sitting next to him, not paying the least bit of attention to the road. Charlie would be trampled underneath the

horses' hooves.

Emma screamed. She didn't stop to think as she dropped the eggs and raced into the street. When she was but a few feet

away from the boy, she made a headfirst dive through the air. If she had enough momentum, she prayed, she'd knock them

both out of the way before they were run over by the hack.

Charlie yelped, not understanding why a strange woman had jumped at him, slamming herself into his side.

Just before Emma hit the ground, she heard more screams.

And then there was only darkness.