by Caroline Warfield (excerpt)
By the time Emma Simmons escaped her mother’s lecture, Sal, her maid, was already unpacking her trunks in the snug but comfortable room Lady Warrington had assigned her.
Emma set her portmanteau on the bed, and sighed. Mama’s final words echoed in her head. “We are not at this house party for you to enjoy yourself. This is serious business.”
Serious business indeed. Secure a titled husband, and not just any title. Nothing lower than an earl would do, but Mama’s wish was a duke. Ambitious for a baron’s daughter. Emma faced a week of flirting, side stepping, machinations, role playing, and, experience suggested, back stabbing. She dreaded all of it.
Don’t worry Mama, I won’t enjoy myself, she thought miserably.
She opened the portmanteau and took out the precious personal belongings she had carried. She set two books on the table by the window. Her jewelry went in the drawer of the vanity, but she left her silver hair brush and hand mirror on top of it.
She removed one more object and handed Sal the empty portmanteau to store. Emma smiled down at the object in her hand, a mouse crudely carved from black stone and rubbed smooth by years—possibly centuries—of loving hands.
“Well, Harry, where shall I put you?” she asked the mouse.
“Shall I bring up hot water, Miss Emma?” Sal asked, unconcerned by her mistress speaking to a stone.
“Not yet. I believe I shall rest. Bring it when it is time to help me get ready for dinner. I believe we’re meant to meet an hour before for a welcome gathering.”
Sal bowed out, but Emma felt far from restful. She paced the little room, rubbing her thumb over Harry’s back. She had found him during a ramble near Hadrian’s Wall when she was thirteen, perched on a boulder as if waiting for her. Papa declared him ancient, but Emma had no idea how old. She only knew he was helpful.
She sat in the chair by the hearth, enjoying the warmth. At least the Warringtons didn’t stint on fires. A Valentine-themed house party would be miserable otherwise.
She opened her fingers and studied her little friend. “Well Harry, what shall I ask for? Warmth? Good food? Peace and quiet? Kind ladies?”
She was tempted to request that Mama would be called home and leave her here alone, but she’d learned to be careful with her wishes. Unforeseen consequences could be unpleasant.
She’d once wished her governess would leave. Unfortunately, the governess who replaced her was a strict disciplinarian who became Mama’s confidant. She had been stuck with the woman until the previous spring when she had made her come-out.
Over the years, Harry’s ability to grant wishes had mixed results. She said her request out loud, he warmed her hand, and the wish was granted. Emma didn’t always like what she got. Just the previous year, when she was preparing for London and the season, she wished her chest was not so flat. Harry gave her rather too much, so much so that gentlemen tended to focus on her abundant endowments rather than her face.
She wanted the social round to end, the ogling men to disappear, and Mama to leave her in peace. There was only one way to put it to rest. “Oh, very well, Harry. I wish for a duke, one who will please Mama.” The little mouse became almost too hot to hold in her hand. He had, no doubt, heard her. Her fate would be sealed in the next week or two.
Award winning author of family-centered romance set in the Regency and Victorian eras, Caroline Warfield works in an office surrounded by windows where she lets her characters lead her to adventures in England and the far-flung corners of the British Empire while she nudges them to explore the riskiest territory of all, the human heart. Find her at www.carolinewarfield.com.