Page 28 of Sweet Hellion

Portugal.

Where Tory had fought and died?

Emma glanced toward the open doorway as if she might somehow see the battlefield, then shook off the strange feeling and tore open the letter.

August 11, 1812

Emma,

By now, no doubt, you believe me dead.

Emma yanked her gaze down to the signature.

Tory

The room spun. She staggered back a pace. Tory? She stumbled to the stairs and collapsed onto a step as her eyes devoured the letter.

August 11, 1812

Emma,

By now, no doubt, you believe me dead. I nearly was. After the battle, I was found by the men who cleared the battlefield. They also thought me dead. Someone realized I was breathing, however, and called a doctor. I have been in the hospital since, unconscious. I know, it is too fantastical to be believed. Only three days ago I awoke, and today, I could speak well enough to ask for pen and paper.

I pray God you are well and have not mourned me terribly. I am healing well. I received your letter telling me about our father’s death.

Her heart squeezed. He’d received her letter. He knew about Papa. Emma closed her eyes and pressed the letter to her heart for a long moment. Of course, he knew. He was her twin. She’d thought him dead. Rhys had said Tory died in his arms. Rhys had reentered the battle after that: to die, she realized with a sob. Emma sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the two men she loved had been spared, then opened her eyes and read.

I am sorry, lass. When I return, we will visit Father’s grave together. Did he see you safely married? By now, you must have a bairn or two.

Have you met my friend Rhys? I told him to find you. He is a brave man. Ange vengeur. He saved those of us he could after Major Ross deserted us.

Emma stared at the words ‘after Major Ross deserted us.’ William Ross, Viscount Munro. Tory knew of Lord Munro’s desertion? Her heart began to pound. Rhys would be free. Tory was alive and Rhys would be free. Her eyes blurred through tears as she read the final words,

He saved me. If not for him pulling me off the field, I would have surely died beneath the dead. I will return soon, Stinkpot. If that husband of yours is not treating you right, I will shoot him.

Love,

Your brother

Tory

Emma wasn’t certain how long she sat on the stairs, but when she finally rose, she climbed the stairs with one thought in mind: to find the major general and show him Tory’s letter. Rhys would be a free man tonight.

In her room, Emma withdrew her best dress from the armoire. She had only one dress decent enough to help her pass as one of the guests instead of the serving girl she was supposed to be. She surveyed the dress she’d sewn during her affair with the vicar, intended as her wedding gown. She’d never worn it. It was made of a fine white muslin with a French lace trim and pink ribbon rosettes. How apropos that she should wear this dress on a night when she would pretend to be something she wasn’t—a lady.

She cleaned herself, then quickly dressed and wrapped her hair in a simple chignon at the nape of her neck. When she looked in the mirror, the determined woman who stared back was as beautiful as any woman who would attend the party. All she had to do was pass through the door without notice. Once inside, she would find the major general and show him Tory’s letter.

Emma grabbed a wrap from the armoire, then pulled her velvet reticule from the drawer and dropped in enough coin for a cab. Tonight, she would arrive in a hackney. Nights were far too dangerous to walk the streets alone dressed as a real lady. She folded Tory’s letter and stuffed it inside, then headed downstairs.

When Emma stepped from the cab twenty minutes later in front of Lord Munro’s mansion, strains of an orchestra wafted to her from inside the well-lit ballroom. Carriages lined the road, each bringing wealthy sponsors whose generous charity had built the new ward.

The driver touched the brim of his hat as she laid his fare in his hand along with a modest gratuity. Emma took a deep breath and climbed the half dozen steps to the door. A smartly dressed footman opened the door and stood aside as she entered the mansion as if she belonged there.

A burst of color and lights nearly blinded her as she entered the ballroom. For a moment, Emma was shocked into inaction and froze. She had never seen a room so grand. Heat flooded her cheeks at sight of the beautiful women on the dance floor who wore extravagant dresses that flared and swayed in the bright candlelight. She’d been a fool to think the dress she wore could disguise the fact that she was a member of the working class.

Breathe, Emma, she told herself. You are inside. That is all you need.

Emma started when she spotted Molly, carrying a tray of champagne. Emma started to turn, but Molly spotted her. The girl’s eyes widened, and panic sent Emma’s heart into a gallop.