The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Eleven

Emilia didn't know how long she could continue cowering on the floor. It felt as if both Mr. Byrne and Mary Hartley had already been staring down at her for ages, he with his hand still outstretched, wearing a concerned frown and Miss Mary with slightly narrowed eyes and a gaping mouth. She'd have to take Mr. Byrne's offered hand one of these days, possibly even stand and face the room, or even — Lord forbid — speak. But she was frozen and would likely remain so until Miss Hartley said something.

Emilia wasn't sure what that something would be. It could be anything from a startled laugh and a scoff off, "That is not Miss Crewe," prompting everyone to stare at Emilia in confusion and disgust.

Or perhaps something more dramatic like, "You have all been deceived by this brazen impostor!" After which Emilia would be cast out into the rain.

Or, worse yet, "Call the magistrate! This scheming girl is a servant!" after which Mr. Byrne would pull his hand away in disdain, Mrs. Baddeley would cry out in horror, and Sir Anthony would alert the footmen to seize Emilia until she could be taken away for her crimes. 

Miss Prudence would likely protest, then perhaps they would be thrown into gaol together. Miss Prudence wouldn't be there long if her family had anything to say about it, but Emilia might waste away there indefinitely. Were the prisons in Cambridge as terrible as the one in York, where she heard people often gawked at prisoners in the yard as a foul form of entertainment?

Miss Hartley said nothing, however. It was Mr. Byrne who spoke first, turning to Miss Mary. "Miss Hartley. How lovely to meet you again," he said, smiling slightly. "Pardon my distraction, but your friend Miss Crewe has had a little misadventure." He bent down further and took her hand, tugging slightly. Had his smile grown slightly warmer or was she imagining it? "As you can see, she still needs saving."

He had no idea how right he was. But Emilia allowed herself to be pulled to stand as she prepared herself for the worst, her legs shaking under her skirts as if ready to flee or collapse, but she felt a hand cuff her arm.

It was Mr. Byrne and she was torn between resenting him for preventing her escape and being grateful she had not crumpled to the floor. "You seem unwell," he said softly, leaning in. "Should I have something fetched, some smelling salts or your maid... Miss Finch, isn't it?"

She shook her head mutely, staring at Miss Mary, whose eyes narrowed further. Emilia winced as the girl opened her mouth, but Mrs. Baddeley appeared at her side.

"How lovely to reunite old friends. I was just saying to Miss Marbury what a delightful surprise it was to meet you in London, but we had no notion we'd be seeing you again so soon. But Miss Hartley... You have yet to meet the rest of our merry party at all and we can't have that," Mrs. Baddeley chattered as she pulled her away. "Now, you know Sir Anthony, of course. But this is Lady Adele, of a very old family that, if you can believe it, escaped France in The Terror..."

Emilia let out the breath that had been trapped inside her at the fleeting moment of relief as Mrs. Baddeley fussed over introducing Miss Hartley around along with the other new guest — Miss Marbury, she presumed — a generously-proportioned young woman in a dress that looked to be strangling her. Emilia only had the wits to notice such a thing because she recognized the trapped look in the girl's eyes, especially as Mrs. Baddeley drew Miss Marbury toward Sir Anthony.

Emilia barely had a moment to sympathize as she felt her own legs buckling, though she didn't fall.

Mr. Byrne was there, one hand on her arm and the other, possibly indecently, gripping her waist. "Miss Crewe, you truly look unwell. Let me call for—"

"I'm well," she lied absently, even as she leaned against him. His arms, now tightened around her, felt rather comforting, but she pulled herself away resolutely. "But perhaps I've over-exerted myself. I should retire."