Authors: Rachel Francis
“You mean, you’ve milked cows?
In your dresses?” she’d said.
Emily and Genevieve exchanged glances.
“Yes, my Lady,” Emily had said.
It put Lady Wingrave in a sour mood for the rest of the day to think of a gentleman’s children “subjected” to such an education.
When her mother was present, Mary barely ever spoke, a stark departure from her manners in Tripton.
Lady Wingrave did not possess any malice for her daughter or the guests brought to Landhilton, but Emily guessed Mary had made her uncomfortable enough to warrant poor manners.
Emily wished that the Wingraves would keep her and Genevieve out of their machinations regardless of any gratitude she might be compelled to feel for Mary’s invitation.
Lady Wingrave left the young women to socialize with Miss Jones while she mingled with a crowd of matriarchs such as herself.
Miss Morley could not bear Miss Worthing’s company now that everyone in her own sphere knew she’d been thwarted by an unknown.
She slunk away as a cat drenched with water escapes into the shadows.
Miss Jones, being of good breeding and a genuinely curious demeanor smiled at Emily.
“How fares your visit?” said Miss Jones.
“It has been new and different from that which I am used to,” said Emily.
“I can imagine.
Landhilton must be astir.
I have heard that you are quite familiar with my cousins.
How are Elijah and Jonah?
I’ve already had news of Frederick from Miss Morley, but she did not have much to report on other fronts.”
A slow creep of rosy color spread across Emily’s face which satisfied many of Miss Jones’ questions without the asking.
“They are in good health, and last I spoke with them, quite happy with Reddester Hall.”
“That is good to hear.
When Elijah commissioned in the army we were all worried about his future happiness, going in so young, you know.
I am happy that it was not to his detriment,” said Miss Jones.
Perceptive as always, Genevieve squinted in confusion and looked between the two women.
Not apt to speak, she gathered that Emily was not surprised by Miss Jones’ statement, and did not refute it.
Emily cleared her throat.
“No, I do not think Captain Wingrave was injured by his experiences anymore than had he waited until a later age.
I think, in fact, it was for the better,” said Emily.
“And Jonah?
Have you yet heard him say a word?”
Miss Jones smiled in remembrance.
“I think he has quite blossomed since arriving in Tripton.
A kindred soul may have helped him to feel secure.”
Miss Jones nodded.
“Very good!
He was always a sweet boy.”
“I confess to aiding him a bit.
Certain persons of a more flamboyant nature may have stolen the fancy he deserved,” said Emily.
“I know exactly of who you speak.
It is sad that he followed Mary, considering the history there,” said Miss Jones.
“I was not aware they had history.
I was told the two families did not get on.”
Emily resisted asking questions, letting only what was common knowledge float to the surface.
Miss Jones took Emily into confidence, taking her arm and leaving Genevieve to seek out those of her own age.
“They don’t get on because he broke their engagement years ago.
Everyone knows that, but the Wingraves won’t speak of it.
I would not be around them without knowing, for fear of saying something that might kick the proverbial hornet’s nest.
My mother, Lady Wingrave’s sister, was shunned for months for daring to bring it up.
Since, she has not spoken of that business even in passing.
Mary has turned down at least two proposals since then, from very fine gentlemen,” said Miss Jones.
Emily quieted her panic for Peter by assuring herself that Mary had not been in love with those men.
If Elijah would not propose to her, then it followed that Mary would not accept an offer from Peter, but Emily’s attention was wrested from these thoughts by more conversation with Miss Jones.
They became fast friends, though Emily stayed clear of admitting any feeling for Captain Wingrave.
She found through Miss Jones that not everyone agreed with Elijah’s choices, thinking it a lesser son’s duty to take part in the military, certainly not the heir.
Others were prodigiously proud of him for becoming such a decorated officer.
No matter their position, every friend and relation had another story of him to tell, and since Emily and Genevieve were the freshest ears in the room, they were tugged this way and that to hear the tales.
“He’s a crack shot!
Killed a score of pheasants on my property for a party before he turned sixteen,” said a portly gentleman whose name Emily didn’t remember.
His wife chimed in, “And what a musician!
You must have heard him play?
Charms the birds right out of the trees.”
“A thunderous temper though!
I’ll never forget when that Annesley chap visited the town after… well, right before Elijah left for the border.
The constable broke them apart, but no one recognized the Annesley lad afterward, had to take him on his word!” said the large man, who Emily now gathered was an uncle to the Wingraves.
“Sir Sheridan, are you smearing my brother’s name or commending him?” inquired Mary.
After the whirl of storytelling, Emily looked on Miss Wingrave with gratitude.
“I think very highly of your brother, Miss Mary.
I was only amusing Miss Worthing with a little history lesson,” said Sir Sheridan.
His boisterous nature, drink in hand, made all the more sense after Emily connected him to his son.
“Let us remember that some history must remain mysterious,” said Mary.
Emily frowned.
“History that is mysterious cannot be learned from, as is the purpose of taking it down,” said Emily.
“I merely meant that you may not wish to hear about our childhood all evening.
Let us talk of other things, such as Mr. Sheridan, where is Frederick?” said Mary, which was more than enough to derail the Sheridans into doting on their son, who would be arriving late as he had to check in on his own estate.
Shortly thereafter, Mr. Sheridan did appear, and immediately joined Emily’ conversation with Lady Wingrave, who had come to inquire after her guests.
“Good evening, Miss Worthing!
I see they’ve started a small area for dancing, would you oblige me?” he said.
“If her ladyship does not mind,” said Emily.
“I will talk with you when the dance is finished, do not worry,” said Lady Wingrave.
Mr. Sheridan led Emily to the arranged dancers.
“I say, I believe this is the first time in our acquaintance we’ve danced, Miss Worthing.
Wingrave has always beaten me to it,” said Mr. Sheridan.
He was not horrible at dancing, but generally lazy in form.
“You are correct, sir,” said Emily, making no comment on Capt. Wingrave.
Mr. Sheridan had meant to prod a response out of her, and so continued.
“I would not be surprised if he gave up Reddester to Jonah in the next year,” he said.
“Why would he do that?”
Emily did not suppose Mr. Sheridan to know many of Capt. Wingrave’s motivations, and did not give much of a reaction, which Mr. Sheridan took as disinterest.
“I do not think there is enough to keep him there.
No firm attachments.”
“I am sad to hear he does not consider his friendships as firm attachments,” said Emily.
Frustrated with the indirect line, Mr. Sheridan pressed forward.
“I meant to say, no confirmed prospects.
I think age may have caught up with him, and he might finally seek a wife.
Just the other day I overheard him speaking with an attorney about the best way to ensure his spouse would be entitled to his property at death,” said Mr. Sheridan.
Emily smiled in girlish glee.
“I wonder why he would be asking without any prospects,” she said.
“It is a gentlemanly duty to have everything in order before courting a young lady.
I, for instance, had the parlor at Barkrum redecorated to be a room for my lady.”
“What if your lady did not appreciate the style in which you decorated it?
Should it not be her taste in the room?”
“I couldn’t very well ask her, not having a lady yet myself.
Tell me, do you like urns, Miss Worthing?”
Emily felt the strangeness of the question, and coupled with his vibrant attentions to Miss Morley, thought it out of line.
“I cannot stand the sight of urns, sir.
It gives me a headache to think of them,” said Emily.
“Oh…
Well, what about game that has been stuffed?”
A horrid picture of stiff, dead animals atop and beside urns of many shapes and sizes came to Emily unbidden.
“No, sir, no stuffed animals in my house.”
“Quite right?”
Mr. Sheridan lapsed into thought.
They finished the dance, though her partner did not leave as Emily had expected.
He followed her back to Lady Wingrave, and quietly listened to their conversation.
“As I was asking before, have you enjoyed your evening?” said Lady Wingrave.
“Oh yes, very much.
I’ve learned so much about my new friends,” said Emily.
“Perhaps too much.
Maybe you should tell her ladyship something of yourself?
Perhaps your pact not to marry, or how your sister has engaged the romantic attention of Mr. Edward Annesley?” said Miss Morley, sliding in.
“I did not think the trials and ramblings of the young and unmarried were interesting to her ladyship,” said Emily, “But if they are, I shall be happy to go on about them.”
“Edward Annesley?” said Lady Wingrave.
“Yes, he ventured to Tripton not long after your children came there.
He’s been staying at Reddester with them, and Miss Morley,” said Emily.
Miss Morley scowled at having been connected with him when it was her object to keep that light on the Worthings.
“Oh, they must have reconciled,” said Lady Wingrave.
“They did, and quickly from what I understand.
It seems Edward was not at all the source of the problem,” said Emily.
From his spot, Mr. Sheridan piped up.
“Miss Morley, do you like urns?”
Annoyed and upset with him for dancing with Emily, Miss Morley answered, “No!
They are the ugliest things in the world!”
Hurt and disillusioned, Mr. Sheridan walked away.
Emily and Lady Wingrave, disgusted with Miss Morley, would not speak until the wretched girl scampered away, quite embarrassed.
Miss Jones approached them, a touch unsteady with wine.
“Miss Worthing!
I’ve heard you equal our Elijah at the pianoforte, and I would be the judge, if you would humor us with a song,” she said.
“I would be honored,” said Emily.
Miss Jones led her, in a roundabout way, to the side room where an instrument slumbered.
“I haven’t played this old thing in over a year, hope it still works,” said Miss Jones with the air of a barmaid.
Emily giggled and plied the keys.
She decided a lively tune would please her hostess the most.
“On a tawny bridge,
Dammed up with sticks,
I lost my hear-r-rt.
On those ruby lips,
I left a kiss,
For we did par-r-rt.
For many days, it kept my head above the clouds,
For many years, it kept my hope without a doubt,
On an old black bridge,
Dammed up with sticks,
I got my hear-r-rt.
On your wrinkled lips,
I got my kiss,
Never to par-r-rt.”
As Emily sang the chorus twice more to finish, she wondered if the song was not most appropriate for her situation.
Would Capt. Wingrave hold them apart until they grew old and cared not for the movings of society?
Surprising to her, a crowd cheered for an encore when the song was over.
Emily sang until her breath ran out.
“Delightful!
We haven’t had a true proficient since Elijah went away,” said Miss Jones within earshot of Miss Morley.
Emily would have felt sorry for the girl if she hadn’t done everything in her power to be unpleasant.