Authors: Rachel Francis
“Let us talk about you, Miss Worthing.
I am fascinated by your friendship with Miss Barham and your ‘pact.’
How long have you known her?”
“Anne and I have been friends since childhood.
Barham Park is a twin estate to Charlton, built by two friends who settled here to take advantage of the rich soil.
Our families have always been close.”
“And your pact?
How did that come about?”
“As long as we are unmarried, we can assign our own value,” said Emily.
“And if you meet a man who values you as much or more than that?”
“Does such a man exist?” she wondered aloud.
“You think very little of the masculine sex,” said Mr. Wingrave.
“In a world where women always come second, how could I not?”
“Perhaps you should judge individuals, instead of a large collection with nothing in common but what they were given at birth.”
“Enough of them have come together to perpetuate their accepted superiority that I feel comfortable with my opinion.
Or is your true point that I should not judge you by that standard?” said Emily.
She stopped in a small courtyard where she could face him, the laughter of the others muffled by hedges.
“I suppose that is the only point I have left, for you’ve not had the experience I have of knowing many great men.”
“You suppose me ignorant?”
“I do.”
Offense drew red splotches on Emily’s cheeks.
“That is not very gentlemanly,” she informed him, walking away without his arm.
“It is honesty,” he replied, “Which is what you required of me.”
Her steps halted and she turned on him in suspicion.
“Why is it that you put yourself in my company?
Is it an examination of my opinions or do you find dismissing them a pleasurable pastime?”
“Neither.
I think you are a lovely, intelligent woman.
My opinion that you could benefit from being out in the world more does not hinder you in my esteem,” said Mr. Wingrave.
Frustration boiled up inside Emily’s chest, and it took all her nerve to behave as a lady should.
“Thank you, Mr. Wingrave.
I shall take it into consideration when I’m not needed at home.”
He flinched.
“I am sorry, Miss Worthing.
I forgot myself.
Please, let me take you back to the house,” said Mr. Wingrave.
Rather than let Bridget know they’d quarreled, she took his arm again.
“There you are Wingrave!
I was wondering where you had got off to with the lovely Miss Worthing!
I found a rose bush that I am sure she will appreciate,” said Mr. Sheridan.
“A rose bush?
Most fortuitous,” said Emily, leaving Mr. Wingrave to stand on the other side of Mr. Sheridan.
“Wingrave, come over here!
There is a buried sculpture you must rescue,” called Miss Morley from where the other ladies gathered near an old tree.
He left Emily and Mr. Sheridan to hunting down the rose bush.
“Shall we?” said Mr. Sheridan.
He made no move to gain her hand, letting her choose how she walked.
“Yes, we shall,” she said, in much better humor.
Mr. Wingrave’s insistence on closeness had made their encounter even more draining.
Mr. Sheridan chatted on about many things, his acquaintance with Lord and Lady Wingrave, the parties he had attended in Endland’s capital, Dunbarrow, and the education he had received there.
If Mr. Wingrave was a foggy mirror, Mr. Sheridan was clear glass.
“Ah, here it is!” cried Mr. Sheridan.
A fine rose bush leaned heavily on a back wall of the garden, new flowers forming now that sunlight could get through.
“Oh my, you shall have to let me know what color it blooms in.
It will be beautiful,” said Emily, truly admiring the elderly plant.
“Not so beautiful as you, Miss Worthing.
Have I told you I have a house up north nearer to Landhilton?”
Emily did her best to ignore any implications that might come with this information.
“No, you haven’t mentioned it.”
“It’s an elegant property, Barkrum.
I’ve often wished to have a lady for it,” said Mr. Sheridan.
Emily bit her tongue against her first response.
“Perhaps one day, you will,” she said.
Meandering away from the rose bush back towards company, Emily sighed.
The Wingraves had caused her so much anxiety since arriving, it would not have shocked her to hear it was by design.
“Miss Worthing?
Miss Worthing, may I have a moment?” asked Jonah before she could get to the others.
He waved Mr. Sheridan on and took up walking beside her.
“Yes, what is it, Mr. Jonah?” said Emily.
“You are friends with Miss Barham?”
“Why, yes I am.”
“Could I ask you the name of her younger sister?” he said, flushing.
“Oh, that would be Victoria,” said Emily.
Anne’s younger sister, known for her shyness as well, made little impression on most.
“Thank you, Miss Worthing.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask at the ball.”
“You know, Mr. Jonah, being bashful isn’t the worst kind of flaw.
Perhaps you should consider that as long as you act with sense, it is better to be remembered than to never be noticed.”
Jonah had the same look of thoughtfulness as his brother.
“That is sound advice, Miss Worthing.
Thank you.”
“Dinner is served,” called Mary, ushering them in.
The Wingraves had chosen an intimate dining room for the event, a mark of their acceptance of the Worthings as close friends.
Soft candle light shone on each face, giving everyone an ethereal glow.
The night continued to go poorly for Emily when she found herself seated next to Mr. Wingrave.
Mr. Worthing sat at the other end of the table with Genevieve and Mary whom he entertained with his special brand of storytelling.
“How was the rose bush, Miss Worthing?” said Mr. Wingrave.
“Quite pretty,” she said.
“Told her it was nothing to her beauty,” hiccuped Mr. Sheridan, who had, upon sitting, swallowed his wine and asked for another.
“I’m sure,” said Mr. Wingrave.
“I’d not want to be compared to a flower,” said Miss Morley to Emily’s right hand.
“Oh, and why is that?” inquired Mr. Wingrave.
“It’s delicate, and at times, thorny,” said Miss Morley.
Feeling the pointed end of this remark, Emily said, “Thorns are a defense against the stupid and unwary.
And no matter the weather, flowers always come back.”
Miss Morley sniffed and twisted to Jonah on her other side.
Mr. Wingrave cleared his throat behind a napkin in what Emily would have called a veiled chuckle if it had not been entirely unsupportable to laugh.
“To the rose of Charlton!” said Mr. Sheridan.
He held up his glass in a toast.
“I would share the honor with my sisters, if you don’t mind.
To the roses of Charlton,” corrected Emily.
Everyone smiled and drank.
The dinner went on, as most do, until Genevieve rose from her seat unexpectedly and went to Emily.
“Em, I am ill,” she said.
Emily rose immediately, took her by the shoulders, and made their way to the restroom.
“Please, hold it in until we get there,” whispered Emily.
Genevieve nodded.
She did wait until Emily could get her over a wash basin.
“Too much wine for one not used to it.
We’ll clean you up and you will feel fine, my dear,” Emily soothed her.
She rubbed the poor girl’s back until it was over, then entreated a nearby maid for some water.
“Oh Emily, how can I face the Wingraves?” said Genevieve as her sister put her hair back in place.
“Darling, you are young.
They will understand,” said Emily.
The water arrived and Genevieve was put to rights.
“No more wine, tonight,” said Emily.
“No caution needed,” said Genevieve.
“Put on your best pitiable smile, it will stave off any cruelty,” Emily assured her.
Genevieve practiced until they entered the dining room, allowing her eyelids to droop in fatigue.
“Miss Genevieve, are you in need of a doctor?” said Mary.
“No, thank you Miss Wingrave, I…” Genevieve broke off, embarrassed.
“Genevieve is not allowed wine at our house.
It overcame her for a moment,” said Emily, releasing the girl to her chair.
“Oh, that’s all right.
We have fresh juice from this morning,” said Mary.
Emily gave thanks and regained her seat.
“It must be difficult, mothering your sister,” said Miss Morley.
Genevieve’s face fell with shame and Mary frowned at the horrid manners of her friend.
“Not at all, Miss Morley.
She is a joy to our family.
What you call mothering, I call caring,” said Emily.
“Surely the added responsibility must keep you from pursuing the priorities of a young lady, marriage for example,” said Miss Morley.
Mr. Worthing and Mr. Wingrave shifted with unease in their seats.
“I assure you that I devote just as much time to that as it deserves,” said Emily.
Miss Morley smiled at Mr. Wingrave.
“Mr. Worthing,” he said, ignoring Miss Morley’s triumphant grin, “Do not let me forget to give you a package for Mrs. Worthing.
I’ve had the cooks prepare her a special sampling of what we ate tonight, so that it would not need to be described.”
Emily looked up at him in infinite surprise.
“Oh, Elizabeth will be overjoyed with that.
She bears it well, but she knows she misses the delights of company,” said Mr. Worthing.
His eyes shined when he spoke of his beloved wife.
“That is very thoughtful, Mr. Wingrave.
Thank you,” said Emily.
“It is my pleasure.
Now, dinner has concluded, will you play for us?
Genevieve, too, if she is well?” said Mr. Wingrave.
Emily nodded and followed everyone back to the sitting room.
The manservants, with Mr. Wingrave’s help, rearranged the furniture for a concert.
“Genevieve, do you think you can perform?” asked Bridget taking stock of her sister.
“I can play, but Emily will have to sing,” replied Genevieve.
“As you wish,” said Emily.
Genevieve thumbed through the available music and chose a song about a girl falling in love at her first party.
As Emily sang and turned the pages, she absorbed the rapt attention of Mr. Wingrave.
He appeared to be deep in thought.
Miss Morley tried to converse with him in whispers which he quickly put down.
“Bravo, bravo,” said Mr. Sheridan who had nearly fallen asleep in his chair.
“We won’t tax Genevieve anymore tonight, but I do hope to hear music from you two in the future,” said Mary.
“It’s a wonder to me,” said Miss Morley after the furniture had been put back and the party drifted into groups of men and women, “why you sing about love, Miss Worthing, when marriage does not interest you.”
The men’s chatter died to a crawl as several ears leaned to hear the response.
“I am not without feeling because I do not believe marriage to be in my best interests,” said Emily.
Sensing why Miss Morley chose to goad her so, Emily kept calm and light-hearted.
“What is feeling if it is all for naught?” said Miss Morley.
She did not look to Emily when she said this, but Mr. Wingrave.
A curious anger rumbled through his mannerisms.
“No emotion is for naught if we are to remain of human soul.
Love, forgiveness, sorrow, rage, these make up the blood of us while our logic and reason form the vessels,” said Emily.
“And if one or the other becomes too strong?” inquired Mr. Wingrave.
“Then we may bleed out or be closed off.”
“What if one is blind and does not know they are closed?” he challenged her.
“Hopefully, one they love will open their eyes,” said Emily.
Mr. Wingrave stood back, satisfied.
Emily did not understand what victory he thought he had earned.
If Elijah Wingrave expected every woman to be gratified by his attention, to stand by and wait for an offer, he was a fool in her mind.
Refusing to indulge him did not make her closed.
“How about a game of cards?” suggested Mary.
Emily accepted without hesitation.
Emily hid in a stack of books for a week after the dinner at Reddester.
Once, Mary and Mr. Wingrave came to call and she’d begged a cold.
Mrs. Worthing had been so pleased with Mr. Wingrave’s package that she had scarce stopped talking of what a nice young man he was ever since.
Emily’s time in hiding had run out, however, as a public dance in town required her presence.