clarity.
“I have an odd question, Miss Worthing,” said Mary.
“Oddities are gems among the sand, Miss Wingrave,” replied Emily.
“You seem very secure in not marrying which leads me to believe your father has settled part of the Charlton estate on his daughters specifically. Is this so?”
“He has made it plain in legal documents that we would be compensated upon his death, though I do believe Peter inherits the land. He is a clever man, handles Papa’s investments in town. I would not suffer,” said Emily.
“That is well. I am glad you are all taken care of,” said Mary. As if called by the music, Mr. Wingrave appeared in the doorframe, listening to Emily’s song. She closed her eyes to resist examining him.
“How does it sound, brother? If I had known you would be back today, I would not have troubled Miss Worthing to test the pianoforte,” said Mary.
“No, no, she is by far the superior musician. It is perfection,” said Mr. Wingrave. Emily rose, ending the piece abruptly.
“This instrument is quite satisfactory, Miss Wingrave. A minor tuning and it would be fit for a king,” she said.
“Excellent, thank you Miss Worthing. Let us rejoin the others then,” said Mary. Emily obeyed, walking past Mr. Wingrave, keeping her eyes hidden. Downstairs, Peter reclaimed the attention of Mary and Emily was free to stare out the window as Mr. Wingrave awkwardly stood without purpose in the middle of the room.
“We are all looking forward to the ball at Barham,” said Bridget.
“I only hope certain people do not attend, unless of course, Miss Worthing wishes to dance with them again,” said Miss Morley. Emily looked over her shoulder at the insolent girl. Miss Morley had the surety and smugness of youth in her sneer, and Emily could not rise to occasion that day, so drained from making her expression behave. Rather than crafting a poignant, elegant rebuttal, Emily told the truth.
“I would not dance with certain people again if it would save me all the impolite comments in the world,” she said. Miss Morley scowled mightily.
“I, for one, hope to dance with Miss Worthing, and all her sisters,” said Mr. Annesley.
“Me, too?” said Genevieve.
“Especially you, Miss Genevieve.” She smiled enough for all of them.
“Miss Wingrave, will you do me the supreme honor of reserving a dance?” said Peter.
“Do you need to ask, Peter? Of course, I will dance with you,” laughed Mary.
“I will always ask,” he replied. Mary blushed and giggled at his intentional statement.
Unable to stomach the romantic mood permeating the room, Emily spied the garden in full bloom below her.
“Bridget, I have not yet walked in the garden since the flowers blossomed, I shall not be gone long,” she said. Everyone in the room had paired off with the exception of Genevieve who amused herself with sketching Jonah. Even Mr. Sheridan had gained the notice, if not the regard of Miss Morley.
Emily breathed in the fresh scent of summer flowers as soon as she stepped out. She wandered here and there, finding fallen petals to press. Next to flowing water, gardens were the best place for contemplation. Nature had the unique effect of bringing reality and fantasy together. Behind every lush curtain of vegetation it could be imagined that a magical kingdom rests, though it was not disappointing when the scene turned out to be a fountain or fallen log covered in moss because those could also hold secrets. Around that next vine ridden wall, Mr. Wingrave could be waiting. When he was not, Emily felt more hopeless than ever, that the fantasy of nature might be an illusion.
“Emily?” She whirled in the other direction.
“Mr. Wingrave?” Magic replaced flesh and there he was, though not as joyful as she conjured.
“You did it again,” he said.
“Did what, sir?”
“You would not accuse me with your eyes of keeping things
“I have an odd question, Miss Worthing,” said Mary.
“Oddities are gems among the sand, Miss Wingrave,” replied Emily.
“You seem very secure in not marrying which leads me to believe your father has settled part of the Charlton estate on his daughters specifically. Is this so?”
“He has made it plain in legal documents that we would be compensated upon his death, though I do believe Peter inherits the land. He is a clever man, handles Papa’s investments in town. I would not suffer,” said Emily.
“That is well. I am glad you are all taken care of,” said Mary. As if called by the music, Mr. Wingrave appeared in the doorframe, listening to Emily’s song. She closed her eyes to resist examining him.
“How does it sound, brother? If I had known you would be back today, I would not have troubled Miss Worthing to test the pianoforte,” said Mary.
“No, no, she is by far the superior musician. It is perfection,” said Mr. Wingrave. Emily rose, ending the piece abruptly.
“This instrument is quite satisfactory, Miss Wingrave. A minor tuning and it would be fit for a king,” she said.
“Excellent, thank you Miss Worthing. Let us rejoin the others then,” said Mary. Emily obeyed, walking past Mr. Wingrave, keeping her eyes hidden. Downstairs, Peter reclaimed the attention of Mary and Emily was free to stare out the window as Mr. Wingrave awkwardly stood without purpose in the middle of the room.
“We are all looking forward to the ball at Barham,” said Bridget.
“I only hope certain people do not attend, unless of course, Miss Worthing wishes to dance with them again,” said Miss Morley. Emily looked over her shoulder at the insolent girl. Miss Morley had the surety and smugness of youth in her sneer, and Emily could not rise to occasion that day, so drained from making her expression behave. Rather than crafting a poignant, elegant rebuttal, Emily told the truth.
“I would not dance with certain people again if it would save me all the impolite comments in the world,” she said. Miss Morley scowled mightily.
“I, for one, hope to dance with Miss Worthing, and all her sisters,” said Mr. Annesley.
“Me, too?” said Genevieve.
“Especially you, Miss Genevieve.” She smiled enough for all of them.
“Miss Wingrave, will you do me the supreme honor of reserving a dance?” said Peter.
“Do you need to ask, Peter? Of course, I will dance with you,” laughed Mary.
“I will always ask,” he replied. Mary blushed and giggled at his intentional statement.
Unable to stomach the romantic mood permeating the room, Emily spied the garden in full bloom below her.
“Bridget, I have not yet walked in the garden since the flowers blossomed, I shall not be gone long,” she said. Everyone in the room had paired off with the exception of Genevieve who amused herself with sketching Jonah. Even Mr. Sheridan had gained the notice, if not the regard of Miss Morley.
Emily breathed in the fresh scent of summer flowers as soon as she stepped out. She wandered here and there, finding fallen petals to press. Next to flowing water, gardens were the best place for contemplation. Nature had the unique effect of bringing reality and fantasy together. Behind every lush curtain of vegetation it could be imagined that a magical kingdom rests, though it was not disappointing when the scene turned out to be a fountain or fallen log covered in moss because those could also hold secrets. Around that next vine ridden wall, Mr. Wingrave could be waiting. When he was not, Emily felt more hopeless than ever, that the fantasy of nature might be an illusion.
“Emily?” She whirled in the other direction.
“Mr. Wingrave?” Magic replaced flesh and there he was, though not as joyful as she conjured.
“You did it again,” he said.
“Did what, sir?”
“You would not accuse me with your eyes of keeping things
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