in London. One might even say difficult in comparison.” Cecilia motioned to the valise. “Were you running away? If so, you are headed in the wrong direction.”
“No, madam. I was not running away.”
Cecilia waited, then sighed in apparent frustration. “Good heavens, child, where were you? We have been worried sick.”
Cecilia’s evident concern made Emma’s admission all the more difficult. She stiffened her back and fixed her gaze on a spot on the wall. “I was visiting Lord Nicholas Chambers.”
Beatrice gasped. When Emma allowed her gaze to drop to Cecilia’s face, she recognized the shocked expression of betrayal. It was the same look that had graced her own features a time or two in the past. Emma’s posture softened, wishing to ease them of the discomfort she had caused, but Cecilia held up a restraining hand.
“Did you not understand that we disapprove of association with Lord Nicholas Chambers? That his reputation could easily tarnish ours?”
“I knew you would disapprove. That is why I didn’t tell you before that I had need of inspecting his library.” She should be alarmed at the ease with which these mistruths rolled off her tongue. She would worry about that later. Right now she needed to pacify the sisters. “Once there, we engaged in a conversation about art, and I lost track of the hour.”
Beatrice continued to punish her captive linen at a frantic pace. The porcelain filigree clock on the mantle ticked in rhythm to the tapping of Cecilia’s foot on a patch of wooden floor. In the elongated silence, Emma realized the notes from the music room had mercifully ceased.
“If it hadn’t been for Lady Cavendish’s claims that you were a lady of high deportment and ethics,” Cecilia said half to herself, “I believe I would have insisted you return to London the minute you inquired about Lord Nicholas Chambers. I knew that brief association would come to no good.” Cecilia stared across the short distance of the room, alternately squinting her eyes and shaking her head in an internal battle. Having apparently come to some conclusion, her face softened. “Still, I suppose your widow’s status does allow a certain latitude. Perhaps this transgression is not as grievous as it would have been otherwise. As this is an isolated incident—”
“I will need to see him again.” Emma braced herself for Cecilia’s reaction.
Beatrice cried out in pain, drawing all eyes her way. She placed her bleeding finger between her lips and shrugged an apology. Cecilia turned back to Emma. “Surely one trip should have been sufficient to take stock of Chambers’s library.”
“He has offered to give me lessons and I have accepted.”
“Art lessons?” Beatrice asked around her finger, her wide eyes suddenly inquisitive. “Lord Chambers is teaching you to paint?”
Emma hesitated, watching enthusiasm build in Beatrice’s eyes. The sisters would believe this falsehood more than the truth. They had already accepted her other deceptions. She worried her lip. One more small lie could conceivably save her position at Pettibone. But this, she silently vowed, would be her last. She nodded.
“Oh, Ce, the best schools offer art lessons for their students.” Beatrice tossed her handiwork aside and grasped her sister’s hand. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mrs. Brimley could teach the girls to paint?”
Conflict played across Cecilia’s stoic features. Emma wasn’t sure whether the lure of offering a better education or purely indulging her sister swayed Cecilia more. It didn’t matter. Emma’s spirits lifted at the chance of reprieve. Surely, she could learn something about painting from her unique vantage as a model.
Cecilia glanced at the valise by Emma’s side.
“Lord Chambers lent me an artist’s smock to modify for my fuller skirts.” Emma quickly improvised, knowing full well it only contained her own excess garments. “As well as some other materials to study before our first
“No, madam. I was not running away.”
Cecilia waited, then sighed in apparent frustration. “Good heavens, child, where were you? We have been worried sick.”
Cecilia’s evident concern made Emma’s admission all the more difficult. She stiffened her back and fixed her gaze on a spot on the wall. “I was visiting Lord Nicholas Chambers.”
Beatrice gasped. When Emma allowed her gaze to drop to Cecilia’s face, she recognized the shocked expression of betrayal. It was the same look that had graced her own features a time or two in the past. Emma’s posture softened, wishing to ease them of the discomfort she had caused, but Cecilia held up a restraining hand.
“Did you not understand that we disapprove of association with Lord Nicholas Chambers? That his reputation could easily tarnish ours?”
“I knew you would disapprove. That is why I didn’t tell you before that I had need of inspecting his library.” She should be alarmed at the ease with which these mistruths rolled off her tongue. She would worry about that later. Right now she needed to pacify the sisters. “Once there, we engaged in a conversation about art, and I lost track of the hour.”
Beatrice continued to punish her captive linen at a frantic pace. The porcelain filigree clock on the mantle ticked in rhythm to the tapping of Cecilia’s foot on a patch of wooden floor. In the elongated silence, Emma realized the notes from the music room had mercifully ceased.
“If it hadn’t been for Lady Cavendish’s claims that you were a lady of high deportment and ethics,” Cecilia said half to herself, “I believe I would have insisted you return to London the minute you inquired about Lord Nicholas Chambers. I knew that brief association would come to no good.” Cecilia stared across the short distance of the room, alternately squinting her eyes and shaking her head in an internal battle. Having apparently come to some conclusion, her face softened. “Still, I suppose your widow’s status does allow a certain latitude. Perhaps this transgression is not as grievous as it would have been otherwise. As this is an isolated incident—”
“I will need to see him again.” Emma braced herself for Cecilia’s reaction.
Beatrice cried out in pain, drawing all eyes her way. She placed her bleeding finger between her lips and shrugged an apology. Cecilia turned back to Emma. “Surely one trip should have been sufficient to take stock of Chambers’s library.”
“He has offered to give me lessons and I have accepted.”
“Art lessons?” Beatrice asked around her finger, her wide eyes suddenly inquisitive. “Lord Chambers is teaching you to paint?”
Emma hesitated, watching enthusiasm build in Beatrice’s eyes. The sisters would believe this falsehood more than the truth. They had already accepted her other deceptions. She worried her lip. One more small lie could conceivably save her position at Pettibone. But this, she silently vowed, would be her last. She nodded.
“Oh, Ce, the best schools offer art lessons for their students.” Beatrice tossed her handiwork aside and grasped her sister’s hand. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mrs. Brimley could teach the girls to paint?”
Conflict played across Cecilia’s stoic features. Emma wasn’t sure whether the lure of offering a better education or purely indulging her sister swayed Cecilia more. It didn’t matter. Emma’s spirits lifted at the chance of reprieve. Surely, she could learn something about painting from her unique vantage as a model.
Cecilia glanced at the valise by Emma’s side.
“Lord Chambers lent me an artist’s smock to modify for my fuller skirts.” Emma quickly improvised, knowing full well it only contained her own excess garments. “As well as some other materials to study before our first
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