“I’m usually so reticent. How could you have pulled it out of me?”
“I inspire confidences.”
“Then I’m in trouble, for there’s very much I’d like you not to discover.”
He walked over and sat down beside her, and he clasped her hand in his, linking their fingers. Her skin was warm and soft, and though it seemed harmless and friendly, it seemed wicked and dangerous too.
For an eternity, they tarried, not speaking. He stared at the altar, while she stared at the floor. Ultimately, she straightened and turned toward him. She studied his mouth, and he was overcome by the strangest notion that she was thinking about kissing him. She didn’t though.
He could have leaned in and done it for her, but he was terribly afraid that he might have mistaken her intent. They remained transfixed, frozen in place.
“I’d better go,” she eventually said. “Oscar will be wondering where I am.”
She stood and went to the door by which she’d originally entered. As she stepped through, her gaze locked on his. To his astonishment, he didn’t have to struggle to decipher her meaning.
Her look was filled with such hot, searing desire that he felt it to the tips of his toes. His balls clenched, his cock stirred, and the holy church nearly sizzled with their untapped passion.
She raised a brow in invitation, but as he rose to chase after her, her burst of bravado fled. In an instant, she vanished like smoke.
“Remember what I told you,” Emeline said to her sisters.
“We’re to be very brave,” Nan answered.
“And very polite,” Nell added.
“Yes. No matter what, we mustn’t let him see that we’re upset.”
Nan and Nell were such good girls, and it broke Emeline’s heart to watch as they were reduced by the slings and arrows life had shot at them.
With each step down society’s ladder, they’d had their world torn into tinier pieces, but they’d weathered the descent better than Emeline. She supposed—as children—they adapted more swiftly. Or perhaps it was because she was older than they were. As an adult, she’d built a larger store of memories and was suffering more over her losses.
When she’d first realized her father’s health was failing, she hadn’t grasped the extent of the calamity that was approaching. They had both assumed the school would continue after his death, that Emeline would teach in his stead. The school had operated at the estate for thirty years, and she’d never imagined that Nicholas Price would refuse to keep it open.
She’d staggered to the end, which had finally and fully arrived. She would face it down boldly, unwavering in her defense of her sisters and unafraid of the future and what it might bring.
Horse’s hooves clopped out on the dirt track leading to their cottage. They glanced over to observe Mr. Mason riding up on one of the earl’s mares. There were men behind him in a wagon, their axes at the ready, a torch ablaze so the fire could be quickly ignited after their home was demolished.
Mason halted in front of Emeline, and as he dismounted, she studied him. At age forty, he wasn’t unattractive, but there was a cruel gleam in his eye. When she stared at him, she always had to fight off a shudder.
The smartest thing she’d ever done was decline his courtship, but it was the stupidest thing too. After she’d spurned him, he’d put her on his vengeance list, and once a person was on it, he or she could never get off.
“Miss Wilson,” he said, “why are you still here? You were to vacate the premises by eight o’clock.”
“I’m asking one last time—for my sisters. Have mercy on them, Mr. Mason. We have nowhere to go. Please let us stay.”
“I spoke to the earl about you,” he replied. “In light of your recent rebellion, you won’t be surprised to learn that he’s declined to intervene in your case. He advises that I proceed with the eviction. He won’t support a troublemaker.”
Emeline shouldn’t have been hurt, but she was. She’d convinced herself that Nicholas Price would show some compassion, that he wouldn’t throw three vulnerable females out on the road. She had to stop imbuing him with traits he didn’t possess. He didn’t care about the estate. He’d admitted it, so why would she expect any sympathy?
Yet she couldn’t keep herself from sneering. “The earl said that? Really?”
“Yes, sorry.”
He didn’t look sorry. He looked arrogantly satisfied with what he’d wrought.
“I don’t believe you,” Nan suddenly blurted out. “We met the earl. He was kind.”
“He wouldn’t make us leave,” Nell declared.
“Hush,” Emeline counseled, terrified as to how Mr. Mason might react.
“I want to talk to the earl myself,” Nan demanded.
“What would you say to such an important man?” Mason snidely asked her. “Would you beg and plead like the common child you are?”
“Mr. Mason,” Emeline scolded, “there’s no need to be spiteful.”
“No, there’s not,” he agreed. “My apology. Besides, the earl went back to London.”
“He’s gone?” Emeline foolishly asked. Apparently, a silly part of her feminine brain was living in a fantasy where he might canter up and rescue her.
“As he was getting on his horse,” Mr. Mason said, “I explained your situation. He was unmoved. So you see, Missy”—he glared at Nan—“even if you had the courage to speak with him, you couldn’t.”
“Thank you for letting us know,” Emeline tightly responded. “It’s better to hear the truth than to hold out hope.”
“Yes, it is.”
The wagon had lumbered up, the men stoic, but prepared to commence. They would chop down Emeline’s house, then burn the rotted lumber, and she couldn’t bear to watch. She urged the girls down the road.
They’d taken what they could carry, packing three pillowcases and an old satchel. The rest, they’d left behind. Her mother’s embroidery. Her father’s pipe. Their bedding and dishes and utensils. The last of her father’s books.
It was the saddest day in a long string of sad days, and Emeline forced one foot in front of the other, determined that her sisters not
