They reached the end of their narrow lane, and Nell asked, “Where shall we go, Emeline?”
“Let’s try the village,” she said. “It’s market day, so it will be busy. We might stumble on a forgotten acquaintance who’ll offer to assist us.”
“I have the penny the earl gave me,” Nan mentioned. “Maybe it will bring us some good luck.”
“Maybe it will,” Emeline concurred.
She was silent as they walked, listening to her sisters’ chatter.
A farmer came by, and they caught a ride in his cart. He took them all the way to the village square where local craftsmen were doing a brisk trade.
They scrambled down and to Emeline’s dismay, the first person they encountered was Vicar Blair.
In his view, people created their own difficulties, either from sloth or sin. Since her father’s demise, she’d received numerous lectures where he considered her guilty of a combination of both.
“Miss Wilson,” he snapped, cutting off any chance to evade him, “I would have a word with you.”
He bellowed in his too-loud preacher’s voice so others would hear. To her chagrin, bystanders turned to witness her chastisement.
Behind him, his sister, Jo, ruefully shrugged her shoulders, wishing she could intervene, but knowing she couldn’t. During Emeline’s tribulations, Jo had tried to be a friend, but she was allowed limited opportunities for socializing. Emeline couldn’t figure out how such a sweet soul could be related to such a nasty boor.
“Hello, Vicar Blair.”
“Mr. Mason informs me that you were cast out and your hovel raised.”
“Yes, we were, and yes, it was.”
“Let this be a lesson to you.”
It was pointless to argue with him, but she did it anyway. “What lesson would that be? That we’re poor and could use some Christian charity?”
“By pestering Lord Stafford, you have meddled in the business affairs of men. I warned you to be humble and circumspect, but your vanity controlled you. As usual.”
When the villagers had persuaded her to go to London, the vicar had vociferously counseled against it. He’d insisted she was on a fool’s errand and shouldn’t get involved. How she hated to admit that he’d been correct!
“I was just trying to help everyone,” she said.
“And look where it’s landed you,” he scornfully admonished.
“The earl should have behaved better toward all of us. I didn’t mind begging him.”
“Of course you didn’t. You’re a woman. You would do any ridiculous thing.”
“Is there any aid the church could give us?”
“You’re not the only family that is struggling. We have no relief funds in our coffers. They’ve been long spent.”
“With a reference from you, we could find a place to stay. We’re not afraid to work for our bed and board.”
“Who would take you in? You bothered and insulted the new earl. Who would be willing to incur his wrath if he learned they were sheltering you?”
He pushed by them, and Emeline was too beaten down to be angry. He was a pompous blowhard, and his comments had been no more than she’d expected.
Jo came up and hugged Emeline. Furtively, she slipped some coins into Emeline’s hand.
“Talk to the blacksmith,” she whispered. “He might let you sleep next to his forge for a few nights. At least you’d be warm.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“And there’s a penury line forming on the other side of the square.”
It was a spot where the most wretched citizens could wait, hoping for a job or scraps of food. Anyone with any skills already had a position. It was only those with no abilities—or renowned drunkards and lunatics—who embarrassed themselves in such a fashion.
“Are there any employers?”
“Some. There’s a man who claims he’s taking people to London, that he’s sending them on to America for indenture.”
Emeline shuddered. Was that to be their fate? The prospect of death and disease on the long sea voyage? Then auctioned off for a lifetime of servitude?
“There’s always the poorhouse as a last resort,” Jo said. “Don’t be too proud to go there. Not if it means your sisters will have a roof over their heads.”
“Oh, Jo . . .”
At the thought of winding up in the filthy, rat-infested place, Emeline’s eyes filled with tears. How could this be her conclusion? She’d been so sure she could orchestrate a different ending.
Vicar Blair noticed that Jo wasn’t following him. He spun around and called, “Josephine! Come!”
She hugged Emeline again and murmured, “Be strong.”
“I will.”
Emeline proceeded to the square, to the line for hungry beggars. She was now a beggar herself, so there was no reason not to stand with them. Perhaps she’d finally stumble on the luck that had proved so elusive.
She didn’t dare imagine any other outcome.
“Where have you been?” Nicholas fumed. “I wanted to leave two hours ago.”
“I have something to tell you,” Stephen said.
“What is it?”
“I’m not going back to London with you.”
“You’re not what?”
“I’m not going. I’ll join you in six weeks when our furlough is over.”
Nicholas stared at his brother as if he was babbling in a foreign language.
“You’re staying behind?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I like it here.”
“Here?” Nicholas snorted with disgust, as if they were discussing Hades rather than a wealthy, beautiful estate in the heart of England.
“Yes, here.”
“You’re mad.” Nicholas studied him, wondering if he was ill. “What is wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong. I just don’t care for London; you know that. I hate your filthy house and the drinking and the parties and the women. I hate living like barbarians, and I detest all the miscreants who have glommed onto you merely because you’re an earl.”
“Lady Veronica’s father is holding an engagement supper for us, and I want you there. Don’t force me to socialize with them on my own.”
“I hate Veronica and her father most of all. You’re crazy, betrothing yourself to her.”
“You’re just jealous,” Nicholas charged.
“Oh, spare me.”
“I was able to pick the richest girl in the world to be my wife. You can’t stand it.”
“She’s an immature snob. I can’t abide her, and you’ll be sorry forever.”
“I doubt it.” Nicholas whipped away and mounted his horse. “Could you at least accompany me into the
