Page 129 of A Winter By the Sea
—Antonin Carême, recipe for Hare Prepared in the Royal Manner
Mamma had gone to bed early with a headache by the time Charles left, so Emily decided to wait until the next day to seek her advice. In the meantime, she ruminated over her conversation with him into the wee hours, turning one way in bed, then the other, like a chicken on a spit.
She stewed in his words throughout Sunday’s church service—at least until the parish clerk read a verse of Scripture that caught her ear. “‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all....’”
Latching on to this hope, Emily prayed,Yes, God, please give me wisdom. Help medecide what to do.
James Thomson did not attend church with them that morning. He’d told Sarah he was interested in attending a dissenting church service while in Devon, and planned to join the Congregationalists at Marsh Chapel, so named for its location near the river.
He had not told her.
Emily was as aware of his absence in their pew as she was of Charles sitting across the aisle, now and again glancing in her direction.
One thing Charles had said kept returning to her. At the time she had tried to brush it off, knowing Charles had always been particularly fastidious—but now it gave her pause. He’d said,“You may judge me harshly, butif you think I am the only gentleman who would abhor such scandal, then you would be mistaken. ... Many gentlemenwould not even consider connecting themselves with a family who had been thus disgraced.”
Was James Thomson such a gentleman? Would he be repulsed if he learned of her eldest sister’s fall? On one hand, he did not seem as exacting as Charles. Then again, James held a royal appointment, perhaps even aspired to a career in politics. Scandal would not aid such aspirations.
She asked herself why she cared about Mr. Thomson’s opinion. He had already made it clear there was no future for the two of them. All too soon, he would leave Sidmouth and move far away.
Emily already felt the distance between them.
———
That afternoon, Emily found her mother alone in her room, at her writing desk.
She knocked on the open door. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course, my dear.” Mamma turned on the chair to face her and gestured to a nearby armchair.
Emily shut the door behind her before sitting down.
“I would like to talk over something with you.”
Studying Emily’s no doubt troubled countenance, her mother said, “Please tell me this has nothing to do with ... Scotland.”
Emily looked up in surprise. “No.”
“Good.”
Emily did want to talk about Scotland, or at least her sister in exile there, but decided this was not the time.
“Before I tell you, please don’t get excited. I have not said yes.”
“Yes to what?”
Emily took a deep breath and announced words she had once feared she would never have the chance to say. “Charles has asked me to marry him.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “After all this time? I must say I am surprised.”
“So am I.”
Mamma again studied her face. “You do not seem pleased. I would have thought you’d be dancing around the house, shouting the news to one and all. Not shut up in here looking very grave indeed.”
“I know.” Emily looked down at her clasped hands. Would a ring ever grace her finger?
“What is it?” Mamma asked gently. “What troubles you?”
Emily hesitated, thoughts failing to settle into coherent reason.
