Page 73 of A Winter By the Sea
“No need, sir. Allow me.” Mr. Gwilt divested the man of his outer coat, hat, and muffler and carried them away, much of the unpleasant scent leaving with them.
“Well,” Sarah said as Selwyn During sat back down. “Let us not continue to question Mr. During as though he were on trial. Allow him to eat in peace.”
The conversation moved on with Mr. Hornbeam changingthe subject, to Sarah’s relief and most likely Mr. During’s as well.
He said, “I understand Their Royal Highnesses are hosting an evening party in two days’ time. You three must be busy getting ready for that.”
Mr. Bernardi brightened. “Definitely! At long last, we are able to entertain again.”
Selwyn During nodded. “Hear, hear.”
Over the previous week, word had begun to spread throughout Sidmouth that the duke had asked people in for an evening party. Everyone wondered who would be privileged to attend. Rumor had it he had invited several members of the local gentry, who no doubt looked forward to this rare opportunity to speak with members of the royal family.
The Summerses had not been in that number.
Emily said, a note of hurt in her voice, “I am sure those invited are all eagerness to attend.”
An awkward silence passed.
Mr. Hornbeam cleared his throat and turned the topic to other news. “I read in the newspaper today—that is, Miss Georgiana read it for me—that the duke’s creditors are still causing problems in London, despite his removal to the West Country.”
Around a bite of fish, Mr. During grumbled, “Blasted unfair, if you ask me. He gets in debt, he goes to the seaside, while common folks are sent to the Marshalsea.”
Mr. Hornbeam looked up, face stilling at the man’s tone. “Vile place, I understand.”
Mr. During stared across the table. “Is it?”
“From what I have read. I have not been there myself.”
“Nor I, of course. Nor I.”
That night, Emily sat up late reading in the parlour. The fire in the hearth burned low, but she had a blanket around herself for warmth, and a candle lamp for light, so she remained where she was long after Mamma, Georgiana, and even Sarah had gone to bed.
The house was quiet, save the occasional hiss and crackle of the fire.
Her eyes grew sleepy, but she soldiered on and turned the page.
She heard footsteps approach and glanced up, mildly startled.
Mr. Thomson entered the room, book in hand. He wore a waistcoat over a shirt and dark trousers, but no frock coat. His white collar rose above a jawline shadowed with late-evening whiskers.
Seeing her on the sofa, he stopped midstride. “Sorry. I thought everyone had gone to bed. I saw the light in here, but if you prefer to read in peace, I...”
“Not at all, Mr. Thomson. I am capable of reading through thunderstorms and even Georgie’s chatting. The company of a fellow reader shall not disturb me in the least.”
This was perhaps not absolutely true, for even were he silent as a mouse, she would still be aware of—andslightlydistracted by—his presence.
“Very well.”
He moved to sit in an armchair some distance away, but Emily said, “You may as well sit here and share the light. It’s difficult enough to read with only one branch of candles and a dying fire. Yet I am so deliciously cocooned that I have not been able to rouse myself from this spot.”
“I shall stoke it for you. For us.”
“Thank you.”
He poked the fire and added a log before sitting on the opposite end of the sofa.
She nodded toward the arm. “There is another blanket there, if you are cold.”
