Page 2 of Choosing Her Earl at Last
Rebecca nodded. “Mother has been a wraith since Father’s passing,” Rebecca murmured, watching her mother’s retreating back with concern.
“She has never been one for displays of emotion,” Emmeline reminded her.
“This is true,” Rebecca agreed, “But she is hurting and mourning Father in her own way, nevertheless. The house is not the same without him, and neither is she.”
Emmeline nodded in understanding. Their father had been a powerful force in all of their lives. While she was still bitter over her arranged marriage to the marquess, she loved her parents and mourned her father’s loss as well. “When you come out this Season, it should bring her some joy,” Emmeline offered in an attempt to provide some comfort to her sister’s worries.
The sparkle returned to Rebecca’s eyes. “I am so happy that you are here. How long do you plan to stay?” she asked as she pulled Emmeline into the house and through to the dining room, where a light luncheon had been laid out for her arrival, leaving Sarah in charge of the servants to wrestle the bags from the carriage.
“You know that I am home to stay, Rebecca,” Emmeline reminded her, uncomfortable with the turn of conversation.
“My husband’s younger brother, Harry, inherited the estate and title as we had no children. Harry graciously allowed me to remain at the estate during my time of full mourning, but it was time that I returned to England as the new marquess wished to procure a wife of his own.”
“As is proper,” Theodocia replied as she glided past the girls to take her seat at the table. “Providing an heir is imperative. It is a wife’s most sacred and solemn duty to provide her husband with a son to inherit his title and estates.”
The tone in her voice left no doubt as to her feelings pertaining to Emmeline’s lack of children. Emmeline bit her tongue so as not to point out that Theodocia had not provided her husband with a living son either. The Frampton women had been fortunate in that their father’s estate had gone to a kindhearted cousin who allowed them to remain in their London townhouse, while he lived at the country estate.
“Did you ever discover what caused the fire that killed your husband?” Rebecca asked, her usual curiosity of mind coming to the fore.
Theodocia shot her youngest daughter with a warning look. “It is not appropriate for a young lady to discuss such matters,”she chastised, sparing Emmeline a concerned glance. Her tired green eyes held shadows that spoke of a lifetime of duty and pained propriety.
Emmeline inclined her head in reassurance to her mother that she was not upset by the question. “No, there has been no further news on the matter.” Out of respect for her mother, Emmeline left it at that and did not elaborate, much to her sister’s disappointment.
“Most fires are accidents, such as a candle left burning too close to drapery, or a spark from a fireplace landing on dry kindling,” Rebecca went on, oblivious to or not caring about the distress she was causing their mother. “But some fires are set intentionally, arson, I do believe it is called,” Rebecca mused.
“The Woolery Mill caught fire just last week when a worker foolishly lit a pipe. The poor workers barely escaped with their lives. The mill owner nearly beat the man to death for what happened when he discovered the truth of it, and his family nearly starved while they awaited his recovery so that he could go back to work.
If the workers were given better working conditions and regular breaks for such things as smoking or eating, they would not be forced to do such things. The conditions of these mills are truly deplorable, as are the laborers’ living conditions.”
“Rebecca!” Theodocia reprimanded once more, her brows arched in shock, but her eyes held icy disapproval. “Wherever have you been learning such things?”
“I pay attention.” Rebecca shrugged, lowering her eyes to her plate, but not before Emmeline caught a glimpse of rebellious fire within their green depths.
“Perhaps you should be paying less attention to public rabble, and more attention to finding a husband this Season,” Theodocia firmly advised.
Rebecca stabbed a piece of fruit with her fork, but she did not eat it. A heavy weighted silence fell upon the room, as each woman tentatively picked at the food on their plate.
Emmeline risked a questioning glance at Rebecca, but was ignored.Where did she learn such information? Proper young ladies, such as the ones our mother has raised, know not to speak of such things as labor disputes and poverty-stricken living conditions. Rebecca spoke with such authority as if she had seen these conditions with her own eyes.
Our mother would not even allow us to tend to the poor as our Christian duty might require. She always sent the maids to do any charity work we were called to do.
While Emmeline had done what she could for the tenants under her care as the marchioness of her husband’s estate and gained some knowledge in the doing, Rebecca had never been allowed anywhere near the parts of London that she had so passionately spoken of.
“There is a caller at the door for you, mistress,” the family butler intoned as he came to stand just to the side and behind Theodocia.
Nodding, Theodocia arose from the table. “I will receive them in the blue drawing room.” With a warning look to her daughters that they were to behave in her absence, she left the room.
“Where did you gain such knowledge?” Emmeline asked once their mother was out of earshot. “I cannot imagine that you simply heard it from a passerby. Did one of the servants speak with you on the matter?” If so, their mother would be certain to fire them immediately.
Rebecca lifted her head, defiance shining from her eyes. “Ignoring the world is a mistake,” she informed her sister, not actually answering her question. “One must simply open one’s eyes to see the truth.”
“I have always admired your spirit, dear sister. Be certain that it is not your ruin,” Emmeline advised, as she watched the fire ofpassion flare once more in her sister’s eyes. “Be certain that it is not the ruin of us all.”
Chapter 2
“It is high time that you find a wife,” Colin Barrington informed his cousin bluntly. “And this coming Season is as good a time as any to find a lovely young lady to bear you an heir.”
Michael Egerton, the Earl of Ravenshollow, stopped swirling the brandy in his glass and turned pain-filled hazel eyes toward his cousin. The two men had agreed to meet at their favorite London gentleman’s club for luncheon and a good snifter of brandy. Had Michael known that this would be the topic of conversation, he would have declined the invitation.
