“If you leave now, you will be in London tomorrow afternoon, where I secured lodging in anticipation of your arrival,” Mr. Rymer said. “It is a quaint boarding house near Mayfair and it will only be a short walk to Sir Charles’ townhouse.”
Emilia sat back in her seat as she considered the solicitor’s words. Not only was she to receive fifty pounds but everything else was taken care of. It would cost her nothing to travel to London to listen to Sir Charles’ will being read. Was she foolish to even consider doing such a thing?
Mrs. Allston rose from her seat. “Will you kindly wait for us in the entry hall, Mr. Rymer?” she asked. “Miss Hembry and I have much to discuss.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Mr. Rymer replied, rising. “I shall wait for Miss Hembry’s decision.”
After the solicitor departed, Mrs. Allston came around her desk and closed the door. “Well, that was exciting, but you must know that you cannot go to London. You are needed here.”
“If I did go, I would only be gone for a few days,” Emilia attempted.
“That is far too long.” Mrs. Allston clasped her hands in front of her and pursed her lips. “If you do decide to go to London, I will have no choice but to let you go from your position.”
Emilia had a choice to make. She could do what was expected of her, just as she always did, or she could do something for herself. But was she willing to face the consequences of her actions?
She didn’t know why Sir Charles wanted her there, but it must be important if he had sent his solicitor to collect her, especially since it had come at a great expense to him. Could she take the risk of going, even if it meant she would lose the position at the school?
In her heart, she knew she needed to go.
“I think it would be best if I went,” Emilia said softly, knowing she was about to stoke Mrs. Allston’s ire.
Mrs. Allston inhaled swiftly. “For what purpose?” she asked. “You must know that nothing will come from this. You are just a poor country bumpkin. You no more belong in London than a pig belongs in a home.”
Emilia winced, knowing there was some truth to her words. Her gowns were simple and might draw some unwanted attention on the fashionable streets of London. But if she didn’t go, she would always wonder what could have been. And she couldn’t abide that thought.
“Please, Mrs. Allston,” Emilia said. “I have never asked for a day off since I started working here nearly three years ago. I will come back as soon as I am able.”
“I took a chance on you and gave you employment,” Mrs. Allston stated, lifting her chin. “And this is how you repay me?”
Emilia rose from her chair and hoped to appeal to Mrs. Allston’s sense of decency, assuming she had any. In a calm, collected voice, she said, “I am most grateful for everything that you have given me, but I must go to London. If there is even a chance that I could have a change of fortune, I must go.”
Mrs. Allston’s expression softened slightly. “I won’t give you my blessing, but I do understand,” she responded as she sat down behind her desk. “If you do come back, I will let you have your job back…”
“Thank you,” Emilia gushed.
“… but I will dock your pay and lower your wages to ten shillings for three months,” Mrs. Allston finished.
Emilia decided to take what she could get from the ornery headmistress. “That is fair, Ma’am,” she said.
“As much as I dare to admit it, you are not completely incompetent at your job and the girls seem to be taken by you,” Mrs. Allston remarked as she waved her hand in front of her. “Now, be off with you. You must pack quickly if you want to leave soon.”
As Emilia left to inform Mr. Rymer of her decision, she felt happiness well up deep inside of her. It was something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in quite some time now. She found a strange comfort in sadness. It’s what she was accustomed to and no one could ever take it from her because there was nothing to take.
But now, hope bloomed in her heart. She didn’t know what lay ahead of her, but surely it was better than what she was leaving behind.
Fredrick Westlake, Earl of Chatsworth, felt like an imposter. He was sitting amongst his friends at White’s but his mind was far away. He was thinking about his comrades on the Continent, knowing full well what they were enduring.
Misery.
Death.
War had turned out to be nothing like he had expected. He had started off fighting for a purpose, but as time passed, that line began to blur, leaving him to question what was truly right or wrong.
But that wasn’t the worst part. It was the faces that he saw when he closed his eyes; the faces of the men that he had killed. They relentlessly tormented him, depriving him of any peace. He was trying to learn to coexist with them, but he was failing. Miserably.
Sitting around a table at White’s, he couldn’t help but wonder what he was even doing here. His comrades were out on the battlefield, risking their lives, and here he was, doing nothing to help them.
Lord Rushcliffe’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you with us, Chatsworth?”
