“Do you want to be a spy?”
Emilia shook her head. “No, I think I will leave that to you and Fredrick. I am much more content with cheering you on from the safety of my townhouse.”
Simone laughed. “I greatly enjoy being a spy,” she admitted. “I am able to pretend that I am someone else, even just for a moment. I have been a serving wench, a factory worker, and a beggar. Sometimes I even dress like a man.”
“I could never be that brazen,” Emilia said as she ran a hand down her pale blue gown. “Besides, I just got a whole new wardrobe. I wouldn’t want to waste those.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy wearing gowns as well, but there is something liberating about wearing trousers.”
Emilia glanced at the townhouse. “Are you not worried about what your servants think?”
“They are used to my odd behavior by now,” Simone replied. “I come and go so often that I am sure they have just given up trying to figure me out.”
“What of your father?” Emilia asked. “Does he not worry about you?”
Simone pursed her lips together as she worked to keep the displeasure out of her voice. “My father is a very busy man and doesn’t pay me much heed,” she replied. “Besides, the servants are loyal to me and won’t betray my confidences.”
Emilia offered her a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Your father being a jackanapes.”
Simone blinked. “Why do you think my father is a jackanapes?”
“Anyone who would ignore a daughter that is as incredible as you deserves to be called a jackanapes,” Emilia replied. “Am I wrong to say so?”
“No, you aren’t wrong.”
Emilia placed a hand on Simone’s sleeve. “You are in good company,” she said. “I only knew of my father after he was dead and left me his fortune. I wish he had made himself known to me while he was still alive.”
“My father has never been an overly affectionate man, but he grew distant after my mother died,” Simone shared.
“Grief affects everyone differently,” Emilia attempted.
“I know, but he rarely speaks of my mother,” Simone said. “He even had her portrait removed from the main level and placed in the attic.”
Emilia lowered her hand to her side. “Perhaps it was too hard to look at her every single day.”
“But what of me?” Simone asked. “Shouldn’t he take my feelings into account when making decisions that affect both of us?”
“The easy answer is yes, but grief grays that line. Some people can’t see past themselves when mourning a loved one,” Emilia counseled.
Simone knew that Emilia was trying to help, but she found herself growing angry all over again. How could her father tuck her mother’s portrait away as if she meant nothing to him? Her mother deserved better.
Emilia briefly glanced up at the sky. “I should be going,” she said. “Fredrick is taking me on a carriage ride today during the fashionable hour.”
“That sounds rather terrible,” she teased.
“You are welcome to join us,” Emilia offered.
Simone grinned. “That is kind of you, but I think my time will be better spent on saving England from outside threats.”
“That is smart,” Emilia responded.
As they started to head back to the townhouse, Simone remarked, “I heard that Calvin and Clarissa have been transported.”
Emilia released a despondent sigh. “I wish things had been different between us, but Calvin and Clarissa never wanted a relationship with me. I was naive to think otherwise.”
