“Yes, that is perfectly acceptable,” her father replied.
Mrs. Watson stepped into the room, carefully balancing the bowls of soup in her hands. “I take it that Lord Winston is not joining us for supper this evening,” she observed.
“No, but we have decided that Mattie is to blame for the misunderstanding,” Emma responded.
Mattie rolled her eyes. “Can we please move on and talk about something else?” she asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.
Emma leaned to the side as Mrs. Watson placed the bowl down in front of her. “I do not know why you are upset since you made us wait hours to eat dinner. I thought I might die from hunger,” she said dramatically.
Her father cleared his throat. “You made your point, Emma,” he remarked. “Now let us eat our soup that Mrs. Watson graciously prepared for us.”
Reaching for her spoon, Emma remarked, “I hope I do not soil this gown since I wore it especially for Lord Winston.”
“You shouldn’t have changed out of your mourning gown,” Mattie admonished.
“I look terrible in black,” Emma declared defiantly. “Can I not go into half-mourning and wear dark colors?”
Mattie frowned, her frustration growing. “You haven’t even mourned for one full day.”
“Because it is so difficult to do so,” Emma said. “My skin is far too fair to be paired with a black gown.”
Mattie was done with this ridiculous conversation. She turned her attention towards Franny and asked, “Did you enjoy going outside for ourbrief walk?”
Franny placed her spoon down onto the table. “It was nice to step outside, even for a moment.”
Emma chimed in, “If you don’t go outside, you are going to become far too pale. You must think of your complexion.”
“I am sure that Franny has other things on her mind right now,” Mattie stated, giving Emma a stern look.
Shifting her gaze towards her uncle, Franny asked, “When are we departing for Darlington Abbey?”
“Soon,” he promised. “The vicar is traveling to our village now.”
“I admit that I am anxious to return home,” Franny said.
He smiled warmly at her. “I know, Dear, but I do not wish to leave this village without a vicar. It would be terribly unfair of me to do so.”
Franny nodded slowly. “I understand,” she murmured.
Emma pushed the bowl of soup away from her, her expression thoughtful. “I have been thinking of the bedchamber that I want at Darlington Abbey, and I think I want the room that has green-papered walls. It is the largest of the guest rooms, and I think it would be perfect for me.”
“We shall see,” her father said, his tone measured. “We will discuss such things with the housekeeper at Darlington Abbey.”
“Why would we discuss such things?” Emma asked, looking perplexed. “Shouldn’t we tell Mrs. Devan what we want, and she accommodates us?”
Her father pursed his lips together. “That is rather a high-handed thing of you to say. I would think we would work together as a team.”
“But they are servants, Father,” Emma protested. “Our servants.”
Mattie lifted her brow. “You seem to forget that just a few days ago, we lived in humble circumstances.”
Emma raised her hands. “We still do!” she said, her voicerising. “But everything has changed now that Father is a viscount. We need not live in squalor any longer.”
“We hardly live in squalor,” Mattie claimed, her tone edged with irritation.
Lifting her chin, Emma responded, “We shall have to agree to disagree, Sister,” she said. “You may have been content as a vicar’s daughter but I never was. I knew I was destined for great things and I am grateful for the chance to prove it.”
Franny pushed back her chair and rose. “Excuse me, I am no longer hungry,” she said before fleeing from the room.
