So tell me, Miss Ashford, Beatrice said brightly. What did you do in France all those years? I imagine life in exile was quite rustic. I lived with my grandmother. She taught me languages, illustration, music. How quaint. Did you work? The question was designed to humiliate. Ladies didn't work. Only those with no other options worked. I translated manuscripts, Emma said quietly. Academic texts mostly. Ancient languages.
Oh, so you worked. Beatrice's tone made it sound like a disease. How very industrious. It was necessary. I suppose it was. When one doesn't have the benefit of family support. Beatrice glanced at Charles, her smile sharp. Fortunately, Charles would never allow his wife to work. He believes women should be protected, cherished, decorative. Really. Don't you, darling? Charles's jaw worked. I believe women should do whatever fulfills them.
How progressive. Beatrice laughed, the sound like breaking glass. Though, of course, once we're married, I'll be far too busy running the household to consider anything so tedious as employment. The Winterborne estate is quite vast. It requires a woman of breeding and education to manage properly. Unlike you, the unspoken words hung in the air. Emma's hands clenched in her skirt. She wanted to respond, to defend herself. But what could she say? Beatrice was right. Emma had no breeding by society's standards, no fortune, no claim to anything except survival.
They reached the fountain, a massive marble affair with cherubs and cascading water. The afternoon sun caught the spray, creating tiny rainbows in the mist. Beautiful, isn't it? Beatrice sighed, leaning into Charles. I've always loved fountains. So romantic. Charles proposed to me beside a fountain, you know. Emma's breath caught. She hadn't known. Hadn't wanted to know.
Did he? She managed. Well, proposed is perhaps too strong a word. The arrangement was made by our fathers, but Charles did ask formally beside the fountain at Winterborne Hall. It was terribly proper. Beatrice looked up at Charles, her expression fond. He's always terribly proper, aren't you, darling? Charles said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the fountain, his expression unreadable.
I think propriety is overrated. Charlotte's voice cut in. Emma turned to find her joining the group, her green eyes bright with mischief. All the best love stories involve at least a little scandal. Beatrice's smile tightened. Lady Charlotte, I didn't realize you'd arrived. Just now. And already bored by all the polite conversation. Charlotte winked at Emma. Miss Ashford, would you walk with me? I want to show you the rose garden. It's supposedly quite spectacular, even in winter.
I was just, Emma began. Nonsense. Lady Beatrice has monopolized you quite enough. Charlotte linked arms with Emma, already pulling her away. We'll return her shortly. I promise. Mostly intact. Before Beatrice could protest, Charlotte had whisked Emma away, weaving through the other guests toward a more secluded part of the garden.
Thank you, Emma breathed once they were out of earshot. Don't thank me yet. I just gave Beatrice even more ammunition by making it obvious you needed rescuing. Charlotte's expression turned serious. She's worse than I expected. That woman is going to make your life miserable if you're not careful. I know. Do you? Because from where I was standing, you looked about 2 seconds from either crying or punching her. Neither would have ended well.
Emma laughed despite herself, a shaky, desperate sound. Is it that obvious? To me, yes. To everyone else, you're doing admirably. Charlotte stopped walking, turning to face Emma. But I have to ask, is this really worth it? Subjecting yourself to her cruelty. Watching him with her. All for 6 weeks. You don't understand. Then help me understand.