Madame Tussaud’s with Dominic. It’s taken her a month to persuade him.”
“Then take Charlotte.”
“Mama!” Emily said with withering disgust. “You know as well as I do, Charlotte will ruin it. Even if she doesn’t actually say anything, her face will give her away.”
“I take it she doesn’t care for Miss Decker either?” Caroline said a trifle drily.
“Charlotte has no sense of what is practical.”
It was the perfect opening. Caroline took it immediately. “It seems to me that you have very little idea yourself, my darling. Your pursuit of Lord Ashworth is hardly destined for any permanent success, and you are seeing far too much of him for a temporary admiration. You will draw an unwelcome attention to yourself, you will find that you are remembered as Ashworth’s . . . ” she hesitated, trying to find the right word.
“I intend to be Ashworth’s wife,” Emily said with an aplomb that staggered Caroline. “Which seems to me to be excellently practical.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Caroline said sharply. “Ashworth won’t marry a girl with neither family connections nor money. Even if he were minded to, his parents certainly wouldn’t permit it.”
Emily stared straight ahead of her and continued marching down the street.
“His father is dead, and he is quite equal to his mother. There is no point in trying to dissuade me. I have made up my mind.”
“And you have the temerity to say that Charlotte is impractical,” Caroline said in dismay as they turned into Cater Street. “At least keep your own counsel and don’t say anything—committing—in front of the vicar.”
“I shouldn’t dream of saying anything of any sort at all in front of the vicar,” Emily replied sharply. “He doesn’t understand such things.”
“I’m sure he understands them, but as a man of the cloth he would not be interested. All men are equal before God.”
Emily gave her a look that stripped bare her own dislike of the vicar and made her feel a hypocrite. It was an uncomfortable feeling, especially when it was generated by one’s own youngest child.
“Well, if you imagine you’re going to be a lady, you’ll have to learn to exercise good manners, even to those you dislike,” Caroline said sharply, aware that the reminder was possibly as timely to herself as to Emily.
“Like Miss Decker,” Emily looked sideways at her with a tiny smile.
Caroline could think of no reply, and fortunately they were at the Prebbles’ door.
Ten minutes later they were in the back parlour. Martha Prebble had ordered tea and was sitting on the overstuffed sofa facing them. Incredibly, Sarah was also there, deep in conversation. She did not seem the least surprised to see them. Martha apologized for the vicar’s absence in a tone that left Caroline feeling that in some way Martha Prebble was perhaps as relieved as they were.
“So good of you to help, Mrs. Ellison,” Martha said, leaning forward a little. “I sometimes wonder how this parish would survive if it were not for you and your good daughters. Only last week Sarah was here,” she smiled sideways at Sarah, “helping with our charity for orphans. Such a delightful girl.”
Caroline smiled. Sarah had never been any concern, except perhaps briefly when both she and Edward had wondered if Dominic had been a wise choice. But it had proved excellent, and everyone was happy with it—except perhaps Charlotte. Once or twice she had thought . . . but Martha Prebble was talking again.
“ . . . course we must help these unfortunate women. In spite of what the vicar says, I feel some of them are the victims of circumstance.”
“The poorer classes do not have the advantages of proper upbringing, such as we have,” Sarah nodded in agreement.
Really, Sarah was pompous at times: just like Edward. Caroline had missed the beginning of the conversation, but she could guess. They were planning an evening lecture, with a collection plate and tea and
“Then take Charlotte.”
“Mama!” Emily said with withering disgust. “You know as well as I do, Charlotte will ruin it. Even if she doesn’t actually say anything, her face will give her away.”
“I take it she doesn’t care for Miss Decker either?” Caroline said a trifle drily.
“Charlotte has no sense of what is practical.”
It was the perfect opening. Caroline took it immediately. “It seems to me that you have very little idea yourself, my darling. Your pursuit of Lord Ashworth is hardly destined for any permanent success, and you are seeing far too much of him for a temporary admiration. You will draw an unwelcome attention to yourself, you will find that you are remembered as Ashworth’s . . . ” she hesitated, trying to find the right word.
“I intend to be Ashworth’s wife,” Emily said with an aplomb that staggered Caroline. “Which seems to me to be excellently practical.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Caroline said sharply. “Ashworth won’t marry a girl with neither family connections nor money. Even if he were minded to, his parents certainly wouldn’t permit it.”
Emily stared straight ahead of her and continued marching down the street.
“His father is dead, and he is quite equal to his mother. There is no point in trying to dissuade me. I have made up my mind.”
“And you have the temerity to say that Charlotte is impractical,” Caroline said in dismay as they turned into Cater Street. “At least keep your own counsel and don’t say anything—committing—in front of the vicar.”
“I shouldn’t dream of saying anything of any sort at all in front of the vicar,” Emily replied sharply. “He doesn’t understand such things.”
“I’m sure he understands them, but as a man of the cloth he would not be interested. All men are equal before God.”
Emily gave her a look that stripped bare her own dislike of the vicar and made her feel a hypocrite. It was an uncomfortable feeling, especially when it was generated by one’s own youngest child.
“Well, if you imagine you’re going to be a lady, you’ll have to learn to exercise good manners, even to those you dislike,” Caroline said sharply, aware that the reminder was possibly as timely to herself as to Emily.
“Like Miss Decker,” Emily looked sideways at her with a tiny smile.
Caroline could think of no reply, and fortunately they were at the Prebbles’ door.
Ten minutes later they were in the back parlour. Martha Prebble had ordered tea and was sitting on the overstuffed sofa facing them. Incredibly, Sarah was also there, deep in conversation. She did not seem the least surprised to see them. Martha apologized for the vicar’s absence in a tone that left Caroline feeling that in some way Martha Prebble was perhaps as relieved as they were.
“So good of you to help, Mrs. Ellison,” Martha said, leaning forward a little. “I sometimes wonder how this parish would survive if it were not for you and your good daughters. Only last week Sarah was here,” she smiled sideways at Sarah, “helping with our charity for orphans. Such a delightful girl.”
Caroline smiled. Sarah had never been any concern, except perhaps briefly when both she and Edward had wondered if Dominic had been a wise choice. But it had proved excellent, and everyone was happy with it—except perhaps Charlotte. Once or twice she had thought . . . but Martha Prebble was talking again.
“ . . . course we must help these unfortunate women. In spite of what the vicar says, I feel some of them are the victims of circumstance.”
“The poorer classes do not have the advantages of proper upbringing, such as we have,” Sarah nodded in agreement.
Really, Sarah was pompous at times: just like Edward. Caroline had missed the beginning of the conversation, but she could guess. They were planning an evening lecture, with a collection plate and tea and
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