Emmeline by Jennifer Moore

Author:Jennifer Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published: 2020-04-15T21:43:11+00:00

Chapter 8

Emmeline paced back and forth across the wet floor of the gazebo. Rain pattered on the roof and ran down the columns. She was furious and embarrassed and . . . hurt. She wiped at her cheeks, wishing she could stop her tears. But Mr. Rothschild’s words kept coming back into her mind. You’re pretty enough, but men don’t seek out a lady’s company because of her intelligence. Finally, she sat on one of the curved stone benches that surrounded the green copper floor and scooted forward to the very edge to keep from being dripped on.

Why had she argued? She rested her elbows on her knees and put her face into her hands. Hadn’t she told herself that she would be agreeable for the sake of her hosts? But when she thought of plastering on a smile and accepting Mr. Rothschild’s erroneous conclusions about the answers to the clues . . . she just couldn’t do it. Pretending not to understand something in order to spare a man’s feelings—it felt dishonest somehow. As if she weren’t being true to herself.

Emmeline sighed. Today had been a disaster. Why had she come to Griffin Park? While she felt that she and Joanna and Mrs. Griffin had truly begun a friendship, she was fooling herself if she thought that she belonged here with these people in the first place.

Hearing a footstep on the copper floor, she looked up.

Lord Mather stepped beneath the gazebo roof and took off his hat, letting a stream of water drip off the brim.

She wiped her cheeks furiously with her gloved fingers, humiliated that he’d seen her weeping.

Lord Mather sat on the bench next to hers. “Rothschild told me what he said.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, voice louder than usual to be heard over the rain.

Emmeline was grateful that he didn’t attempt to sugarcoat his words or give her extra sympathy. Having one more person speak down to her might just be the final blow to her already battered self-confidence. She glanced past him, worried that Mr. Rothschild might be right behind. She wasn’t ready to face the man just yet. “Where is he?”

“Taking cover from the rain with Miss Stewart in the gardener’s toolshed.”

Something about the way he said the young lady’s name gave the impression that he was frustrated with his partner as well. But perhaps Emmeline was reading too much into it. “You agree with him,” she said. “That a woman should not correct a man. That she should not argue with his decisions. That it is outside her realm.”

He sighed, taking off his coat and offering it to her. “Are you never going to forget I said that?”

Emmeline took the coat. The outside was wet, but it was warm inside. She slid her arms into the sleeves. “I cannot forget it. I—” How could she make him see how his words had made her feel? How strongly she felt about the issue of equality? She let out a heavy sigh. “Why

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