“So who lives here now?” the second young woman asked.
The voice struck a chord of familiarity in Margaret. A pleasant familiarity. Emily Lathrop... What was she doing here?
Mrs. Budgeon answered, “His grown children—his daughter, Helen, and his sons, Lewis and Nathaniel. Though Lewis is often in London.” Then the housekeeper resumed her prepared commentary.
Margaret crept from the servery and peered around the corner as Mrs. Budgeon directed the attention of her small entourage to several paintings hung in the hall. Margaret saw her old friend Emily as she solemnly attended Mrs. Budgeon’s narration. A second young woman stood at Emily’s side, a close-in-age cousin, Margaret thought, though she had only met her once or twice. A matronly companion Margaret did not recognize stood behind them.
“Here we have portraits of three generations of Upchurch men: Lambert, Henry, and James.”
The housekeeper stepped to the side and gestured regally to two other paintings. “And here are portraits of the sons of James Upchurch: Lewis and Nathaniel. Each was commissioned to honor his twenty-first birthday.”
The matronly chaperone pointed across the hall and asked timidly, “May I ask, Mrs. Budgeon, about that black urn? It is most unusual.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Budgeon flipped a page in her book. “That is a basalt-ware urn produced by Josiah Wedgwood....”
As the older women crossed the hall to examine the urn on its pedestal, the two young ladies stayed where they were, gazing up at the likenesses of Lewis and Nathaniel Upchurch.
Emily said, “Lewis Upchurch is exceedingly handsome, is he not?”
“Which is he?” the cousin asked in her high voice.
“The one on the left, of course.”
“I don’t know...” her cousin considered. “I like the face of the other. It is a strong face. Serious. Masculine.”
“Do you think so? All the women I know think Lewis the more attractive. But then again, he is the elder and heir, which no doubt adds to his appeal.” Emily giggled, and her cousin smiled obligingly.
“In fact, the younger Mr. Upchurch once proposed to my friend Margaret, but she refused him, so taken was she by his elder brother.”
“And did the elder brother propose?”
“No.” Emily sighed. “I could have told her he would not. But she wouldn’t have listened.”
Margaret’s stomach sank to hear her friend say so.
“Has there been any word from her?”
Emily shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
Margaret was surprised her mother had not shared news of the letter Margaret had sent. She hoped her mother had received it.
“What has become of her, do you think?”
Emily shrugged her thin shoulders. “Some guessed she had eloped, but word of the marriage would have reached us by now.”
The cousin smirked. “If Marcus Benton shared my house, I should have no cause to wander, I assure you. Is it true they are engaged?”
“I cannot credit it. Margaret protested not to like him.”
“I think you must be right. For did you see him dancing with that horse-faced American at Almacks last week? How she ever made it past the patronesses, I shall never know.”
“I’m surprised Mr. Benton went at all with Margaret missing.”
“Perhaps she isn’t really missing.”
Emily looked over sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps shehadto go away, if you take my meaning.”
