Emma’s mouth curved in the faintest smile. “I like to paint,” she said shyly. “Jenny told me you might want more lessons, and that I should not have as much time. My other governesses said painting was too disorderly for a proper young lady.”
“I can assure you that will not be the case,” Maggie replied. “There will be lessons, yes—but always time for painting.”
This seemed to set Emma’s mind at rest. She glanced up at Jenny, who gave her an encouraging smile.
“And this painting—is it from your imagination too?” Maggie asked.
“Not exactly,” Emma said. “Uncle described it to me. He tells me stories about Mama’s home—all the gardens and flowers. I never met her, you see. Uncle says I must try to remember her.”
Maggie blinked, at a loss. It was not what one expected from a child. Managing her might prove more delicate than she’d thought.
“How very nice,” she said gently.
Emma beamed, inching closer.
She wants me to hug her, Maggie realised suddenly.Does no one ever hold this child?
Before she could act, quick footsteps sounded in the corridor. A footman appeared at the door, breathless. He whispered to Mrs Thornton, whose face stiffened.
“I see. Thank you, Simon.”
Turning back, she said heavily, “It seems His Grace will see you after all. Come at once.”
“That is good,” Maggie replied briskly, rising and smoothing her skirts.
To her surprise, Emma slumped back onto her stool, tears springing in her eyes.
“Oh, no, Mrs Thornton. I like Miss Winters,” she mumbled mournfully.
Maggie gave a nervous laugh. “Why, I shall come straight back, Miss Emma!”
“Uncle has already frightened away all my other governesses,” the child murmured.
Surely a jest. Maggie smiled uncertainly at Mrs Thornton, who only sighed.
“Yes, Miss Emma, we know. But perhaps Miss Winters will be the exception. We shall see.”
With that, she swept from the room, and Maggie hurried after her.
Yes, Maggie thought grimly.We shall indeed.
Brace yourself, your Grace. I am going nowhere. There is nowhere for metogo.
Chapter Two
Mrs Thornton swept along the corridors at a brisk pace, her heels clicking smartly against the tiles, never once glancing back to see if Maggie kept up.
“Is it true, then—what they say about him?” Maggie ventured at last, a little breathless.
Mrs Thornton cast her a sharp look over her shoulder. “And whatdothey say, Miss Winter?”
“Well, I am sure you’ve heard.”
“Enlighten me,” Mrs Thornton returned, her tone as crisp as a whip-crack.
Maggie swallowed.Well, I’ve started; I’d best go on.
“I only meant that he is said to be something of a gambler. Not a spendthrift, of course, but a most formidable player.”
