“What he thinks about,” commented Kimberly as she wrung out the rag on Miss Wong’s forehead, “is his empty coffers. He will not become a fortune hunter for your dowry.”
“It’s not so bad as that,” Emma said, hoping it was true.
Kimberly shrugged. “I understand his brother wants to attend Oxford, but they haven’t the coin to support him. And his sister has no dowry at all.”
“She’s too young to have a Season,” she said, and thank God for that because the price of outfitting a girl was exorbitant.
Christopher’s empty coffers were well known to her, but she didn’t care. Of all the men she’d met, he still stood head and shoulders above the rest. He made her laugh when she thought she’d scream, and his smile always made her feel seen. As if he alone understood what she was feeling.
Fantasy, of course, but it would not leave her.
“Emma, you’re smart, titled, and well-dowered. You know what to say and when to keep silent. If you want to marry, pick a man and crook your finger. He shall be at your feet within the moments.”
“I know,” she grumbled. “But they all seem so childish. I want someone to challenge me, to engage my mind and my heart.” There was a summer, long ago, when she and Christopher had debated philosophy, religion, and even monetary policy. Neither of them had known what they were talking about, but it had sent her to study. They had a substantial library at their country estate. When he and Max had gone fishing, she had read. And when they returned, she and Christopher debated.
No one else had ever challenged her mind as he did. It was the primary reason she loved him. Night after night, he would refuse to flirt, but he would discuss whatever erudite topic struck her fancy.
Compared to that, what could the fops and dandies of high society offer her? She looked at Kimberly.
“All they do is play and complain.” That was rich coming from her. After all, what did she do with her life? She went to parties and complained about her mother’s complaining. She dropped her chin on her head. “Good God, I’ve become one of them, haven’t I?”
“No more than the rest of us. I, too, look for something more substantial to fill my days.” Her expression grew sober. “I would appreciate it if you could visit my cousin Mary Ann.”
“I’d heard that her dog is sick. Is he very ill?”
“It’s Oscar’s time. He’s lived a long and happy life, but Mary Ann is inconsolable.” Kimberly sighed. “With dogs, all one must do is hold them, love them, and when the time comes, let them know you are there for them. It’s sad. It’s hard, but it is natural.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I do not know what to do for people.”
“It is much the same for people at the end, I think. It is the times when we are not dying that are harder to navigate.”
“You will talk to her?”
Emmaline nodded. “I will visit. Only she can say if she will speak with me.”
“I’m sure she will. You never fail to make people feel better. You’re much like Oscar in that regard.”
Emma laughed. Despite the awkwardness of the phrasing, she knew that was high praise from Kimberly. Unfortunately, the image stuck, and it did not help her mood. She pictured herself as a lap dog passed from one person to another. She soothed, she barked about the bad people, she performed tasks that pleased her companions, and then she went home feeling more disgusted with her life than ever before.
The thing that was both good and bad about dogs was that they gave complete love, absolute loyalty, and never, ever complained about how they were treated. They also never forced their masters to grow in any way, shape, or form. What good was soothing someone’s irritation if they never changed what caused the irritation in the first place? She didn’t want to be a lapdog. She wanted to be a scolding nanny to the most childish adults in the world.
Why didn’t people want to change the things that made them miserable? Why didn’t she want to leave her current life for something more fulfilling or at least different?
Her gaze returned to Miss Wong’s face and found the lady inspiring. She couldn’t imagine being torn from one’s home, brought to another country where she didn’t speak the language, and then offered as a plaything to a king. She’d clearly suffered terrible things and still had the strength to fight back. She’d killed one of her abusers. She’d learned to speak English. What had Emmaline ever done that compared to that?
She had no answer. Thankfully, she didn’t need to because at that moment, Max came in with a jar of…was that dirt?
“Is she awake?” he asked as soon as he crossed the threshold.
“It’s a fitful sleep at best,” Emma responded. “What is that? I thought you went to get medicine.”
He shrugged. “It’s what she wanted, but I don’t know if she’s supposed to take it as hot tea or eat it straight.”
“But what is it?” Lady Kimberly asked as she peered at the jar.
He blinked as he noticed the other lady in the room. “Oh. Hullo Kim. It’s mold.” He held up his hands to quiet her before she could ask. “I have no idea why, but she was very clear.”
Kimberly nodded. “Add some honey to it.”
“What?”
