Lucy brightened. “That will make lessons more pleasant!”
Emilia still had no idea how much their lessons would overlap. Somehow she would have to balance the education of two girls. “That’s the reason Mr. Dashwood requested we move to his home. It will be much easier for me to instruct you both there.”
“Is this young lady kind?” Lucy wanted to know. “Is she fashionable, and witty, and will she find me dull?”
Emilia thought of Charlotte’s bright, eager face. “I expect she’ll be just as curious about you as you are about her. She’s about five years older than you. I don’t think she’s been out much in town.”
“I think I will like her,” said Lucy more confidently. “And Mr. Dashwood will want us to be friends, won’t he?”
He hadn’t said any such thing, but even he couldn’t be so oblivious as not to consider it. “I’m sure he does,” said Emilia, pushing aside the flicker of irritation at the man’s silence. “I hope you’ll remember the manners I’ve taught you.”
“I will try,” Lucy promised. “I always try!”
“Lucy.” Emilia took the girl’s hands. “You must do better than try. I have great confidence in you,” she added firmly as Lucy’s fingers twitched and her face went pale. “I know you can do it. But our fate is now in Mr. Dashwood’s hands, and we must remember that at all times.”
“But he’ll be kind, won’t he?” she asked anxiously.
“I believe so, but we neither of us know him yet. As we come to know him, it will become clearer how to behave, if he is excessively formal or restrained, or a more relaxed gentleman.” Emilia didn’t add any of her own concerns—about who Dashwood’s associates were, what sort of employer he was, and what freedom they might expect as members of his household. She didn’t have much choice, so she would have to learn quickly.
Lucy nodded vigorously. “Of course! Do you know, now I’m looking forward to it!” She slid off Emilia’s lap and ran from the room, calling to Henry that she was almost ready for him to take her trunk.
Emilia stood and looked around her small room. Here in Charles Street, she’d put Lucy in the best room and then rebelliously taken the room next to it for her own. There had been no one to tell her otherwise, when she was the de facto head of the household. Emilia knew she was a servant, but she’d hardly acted like one for the last several months. Just as she’d reminded Lucy to mind her manners, she would have to remember her true place now.
When they arrived in Portland Place, the butler greeted them with a bow. “Welcome, Miss Sidney. Miss Greene. I am Mr. Pearce.”
Lucy’s eyes were like saucers as she looked around. The house was as bright and elegant inside as it appeared from the outside. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered, staying close to Emilia’s side.
“Allow me to show you to your rooms.” Mr. Pearce led the way up the stairs, Henry bringing up the rear with Lucy’s trunk on his shoulder and a footman carrying Emilia’s. Another footman took Mrs. Watson and her things to the kitchen.
“Oh my!” Lucy’s eyes rounded in astonishment as he showed them into a large bright schoolroom on the top floor with several windows overlooking the street and two small bedrooms off it. Together the space seemed larger than an entire house in Charles Street.
Lucy wandered through the rooms, her head swiveling from side to side as she took it all in. Emilia started toward the bedrooms, expecting one of them to be hers, but the butler stopped her. “This way, Miss Greene.” He opened a concealed door in one wall and led her down a narrow flight of stairs into a beautiful room directly below.
Emilia stopped in the doorway. “Is this the chamber for the lady of the house?”
“I suppose it was,” said the butler, unruffled. “There’s been no lady of the house since I arrived, ma’am.”
Her gaze narrowed on a door in the opposite wall. “Is that Mr. Dashwood’s chamber?”
He coughed. “Ah—no, ma’am. That leads to Mr. Dashwood’s private study. A locksmith came yesterday to disable this door. No one can go in or out through it.” In illustration he crossed the room and turned the knob, demonstrating its uselessness.
That was better than being next to his bedroom, but still not right. “I prefer to have the room upstairs.”
“I beg your pardon, but Mr. Dashwood gave instructions that Miss Charlotte was to have that room. He assigned you this chamber since it gives you convenient access to both young ladies, and they to you, while still affording you some measure of privacy.”
Emilia suffered a qualm of conscience. That sounded very reasonable—considerate, even—but he had to know it was improper. She ought to be in the servants’ quarters, not installed near his bedroom.
“If you are displeased with the arrangements, perhaps you wish to discuss it with Mr. Dashwood,” suggested Mr. Pearce.
“Thank you. When do you expect him?”
“Mr. Dashwood normally rises at four o’clock. If you wish, I will inform him that you would like to speak to him.”
That was a few hours away. She resolved not to unpack just yet. “Yes, please.”
Mr. Pearce showed them the rest of the house, from the elegant drawing room on the first floor, with a gleaming new pianoforte, to the empty dining room on the ground floor. When Emilia asked why there was no furniture, Mr. Pearce said Mr. Dashwood did not entertain and saw no purpose in it.
“It’s a very large house, Millie,” whispered Lucy, gripping Emilia’s hand.
