Emily tucked her legs beneath herself, settling down on the window couch. She had spent a successful morning perusing the book stores that London had to offer. While Emily yearned to return to the wide-open avenues of New York, where the rolling fields of the Harlem estate were just two hours by carriage, she had to admit that the amenities of such an ancient city were something to behold. The new novel, Emma, by someone who went by the pen name By a Lady, was captivating her.
Her father never had much time for novels, insisting that Emily stick to educational books. But her life had been a rather lonely one at times, and she took comfort in slipping into the lives of others.
Soft footsteps padded into the room, her aunt clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Untuck your legs, it is not lady like," she admonished Emily. Eyeing the book, she added, "Do not let your uncle see that novel. He detests that woman."
Emily, wedging her finger between the pages, looked up. "How could he detest a woman he does not know? For she has never given her name?"
Her aunt shot her a withering look. "You, young lady, have much to learn about men."
Emily tilted her head to the side. She had learned much about men - not to say that her innocence could be called into question. But she had many friends who had wed and shared tales of their wedding night. She wondered how much the young ladies of the ton knew - so far, she had found them to be rather stuffy.
Aunt Margaret had taken her around the homes of other young women her age this week past. While she had learned much about the rules of society, she could not say that there was much else these women talked about. Unless it was about the dreaded Lady Whistledown papers.
Not one day after the ball, the lady had mentioned Emily in the scandal sheet. She had written "A newcomer among us has sparked fervent conversation, as the young Miss Emily Hawthorn has arrived on our shores.
"Making her debut at Lady Parker's ball on Tuesday, the young woman seemed to cause a stir with stories of her past - including a few sharp and this author suspects, not entirely true, tales of her own.
"One must wonder if the confidence of this lady will cause her to outshine the ton - or send any potential suitors running."
Emily had never had anyone write about her in such detail before. She had always been to balls but showed little interest in leading the social pack as some of her friends. Of course, her name was mentioned in the Sunday society column. But never like this.
Her aunt had been horrified. Saying that they would be shunned from society if she kept this behaviour up. Emily had been secretly pleased. She viewed the passage as a compliment - whether or not this had been the author's intention, she was unsure.
Her aunt had told her the story of Mrs Bridgerton's being exposed by the queen last season. Emily's remark that if Queen Charlotte had allowed her to continue writing, it must not have been so great a scandal as they inferred, did not go over well.
But the sheets had been incredibly useful to Emily. She caught up on a year worth of history in a single morning. Despite her aunt's disdain, she seemed to have rather a lot of the papers still in the house.
Upon hearing that her uncle had arrived home, Emily quickly tucked her new novel into her skirts. Uncle James was a tricky one to pin down. He spent much of his time in Parliament or tending to the estate. It was not rare for two days to go by without his aunt or uncle sharing a single word of consequence.
She thought of her mother and father. They laughed together often, sharing smiles and lively conversations.
When her mother had died five years ago, she did not think her father would survive much behind her. He seemed empty after her loss.
Despite encouragement to move on, he never courted another woman. His loss this past winter had been incredibly hard. Not only had she lost both her parents, but her home, her country and everything she had ever known.
Emily swallowed the lump forming in her throat, knowing she should be grateful for her aunt and uncle for taking her in.
But in a more just world, Emily would still be living in her childhood home in New York. The sizable inheritance she had received after her father's death was enough to fund generations. But the home was willed to her cousin Arthur, who had boarded a ship almost at the same time Emily had, heading towards his new home.
While Emily was stuck here, with no one and nothing from her old life, save her maid Anne, who had seemed rather excited about the prospect of a new life in England.
"We shall be visiting your cousin Catherine tomorrow", Aunt Margaret said, drawing Emily from her thoughts. "She thinks there are two or three rather fine young men you should be introduced to at her upcoming ball."
Emily tried to fake a smile, not wanting to let on that meeting these men was the furthest thing from what she wished. But to say so would almost insure she would be forced on them all evening.
"We will also need another trip to the modieste. While I am sure those fashions were fine in the New World, we dress a bit more conservatively here." Emily sighed. It would mean another morning of being stuck with pins while trying to hide her growing irritation.
She recalled a book her father got her for her 18th birthday. "Now you are a woman, you must learn to act like one." While the sentiment was held firm by many a man in society, she knew her father said it in jest. It was one of the few times she could recall her father laughing with her, since the death of her mother.
They read the pages aloud to one another for hours, which included such sage advice as "If you talk in society, talk only about those things which you understand" and "Trust no female acquaintance".
It seemed, to Emily, that the book demanded she never speak to anyone or about anything. To live a life of pious silence. Her father had laughed hardest at that.
She smiled at the memory.
"Good," her aunt said, watching her. "That you smile at the thought of a husband is a good thing." She nodded to herself, absentmindedly picking up her embroidery. She did not think her aunt would take the news well that she never intended to take a husband. Not now, not ever. If a man could lead a happy life as a bachelor, why couldn't she remain...a spinster she supposed? Marrying would mean giving up her freedom. Everything she now had would belong to that of her husband. She had absolutely no intention of ever finding herself at the whims of a man.
Emily dashed from the room, pausing at the door of her uncle's office. It was quiet inside. She cursed that men could hide themselves away, too important to be disturbed, given their own sanctuary.
When she had her own home, she thought to herself, she would have several libraries in which to hide. And she climbed the staircase to her room, hoping her and Emma would not be disturbed until supper.