Emilia rose early. She actually shot awake, which was very unlike her. Mopsy was quite disturbed by it, letting out a groan and burying his head back under the covers.

She opted not to ring for Prudence. After last night, she feared there would be an interrogation awaiting her. This was exactly why she must be diligent this morning in both of her chores: first, she would refuse Sir Anthony's proposal and then she would more plainly refuse Mr. Byrne's... Would it be his fourth proposal? And what if he didn't even make one?

Nonsense. Of course he would. He'd threatened as much in the midst of all his flirting last night... and she was not looking forward to more of it, she reminded herself sternly.

The first would obviously be a bit easier, as she couldn't imagine Sir Anthony taking it badly. At the very least, she would probably be kinder to him than the real Miss Crewe would be. Most of her suitors went walking off in high dudgeon. Sir Anthony was a pleasant man, despite what Miss Marbury thought. Really, for all Emilia knew, his words about Miss Marbury had been a compliment. More men preferred her sort of figure than she knew. At any rate, she was certain Sir Anthony would take it well.

Mr. Byrne, however... While she didn't think he'd take it badly, she didn't think he'd take her seriously — especially not after she'd gone and laid that kiss on him yesterday.

Still, it had to be done. No matter what he said. No matter how persuasive, charming, tempting... No! Nothing about him was tempting because, as she needed to remind herself, nothing he said was for her, not really.

Except perhaps the stuff about her eyes...

She grunted as she tried to contort herself into getting the remainder of her buttons done up the back. She'd managed the underthings and done as many buttons as she could on the light green muslin before twisting it around. How she wished she'd adjusted Prudence's dresses as she'd done for Charity, with hooks and buttons up the sides and front. Prudence would likely prefer dressing without aid. Then again, that might mean Prudence would dress only as she wished and Emilia would likely be out of a job, so perhaps she'd best leave it be.

She froze at a knock on the door. Good Lord, had Prudence opted to rise this early? It was still half-dark!

"Miss Crewe? It's Evie."

"Oh, thank goodness," she gasped, gratefully dropping her arms. "Come in."

"I've just come up to collect our furry friend," Evie announced merrily.

Mopsy let out a whine and burrowed further under the blankets.

"As you see, he's not quite ready. Could you please..." Emilia gestured helplessly to her back.

"O' course!" Evie rushed to help her. "You sure you wouldn't rather have Miss Finch?"

"No," Emilia said quickly. "I didn't want to wake her just because I made the mistake of rising too early."

"Well, that's very kind of you. And she could probably do with a bit of a lie-in. She had a wee bit more brandy last—" Evie stopped. "Er, I mean... Not too much, I'm certain."

"I assure you, I have no intention of chiding Miss Finch about having a little more to drink." She had more concerns about what Prudence might have said at last night's little 'table of truth' after she'd left. "Dear Miss Finch. She does love a bit of brandy now and then. And when she over-indulges, she says the oddest things. How it makes me laugh." She dredged up a little giggle. "Did she say anything particularly amusing?"

"Not sure if I'd call it amusin' myself. But she was awful curious. All done!"

"Curious?" Emilia repeated, moving to the dressing table and taking a seat, trying to look very nonchalant as she picked up a hairbrush. "Whatever about?"

She caught Evie's slight smile in the mirror. "Now, you know very well that's against the rules. Nothing said at the table leaves the table. And since you left the table..."

"Well, that's not very fair. I was simply tired." Emilia feigned a pout. "I felt awful, no longer being part of all the fun."

Evie smiled again, tucking her hands in her apron. "Oh, you were definitely still part of the fun."

Oh, Lord! So they had talked about her — and with Prudence. She had half a mind to put off refusing Sir Anthony until Prudence promised not to interrogate her about... whatever was said. She'd rather not know at the moment. "Where are all my dratted hairpins?" Why had she took Prudence's word for it when she said she'd tidied them up last night before their little talk? She'd probably just shoved them into or under something.

"Oh, I've got plenty." Evie produced a little handful from her pocket.

"What haven't you got in there?" Emilia said on a slight chuckle. "But don't you need those for Lady Adele?"

"Hardly. She prefers simpler... coiffures," Evie said carefully, obviously remembering Emilia's correction from last night. She was a quick one. "So I don't get to practice me skills as much as I'd like, more's the pity. May I?" She held out a hand for the brush.

"Are you certain you have time?"

"Didn't I tell you? I'm nearly a lady's maid now. Mr. Byrne's gone and hired on a hall boy as well. Woke up to find him doing the fires before I could blink the sleep out of me eyes."

"Did he?" Emilia breathed, absently handing her the brush. "How very kind of him."

"To be sure. He's the kindest master I've ever had. First the laundress, now the hall boy." She met Emilia's eyes as she brushed, smiling sort of slyly. "Only thing we lack is a mistress."

Emilia wasn't certain what to say to that, except... "I thought Sir Anthony was your master," she choked out, since she wasn't supposed to know the true state of things.

Evie's smile dropped. "Well, he's... he's about so much that he may as well be another master." She bent her head, brushing more vigorously, but not harshly. She had good hands. "My, you've got lovely waves. I wish I could get some curl from Lady Adele. I did try with plaits, but it didn't take and she says she can't sleep with the curling papers or even rag curls."

"She should try pillow rags."

"I never heard o' them."

Emilia couldn't help a little smile. "They're an invention of my own devising. I sew a bit of rag around some cotton in the middle. It's much softer and easier to sleep on."

"That's very clever. Miss Finch must appreciate you putting such thought into things for her."

Emilia let out a laugh. "If only that were the case." Then she sobered, remembering who she was meant to be. "I just mean she doesn't always enjoy my interfering in her work."

"She is a bit like that. She's keen to teach me my letters, but nothing else yet. I keep asking to work on embroidery together, but she says she prefers to sew alone. I'd so like to learn from her, but I suppose she doesn't wish—"

"She's just easily distracted, the poor thing," Emilia cut in. "And she has so much to do, what with tending to Miss Hartley as well."

"Oh, that is true." Evie shook her head. "I didn't even think—"

"But no matter. I can help you," Emilia said eagerly. She certainly wasn't going to leave here without giving Evie the training she so badly desired. "I could start now. If you'd like to do a bit more than a simple coiffure."

Evie grinned. "That would be grand! And I've got just the one... somewhere in here." Evie dug in her pockets. "I'd wanted to try it on Lady Adele, but she finds sitting for hairstyles très ennuyeux... which I thought meant three of something annoying, but she told me it means 'very boring'." 

Emilia thought Lady Adele's tight chignon was very boring, but didn't say so. "Does no one have the patience for fashion anymore?" Emilia gestured to Evie. "Go on, then. Do what you wish," she said, hoping she didn't regret it.

Evie pulled a little drawing from her apron. "I was thinking something like this..."

After half-an-hour, Emilia was sporting a sweet little style, with her hair swept to the side into a neat little cluster of twists under her left ear, with a flower pinned just above it. It took a lot longer than Emilia would take, and with twice as many pins. And there were a few hairs escaping or sticking out at odd angles, but Evie was just learning. And she had a gentle touch, barely poking at her scalp more than twice... maybe thrice.

"The style is very becoming," Emilia said. "The execution will get better with practice."

"I saw it in that Bell Assembly thing," Evie said, looking pleased with herself, "and added my own little touches."

Emilia stared at Evie's drawing, which was actually quite good. She hoped Prudence didn't learn about that. She'd be after giving the girl drawing lessons along with reading, neither of which would serve her as well as what Emilia had to teach.

"It's La Belle Assemblée. It's a good thing you are helping Lady Adele. The more French you learn, the better. It is the language of fashion. You'll find it all overThe Lady's Magazine, The Lady's Monthly Museum, Ackermann's Repository, though that one's got far too much stuff on the arts one has to suffer through. If you can manage to get a copy of Le Journal des Dames et des Modes, that's out of Paris and their illustrations are so very detailed. One can almost see the secrets of how a dress comes together." She sighed. "But if you can get it, you'd have to share it with me. Lady C... Er... My mama does not subscribe to that one."

"Could you not subscribe to it?" Evie asked. 

"Me?" She laughed. She was lucky enough to get Lady Crewe's fashion magazines when she was done. She couldn't imagine paying for such an extravagant thing for herself. But as she was Prudence Crewe... "Sadly, I cannot. It is forbidden... for... being French."

"The poor French. I quite like Lady Adele. It ain't her fault that Napoleon fella keeps runnin' about taking over countries." Evie laughed. "Ye'd think the English would like him, considerin' they do it all the time, as Miss Finch says."

"Miss Finch has too much to say on the subject." Emilia rolled her eyes. She had heard enough about Napoleon from Prudence to last a lifetime. "Anyhow, it's a grand magazine. I caught one once in London when I attended a call with Miss P... Miss Penny...worthy. But the English ones are fine as well."

"I did spy that Museum one in Miss Finch's things, but she tells me I can only read it when I've finished with me nursery rhymes."

The poor girl. "You should practice hairstyles on yourself, whenever you get the chance," Emilia said. "That's what I would... instruct Miss Finch to do."

"Surely I can't run about the house with a style such as that. It's too... French." Evie laughed nervously, pulling at her own simple braid. "They'd all think I was getting above m'self."

"A lady's maid, or one who wants to become one, needs to practice styles that hold their own throughout the day."

Evie still looked uncomfortable.

"I'll tell you what..." Emilia turned to her. "You can practice on me every morning if you like."

"Can I?"

"But do try to practice on yourself as well. Even if you have to undo it." Emilia turned at a whine from the door. Mopsy was pacing back and forth and she knew what that meant. "I think someone needs to use nature's chamberpot," she whispered, rising.

"Oh, I can—"

"Please allow me." Emilia stuffed Mopsy's blue ball in her pocket. "I wouldn't mind a little... morning constitutional." Perhaps it would help her think.

Teaching Evie was a nice little distraction, but she must keep her mind on her duties for the day.

Refuse and... Well, refuse some more, she supposed. "Very kind man," she muttered to herself as Mopsy meandered around for a spot that pleased him. "Very nice proposal... so and so... no desire to marry... independence and all that... despite how very tempting... No, not tempting."

That might encourage him to try again. And Sir Anthony's offer was truly not what she'd call tempting. It was interesting, she supposed, for someone who wanted that sort of thing. But tempting was more like...

"There is no cure for love but marriage."

She still saw the warmth in his eyes as he said it. Did Sir Anthony think himself the biggest flirt in the house? Daniel Byrne could certainly give him some... No. Not Daniel.

"Domhnall," she breathed. "Dommy," she added with a slight smile before wiping it off. "Stop it!"

Mopsy let out a slight bark, as if offended.

"No, not you," she sighed, bending down to give him a little cuddle. But he slipped away, running in little circles around her, stopping to nudge at her pocket on each go 'round. "I know what you want. But I don't have time for it. Not yet."

He stilled and stared up at her beseechingly.

"I have several things I must do first. And you have to eat anyhow."

He tilted his head at the word, as if conflicted.

She shrugged. "It's breakfast or ball. You can't have both."

Mopsy groaned slightly and picked up his trailing lead, trotting to her.

"Such a smart boy," she said as she took it and walked him back to the kitchen door. "I wish I was half as clear-headed as you."

She must keep her mind on Sir Anthony. That was first. Perhaps, once she'd done that little chore, it would give her the confidence to face Dom... Mr. Byrne. Surely, she could keep her mind away from him until she'd managed Sir Anthony, who was handsome, funny, kind and, while he didn't charm her in particular, she was certain he could charm another girl — perhaps one with a larger dowry and even less inclination for the marriage mart than Miss Prudence Crewe. She wasn't certain such a girl existed, but London was a very big city.

She smiled as she handed Mopsy off to Evie again and kept her smile as she went to seek out her own breakfast, feeling encouraged. Sir Anthony would probably be grateful for her refusal, in the end, once he found himself settled with the right sort of girl. And he was so good-humored that, once all was revealed, he might even find the whole business hilarious. Didn't Prudence say house parties were famous for larks such as this? Perhaps everyone would find it funny.

Even Mr. Byrne?

She was not thinking of Mr. Byrne — though the thought of him laughing about their little charade made her feel ill. Would he be relieved as well?

She shook herself and thought of Sir Anthony again. Kind, amiable, and probably grateful Sir Anthony. She pasted on a smile as she neared the dining room, keeping it in earnest when she saw he wasn't there yet. She'd like more time to practice her kind refusal.

Miss Marbury rose to usher her in enthusiastically. "Oh, Miss Crewe! I was hoping someone else might join us!"

"Us?" Emilia's smiled dropped as she spied the other occupant of the table. "Ah. Miss Hartley. Good morning," she said stiffly.

"Is it?" Mary said with a smile that was more like a grimace.

Emilia glanced back mournfully as she passed the chair at the far end, thinking she'd rather have that one, but Miss Marbury very kindly pulled out the one next to her. At least there was a table between her and Mary Hartley.

"I did not think to see you up so early," Emilia said as she poured herself some tea, putting a little extra sugar in to balance the sourness across from her.

"I assure you, I'm not one to lay about. Unlike Emilia," Mary added, squeezing a lemon into her cup.

"Don't you mean Miss Finch?" Emilia corrected her. "She is a lady's maid, after all."

"Well, she's not a very good one, is she?" Mary tilted her head. "Then again, she always was a lazy thing. Even back at Hartley Hall, we all despaired of her."

"Well, she's been anything but lazy at Crewe House." Emilia tilted her head as well. "Perhaps proper wages and kinder treatment make all the difference."

"Or perhaps the standards at Crewe House are a bit more lax than in larger, finer houses." Mary smiled widely before sipping her... was it even tea? Probably hot water to go with her sad sliver of toast and handful of raspberries.

Emilia glanced at Cecilia's plate, rather annoyed to find nearly the same there. At least her toast had butter.

"Anyhow, I fell asleep early. The passion of performing always leaves me drained," Mary sighed, "absolutely drained."

It should. Mary had insisted on performing thrice last night, and with very little encouragement.

"I rose early myself," Miss Marbury chirped. "I didn't think I would, but I woke thinking of Mrs. Baddeley. I had a look in and, bless her, she was awake, so I arranged for her breakfast in bed and kept her company. She is feeling much better, but wanted to get a bit more rest. But I've convinced her to venture out this afternoon. She'd like to direct some parlor games, at the least. I've talked to Mr. Higgins about arranging lunch on the back patio and a chaise for her to get some sun. The fresh air should do her good."

"Shouldn't you be talking to Sir Anthony," Mary scoffed, "before ordering his servants about?"

"I was only doing it on Miss Baddeley's behalf," Miss Marbury mumbled.

"I only hope the servants are more efficient than the lady's maids. I didn't find you or your... Miss Finch," Mary said pointedly to Emilia, "in your room, so I had to pull in that scruffy little Edie person to tend to me."

Emilia narrowed her eyes, ready to correct her again, but Miss Marbury jumped in before she could.

"I think you mean Evie. Such a friendly girl." She turned to Emilia. "Last night was so delightful. Though I do hope she doesn't catch any trouble." She laughed. "If she does, we must all agree that it's our own doing."

"Last night?" Mary leaned forward.

Miss Marbury paled. "I... You see... Evie and..."

Emilia gripped the girl's knee under the table.

"Mary, are you certain that's enough for breakfast?" Miss Marbury said instead. "The sausages looked very—"

"Yes, Cecilia. We all know how much you love sausages," Mary said, her voice cloying. "You're even starting to resemble one. Now what trouble did you two — and this Evie — get up to last night?"

"Sausages sound lovely," Emilia said, pushing back her chair. "Miss Marbury, would you show me where they are?"

Mary looked annoyed. "I think you can find—"

"Yes, of course. Delighted." Miss Marbury joined her at the sideboard, whispering. "Lord, I shouldn't have said anything. Is it possible I'm still drunk?"

"How much more could you have possibly—" She quieted as a footman rushed forward to serve them. "Thank you, but we can manage," Emilia said. He looked a bit hesitant, but she leaned forward, whispering, "Girl talk."

He nodded and stepped back with a slight smile. That was the nice one, she remembered, the one who liked Mopsy.

She put a few extra sausages on her pile at the thought of him. "How much more could you have possibly had?" Emilia hissed as she filled the rest of her plate. "There wasn't much left in the bottle when I went to bed."

"Lady Adele produced a second bottle from her bag of tricks." She giggled a bit. "We didn't finish it, but it was a near thing."

"I'm not surprised your breakfast is so paltry, then. Miss Marbury, are you feeling ill?"

"Oh, please call me Cecilia."

Emilia wasn't certain she could do that. Last night, it all seemed different, but in the light of day...

"And no. I feel quite well," she went on. "Lady Adele gave us all candied ginger. She said it eases maladies de l'estomac."

That sounded enough like malady and stomach to make sense. "Also from her bag of tricks, I assume." Emilia smiled. "Then, for heaven's sake, eat something."

"In front of Mary? I couldn't—"

"It's none of her business what you put on your plate," Emilia huffed.

"I suppose the pair of you are whispering and giggling about last night?" Mary said from behind them. "You have yet to tell me—"

"We are simply discussing... ginger," Miss Marbury said, turning to her. "Do you think the nutty buns have a bit in them? They smell wonderful. Would you like—"

"No, I would not and neither should you." Mary plucked a raspberry up. "And don't think I didn't notice you slathering butter all over your toast."

Emilia clenched her plate with a growl, wishing she could slather butter all over Mary's hair.

Miss Marbury suddenly turned back, taking a plate and putting some eggs on it, then some sausage, then a nutty bun before marching back to the table.

Emilia hid a smile as she followed her with her own plate, which had much more on it.

"Cecilia," Mary said with a warning tone.

"It... it is none of your business what I put on my plate," Miss Marbury said, to Emilia's surprise and delight. "Besides, breakfast means breaking one's fast and... and I think a proper breakfast should be more substantial than this," she finished, pushing her smaller plate away.

"Well, a proper girl shouldn't be more substantial than a barrel of—"

"I quite agree," Emilia said. "I'm always ravenous in the morning."

"You seem ravenous at every meal." Mary turned her ire to Emilia now. "I barely see a dish in front of you before you empty it. It's a wonder you aren't as large as—"

"Isn't it considered rude to comment on another lady's figure?"

Emilia hadn't said that. She rather wished she had. But it was from Miss Poole, strolling in with Lady Adele.

"I was commenting on appetites," Mary said, sitting up straighter. "Unladylike ones."

"I suppose mine is not very ladylike, then. I also enjoy a good breakfast." Miss Poole turned to her friend. "Et toi, Adele? Vous pensez qu'il est indélicat de savourer un bon repas?"

"J'apprécierais davantage si le chef était Français," Lady Adele sighed.

"I think it ruder to speak languages not shared by the entire party, but I suppose that is just myself," Mary cooed.

"Perhaps you know best. I've only been out for one season," Miss Poole said, just as sweetly. "It seems you have weathered several. They say age brings wisdom. Anyhow, I was simply including Lady Adele in our conversation," she went on as Mary gaped at her. "But if you must know, she agrees that it's good to enjoy a hearty breakfast, but thinks this one would be better if the chef was French."

"At Hartley Hall, we have a French chef," Mary had to put in.

Emilia remembered him, and his disdain of any female that dared handle a carrot in his presence. Rude fellow. He fit right in at that house.

"How nice for you," Miss Poole said blithely, not giving Mary the impressed reaction she was after. "I think the staff here are very good." She gave the footman a smile and nod as he moved to assist them at the sideboard.

Mary shut her mouth. Sadly, it wasn't for long. No sooner had the other girls sat down — and not on Mary's side of the table — than she smiled and leaned back in her chair. "Well, I suppose the staff here are certainly friendly, especially that Evie girl last night, or so I hear."

Miss Poole dropped her fork and turned to Miss Marbury, sighing, "Why, Cecilia? Why would you tell her?"

"I didn't," Miss Marbury protested. "I only said something nice about Evie and..."

"And trouble," Mary added. "How curious."

"Une si petite vipère. Elle ne mérite pas de savoir," Lady Adele said as she took a bite of her sausage.

"Pardon?" Mary turned to her.

"Adele was simply savoring the sausage," Miss Poole said, or quite obviously lied, picking up her fork again.

Emilia didn't know as much French as she would like to, but Charity had once complimented her "savoir faire" and said it means she knows how to do things, so she could glean that Lady Adele agreed Mary shouldn't know. And "petite vipère"... Well, Emilia could hazard a guess.

Mary didn't look very happy, despite her tight smile, as she went on, "Anyhow, whatever trouble there was last night, it looks like it involved all of you."

"Well, it did not involve you, so why trouble yourself?" Miss Poole shrugged. Once again, Emilia wished she could say such a thing to Mary.

"I guess I'll have to imagine what it might be." Mary leaned back, as if searching the ceiling. "Poor little Evie, though."

Emilia felt a bit of egg drop into the napkin on her lap.

"I suppose someone shall have to look into her behavior if it's so troublesome."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Emilia said, slamming down her fork, unable to take Mary's baiting anymore. "If anyone should be in trouble, it is us."

Mary sat up straighter. "Us? Are you going to reveal—"

"Yes, all of us," Miss Marbury added.

"Really! All poor little Evie did," Miss Poole said, mocking Mary's earlier tone, "is procure us a midnight snack," she finished, leaving out the brandy, of course.

"We practically forced her into it," Miss Marbury insisted.

"She was only trying to please her guests," Emilia said, turning to meet the footman's eyes, hoping he was as nice as he seemed, "and should not get in any kind of trouble for that."

His eyes were wide, but he nodded, miming buttoning up his mouth.

Good lad.

Mary wasn't looking at him, but frowning at the table. "So... All of you just happened to venture downstairs for a bite at the same time of night?"

"No, we planned it," Miss Poole said easily. "We wanted to have a little party. A pleasant one."

Mary glanced up and down the four of them, lined up against her. "And you did not think to invite me?"

"Of course we didn't." Miss Poole smiled. "Did I not just say we wanted it to be pleasant?"

Emilia was rather tempted to applaud, but kept still at the look on Mary's face. Her eyes screamed bloody murder, but there was a bit of a tremble to her lower lip. For a moment, Emilia wondered if she should pity her.

"Vanessa, please..." Miss Marbury obviously did pity her. "That wasn't the case at all. It was not about excluding you or anyone. We all just happened to be hungry and—"

"Yes, of course you were hungry, Cecilia. Aren't you always?" Mary sneered. "I only hope you restrained yourself a little, but I doubt it."

Well, there went any pity Emilia might have felt.

"I said we should ask you, Mary," Miss Marbury said kindly.

"C'est vrai. Elle l'a fait," Lady Adele said, looking amused at the whole affair or perhaps pretending to be unaware. She hadn't said much, but Emilia now knew she understood it all.

"Aye, that she did," Miss Poole said with a roll of her eyes.

"But then I remembered that you'd said you were so tired from your exertions at the harp and thought it best not to wake you," Miss Marbury said softly.

"Well, I'm not tired anymore." Mary pushed back her chair so quickly it toppled a bit, but did not fall. "In fact, I'm in need of a vigorous walk. Or I should say you are? Come, Cecilia. You shall have to atone for... that," she said with a disdainful glance at the breakfast Miss Marbury had barely touched.

Miss Marbury started to rise, but then seemed to think better of it. "If it's all the same to you, Mary, I'd rather finish my breakfast before atoning for it."

Mary scoffed, "As if you will."

Miss Marbury took a deep breath. "As I said before. What I put on my plate is not your business."

"Your mother thinks it's my business. I promised her so faithfully to aid you in staying on your reducing diet. For you to fail now reflects very badly on me, but mostly on you. But no matter." Mary brushed at what must be imaginary crumbs on her skirt, since she'd eaten nothing. "If you no longer care for your health, then I shall not bother with it either."

Miss Marbury sighed. "It's really not that I—"

"I'm certain you'll all have a very pleasant morning with my absence," Mary said before sweeping from the room like the queen herself.

"I'm certain we will as well," Lady Adele muttered when she was out of sight.

"Adele," Miss Marbury chided. "Poor Mary!"

"I don't know how you can say such a thing," Miss Poole groaned. "Besides, she thinks so well of herself, why should she care what the rest of us think?"

"I truly doubt she thinks as well of herself as it seems," Miss Marbury said. "I think she's quite lonely most of the time."

"As she should be, with her beastly manners," Emilia found herself saying.

"Prudence!"

Emilia started a bit, turning to the door, then remembered Miss Marbury was addressing her. "Well..." She threw up her hands. "No lies at the table! Remember?"

*******************

Just a bit more fun with the girlies. I'll be getting the boys back in there in the next. With some proposal refusals and patio parlor games to come!  

And feel free to drop a comment on the bits you like. It doesn't even have to be words. I'll take emojis. Sometimes it just makes me feel nice to know if my jokes are landing or if I'm giving you the feels! 

And if any of you read/enjoyed The Lady Pursues, feel free to check out the new cover. I think it's pretty darn cute!