Page 19 of The Storybook Hero
Emma’s mouth dropped slightly at hearing such mutinous thoughts expressed aloud. “Uncle Renfrew says that it is unseemly for females to think?—”
“No doubt he does. What could be more threatening to a man of such little intelligence or imagination?” she said rather acidly.
The young girl’s face became very thoughtful.
“But I trust you will not repeat such opinions in his presence,” continued Octavia quickly.
“There is a Mrs. Wollstonecraft who believes that females are capable of rational behavior and thought too, isn’t there? I have heard my uncle lecture my aunt about how she should be thrown in Bedlam because of a book she wrote.”
Octavia nodded.
“Do you have that book in your trunk?”
She admitted that she did.
“Could we read a chapter of it tonight before bedtime?” asked Emma.
After her pointed words, it would have been nigh on impossible to deny the request. “Very well, but I suggest we make no mention of it to your guardians.”
The young girl shot her a withering look. “What do you think I am—a witless child?”
Octavia gave a slight cough. “Ah, why don’t we see if we might enter the cathedral and have a look at some of the icons there. Now, Andrei Tretiakov was considered the most brilliant painter of the genre …”
She launched into a detailed explanation of Russian art, while ruing her own rather precipitous tongue. She had spoken on impulse, forgetting that her listener was only twelve years old. Perhaps such views on a female’s right to independent thinking were a little too complex for a child to understand, but the look of self-doubt on the young girl’s face had wrenched the words out of her. How well she knew what it was like to be told it was improper to have ideas or feelings just because of one’s sex. She simply refused to let the obvious intelligence and spirit be stamped out in this young lady if she could help it.
They emerged from the candlelit cathedral sometime later, their senses still reeling. The combination of the sweet, cloying incense, sonorous chanting from a group of monks clustered in one of the naves, and rich colors at every turn had been a most singular experience. Octavia found herself wondering what Alex’s opinion would have been of the exotic spectacle. From what she had overheard on the ship, she knew he had a sharp eye for observing people and a pithy sense of humor when so moved. She felt sure he would have had something interesting to say….
“Miss Hadley?” Emma shook her arm, repeating her name for the third time.
“Forgive me. I fear I was woolgathering.”
Her charge smiled. “What were you thinking of?”
To Octavia’s surprise, a faint blush of color stole to her cheeks. “Oh, nothing.” Seeing the girl’s face fall at the casual brush-off, she added, “Actually, it wasn’t very important—I was merely wondering what one of the other passengers on the ship would have thought about St. Basil’s. He … he knew quite a bit about Russian history, and had a certain sense of curiosity, that’s all.”
“He?” Emma regarded her with great interest. “You hadn’t mentioned a ‘him’ before, just the odious Mrs. Phillips. Was he tall, dark and handsome? Did you like him?”
Like Alex?What a ludicrous idea!
“Perhaps we should limit your reading of Mrs. Radcliffe, young lady,” she replied dryly. “Come, let’s buy a bag of roasted chestnuts from the vendor for the walk home.”
Emma wasn’t distracted from that train of thought by the task of peeling away the hot shells. “All my other governesses have said that if I don’t learn to behave properly, no man will want to marry me and then I’ll end up an old maid.” She made a face as she popped a piece of the sweet kernel into her mouth. “They make it sound like a fate worse than having your head cutoff by your husband.” She gave a shy glance at Octavia at her companion. “Do you never wish to marry, Miss Hadley?”
Octavia took her time in answering. “I have no objection to the idea of matrimony, Emma. In fact I should like very much to have a family of my own. But not at the expense of my … my self.” She paused for a moment. “So, if I should meet a man willing to listen to my thoughts with as much attention as he pays to those of his male acquaintances, willing to discuss things rather than issue orders, willing to be a … friend rather than a tyrant, then I should listen quite seriously to any offer that might come my way.” An ironic smile touched her lips and she endeavored to give a lighter note to her words. “Unfortunately, there do not seem to be an abundance of such admirable men in existence, so I am quite resigned to being, as your former governesses put it, an old maid.”
Emma peeked up shyly from under the fringe of her fur hat. “Perhaps, until you meet that man, we … we could be friends?”
“Why, that’s quite the nicest offer I have ever had!” She gave the young girl’s thin shoulder a big squeeze. “I accept—and not just until I meet such a paragon of virtue. I should be honored if you will always consider me your friend.”
Emma colored with pleasure and ducked her head to eat another chestnut.
They continued on in companionable silence for some way before Emma spoke again. “He would have to be very handsome.”
Octavia’s gaze jerked away from the bright gilding on one of the onions domes peeking out from behind the red brick walls of the Kremlin. “Who?”
Emma shook her head in exasperation. “Your future husband, of course. He would have to be tall as well. What color eyes do you favor?”
“Blue,” she blurted out before she had a chance to think.
