Page 46 of The Girl Out of Time
“Why didn’t you ask Lord Farenham?”
“Oh, he’s busy. Writing letters and the like.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “I believe I saw him leave just earlier.”
She grabbed a fistful of her skirt and wrung it in her hand. “Okay. I asked him. He said no. Maybe he doesn’t like the outdoors.”
Lord Farenham came by the stables daily, usually taking his horse out on a ride or hunt. Aside from that, Theo had regularly seen him walkingaround with the determined stance of a man who needed to get out to clear his head.
But a bit of sadness had crept into Emmeline’s eyes, and she looked at the ground, still working her skirt.
“Yes, probably,” he said. “Let’s go, then. I’m all caught up with work.”
A wide smile lit up her face. “Well, you are supposed to be working for me. I don’t think they’ll mind.”
“Touché.”
So, off they went. The walk—and, he had to admit, Emmeline’s company—did him well. They chatted about the village gossip, the ridiculous theories rising from people finding Theo’s uniform (he was being referred to asThe Phantom of Francenow), how the weather was fantastic for the season, and how Emmeline had made afaux pasat dinner last night, picking the wrong spoon and nearly pushing the duchess into a fit.
“I did always think I’d make a horrible aristocrat,” she said.
“Aren’t you one?” Her father was a viscount. Surely, that counted.
Her eyes grew wide. “I mean, uh—I’m not really born for this.” She finally pushed that stray lock of hair off her face. “What would you do? If you could do anything. What do you think you were born to do?”
He looked down at his boots, kicking aside the long, greenish-yellow grass. “I’d like to work for a newspaper. As in, write for it.”
“Really? That’s fascinating.” She smiled at him. “Are you good at it?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.” Wescott had made sure he was at least passable in everything a gentleman’s education covered. Although he didn’t get the chance for many writing-based activities on the farm. “My father worked for a newspaper. A revolutionary one. Uncle Gustave says he’d always told him he’d get in trouble that way. That he should come back tothe farm. But Father wouldn’t listen.” How strange that a memory could still grip him so, even with it being second-hand knowledge.
“What did he write about?”
“He didn’t write, but he did put together the articles,” Theo said. “The paper was pro-revolution, so they had plenty to write about. How the King and the Queen were spending the people’s money for frivolous activities. How Robespierre was their solution and salvation. How the war with Austria was bad, and the English were spying on them …”
“Don’t they always?” she mused.
He smiled. “We can’t seem to get along.”
“Technically, I’m only half English.”
“Right, Wales.”
She licked her upper lip, and he forced himself to look away from it. “Yes.” She almost sounded like she had to convince herself. “Family. Welsh. You know a lot about us, considering you’re notreallyworking for us.”
“You wouldn’t believe how informative living with the servants is. I could tell you the number of socks the duke has if such information weren’t inappropriate for your ears.”
“Oh, now youhaveto tell me.”
He laughed.
“Come on!” She hopped in front of him. “Is it above or below ten pairs?”
“You don’t really need to know, do you?”
“You’re no fun.”
Perhaps he wasn’t. But she made himhavefun. “What if, instead, I tell you something more scandalous? But you won’t be able to tell it to anyone else.”
