Miss Emma meets a young Frenchman whom she thinks she has fallen in love with but there is no time for romance. Monsieur Louis LaMontagne decides to travel to France to investigate the recent death of his beloved sister. Neither the convent in Versa...
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Geoffrey, the butler, handed me the invitation, scribed in skilful and legible handwriting. It was pretty writing. You would have thought it written by a gentle, female hand. Perhaps, it was, however, Monsieur LaMontagne had signed his name to the bottom. The black ink appeared still wet for its lustre gleamed in a deep blue hue against the sun, spilling over the window frame.
Geoffrey dusted the books in the study, his face long and plain as a loaf. He smirked as though he was appalled. I suppose he knew what Papa would think, and so he sided with the master of the house.
We sat huddled together on the settee, Laura and I. Her anticipation responded to the letter with giggles. She persisted with poking my ribcage as in a teasing manner.
"Shush, Laura. Compose yourself. I would like to read. If you don't stop immediately, I shan't share it with you." She moved a slight distance away, then pressed her lips with her two scrawny fingers to impede any words from escaping. I proceeded to read aloud ignoring her obvious battle.
CambridgeHouse
Hampshire, England
April 8, 1886
My dearest Miss Emma,
I hope this day finds you in good health! As well, for your spirited father and sisters, I wish to add.
Itwould give me great satisfaction if you would attend a small gathering at Cambridge House. A carriage will arrive by five on the afternoon of the second day of this month. We will dine with friends and acquaintances, and following the affair, I will escort you back safely by midnight.
Please, donot disappoint me. I will be waiting earnestly for your reply.
With tender regards,
Monsieur Louis LaMontagne
It seemed a bit suspicious to me. Perhaps, he did cast his eye my way at Emily Lancaster's dinner party, a month prior. I wasn't quite certain whether I had imagined it or not.
Then Rebecca, the chambermaid, entered the parlour to clear the grate and lay the fire. "I really cannot imagine any harm could possibly come of it. After all, he is well known in the surrounding area," she proceeded to say, her eyes bright and bold.
Eavesdropping at the door I suspected, but I could not believe she had the audacity to form an opinion.
She all at once shrieked, once a rogue piece of burning ember from the fire, met her eye.
"Oh dear, Miss Emma. Please, you must excuse me?" Her high-pitched voice squealed in agony. She dropped a curtsy, and hurried out of the parlour, raising the corner edge of her white apron to her eye.
