The extent of Emma's adventures, at the close of the sennight following her strange interaction with Winterly, subsisted of letter writing, walking, and sitting at the pianoforte of a morning. All very thrilling occupations that were highly esteemed by the elder Miss Lucas; but not by her sister. Although they had lately enjoyed a night at the theater, most of their evenings had been "dreadfully dull" or so Milli repined after breakfast, as both girls withdrew to the parlor.

"Now what are you doing?" Milli glared at her sister as Emma seated herself by the window that fronted Milk street.

"I thought I might sketch the prospect," she replied with a roll of her eyes. Lord, but her sister was tetchy when she was bored.

"I have a better idea!"

"And I have no doubt you wish to share it," Emma muttered, sharpening her pen.

Ignoring the irony that laced her sisters tone, Milli jumped from the settle and clapped her hands together excitedly. "Had we not better go outside and enjoy the street as two amongst it's animated populace instead of admiring it from afar like dour spinsters."

"I am a spinster, my dear."

"Nonsense! Now that you no longer insist on wearing those dreadful spectacles-"

Emma cut her diatribe off before she waxed reproachful again — it was after all a subject on which she was most voluble and contumelious. "We walked before breakfast, Milli. Do you really wish to walk again?"

With a vigorous nod, her sister readily imported that she did, and so, with a hearty sigh, Emma put her sketch book and drawing appurtenances away. Once she had put on her green spencer jacket and straw capote bonnet, they were off to stroll along Cheapside.

She was perfectly sensible that her sister had by now spent nearly all the allowance that their father had bestowed on his youngest, but it did not signify to Emma. The sooner Milli spent her remaining guineas the sooner she would find a less expensive pastime.

However, Emma could very well understand the need to tour London and exhaust every hour along the cobbled lanes; for once they were back in the country, their pursuits would be rather less varied. It was why she had not demurred when her sister had suggested the excursion. Carpe Diem. If today were her last she would indeed regret having spent it indoors.

"Oh!" Milli cried, instantly drawing her sister's attention. "This is the dress shop that Victoria mentioned." With that she hurried inside Madam Claudette's while Emma followed at a more leisurely pace.

How the girl managed to harbor such a surplus of enthusiasm for all things fashion Emma could not begin to understand, but love it Milli did. They had already stopped at two haberdasheries since leaving their uncle's doorstones before Milli had recognized the name of the modiste they were now to patronize.

The dress shop was rather empty this time of a morning. It boasted rows and rows of shelves and draws that populated the space behind the counters and even reached as far as the ceiling where an assistant would no doubt require the aid of a ladder to reach them.

"Emma!" At her sister's summons, she wandered over to where Milli was pouring over a fashion sketch. "I think it would suit you beautifully!" she said, avidly pointing to the drawing that had caught her attention.

The evening dress was a sheer Indian muslin with white net overlay, lovely silver embroidery and ivory beads at the bodice. The skirt itself was mostly unadorned apart from the fine, hand-made gauze. Although a rather simple design despite the trimmings, it was exactly the style of understated elegance that appealed to Emma; and Milli knew it too. She was a couturier at heart with a keen eye for all things á la mode, bless her.

"It is indeed an exquisite piece." She could not help the regret that stole into her smile as she ran a finger lovingly down the page as though she might feel the fabric alluded to by the drawing. "Shall we go?"

"Are you in your senses?! This dress is perfect for you, Emma! You cannot leave without placing an order for it!"

"I have no need of a new dress."

"Only think how disappointed you shall be when you leave here without it!"

"Perhaps you are right, but I still cannot rationalize the expenditure; not on a whimsical purchase such as this would be."

"Then I shall buy it for you!"

"Milli, do be serious; I can ill-afford the luxury, and I know your purse is emptier than mine," Emma said, her tone somewhat less patient, though she could not hide the indulgent quirk of her lips. Her sister was incorrigible. It was really only the the very affluent who could incur the expense of such fine, custom-made clothing. 

"I am in earnest. You will have this gown one way or another. A woman can never have enough gowns."

"That is a contestable notion, my dear. Dare I ask how you intend to procure the dress. Have not you spent most of what was once in your reticule?"

"Never you mind, Emma. I have enough." She then grinned mischievously. "And in any event, I shall consider it a loan until such a time as you reimburse me.

"Then you shall wait a very long time," Emma said under her breath.

But when Milli thereafter inquired as to the cost of the gown, and once the exorbitant amount was relayed to her by the haughty modiste herself, she was swiftly put out of countenance, her cheeks blanching therewith. Emma, meanwhile, grinned at her sister's crestfallen expression as she linked their arms and guided her poor sister away.

Still, Milli was determined and would not return home till after she had visited the linen-draper and procured sufficient muslin, netting, a card of white lace, and all the silver trimmings requisite for dress-making. She had evidently resolved to see Emma draped in the gown they had been admiring earlier and vowed that if she could not exactly duplicate the style, she would certainly ensure that she exceeded the splendor of the design in the sketch book.

❦

The next morning, Milli commenced her matutinal griping. "It is horridly unfair of our uncle to demand that I be up at such indecent hours of a morning!"

"Give over, Milli! Tis nearly ten o'clock!"

Her sister had missed breakfast altogether and now sat nibbling on a pilfered pastry she had procured from the kitchen. Her uncle Haywood had declared that if she could not have the decency to eat at the proper time, she would have to make due without... And that she did; at least until he turned his back and returned to his library.

"What are you reading?" Milli said around a mouthful of the sugary treat.

"Shh!" Emma peeked guiltily at the door, hoping that no one had noticed she had absconded with The Times.

Milli merely shrugged her shoulders and licked her fingers, unconcerned by her sisters secretive perusal of the newspaper. Emma hurriedly skimmed her eyes down the columns of the broadsheet, barely glancing at the mundane articles and advertisements while she searched out what she was looking for.

"On Sunday, a pearl brooch was lost in Vauxhall Gardens..." She read on impatiently, uncaring of whether or not Lady Beresford ever found her silly brooch.

"Governess wanted. — A young person who has lived in that capacity and can be well recommended to take charge of two or three children...well principled and strictly religious...etcetera, etcetera."

Emma had, for some time now, been meditating on the prospect of finding herself a situation of employment. Her "elegant accomplishments" were limited to Latin, French, and German, but she had a firm grasp of numbers, could read music, play the pianoforte rather well, and could sketch tolerably enough, so she doubted not that she could find herself a respectable position with a genteel sort of family, if she so wished. 

And she was finding of late that she did wish to contribute to her parents' income instead of continuing on in her spinsterhood as an ignoble dependent. There was far less honor in that position than in seeking employment. But that was her opinion.

She discreetly scribbled down the High Street address before continuing down the page. "Ah ha!" she exclaimed at length, finally descrying the section of the paper that she had sought; and then instantly flushed as she peeked at the door yet again, lest her uncle or any of his household should notice her unfeminine interest in the second murder that had afflicted the East End. 

It read as follows:

"The Whitechapel Murders. — The Inquest.

"Constable Bartlett resumed at ten o'clock this morning the inquiry into the circumstances attending the death of Miss Fanny Smith, aged forty-two, whose body was found terribly mutilated in White's Row early on the morning of Friday last.

"The constable that first arrived on the scene, a Mr. Hyde, deposed that at four o'clock on Friday morning, while in Frying Pan Alley, he received information as to the discovery of the deceased.

"There he noted that the body had sustained severe injuries to the neck and shoulders, the nature of which will, respectfully, not be expounded on in deference to the constitutions of this newspaper's most esteemed readers.

"The constable's report was corroborated by the two witnesses, employed at a neighboring warehouse, that had summoned him thither. Those very same witnesses went on to say that they saw no evidence of a weapon of any description laying nearby, nor of there being bloodstains, in any trace amount, marking the victim's clothing.

"This is now the second in the two macabre, unsolved slayings in which each of the victims were left dismembered and entirely depleted of blood."

Emma could read no more. She carefully folded the newspaper as her bile rose to the fore, and it was scarcely a moment after she had replaced the paper, whence she had found it, before her uncle wandered into the parlor.

"Emma," said he, "do you have any notion as to why we have been honored with an invitation to dine with Captain Wellesley tomorrow a fortnight?" He seemed utterly flummoxed as he beheld her with the epistle still in hand. "I cannot say that I have ever met the man, and yet I have just received this letter. Do you know him personally?"

"No, uncle, I cannot say that I have had the pleasure." She thought on it a moment and then turned to see Milli's covert smile.

She wondered then if this was the handiwork of Victoria Winterly, for it was certainly not her brother that had deigned to intervene on their behalf; surely he held himself in too lofty an opinion to secure their invitation. The Gentry were not the easiest class of people to infiltrate, and though her uncle was well worth at least two thousand pounds per annum, he was still considered merchant class and therefore beneath the notice of most, if not all, nobility.

Uncle Haywood pressed his lips together in consternation, as bewildered by the dinner invitation as she was. "Well you needn't look so shocked, girl." His eyes narrowed as he remarked her pallid face. "Are you ill?"

Emma cleared her throat awkwardly, not wishing to pique his suspicion. "I am well, but as to the letter, surely we need not go, uncle."

"Oh!" cried Milli, jumping up from the chaise longue where she had been reclining up till then, "Let's do!"

"Aye, we had better." Her uncle considered the note again with a bespectacled frown. "Wouldn't wish to insult the Captain, now would we." With that he made to leave, but halted and looked about the room as if he had forgotten something. "Have either of you happened to see where I've left The Times?"

Emma flushed, but pointed in the direction of the dining room. "I believe you had it last at breakfast."

"So I did," he agreed, somewhat distractedly, as he withdrew.

❦

On the eve of Captain and Mrs. Wellesley's dinner party, Mr Haywood's household was fraught with excited energy which was, by and large, due to the youngest Miss Lucas' frenetic preparations.

But that was nothing to the upheaval that struck the townhouse on the day itself. The ladies maid rushed about the upper rooms as she saw to both her mistress's needs and that lady's demanding niece as Emma blithely watched the madness ensue, a bemused smile curling her lips.

Apart from her stays, and the little red sprigs adorning her hair, she had, for the most part, seen to her own toilette and finished above an hour ago. She and her uncle had since been waiting in the drawing room for the other two to join them.

At length the small party was assembled downstairs and the carriage brought around. Emma could not but help admire her elegant sister's stunning gown: a light blue, silk creation in the classic Grecian style with gold trim at the bodice, hem and sleeves. Her hair was beautifully curled and lifted into a high chignon that was contained within a golden diadem.

Emma's ensemble was, by comparison, quite simple — a sheer white cotton batiste fabric with spare, neoclassical red embroidery that was concentrated at the bodice. The sleeves of her gown tapered demurely towards the elbows, but stopped short of reaching them. She wore no more accouterments than the red ribbon woven artfully into her coiffure, her matching silk fan, the long white gloves, red slippers, and her best red drop earrings to compliment the total effect.

Once her uncle had handed the ladies into the carriage, the feathers of her aunt's turban inciting his hearty sneezing as they tickled his nose when she climbed in, they set out for their five o'clock engagement at Wellesley House on Curzon street. The sun was still relatively high in the evening sky, but there was a strange sort of filmy cloud diffusing the light into a reddish halo.

She had read somewhere that the ancients had considered it a bad omen or a sign of change, but Emma supposed it all to be nonsense. 

Nevertheless, she could not help the horripilations that thence spread across her skin as the conveyance sped steadily westward.

⭐️🌟Just a reminder, I only update this book perhaps twice a month. Wish it were more, but I like to take my time with it. Having said that, thanks for the patience. And as a reward...I've uploaded the next chapter as well!⭐️🌟