Women of Pemberley by Rebecca Ann Collins Read Free Book Online Page B

particularly blessed to be wedded to one another, had not prepared her for coping with the type of continuing misery that Emma's situation implied.
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    The weather on Friday was cold, but fortunately, it was also fine. The journey to Kent was, therefore, not as trying as it could have been had it been wet. They travelled the road from London to Canterbury, stopping for a meal at Dartford. As they travelled on, Mrs Wilson tended to fall asleep, leaving James and Emma to maintain a conversation.
    He was surprised to learn that, having spent only a small part of her life before marriage in London, Emma had done very little travelling in these parts. She had, for instance, only once visited the historic town of Canterbury, and then just for a few hours, during which she'd had only time enough to see the exterior of the great Cathedral.
    "That will not do at all, Emma," said James, who confessed that Kent was his "most favourite county." He had travelled all over it since he was a boy, but never had he grown tired of its beauty and variety. Their family had lived in Kent for two centuries.
    "Next Summer, we shall make sure that you visit Canterbury and Chilham, perhaps Ramsgate as well," he promised. "I cannot believe that you have not been to Ramsgate--David and I spent many Summers there when we were boys. We have been most remiss."
    It was late afternoon when they reached Standish Park. The house, standing amidst woods and parkland not far from Maidstone, was older and larger than her home in Leicestershire. It had been in the family for well over a hundred years, having been built in the middle of the last century of a russet red brick that seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun, making the house stand out from the green meadows and dark woods behind it.
    Emma liked the house very much--more than the one they occupied in Mayfair, in spite of its fashionable style. It was a comfortable and welcoming place, with large airy rooms and beautiful landscaped grounds. She had spent most of the early years of her marriage here, and it brought back many memories of her daughters' early childhood.
    That evening, after dinner, they spent some time in the library--a fine, well-proportioned room which held an excellent collection of books.
Amidst the family portraits on the walls was a painting by a little known French artist which Emma had always liked. Since they were selecting things to take back to London, Emma asked if she might borrow the painting for her room.
Mrs Wilson was delighted. "Emma, of course you may. It would look very well in your sitting room." It was immediately taken down, cleaned, and packed for transport. When Mrs Wilson was ready to go to bed, Emma followed her upstairs while James remained downstairs, reading in front of the fire.
Saturday was one of those remarkable late Autumn days when the season appears to move back into Summer. The morning had been cold but clear, and by midday, it was almost warm enough to deceive one into believing it was not November at all.
Having spent the day with Mrs Wilson, Emma took some time in the afternoon to visit the Conservatory, which was full of Winter blooms. Attracted by the warmth of the last hours of sunlight, she stepped out onto the terrace, where James found her looking out at the view, which fell away from the terraced gardens to the meadows and river valley below.
He joined her, apologising as he did so for startling her. "Mother has gone upstairs to rest before dinner; I wondered where you had got to."
Emma smiled. "I wanted to see the Conservatory--the flowers are always beautiful--but I could not resist coming out here," she said.
"When we first came to live at Standish Park, this used to be my favourite spot." He agreed that it was the best view from the house, and took some time pointing out familiar landmarks and his favourite woodland walks, which he recommended to her.
Emma confessed she was not much of a walker. "Perhaps in Spring," she said laughing, "I