Free The Tutor's Daughter by Julie Klassen

She tucked her hand in the crook of Emma’s arm and led her back downstairs. “You’ve never been in a gentleman’s bedchamber, I’d guess.” She said it condescendingly, almost suggestively.
    Emma was tempted to correct her, to tell Lizzie she had been in dozens. Of course the gentlemen had all been adolescents at the time. . . . But recalling Lizzie’s confession that she didn’t keep secrets, she decided not to say anything that might be repeated and misconstrued.
    There was nothing remarkable about Phillip’s bedchamber, yet Lizzie lingered. In Phillip’s lengthy absence, the room had been kept tidy by dutiful housemaids, and the shutters left drawn against the damaging rays of the sun.
    In Henry’s room, books lay in piles on the writing desk and side table. Stacks of papers, spent quills, and inkpots littered every surface of the room. Emma wondered how the housemaids managed to dust in there.
    Following her look of distaste, Lizzie said, “This is nothing. You ought to see his study.”
    Emma asked, “And what would Phillip or Henry say to finding you in their bedchambers?” Not to mention me, Emma added to herself.
    Lizzie shrugged. “I don’t think they’d care. Sometimes I think they look on me as an annoying little sister. Or a house-trained pug.”
    â€œAnd are they like brothers to you?” Emma asked.
    Again that ill-bred shrug. “Perhaps. But I confess I flirt with all four of them shamelessly.”
    Emma tucked her chin in surprise. “Do you?”
    â€œWhy not? I wouldn’t mind marrying one of them. Then the other three can be my brothers all they like.”
    â€œAny one in particular?” Emma asked dryly.
    â€œI’m not particular, no. Though one professes to be in love with me.”
    â€œGood heavens,” Emma breathed.
    Lizzie glanced at her, waved a dismissive hand, and then amended, “But who can trust anything a man says?”
    I can, Emma thought. She trusted her father’s word, if not his capabilities. And she had trusted Phillip. She hoped she still could do so. Oh, if only it weren’t so long until the term end.
    Lizzie looked at her, then burst into giggles. “I am only teasing you, Miss Smallwood. You needn’t look so scandalized.” She slapped her thigh through her muslin gown. “If only you could see your face. The very image of a pursed-lip puritan!” She hooted in laughter, while Emma found it not at all amusing. But her censorious look only sent Lizzie into new heights of humor.
    Emma wondered if she could trust anything Lizzie Henshaw said. She turned to leave.
    â€œOh, come, Miss Smallwood. Pray, don’t be offended.” Lizzie walked after her. “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself more. I’ve never had a female friend, so I am no doubt breaking all sorts of rules. I shall behave now.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I promise. No more shocking talk. What say you to a game of battledore and shuttlecock instead? I long for a bit of exercise. Or we might walk into the village and look in the shop windows.”
    â€œNo, thank you, Lizzie. I had better return to the schoolroom.”
    Lizzie sighed. “Oh, you’re no fun.”
    A thought struck Emma, and she turned back. “You have not shown me your room, Lizzie. That is one room I should actually like to see.”
    The girl’s lower lip protruded and the sparkle faded from her eyes. “No you shouldn’t. Nothing to see there.” She shrugged. “But it’s on the way to the schoolroom, so I can show you, if you like. Be prepared to be thoroughly unimpressed.”
    On the third level, a pair of oddly placed steps linked the floors of one addition with the next. Midway along the passage, Lizzie opened a door. The room was clean and sunny but fairly Spartan, with a plain single bed that had neither canopy nor bed curtains.