by Abigail Agar
“What is it?” Emma finally asked.
“Do you like him?” Amelia asked in reply. Her words had come out faster than Emma had been ready for, as though they had rested upon the tip of her tongue, hoping for a chance at escape.
Emma’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t want to answer that.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. It was better to play the fool than to confess that she knew exactly what Amelia was speaking of and she had thought about it a great deal. She could hardly admit in that moment that she had deep feelings for the earl when she knew that Amelia hated him, or at least she wanted to hate him.
It was more than she was able to discern in that moment. Her own feelings were every bit as confusing as Amelia’s just in a different way.
“Eric, Lord of Something-or-Other. Do you like him? I mean, really? You appear to like him. It seems as though you think quite highly of him. But I must know from you directly. Do you like him?” Amelia asked.
Emma cleared her throat and tried to form the words in her mind.
“It hardly matters,” she replied.
“That is not an answer,” Amelia said.
“No, maybe not. But it hardly matters because it would be impossible. I cannot even entertain such a thought because he is an earl. As a young woman with no title and nothing at all to recommend me, why would I have a hope for something that will never be?” Emma reasoned.
She was from a lower class, no title to her family name. There was nothing about her that was impressive in any way. She had nothing to tempt a man like the Earl of Thornbury. To have any sort of hope was foolish and she knew it.
Still, when Amelia asked the question, Emma was tempted to consider it. Even if it was foolish, it still brought her joy to think about. Perhaps that was the most painful part about it, the fact that she couldn’t quite ignore that it was something that she would have wanted had things been different.
“Emma, I have seen the way that the two of you look at one another. It is clear that you are interested in him and it is more than clear that he has noticed you,” Amelia said. Her words were not angry, but they were matter-of-fact, as though she had never once questioned whether or not there was an affection between the two. She had merely seen it and taken it as fact.
Emma blushed and looked at her stitchwork. If she tried to distract herself, she could hide her emotions. She could gather herself and finish the conversation while focusing on the work in her hands and pretending that she was entirely nonchalant about the matter, despite the fact that it left her anxious and uncertain.
“I think you are confused. If I am foolish enough to indulge in a thought about an earl, that is to be expected, but him? He would never consider me as anything more than a poor young woman to be ignored,” Emma said.
“I am sure that that is what my mother thought as well. I have very little doubt that she would not have expected to become the subject of a great man’s interest. You know, most maids do not expect that their employer is going to use them. But so frequently they do,” Amelia said.
Her tone was a warning, but Emma ignored it. She continued to shrug and act as though there was nothing at all to think about.
“I don’t know why you are so worried. I am not going to be foolish enough to try and get an earl to have any sort of interest in me,” Emma said.
“Maybe you won’t have to try, that’s my point. What if he comes after you? What if he wants to be with you and you find yourself caught up in this whirlwind?” Amelia asked.
“It simply won’t ever happen. I’m not sure why you are so worried about this. Honestly, Amelia, I am not going to be the object of any earl’s desire,” Emma said.
“Be careful, Emma. Whether you want to hear me or not, you must be careful,” Amelia said.
“I thought that you had decided that you wanted to give him a chance? Why are you warning me that he might hurt me?” Emma asked.
“Because men of a high station do not always consider things regarding a young woman’s social class and her reputation when they might come to destroy it. He knows nothing of your life, how can you expect him to respect it?” Amelia asked.
Emma clenched her jaw in an attempt to be strong. The last thing that she wanted was to show any weakness.
“I wish that you would be kinder to him. I don’t think he is a bad man and he is your brother. Why do you struggle to see that?” Emma asked.
“I don’t struggle to see anything. I just don’t understand why I should waste my time attempting to be close to a man like that when I can only assume that he is just like his father,” Amelia replied.
“But what if he is nothing at all like his father?” Emma asked. This was something that she had been thinking about, hoping for. It was something that she had wished that Amelia would also be willing to consider.
“Then I am perfectly happy,” Amelia said with a mock joy.
“I wish you could care about him the way that you ought to. I wish that you recognised that he is still your brother and you ought to know him,” Emma said.
She was growing tired of the way that Amelia couldn’t make up her mind. She had said that she would try to give him a chance, she had said that she would make that effort. But it was clear that she was still so angry and bitter that it would certainly be quite some time before it would happen.
Emma considered that she didn’t really know the earl, and she didn’t know his friend either. But she trusted both of them, somehow. The earl was such a kind man and his friend appeared to be much the same. She didn’t want to think poorly of them, she didn’t want to suspect them of being bad men simply because they were wealthy.
That was every bit as wrong as when the wealthy looked down upon young women like the two of them who had no fortune at all. Why would they be angry that their own reputation and class was frowned upon and yet they felt comfortable speaking ill of those men who had more than they?
Emma slipped the end of a thread between her lips to stiffen it before closing one eye and focusing on the eye of the needle. She aimed the thread but missed once before getting it hooked on the second try.
“Is that really the colour that she wanted? It is hideous. I do not think I have ever seen anything so loathsome in all my life as that choice. Good heavens, what was she thinking?” Amelia asked, making a disgusted face.
“I know. It does not go well at all with the gown. But this was the ribbon that she chose to line the hem. I think she felt that garish shade of green would make her stand out more,” Emma suggested, her own face perplexed. She had been horrified when she had been told to sew the bright green trim upon the burgundy gown. It took a classy, beautiful dress and made it something from a bad opera house. It was an embarrassment to have her name on it as the seamstress.
“And that is another flaw of the wealthy. They choose the most horrible combinations and claim that they have a superior sense of fashion,” Amelia said.
Emma tried not to laugh. Not only because she knew that they were mocking their clients far too often, but because she did not want Amelia to think that she approved of the constant criticism.
“You need to relax, dear Emma. I wish that you could find more humour in life,” Amelia said, apparently noticing Emma’s quiet.
“I find plenty of humour. It is just that I wish we could also find goodness. I wish that you could be content at times and not always searching for an opportunity to hate those who have what we do not have,” Emma said.
Amelia rolled her eyes.
“You think too highly of those who think rather lowly of you,” Amelia said in reply, as though that was the end of it.
Emma held her tongue once more and continued on with her work. By the end of the day, she had completed one of the gowns and begun another. But the two both had to stay later than they would have liked.
“Are you ready to leave?” Emma asked.
“As sad as I am to say, I must finish the bodice,” Amelia groaned.
“Would
you like me to stay with you?” Emma offered.
“No, go and be on your way. You ought to get home,” Amelia said.
Emma was relieved, although she would have stayed if Amelia had wanted her to. Instead, she departed and made her way out of the door, glad that she would have some time with her mother and father that evening after all.
As she reached the street just beyond the shop, Emma saw them. The two men. The one who had been the object of her every thought, and his friend.
She noted the way the Earl of Thornbury noticed her, his face brightening and his hand raising in a greeting.
She wanted to smile in response, to cross the street and speak with the men. Emma wanted to grin and respond and be near the earl, to hear his heart and understand him and all of his motivations.
But her loyalties had to remain with Amelia, no matter how it tore at her heart.
Emma looked around the street and then back at the two men who were watching her with confusion. They glanced at one another, as if to ask if she had not seen them or if there was something, some reason, for her to ignore them.
When they saw that she had returned her eyes to them, they tried again to get her attention by waving once more.
But Emma took in a deep, ragged breath and turned her head away, looking straight at the road before her. She began walking, trying to remain tall and steady, trying not to show her weakness and how desperate she was to run back to them and give a friendly greeting.
This was how it had to be. This was the burden that she would have to bear for now. Because it was not right for her to go on as she had been, enjoying the presence of the earl, when her dearest friend was still at a loss as to her feelings and opinion about him.
Emma had to be stronger than that. She had to be better.
She would have to be the sort of woman who would sacrifice everything that she wanted for the sake of someone she cared about.
Chapter 27
Eric pulled the laces tight on his shoes, using them as an outlet for his frustration. The leather creaked and groaned under the strain of his grip. It made him feel a sense of peace with every tug of it.
“I believe they are tight enough,” Reginald said.
Eric looked up and gave him a challenge with his eyes. He didn’t have words to retort with, but he wanted to tell Reginald that he had no business in trying to interject his own thoughts on the matter. There was plenty going on in Eric’s mind.
If he had wanted to share those thoughts, he would have done so already. He would have thought that Reginald would know that. After all, his friend knew him better than almost anyone.
“Do you want to finally talk to me? You cannot keep this in forever. You are in pain. I have never seen you like this,” Reginald said.
“And it is foolish. I barely know the girl. There is no reason at all that I should be angry. I am just trying to get my shoes on,” Eric said.
“You have hardly said a word since last evening. It is almost lunchtime. I think it would be best for you if you would actually tell me what it is that is going on in your mind,” Reginald told him.
Eric sighed, running his tongue over his teeth and trying to process his thoughts.
“What does it matter? My sister wants nothing to do with me. The woman I can’t stop thinking about clearly does not trust me. And why should she? Why should either of them care about me? All they know of me is that my father mishandled Liza Lockhart all those years ago. No…not mishandled. He made a terrible, terrible mistake,” Eric said.
Emma had chosen to ignore him on the street the night before. She had made it clear that she was not interested in being around him or continuing to get to know him. He was foolish for having expected anything different. Eric wished that he had not been the sort of man who would have expected anything different from her.
He did not deserve her attention. It wasn’t that he had done anything wrong, but he also had not done anything worth earning it. There was nothing about him that would have given him any right to draw her close.
And now? Now, being seen with him was only more damaging for her. Now, there was a risk of people speaking ill of her if she was seen with a man who had such a damaged reputation.
“Yes, he did make a mistake. But you didn’t. Why can’t you let go of what your father did and be content? Why can’t you rest in the awareness of the fact that everything is going to be perfectly fine? Eventually people will recognise that your reputation was attacked, that you are a good man who is undeserving of the words that have come against you,” Reginald said.
Eric hung his head. He wished that he could express what he felt like in the midst of having his name torn to shreds like this. He wished he could express how deeply concerned he was for his mother in this season.
But there were no words. There was no way to say what was really in his mind through it all.
“Listen, I know that all of this feels impossible right now. You must be utterly devastated by all that has taken place. You are surely distressed in the most understandable of ways. But, Eric, there is hope and there is a future. As difficult as it may be, you need to let go of all of this. You need to accept it and move on,” Reginald told him.
Eric couldn’t imagine doing that. He could not imagine moving on from the trauma that his family was under. His mother was suffering a great deal in London. He had received another letter from her, this time telling him that Lady Samsonel had neglected to invite her to a tea party with friends who always ensured that she received an invite.
It was something small, but that small act was a sign that their family had fallen from the grace of society. It was a sign that alerted them to the fact that they had lost out on a very important level of respect that they had once had.
Everything had changed and now, for the first time, their family name was under question in the most uncomfortable of ways. First there had been the truth coming out regarding Eric’s father and his illegitimate sister and now there were lies being told about Eric following in the man’s footsteps.
It bothered him.
But there was more to it than that.
“You are right. I know that you are right,” he said.
“Yes, I am. But allow me to continue. Eric, you know well that I have no qualms with falling in love with a woman outside of your class. In fact, I wish that it would happen more often. I wish that men of your station would be unashamed to love a woman of inferior birth,” Reginald said.
“I know. That is because you are a reasonable man,” Eric said. He wished that there were more reasonable men and women in society. He could not understand why class differences existed, nor why men were bound by them and not allowed to enjoy their lives and love whomever they wished.
It was wrong. It was senseless. And it was the thing that prevented him from being with Miss Sproul.
Well, one of the things anyway.
“Yes, I am a reasonable man. But you must also be sure that your chosen young lady is also comfortable with that. She must be comfortable with the thought that you might be happy even as she knows how she would be perceived by the upstanding ladies of London,” Reginald said.
“And you think that Miss Sproul would not be comfortable,” Eric said, the statement weighing him down.
“I believe that she has made it quite clear already that she is not. She has not hesitated to show you that she does not wish to be seen with you in public. I think that you ought to respect her wishes on this,” Reginald said.
