by Abigail Agar
Eric knew it to be true. He should respect her wishes. And yet, he had felt quite certain that her wishes were something else entirely. Something unspoken. Something that she would hardly admit.
For a moment, Eric wondered if he was simply being arrogant and self-indulgent, but he had seen the look in her eyes when they spoke. He had noticed the way she eased into their interactions. She was not someone who was frightened of him.
Eric gave himself just a moment to indulge in thinking about Miss Sproul. He thought about her smile. He thought about her kindness. Her loyalty to his sister.
His sister. The one that he ought to have been thinking about. The one that he had actually come to Finchley to find. Somehow, she had become something other than his priority. She had become a problem that he needed to try to solve. As though, with the right calculation, he might unlock the answer to convincing her to give him a chance.
“Reginald, what am I meant to do?” Eric asked.
“I just told you,” Reginald said, as though Eric was crazy. But Reginald had not heard the processing of his thoughts, he knew only what they had already discussed.
“Yes, yes, I know. But it’s not about that. I mean what am I to do about my sister and her hatred of me? I want a relationship with her. And I am confident that once she trusts me, Miss Sproul will follow. I need guidance,” Eric said.
“What you need is to stop pining and make a decision. Go back to London, clear your name, and try your sister now and then. Just as we had talked about from your first meeting with her. Why have you not revisited this?” Reginald asked.
Eric shrugged.
“Because I cannot sit by, idly, while my sister hates me and her friend does not trust me. I need to prove myself,” he said.
“And you think that by going against what they want, they will somehow decide that you are a good man?” Reginald challenged him.
“Well –”
Eric immediately stopped. He had been ready to charge forward with a response, but Reginald had a fair point. There was no reason that he should expect the two to begin trusting him if he disregarded their wishes.
It was as though he simply could do nothing right. He was failing at every turn. He was disappointing everyone at every turn.
“And now what are you thinking?” Reginald asked, as though he was frightened to do so.
“I am thinking that I have made mistake after mistake and I cannot come to an agreement with myself regarding what I ought to do,” Eric said.
“Then, in my mind? I think you should certainly go home and get some rest. Be with your mother. Take a break,” Reginald said.
It was so unlike Eric. He didn’t give up. He would never choose to give up. Giving up meant that there was no longer any hope and he had always been convinced that there was hope.
If he had to let go of that belief, what was he meant to cling to?
Eric and Reginald finally managed to put the conversation to rest and head out of the rooms and into town, where they had planned to get their lunch before Reginald headed back to London for a few days.
Reginald tried to convince Eric to join him, but Eric said that he would need to at least tell Amelia that he was going. It was only right that he said goodbye, even if it was for himself and not for her.
Later that evening, Eric decided to walk around and find a place for dinner, needing to be out of the inn for a while. He hated being cooped up inside when he felt this way.
The sky was growing dark and heavy with the ink of night. The air was cool and Eric breathed in the freshness of the cold.
But, although he was walking well away from the dress shop, Eric’s heart leapt when he saw Amelia coming towards him against the dark backdrop of Finchley, her eyes on a small paper that she held in one hand.
“Miss Sproul,” he said, just as they were about to pass one another.
She looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of hers and stopped in her tracks.
“M-my lord,” she said, startled.
“You needn’t call me that. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you all right?” he asked.
Miss Sproul looked around and crossed her arms, a defensive pose, as though leery that someone should see the two of them together.
“Yes, I am perfectly fine,” she said.
“I am glad to hear it,” Eric replied.
Miss Sproul nodded and began to turn away from him.
Eric grasped her hand, not ready to let her go.
She paused in her tracks before turning her head to look back at him. But when she did, he saw something in her eyes. It was not fear or displeasure, but resignation. As though she was willing to accept whatever he might say or do.
“It is late,” he said.
“I know. But I am a decent woman,” she said.
Eric realised that his words had made her think that he may want something that he was certainly not expecting or looking for at the time.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” he said.
“Then what is it that you want?” she asked, an offer in her voice.
“I want to make sure that you get home safely. I want to make sure that you are not caught out in the darkness,” Eric replied.
She was still for a moment. But finally, she nodded, conceding to his wish and allowing him to go with her.
Eric released his grasp of her hand, aware that it had been something that he probably should not have done, something that would make her uncomfortable more than likely.
Eric could scarcely seem to help himself. It was as though he found himself incapable of discerning what was the right choice and he was driven only by his hopes and wishes to be noticed by Miss Sproul.
But she looked at him long enough that he could see her willingness. She trusted him, even if she didn’t trust herself.
“Are you certain?” he asked, worried that she might be feeling forced into allowing him to walk with her.
“I am certain,” she said, her voice sounded relieved. “Please, walk with me.”
With that approval, Eric was overjoyed. His idealism had won the day, his hopes had prevailed and turned into truths.
Miss Sproul was willing to allow him to join her on her walk home. It had to mean that she was beginning to trust him. It had to mean that she would, at last, give him a chance to prove that he was a good man. He could prove that he was better than that, better than his father.
At last, Eric would be a man worth her time, and she would know it, she would acknowledge it. Yes, there was hope and there was a possibility of a future.
But he knew that they had to be careful. She may have begun to accept him, but there were still those who didn’t. They were the ones that he was beginning to fear.
Chapter 28
Emma was completely uncertain. Had she made the right choice? It was a choice borne out of her heart’s desire, not the determined loyalty that she had to Amelia. It was wrong. She knew that much. She had promised to be loyal to her friend, she had determined that she would push her feelings aside.
But there was this man standing next to her. The Earl of Thornbury, with all of his kindness, with his deep blue eyes. He was everything that she would ever have wanted in a husband or a potential match and it was hard to believe that he actually existed.
He was more than she might ever have allowed herself to dream of.
But, alas, Emma was walking with him, heading towards her home, despite every thought that she had once had against it. All of her better judgement was gone, and all that was left was the fact that she was giving herself this moment.
Her heart ached with the knowledge that she was weak. She had made a promise to herself and very nearly to Amelia as well. She had said that she would not indulge this, that she would not give in.
“Are you all right?” the earl asked, shaking her from her stream of guilty thoughts.
“Oh…yes,” she said, although it was a lie.
“If you do not wish to allow me to accompany you, I will g
o. I must confess that I fear I pushed you into accepting my offer. My mind is not quite right between what I know is gentlemanly and what I want,” he said.
Emma understood better than he could ever know.
“It is late,” she said, justifying the decision. “It is late and dark and I do not like walking when the night is growing darker. It is hardly safe for me to go alone.”
And there it was, an excuse as to why this was the right choice. A reason for her willingness to betray her dearest friend.
“So you give your consent without feeling as though I am forcing anything on you? I want to be sure,” the earl said.
She looked up at him and told herself that everything was going to be fine and they would be all right. She told herself that there was nothing wrong with this because it was late and she wanted to get home safely. She told herself that Amelia would understand, that this was an unusual circumstance and she simply could not have refused him given the situation.
And she told herself that Amelia would never need to know anyway.
“Yes, I am certain. I was not looking forward to walking home alone,” she said.
A contented smile formed upon his mouth and it was lovely in every way. Somehow, in conceding to this moment, something gave way in Emma’s heart and she allowed herself to acknowledge just how handsome the earl was.
A great deal of anxiety ravaged through her, warning her against being seen with this man, reminding her that her reputation was at stake. But Emma held it tensely within her, unwilling to ruin her time with the earl. She was here, with him, right where she wanted to be.
“You have stayed late at the shop. Is everything all right?” the earl asked.
“Oh, yes, certainly. There are times, particularly when the season is about to begin, when we are extremely busy. As one ball was only just announced, the orders have been more demanding and Amelia and I have had no choice but to stay late and get an excess of work done,” Emma said.
Perhaps it was boring to talk about, but at least it gave them something. Otherwise, she did not know what sort of conversation they might try to indulge in.
“Oh, that does not sound fun. So they simply show up and tell you that they need a gown made immediately?” he asked.
“It happens often. You know how rich people are…” she said, before realising that she was speaking precisely to one of those people.
“Oh dear, forgive me,” she said.
The earl chuckled.
“There is nothing to forgive. Yes, I do know how those rich people are. A very demanding lot. I shouldn’t blame you for resenting them now and again,” he said.
It made her smile to know that he was willing to join her in her frustrations about the sort of things that she and Amelia were forced to deal with so frequently.
“But it must be good to have work at least,” he said.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” Emma replied. “We have a good job, as I have told you. Not as easy as it may seem for someone like you, but it is a good one.”
“I never would have suggested that what you do is easy. I could not even manage to thread a needle, I am sure. The fact that the two of you manage to make full gowns is beyond me. I shall never cease to be impressed,” he said.
Emma smiled once more, delighted by the compliment.
“Are you frightened when you walk home at night?” he asked.
“Always. I do not live in the nicer areas and there are a good deal of thieves and…other bad men. But I have been spared any incident thus far in my life. I am grateful for that. I have heard stories, but I know no one who has ever been affected,” she said.
“Why is your area dangerous?” the earl asked.
Emma laughed bitterly.
“That is the lot of life for those who are poor. We must live subject to the crimes that would never take place against those who live in the grand estates that you are accustomed to,” she said.
The earl shook his head.
“I cannot understand that. Would they not wish to rob a man who they know to have great wealth?” he asked.
“Wish to? Certainly. But they are cowards and they dare not. You see, robbing a man of great wealth would mean taking a great wealth of risk. A man such as yourself may prosecute and the constable would take notice. Besides, a man of your stature has guards and whatnot,” she said.
He nodded to acknowledge that she was correct.
“Yes, I suppose that is true. Still, it wounds me to think that you are living at risk in such a way. And is my sister subject to the same dangers?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. All who live in the tenements are. We are vulnerable, you see. The constable will hardly mind if something is stolen from us. But for us, every little thing that we own has value. If it did not, we would not bother to have owned it in the first place,” she said.
“I am sorry that life has been so unfair as that,” the earl said.
Emma saw the sadness in his eyes as he began to understand that lack of glamour that life held for young ladies like them. She was relieved that he could understand her pain in some way. It was nice to know that he cared, to know that it mattered to him. She wished that he would grow to understand even more.
“Tell me more about what it is like. What is life like for young ladies who do not have the fortunes that are held by those within my society?” he asked.
It was a strange, awkward question and Emma did not immediately know how to answer it. She heard the sincerity in the earl’s voice, but she was also bothered by the distance that the question put between them. It was as though he was asking what life might be life under the water or far away in the East Indies where the food was made rich with spices and the clothing vibrant and alive.
But he was not asking about a land far different from his own. He was asking about the tenements and poverty. He was asking about things that he could find a few streets away from his townhouse in London. He was asking about a life lived by children on the streets just outside the businesses owned by men like him.
And, for a moment, Emma was angry at him. She understood how Amelia could feel such a distance, she understood how it must have been for Liza to believe that she had the care and respect of a man only to find that he saw her as this ‘other’.
But it was not the Earl of Thornbury’s fault that he viewed matters this way. He was ignorant to the fact that men and women had been living through this divide since the beginning of time.
Furthermore, she considered the fact that they were walking alone together and what that would mean if they were seen.
For the Earl of Thornbury, it would be more gossip and scrutiny in the society pages. But ultimately, all of this would be forgotten in a year or two and he would find a nice wife and have a family and they would move on. His ‘indiscretions’ would be forgotten, although they had never existed in the first place.
But for Emma, if they were seen and if her name were noted, she would be a ruined woman. Yes, women were at risk of this no matter their class or station, but those of a high means would find a way out of it. Their mother and father would arrange something quietly and the woman would be married off.
