Henrietta gestured to her maid and the two of them departed.
Emily sank back in the chair. She was beginning to suspect that Henrietta was up to her old games. She remembered the rumors of Henrietta and the duke and the talk of a scandal before the lady went to Scotland. Her father had sent her away and now she was back. Emily realized with a sinking feeling that the duke had requested her return, and had made her a gift that required a solicitor’s transfer.
A moment later, Edmund stuck his head in the carriage.
“Are you well, sister?” he asked immediately noticing her upset.
“Yes fine,” Emily said her eyes closed against the pain.
Edmund climbed up and sat beside her, closing the carriage door against the chill. “I do not think so,” he said. “I saw Miss Milford hurrying up the street. Did you two have words?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said. Emily laid a hand over her chest. She felt as if she had run a race.
Edmund sighed. “I cannot say I am sad about that. I know, you thought to be charitable to invite her to tea, but rumor follows that woman. Always has.”
Emily caught her breath on a sob. Edmund was not helping.
“I want to go home,” she said.
“Very well,” he said, “if you are sure.” He made no move to tell the driver to be on his way. “It’s a good half hour ride after a long day of shopping,” he reminded her, pulling out his handkerchief.
She took it from him, wiping her tears before they fell. “I know,” she said.
Edmund nodded and opened the door of the carriage. A rush of cold air filled it as he spoke briefly to the footman. In a moment they were on their way.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked as the carriage moved forward.
Emily shook her head.
“Well, then, take a deep breath, and we will have tea once we return,” he said. “It will make you feel better.”
Emily nodded.
Edmund patted his sister’s shoulder. “You know Mother says tea solves everything, and Mother is never wrong,” He said.
Emily had to smile, but was a wan thing.
Inside, Emily was breaking apart. Although she did her best to remain calm on the exterior, inside Emily was in turmoil. The secret fiancé of Henrietta’s was none other than Alexander, the Duke of Bramblewood. It must be. Henrietta was to marry the duke, and to make matters worse, she had even begged Emily to keep her confidence. Emily couldn’t stop shaking.
Perhaps Edmund was right. A cup of tea would warm her. “I should wish tea sent to my room,” she said, “I don’t want anyone to see me just now.”
“I will see to it,” Edmund said, while Emily willed herself not to cry. “As soon as we are at Sandstowe, but Em, what on earth upset you so?”
Emily just shook her head. She could not tell him.
What could the duke have given Henrietta other that a promise of some sort…a promise of marriage or was it a more indecent proposal? Either way, it was something so important that it required a solicitor. So, where did that leave her? Emily felt her heart and her hope, break into a thousand pieces and felt that she might never recover.
23
Emily agonized over her knowledge for several days. She was so melancholy that Anne pressed her to rest to ensure that she was not at risk of illness. Emily did feel ill although she was certain that her symptoms were more akin to a sickness of the heart. Aunt Agnes worried over her niece’s loss of appetite and offered to call for the apothecary, but Emily refused. An apothecary could not bring a cure for what ailed her.
How the duke might deign to offer for two ladies was beyond her comprehension. No. That was not accurate. He had obviously made some promise to Henrietta. He had never made any such overt commitment to Emily, but he had made overtures toward her. How was it that she had misunderstood?
He had called upon her regularly, made an effort to discover whether or not she had a beau in London. He had made no mistake at his flirtations. Whether he had intended to or not, he had purposely led Emily to believe that he cared for her as more than a friend. How had she let this happen?
The old Alexander she had known would never have been so false. Nor would Emily have expected such behavior from the man that she thought she had come to know in recent weeks. Yet, a small part of her brain reminded her that this was just what she feared. The duke’s father had had a reputation for toying with ladies, even in the very presence of his own spouse.
Perhaps, Alexander had grown to see no fault in such behaviors. Perhaps, it was the single surviving flaw passed from father to son. Emily bristled at the thought. One who behaved in such a way had no right to call himself a gentleman. It soured her opinion of the duke.
She had made excuses to remain behind from several parties in the hope that any memory of her affection for the duke might be dulled over time. However, her family often returned from their excursions with tales of the gentleman in question and his expressions of concern for her health. She could not believe he still asked after her when he kept company with Henrietta. It was disgraceful.
Emily curled up in the plush chair in front of the fire in her bedchamber and had done little else all evening, but wonder about the party that she had refused to attend.
“His Grace asked after you again,” Aunt Agnes said as she peeled the gloves from her arms and then pulled them off finger by finger. She stepped forward to press the back of her hand to Emily’s forehead. “As did Miss Milford,” she continued. “They both hovered all evening so that they might hear news of your state.”
Emily scoffed and pulled the blanket tighter around her. Of course, Alexander and Henrietta would remain at one another’s side, she thought. How they must be laughing at her. How much longer would it be until the call for the banns was made and everyone in Northwickshire would know that they were to marry?
Emily remembered the rumor of Henrietta’s loose virtue before her removal to Scotland, and now, she had proven rumor true, or was Alexander truly in love with her? The thought hurt more than was bearable.
“Emily,” her aunt knelt at her side. “Are you ready to tell me true? People are beginning to worry in earnest.”
Emily sighed. “I simply feel out of sorts. That is all.”
“Do you think me simple?” Aunt Agnes offered a pitiful smile. “I am not so inexperienced as to not recognize heartbreak when it is before me. I know the signs.”
“You do?” Emily sat up and looked into her aunt’s eyes with hope. “You have felt the same?”
“Yes.” Aunt Agnes gave a solemn nod. “Although, I must tell you, your uncle still wishes to call the physician, and I cannot put him off much longer.”
“I am sorry,” Emily said sitting up and pushing her strangling hair from her face. “Who broke your heart, Aunt Agnes?”
“The very same fool of a man I married.” She said. “In time, we got it sorted, but that was a long while ago. Tell me what ails you, Emily. I cannot help you mend the hurt if I do not know the cause.”
Emily shook her head. “No one can fix what ails me. He is planning to marry another.”
“I do not think so. I believe the young duke is true in his intentions,” Aunt Agnes said as she squeezed her niece’s hand.
“How do you know it is he who has given me this heart ache?” Emily asked.
“Darling,” her elder smiled. “The duchess and I used to fantasize that you two might one day accept the love that blossomed between you. Even as children, it was obvious, although neither of you seemed to know it. You have always been drawn to each other; understood one another. We remembered the two of you with your heads together even as babes. That made the bond all the more special.”
Emily could not believe it. Whatever was her aunt saying?
“He has been enamored of you for years. I cannot believe he would be untrue now.” Aunt Agnes shook her head. “No. I am certain he would not.”
“True?” Emily scoffed. “True? True to who
m?” A tear rolled down her cheek in spite of her willing it to remain at bay at least until she could be alone. She felt stupid, silly for being so upset, and yet, never before had she felt such a soul-crushing agony.
“True to you, of course,” Aunt Agnes replied.
Emily snorted in a harsh and unladylike manner. “Me and however many other women he has fooled into such thoughts.”
“I am sure there is no other,” Aunt Agnes said gently, and patted the younger lady’s arm. Emily didn’t think her aunt would be purposely hurtful, but she was belittling Emily’s feelings. It was clear that she did not believe her.
“I know for certain of one other save myself,” Emily sniffed. “That would make two without question.”
“Tell me who and I shall give you my estimation.” Aunt Agnes resolved.
Emily pursed her lips. Would Aunt Agnes estimation be more believable than evidence she had seen with her own eyes?
“Henrietta Milford,” Emily said flatly. “We have all known for quite some time that she has a secret betrothed. All this time it has been Alexander.”
“It cannot be,” Aunt Agnes gasped. “All that business with Henrietta was pure rumor.” It was clear that Aunt Agnes had no rebuttal other than a simple claim that she had never noted any particular affection between the pair, save friendship.
“And others would only note friendship from my position as well,” Emily hiccuped and wiped her eyes upon her sodden handkerchief. “He has played us both false; just like his father before him.”
“Oh no. He is nothing like his father,” Aunt Agnes continued. “I cannot think it so.”
“Then we have both been fooled by his duplicity,” Emily declared. “He has given her a promise. I saw his seal upon the paper myself.”
Aunt Agnes’ mouth dropped open. She sat heavily on the bed.
“You see,” Emily cried. “That is why I can no longer face him. I have been made a simpering fool when I would have been better off maintaining my resolutions.”
“You must speak to him,” Aunt Agnes said to Emily’s never ending surprise. “I am sure that there is an explanation. You must not be distraught until you know the truth of it. He owes you that much. At which point, if it is true, you may walk away with your head held high and be better for it.”
Emily nodded. She knew that her aunt was right, but she did not think she could do it. How could she stand before him and hear him say that he would marry Henrietta?
There were too many questions, and she needed to speak with Alexander before she jumped to conclusions, but how could she? Just the thought was enough to make her burst into tears. Oh, she should have kept her resolve. Robert Hawthorne never made her feel so!
She sniffed and considered. Could it be a misunderstanding? Could this all have been Henrietta’s doing? It was true that Henrietta did not have the best reputation when it came to her pursuance of men. Emily cursed herself for such low thoughts of the lady with whom she had only recently renewed her friendship. Still, she could not help but harbor ill will.
Emily felt duped. Henrietta had chased a title and gotten exactly what she wished. Emily, on the other hand was left bereft for the foolish hope that childish friendship could blossom into love. She should have kept to her plan and accepted Robert Hawthorne. In fact, she should write to the man this very night.
That evening, she lay in bed and agonized over her predicament. She would have to meet Alexander with confidence. She could not fall into a flurry as she very much wanted to do. No. She was stronger than that.
She would not bow to her own emotions. Emily closed her eyes and willed away the thoughts of her love. Try as she might, they continued to roll through her mind. She told herself that she felt only compassion, nothing more, for the hurts that he had endured: the loss of his mother and the wayward upbringing under his father’s care.
He was a child of her past; a companion. That was all. She was in search of a gentleman that she could call husband certainly not a boy who used to tuck sticks into her braids while she lay in a field. Why did such thoughts produce heat? She asked herself.
The thought of him touching her hair, tucking it behind her ear, brought back images of the holly he had placed there just days ago. Desire twisted within her. How badly she wished he had kissed her that day, or any other had the opportunity arose. At least then she might know what it felt like to be in his arms. Now, she would never know, and worse yet, she would always wonder for what might have been.
She turned her pillow over, trying to find the cool spot and sleep, but rest would not come. Soon enough she would need to face the man that she loved, who would not, could not, love her in return. At the very least she could conserve her pride and her dignity. That is, she reminded herself, if she could resist him.
Emily prayed for a simple answer; that Henrietta had lied or that she had mistaken the Knoxington emblem for that of Bramblewood. They were not altogether that different. Please, she begged of any who would listen, let there be some explanation.
Alexander had neither seen nor heard from Emily in over a week. She refused all visitors and had missed several gatherings that her family had attended. It brought fear to his heart that she was not well. So many had not fared well after the influenza bout and were still harboring remnants of the illness.
He cursed and slammed the almanac shut upon his desk. Something was wrong. Last they had last spoken at the lake he had been certain that her feelings were similar to his own. What occurred in the days after to change matters, he could not discover. All Edmund had been able to tell him was that Emily had taken to bed after an excursion to town where they had met with Henrietta.
It made no sense. Henrietta was well. Alexander had seen her in town several times in recent days and her spirits were high. They had worked out a solution to their difficulty and the matter was settled, but that was nothing new, or indeed anything to which Emily ought to have been made privy. Edmund had been certain that his sister was not ill, but could not say what may have caused her upset.
“Perhaps she had a row,” Edmund suggested once when they had met in the pub for an afternoon meal. He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Alexander.
“Not with me,” the duke replied.
Not Henrietta either. Unless, Henrietta was lying to him. He could not imagine it so. He had always considered the lady a close confidant and friend. Perhaps that was the issue.
The duke slammed his hand into the table, causing several other patrons in the pub to jump. If some busybody was re-spinning rumors then he would rain down upon them a wrath unlike any other. Even then, it would not be enough. Not if he were unable to win back the hand of his love. Not if Emily accepted Robert Hawthorne; a man with no complications, who could give of himself without concern. If the duke disliked the Hawthornes before, he hated them now, if only for the knowledge that Emily deserved nothing less than the perfect life Robert would provide.
Blast it, he loved her so. He would not allow the sins of his past to cost him Emily’s affections. With Emily at his side Alexander knew that Bramblewood would be a success. Beyond that, he would be happy. He would never bring her shame as his father had done. He would not have her fear that there was any other in his life but her; only his Emily.
He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair.
He tried to reassure himself that Emily would remain resolute, but it did not take long for him to recall that she had never truly given anything, but a vague reply. Not that he had ever outright asked for her hand he amended.
Still, the thought lingered. Might she refuse him?
He was a duke. The title meant nothing to Emily. He considered sending a letter to her father, but he wanted Emily to want him, and not agree to marry him because her father insisted. Would the viscount insist or would Emily’s mother advise caution due to his own father’s reputation? The thoughts made Alexander’s head ache. The possibility that Emily would refuse him was high and the risk was an ever present concern, stil
l there was no help for it. Emily must be fully certain of his intent.
The next time that he saw her, he determined, he would leave no doubt as to his feeling. He would lay his heart before her. He would let her know that he loved her and leave the cards to fall as they may; as she willed. The thought terrified him.
He prayed that she would accept him. His happiness depended on her word.
24
Christmastide was meant to be a time of joy and celebration and Emily could no longer avoid the outings. She could no longer feign illness. There were only so many headaches of which one could complain before someone threatens to call the physician. Since Emily knew her melancholy could not be cured by medical means, she would have to at least pretend to enjoy the gaiety of the season.
It was one of her favorite times of the year. The greenery was hung and the tables were covered with apples and holly berries decorated the doorways. As she set out the gifts for the children’s enjoyment she thought that she might never look at Christmas holly the same after this year.
In only a few weeks’ time, her cousins would open their gifts and exclaim over the wonderful things that she had brought them from Town. The small box of cufflinks she had purchased for Alexander felt like a heavy stone amongst their number.
When she had rediscovered the package she wished to cast the offending item away. She could not give them to the duke, but neither could bring herself to return the gift. She placed the box in the back of her dresser drawer. Perhaps she would give them to Robert Hawthorne one day. No, she thought. She could not do that either. She would give them to Father, as she had said. Yes, that was it. She felt like her heart had hardened into a lump of coal within her chest.
The Christmas Ball was to be hosted at Hedgewick, the residence of a local marquess. Everyone who was anyone in the district had been invited and Emily could not miss another party, particularly one that promised to be so full of holiday spirit.
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