Chapter 12

12

E mily had been absent from home for an unexpectedly long time, but she would never know it from the Beaumont Manor drawing room, which contained the same commotion she’d left behind two days prior. If anything, the chaos only intensified the instant she stepped through the doorway, for Anna spotted her right away, dropping the ball of yarn she’d been using to entertain their two cats and squealing her name in delight.

From there, Emily found herself showered with hugs and exclamations that all ran together in an enthusiastic jumble. Phoebe and her aunt Amelia both kissed her on the cheek. Her youngest cousins tugged at her skirts. Someone —her older cousin, Alexander , she believed—said something about getting her chocolate and gingerbread, and Christmas greetings came from all directions.

Emily let herself bask in her family’s affection, and for a few happy seconds, she experienced nothing but fulfillment. A few seconds before the ache in her chest started again, and she didn’t know whether she should throw back her head and laugh or sink to the floor and sob.

But there was time to do neither, for Anna clasped her hands, leading her to one of the plush sofas and pulling her down to sit. “ We should give you your presents. None of us have exchanged any yet; we all waited for you. But I think you should be the first to receive them.”

Emily squeezed her sister’s hand, wishing she could match Anna’s eagerness and wide grin. How was it possible to feel bright and joyful, and so utterly despondent, all at the same time?

“ Indeed .” Another voice joined the cacophony. The voice of the man who’d helped her father rescue her, who looked so handsome as he came toward the sofa in his finely tailored green coat and tan trousers. He gave Anna a grateful smile as she rose to offer him her spot, and he settled beside Emily , still smelling pleasingly of the crisp outdoors. “ And perhaps I could have the privilege of being the first to present my gift to you.”

Emily swallowed tightly, watching Lord Coleville rummage in his pocket until his hand emerged with a small box. She managed the necessary thanks, although her limbs were brittle as she accepted it. He was a good man: charming, sensible, and well-mannered. Why , then, did sitting this close to him evoke nothing more in her than a mild sense of appreciation?

The box contained a delicately engraved gold ring, adorned in the center by a cluster of diamonds and emeralds. She let out a small gasp as she lifted the extravagant piece of jewelry between her fingers, bringing it closer to her face so she could be sure she hadn’t entered a dream. “ It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said, watching the diamonds glint beneath the sun.

It was the type of gift a gentleman would only give a lady if he had certain intentions toward her.

“ I’m pleased you like it.” Lord Coleville gently took the ring from her grasp and slid it onto her finger, giving a satisfied nod at the gems that sparkled against her pale skin. “ My gift comes with a question.”

Her stomach dropped even before he lowered himself to one knee upon the carpet. Because she knew what was coming and knew, in her heart of hearts, it was wrong, but she also didn’t know how to stop it. How to alter this path that she had encouraged, that she’d tried so hard to make the right one.

“ Lady Emily Prescott .” He looked up at her, his eyes warm and brown. His cheeks just the tiniest bit flushed—perhaps an aftereffect of the cold, perhaps a consequence of what he was about to ask. “ Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The question echoed through the air, and then, there was nothing, for her family’s boisterous chatter faded to silence. Everyone had heard the proposal. Everyone stood in perfect stillness, awaiting her response.

She couldn’t help but let her eyes wander for an instant. To her youngest cousins, who looked ready to jump up and down with excitement. To her father and uncle Jonathan , who wished to make the earl their ally in Parliament . To her grandmother, who surveyed the scene with the sharp gaze of a hawk. And to Anna , who appeared so bright and eager, for she would soon have her own first Season on the marriage mart and staunchly believed in fairytales and happy endings.

Emily hastily restored her focus to Lord Coleville’s kind eyes and keen half-smile. Any woman would be lucky to have him. And yet, what existed between them wasn’t love. It might never be love, because love was an illusion, a rarity, something on which she couldn’t rely.

Except her mind flashed back to Nate . The boy for whom she’d pinched her cheeks and styled her hair. The man whose injured hand she’d held and stroked as he shared his innermost secrets with her. The man who’d comforted her, too, when she’d been afraid and vulnerable. The man who’d drawn pleasure from every intimate piece of her until her body lay overwrought and trembling, and her heart quivered and leaped.

She shoved the memories away, wishing she could snuff them like a candle and they’d be forever vanquished.

That wasn’t possible, of course. The memories may very well haunt her for the rest of her life. However , she would have to learn to live with them, to make them not matter. For there was only one answer she could give.

“ Yes .”

A wreath, of all things, proved Emily’s downfall.

She was lounging on the sofa later that afternoon, with a steaming cup of tea in hand and her elderly ginger cat Marigold curled upon her lap, when the bits of greenery caught her eye. Not the cheery evergreen branches that had been hung about the room in her absence, but a few discarded scraps of holly and ribbon that were twisted into an untidy circle and cast upon an end table. Specifically , the scraps she’d been shaping into a festive wreath before frustration had driven her to a fateful walk in the woods.

Her poor attempt at a decoration must have been lying there the whole time. However , it wasn’t until now, when most of her relatives had dispersed to other parts of the house and the room had quieted, that it drew her notice.

For some irrational, inexplicable reason, the sight made her throat thick.

“ Why is this still here?” she choked out, setting her teacup down with an ungraceful clatter.

“ Oh !” Anna , who was reading a novel in the armchair next to her, looked up in surprise, her gaze following Emily’s to the seemingly innocuous decor. “ No one wanted to touch it, for we thought you might like to finish it yourself. We were determined, you see, that you would be back at Beaumont in time for Christmas .”

That was a reasonable explanation. A touching one, really.

One that promptly made Emily burst into tears.

“ Emily !” Anna was on the sofa in an instant, her pale brows drawn in alarm. “ Em , what is it? Because I think you’ve been altogether too hard on yourself regarding that wreath …”

She trailed off, her mouth dipping into a frown. Her forehead wrinkling in concentration. “ But the wreath has never truly been the problem, has it?”

No , of course it wasn’t. Well , not beyond the fact that Emily wasn’t certain whether her act of bringing greenery in early had cursed her with the worst luck or led to the most blissful night of her life.

Anna —who was getting so mature, and rather perceptive for her seventeen years—leaned in to give her a quick hug before jumping to her feet. “ Wait here a moment,” she said. “ I know just what you need.”

Emily watched her sister scurry away through the haze of her tears, trying to blink back the moisture. However , it wouldn’t dissipate. No matter how tautly she attempted to hold her spine, no matter how hard she tried soothing herself by stroking Marigold’s silky fur, the rivers wouldn’t cease pouring down her cheeks. Her chest wouldn’t stop heaving with great, shuddering sobs.

What was wrong with her? She didn’t know why she was acting this way, or how to make things right again. She didn’t know anything anymore, besides the fact that if she didn’t stop crying soon, Benedict and Alexander would return with Lord Coleville from their ice-skating venture, and everyone would witness her teary-eyed folly.

But even the threat of detection wouldn’t make her tears dry up. They consumed her, making her sniffle and hiccup, until a hand fell upon her shoulder.

She startled, her head whipping upward.

“ Grandmother ,” she exclaimed on a quivery breath, taking in the crepey fingers that rested on her shoulder and then meeting the grooved face that stared down at her. The last she’d noticed, the dowager marchioness had been dozing on the sofa nearest the fireplace, and without the demanding ring of the dowager’s bell, Emily supposed she’d forgotten about her presence in the drawing room.

However , the dowager was very much still here. Not only that, but she was upright, her diminished body resting heavily against her cane but looking regal, nonetheless. “ The earl is a solid, sensible match,” she said abruptly, her shrewd blue gaze making her appear as if she knew every thought in Emily’s head. “ But not the right one.”

Emily’s mouth slackened, and the sob racking her chest hitched and then vanished. She dragged her fingers over her cheeks in a few hasty swipes, her shoulders stiffening beneath her grandmother’s cool touch and her widened eyes beginning to narrow.

Why would the dowager think it appropriate to say something so presumptuous? She was a cold woman, one who’d always held herself at a distance from anything so undignified as outward familial affection. Perhaps her instincts to interfere and meddle—put to disuse during her illness—were coming back stronger than ever, and Emily nearly offered the biting retort that she was sorely mistaken.

Except the dowager wasn’t mistaken. She’d never been a kindly and doting grandmother, yet she saw the truth in her granddaughter’s heart.

All at once, the fight drained from Emily’s body, and she allowed her shoulders to slump against the sofa. Why put up a shield when she’d already displayed her weakness? Why utter words that her grandmother would recognize as a lie? She squeezed her eyes shut, the remnants of tears slipping out as she gave her head a subtle shake.

“ The question is, what are you going to do about it?” The dowager’s clipped tone made Emily snap back to alertness, and she found those hard, icy eyes staring at her more intently than ever.

“ It’s your choice, gel. But remember this.” The dowager gave a brisk nod, then held her chin pointed proudly upright. For the old lady was frail but fierce. Never afraid to voice her opinions or go after what she wanted. “ Prescotts do not cower.”

Again , Emily’s jaw loosened, and a sharp pang, almost like the tip of an arrow, hit her between the ribs.

But there was no time to recover from it, no time to let the words percolate, for her grandmother gave her cane a single tap against the floor, and two strapping footmen emerged out of nowhere to whisk her away.

Emily blinked at the doorway in bewilderment, the short encounter feeling almost like a fevered dream. However , no sooner did the trio depart than her father and stepmother appeared, rushing over to the sofa and positioning themselves on either side of her.

For a moment, no one spoke. There were simply arms around her shoulders, and eyes much gentler than the dowager’s peering at her, and a choking lump rising in her throat once more.

Her gaze darted back and forth, moisture welling beneath her eyelids until she was certain she would cry again. The only thing she didn’t know was whose shoulder to cry upon.

Ultimately , she shed tears on both. She let her parents rub her back and wipe her cheeks, just like when she was a child, and she didn’t even try to fight it. She simply let the sobs come until her body was weary and raw, and she at last found the strength to lift her head. To meet their anxious gazes and pose a single question: “ Why didn’t you tell me he’d returned?”

The he to whom she referred must be obvious without further explanation, for Phoebe’s brows shot up, and her lips parted.

As for her father, a thundercloud passed over his features, and his voice became a dangerous rasp. “ If Pembrook did something to hurt you, Em , then so help me God? —”

“ He didn’t.” She shook her head firmly, quashing the suggestion before it could take hold. Because Nate hadn’t hurt her, not in the way her father must be imagining. On the contrary, he’d brought her to life, making her care and crave and soar in ways she hadn’t before. The only thing hurting was her bruised, conflicted heart.

“ Emily .” Phoebe reached for her hand, gently clasping it within her own. “ I never intended to keep secrets from you. Nor could anyone have anticipated the snowstorm or Mr . Pembrook’s location when you set out on your walk. However …” She hesitated a moment, letting out a quiet sigh. “ You’ve avoided Rosemead for so long. As is your right, and your papa and I would never force you to do otherwise. Sometimes , though, one can better handle one’s worries by confronting them rather than shying away.”

Prescotts do not cower . Her grandmother’s words came echoing back to her, causing a jolt within Emily’s chest. As a girl of sixteen, she’d kept her heartache and humiliation locked deep inside her until everything became a jumbled mess and she no longer trusted her own feelings. However , her eyes were too swollen, her cheeks too wet, to hide them now.

And so, she pressed down on Phoebe’s fingers, letting the long-ago secret slip from her tongue. “ I used to fancy myself in love with him.”

Phoebe pulled her stepdaughter close, her arm a comforting weight around the back of Emily’s neck. “ I know,” she murmured.

She … she knew ?

Yes . Of course she did. Emily let herself sink into the embrace, the air draining from her lungs in a wobbling exhale. She didn’t know why she hadn’t considered the possibility before, given that her girlish attempts to gain Nate’s notice, followed by her long string of Christmas Eve illnesses, had been far from subtle. Certainly not above the notice of a concerned parent.

In a way, there was something comforting about having her hidden burden out in the open for her parents to share. However , that was only the small portion of it relating to the past. She had to tell the rest of it, the part affecting her entire present and future.

“ I was very young when I developed the sentiments. Too young. Too unworldly. But even so …” She bit her lip, willing her chin to stop trembling. “ When the snowstorm trapped me at Rosemead , those feelings all came rushing back. I truly got to know him this time, and I felt things for him not as a girl but as a woman grown. And now … and now, I wonder if I’m still in love.”

“ Oh , Em .” Phoebe pulled back to observe her with a look of pure sympathy.

Emily shook her head, refusing to let herself cry again but unable to stop the ache that spread around her heart. “ It was never supposed to happen like this. It’s all wrong. I think he might care for me, too, but I can’t, not now … I don’t know …”

“ Emmy .” Her father’s hand fell upon her chin, coaxing her to turn to him. “ Will you tell me why you accepted Lord Coleville’s proposal?” There was nothing accusatory in his question. Only mild curiosity accompanied by a gentle expression he reserved for her, Anna , and Phoebe alone.

She pushed down the lump in her throat, trying to find some coherence amidst her whirling thoughts. “ Well , because … because he’s a respectable match,” she said, repeating the words she’d drummed through her head so many times, trying to make them feel right. “ I’m confident he will make a courteous husband, along with a worthy ally for you?—”

“ No ,” he cut in, the lines around his mouth becoming tight. “ Let me dispel you of any false notions this instant. I agree that Coleville is respectable. I’d value his support in Parliament . However , under no circumstances do I want that to be the basis for your marriage. Especially if your instincts are guiding you elsewhere.”

The words crashed over her like a wave, both startling and cathartic. Just like that, he’d freed her from the onus of marrying for a social connection. But even so …

“ I don’t know if I can rely on my instincts,” she choked out. “ If I can give up something safe for something unknown. Sometimes , I question whether love is real or merely my mind playing tricks on me to create an illusion.”

“ I understand that it’s frightening,” Phoebe said, taking hold of her hand again and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “ But if you trust your heart, it will not steer you wrong.” Her gaze flitted above Emily’s head, locking with her husband’s, and it was impossible to miss the brightness that lit her eyes. The tiny smile that made her whole face glow. An expression that the normally stern-faced marquess mimicked, because even after a decade of marriage, he and his wife were still clearly enamored.

“ I want to have the same happiness the two of you found together,” Emily whispered, her heartbeat a deep patter in her chest. “ I want to find true love.”

“ You will, sweetheart.” Her father broke the gaze with Phoebe and turned his half-smile upon her, clasping her free hand in his. “ Because it is real, and it’s always worth fighting for.”

For a few moments, Emily merely kept sitting, surrounded by the care and support of her parents. She let the warmth of their love—both for her and for each other—fill her, while her mind replayed every piece of advice they’d imparted, accompanied by the steady hum of her grandmother’s words: Prescotts do not cower .

Until finally, she transferred the sleeping cat to her father’s lap—eliciting his scoff, although she knew he secretly enjoyed Marigold’s company—and rose from the sofa. The sun was sinking low in the frosty sky, and as much as she didn’t want to leave the quiet safety of the drawing room, she needed to retire to her bedchamber and request her lady’s maid’s assistance. Otherwise , she’d never be presentable in time for Christmas dinner.

But first … “ Thank you.” She turned to face her parents, brushing the little tufts of fur from her skirt and giving her flushed cheeks another swipe. She undoubtedly looked an absolute fright, and her voice was still rough from the aftereffects of her sobs. Nonetheless , she hoped they could discern the depth of her gratitude.

Phoebe’s eyes continued to sparkle, and the subtle grin lingered upon her lips. “ Everything is going to work out exactly as it should.”

Emily took a long breath, her nose filling with the yuletide fragrances of cloves and fir branches. With another familiar scent that could only be described as home . Her mouth twitched—not in a smile, precisely, but in a tiny upward slant.

Because her heart was still so heavy and uncertain, and once the noisy, cheerful bustle of Christmas dinner ended, she was going to have a long and difficult night of contemplating ahead.

Yet beneath all the heaviness, there were also faint twinges resembling hope.