Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

E mily was confused. Who would he know in the small town of Sylvanwood that she didn't?

As Phoebe curtsied low, a sightline emerged of a finely dressed couple, her in a gold brocade gown with a shimmery gauze overlay and him in a well-tailored jacket and snowy white shirtfront. The way they carried themselves and how the crowd gaped in awe signaled that the couple belonged to the upper echelons of society.

Emily hesitated, and Jacob focused on her. "What's the matter?"

"Who are they?" Her hand squeezed Jacob's arm tighter.

One side of Jacob's mouth curved upward. "My eldest brother and his wife—come to Sylvanwood to ensure I haven't gotten into trouble."

"The marquis and marchioness?" Emily felt the blood leave her face. "I-I can't meet them. I'm not dressed properly." She had worn her best gown, but to meet nobility, shouldn't she be wearing the latest fashion from a French dressmaker?

Jacob snorted. "You look beautiful. Besides, they came tonight specifically to meet you."

"Me?" Her voice squeaked.

"I quote," Jacob said. "‘We must meet the artist who depicted you so accurately.'"

The painting . Of course. Even so, her steps slowed.

"I assure you they don't bite." He shrugged. "At least not Nora. She's an angel. How she puts up with my brother is beyond me. They are truly a love match." Jacob pulled lightly on Emily's arm.

She patted her coiffure before exhaling a shaky breath. Leaning heavily on Jacob's arm for support because her knees refused to cooperate, she stumbled to where the couple stood by the entrance.

Lord and Lady Dorsham gushed over the Marquis of Sudbury, creating an awkward display. Phoebe had to excuse herself, rushing to the ladies' retiring room once more.

Emily didn't miss the relief on the marquis's face when he spotted his brother.

"Jacob. Good to see you." The man bowed, excusing himself to Lord and Lady Dorsham, and skirted away even though Lady Dorsham continued to speak to his back. His grip tightened on his wife's arm, pulling her along in his wake.

She excused herself to Lady Dorsham over her shoulder. The Marchioness of Sudbury smiled at Jacob. Her gaze drifted to Emily, and a spark of interest lit their depths.

"Robert." Jacob clasped his brother's arm. "I knew you had arrived when I saw women fainting in the wings."

"Merely an occupational hazard of the title. In my opinion, it's better than men reaching for their weapons and naming their seconds, as when you walk in the room."

"My favorite opinions are the ones people keep to themselves." Jacob pushed back one side of his jacket and hooked his thumb in his pant pocket, but his eyes danced. "Ah, the perils of being the handsomer brother."

The marchioness locked eyes with Emily. "Do not fear. They love each other dearly. This merely is how they express it."

Lord Sudbury's arm slid around his wife's waist. "And who do we have here? Is this the lovely and gifted artist who painted the portrait?"

Jacob ushered Emily forward a step. "May I introduce Miss Emily Thompson, talented artist and daughter of the local vicar?"

"Miss Thompson is the vicar's daughter?" Lady Sudbury covered her surprise with a cough. She glanced at Jacob, her eyes twinkling. "You neglected to mention that part. My, how your tastes have changed."

"Miss Thompson," Jacob said, "may I present my brother Lord Robert Warren, the Marquis of Sudbury? And his much too beautiful wife for such an ugly beast, Lady Nora Warren, the Marchioness of Sudbury."

Emily curtsied, and Lady Sudbury followed suit but shook her head at Jacob as if to say, what shall I do with these brothers?

The two men continued to taunt one another, but Lady Sudbury ignored their antics and focused on Emily. Her expression glowed. "I am amazed at your talent. I had to meet you after seeing such a lifelike rendering."

"You are too kind."

Her voice lowered, and she leaned in closer. "You captured the tease in his smile and the humor in his eyes but also a trace of vulnerability." Her eyes held Emily's as if searching. "You must be an especially gifted woman to recognize that in him in such a short time."

Emily swallowed, wondering what she was implying.

"Jacob may appear cavalier, but those who see beyond his ruse find a kind and, I daresay, noble heart."

Jacob chuckled at something his brother said, and a carefree smile illuminated his features. Flashes of him playing pirates with Christian by the stream swelled her heart.

"He had your painting hung in the entranceway of the Brownstone Hall before our arrival. Jacob's smile greeted us in more ways than one when we arrived."

"Lord Warren intended the painting as a jest to irk his brother."

"Indeed. It worked brilliantly, for it's too wonderful to take down and has left his lordship in a conundrum." She issued a loving sideways look at her husband, who rubbed the back of her glove with his thumb. "Is that how you met? By Jacob seeking an artist to commission for a painting?"

Emily hesitated. "Not precisely."

"Oh?"

Emily launched into a brief explanation of their first encounter, when she discovered him held at gunpoint.

The men quieted until Lord Sudbury crossed his arms over his chest. "It was Benton, wasn't it?"

His scowl caused Emily to back up a step.

Jacob confirmed with a curt nod.

"Don't you have a care for your own life?" The marquis's glare shot sparks. "I'll have him brought before the House of Lords."

"And create a scandal? I think not."

"As I recall, you've already done that." The marquis arched a brow, which must be a family trait.

"I can handle Benton. He has licked his wounds at his paramour's in Bath and is most likely returning to London soon."

"How can you be certain?"

Jacob hesitated.

"Because Lady Benton said as much." Lady Sudbury answered for him. "She called upon Brownstone Hall the minute she heard of our arrival."

Lady Benton? The fancy woman Emily had met in town? Her husband was the highwayman Emily had pierced with an arrow? She met Jacob's gaze, but he glanced away.

"We can discuss this matter another time." Jacob held his arm out for Lady Sudbury. "The dance floor awaits, Nora. Shall we?"

Lady Sudbury accepted Jacob's arm.

Lord Sudbury offered his arm to Emily. She accepted with a silent prayer that she wouldn't dance like a green country chit and followed them onto the dance floor.

Lord Sudbury was, like his brother, an excellent dancer. In many ways, he reminded her of Jacob. They held the same frame and similar features, yet he carried an air of responsibility and bore the creases in his forehead as scars from its weight. Heaven knew having Jacob under his care would warrant it. He kept his questions casual, asking about her family and issuing lighthearted jabs at his brother. As the dance sets progressed, Emily found Lord Sudbury to be a delightful fellow.

He promenaded her through a turn, and she felt Jacob's eyes on her. Their gazes met, and the affection communicated in their depths sent her heart racing.

"Ah, the night becomes even more interesting."

She followed Lord Sudbury's gaze to the entrance but couldn't see over the revelers.

"Lady Benton is here."

Emily faltered a step, and Lord Sudbury's pressure increased on her lower back.

"Do not fret. Lady Benton rarely attends events with her husband."

"That is all and well, for I didn't bring my bow and arrows with me this time."

A wide, sweeping smile framed the marquis's evenly lined teeth, and the creases in the corners of his eyes deepened. "Quick-witted. No wonder Jacob speaks so fondly of you."

Did he?

Emily swallowed, unsure how to respond to such a comment. How was it that her wit chose to come to her aid and then evaporated when she was still in need?

L ady Benton was the last woman Jacob wanted to see, even if she'd become his prime suspect. Not only did she have blond hair, but she was known to gamble, which could have caused the debts that Welsh mentioned in his letter.

The woman, like his past, haunted him, showing up when he least expected it, drawing suspicion, and causing trouble. He especially didn't want to see her now that Emily knew it was Lord Benton who'd nearly taken Jacob's life. He ground his teeth. The last thing he needed was for Emily to be reminded of his past libertine ways. She had begun to trust he'd become a changed man. He'd seen the regard in her eyes when they danced.

As if Nora could read his thoughts, she squeezed his arm and said, "I like Miss Thompson. She seems like a bright and intuitive woman, the kind who sees a person's true heart."

"Indeed." He grimaced. "She also puts a lot of stock in her family and their reputation."

Sympathy filled Nora's eyes. "But you've changed so much."

"I'm not certain it will be enough."

Nora shook her head. "It's not."

Jacob fake-clutched his chest as though she'd wounded him.

"None of us are good all the time. Try as we might, all of us, at some point, will fall short." She glanced at Robert, and a warm smile spread across her face. "Love is about relationship, knowing each other deeply, our hopes, dreams, fears, and mistakes."

Her words resonated. It hadn't been enough for him to know Christian was alive. He'd never be content to stand at a distance and merely send him money or gifts. He wanted a relationship with his son.

Like how God wanted a relationship with him.

The Father-son dynamic illuminated Jacob's life in a new light, and a verse floated in his memory. We love Him because He first loved us. God knit Jacob together in his mother's womb. He knew him inside and out, good and bad, and loved him, anyway. God desired a relationship with Jacob.

Jacob glanced up at the chandelier, though his focus was far higher. Lord, I want You to be part of my life, and with Your guidance, I want to be part of Christian's life.

Robert said something to make Emily laugh, and Jacob caught the lighthearted joy in her expression.

And Emily's life.

The song ended, and Jacob guided Nora to meet Emily's parents. His brother and Emily joined them. Politeness required that he dance with Miss Dorsham and Lady Dorsham, since they were their hosts and of a similar status. If he didn't, it would draw attention in such a small town. Jacob snorted. Since when did he care about maintaining appearances?

But the answer was clear. Since God had sent an angel to wake him from a dark, sin-filled sleep. He stole a glance at Emily's rosy cheeks and eyes that sparkled with festivity. He'd dance with a clubfoot dowager if it meant he could enjoy one more dance with Emily.

He excused himself and sought Miss Dorsham to fulfill his obligation. He found her near the refreshment table.

"Miss Dorsham, may I have the next dance?" He bowed.

She flipped open her dance card and trailed her index finger down the names. "Oh yes, there you are, squeezed in between Sir Kenneth Pembrook and Mr. Mathis."

He'd signed her dance card when he arrived—she'd seen him do it. If she was going to be petty, then he, too, could be difficult. Instead of offering his hand, he crossed his arms.

The corners of her mouth tilted into a tiny frown, but she rounded on Sir Kenneth with a wide smile. "Thank you for partnering with me." She stepped closer and whispered something to him behind her fan.

The man blushed the colors of a sunset.

"Please excuse me," she said to Sir Kenneth, who, with a nod, backed away. She tucked her gloved hand around Jacob's elbow, and he led her onto the dance floor.

"You are playing a dangerous game."

She shrugged one shoulder.

He gave her a little shake, encouraging her to look at him. "You think you're in control, but things get out of hand quickly. Your new friends, Lady Benton and Lady Charlton, use others to get what they want. They don't care about you."

She snorted and scanned the ballroom. "Neither do you."

"You're wrong." He wanted to strangle her, but Emily's words echoed in his mind. Phoebe is a passionate, caring person who simply wants to be wanted. Her parents don't show their love unless she's performing. Hadn't he done much of the same? Acted out to get his father's attention, and then Sarah's after she'd rejected him?

The waltz started with a promenade, and he led her through the steps. "I care because Miss Thompson cares."

She stiffened and turned her head away.

"Listen." His stern voice drew her attention. "Miss Thompson considers you a good friend, and she sang your praises despite the contradictory actions I've witnessed in you. You are blessed to have such a loyal friend, especially considering you treat her poorly."

"I have done nothing of…" Miss Dorsham faltered a step, and he helped her recover. Her gaze flicked about the room until it landed on Emily, and her lower lip trembled.

Emily stood alone against the wall with her hands folded in front of her. Why? Why had no one asked Emily to dance, even though the men outnumbered the women?

She was too lovely, respected, and witty to be a wallflower.

His grip tightened. "Why is no one dancing with Emily?"

Miss Dorsham chose to stare at his waistcoat.

Jacob wanted to rush to Emily's side. But he needed intel, and Miss Dorsham had it. "What have you done?"

"Nothing." She tried to brush off his question and focus on her footwork, but Jacob would have none of it.

"Tell me the truth, or I'll disgrace you by leaving you here on the dance floor."

Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

"Not only that, but I'll leave the party and take the marquis and marchioness with me." He broke their dance hold.

"No, please." She clung to his jacket.

He stared her down.

"I was angry because she'd stolen you. She knew I'd set my cap for you."

"What did you do?" He hadn't meant the words to sound menacing, but there was no taking them back.

"I slipped and told Lady Benton that Emily's real mother is an opera singer. I didn't mean to. The gossip spread like wildfire."

Jacob's stomach clenched. "You need to fix this."

Phoebe bit her lip, and lines of remorse marred her pretty face. "I don't know how. It's out there, and there's no way of putting the milk back in the cow."

He'd pressured criminals to confess, but this was different. Should he use the intelligence he'd gathered as their coachman? He glanced at Emily, holding her head tall despite being ignored. It wasn't for personal benefit. It was for Emily. He narrowed his gaze on Miss Dorsham. "A secret for a secret, then?"

Miss Dorsham gasped loud enough to turn heads. "She told you?"

"Not Emily." He led her through a turn.

" He told you?" She blanched whiter than the pearls encrusting her gown.

"Let's merely say I overheard a conversation not meant for my ears."

"It was you. You were pretending to be our coachman the night of the Simmons' party." Miss Dorsham's voice lowered to a horrified whisper. "The night by the river." Her grip tightened on his sleeve. "You wouldn't. I'd be ruined."

"Isn't that what you did to Miss Thompson?"

Miss Dorsham looked as if she might get sick. The song ended, and he walked her the long way around the dance floor. They needed more time before he returned her to her parents.

"I didn't think." Phoebe's lip trembled. "I was angry."

"Did hurting your only true friend make you feel better?"

"No." Her chin lowered, and she walked in silence for a moment. "What do I do?"

"Tell Emily the truth and ask for her forgiveness."

Miss Dorsham wavered as if she might faint, but he wouldn't let her fall into hysterics.

"Next, you need to spread the truth, that the rumor had been spread out of malice and that Miss Thompson is a reputable young woman and a good friend." He led her straight to Emily's side.

"I believe the two of you need to talk." He bowed, spying Peter Mathis eyeing him with a jealous scowl from behind a nearby pillar.

" Y ou look pale. Is something wrong?" Emily cupped Phoebe's hand between her own.

"I'm going to be sick." She ran from the room.

Emily waited, her concern for her friend in her condition overriding her wariness of the impending conversation. She'd already suspected, by the way people treated her, either Phoebe or Lady Dorsham had let the truth slip about her birth mother.

Phoebe returned looking weary and pale and dabbing at the corner of her mouth. "Why are you being nice to me when I don't deserve it?"

She wanted to rile at her so-called friend, but Scripture rang in her heart. Forgive each other as the Lord has forgiven you.

Phoebe blinked, clearing the glassy look in her eyes. "I know you've already figured out what I did. You were always the smart and talented one." Her chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I was hurt that Lord Warren's affections were for you and not me. And I'm so frightened that I won't be able to pull off a wedding"—her voice squeaked—"in time." She hung her head. "If I were you, I'd never forgive me."

She should worry about what her secret, revealed to the whole town, would mean for her future, her parents, and Christian, but Jacob's words rang in her ears. Don't you think God will provide a way? Can't we trust Him to cover the sins of your parents and the sins of my past?

Jacob was right. As a vicar's daughter, she should have known that. She located chairs near a pillar and gestured for them to sit. "What you did was wrong and hurtful, but Jacob has taught me that God will make a way in the wilderness and wastelands."

From her seat, Emily tracked Jacob to where he stood next to his brother. The marquis was handsome, as the gossipmongers had stated, but Jacob even more so. Next to his brother, Jacob was at ease. He could speak to anyone and make them comfortable and wasn't afraid to take on a challenge like Brownstone Hall. He was observant and amusing, confident and humble.

"You love him, don't you?"

Emily's gaze snapped from Jacob to Phoebe's blotchy, tear-stained face. "I?—"

"We all thought you'd marry Peter, even Peter."

"He told you I haven't accepted his proposal?"

Phoebe nodded. "I ran into him at the market and again tonight in the hallway. We spoke, and he truly listened to me."

"Mr. Mathis is a good friend. He's the logical choice for me to marry."

"Why?" Phoebe gave her a funny look. "You don't love him." She tapped her chin. "I don't even think you enjoy his company—at least not in the way you enjoy Lord Warren's." Her gaze drifted to the wall above Emily's head. "Peter is too strict, too controlling for you. I'm the one who needs someone to tighten the reins. You'd be miserable marrying him." She frowned. "But that's the idea, isn't it? You feel the need to punish yourself because of your mother's mistakes. As though you don't deserve love. But what about all that redemption your father preaches?"

Phoebe peered hard into Emily's eyes as if desperate for the answer, but Emily had no words.

"Am I forever unlovable because of my mistake? Is my child doomed for my sins? I realize I must suffer the consequences, but has my mistake made me worthless? Will God toss us away like trash, much like society will do when they find out?" She scooped up Emily's hand. "Does suffering earn God's love?"

"Of course not." Emily shook her head, but Phoebe's words hurt like a finger pressing on a bruise. "Jesus paid the price. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

Phoebe's brows lowered. "Then why are you still trying to climb on the cross and pay for your sins and that of your mother?"

How had everyone else seen the truth before she did? "You're right. The stain of sin is gone." Emily placed her other hand over top of Phoebe's and remembered Jacob's words. "I can forgive you, my mother, even myself because so much has been forgiven me."

Phoebe glanced across the room. "Lord Warren can't take his eyes off you. He loves you. It's time for you to tell him you return his sentiments."

"I couldn't." Her breaths quickened. What of Jacob's father and Jacob's life in London? "I fear?—"

"If it's God's will, then wouldn't disobedience be a sin—especially when Lord Warren loves you and you love him back?" Phoebe held up a finger to stay a gentleman coming to ask for a dance. "Peter helped me understand I've ended up the way I am because I wasn't putting God at the center. I placed what I wanted above God's best for my life. But you've been living out of fear, which is also not God's best. Haven't you read Song of Solomon? You and Jacob have that kind of love, and if God has blessed you with such a gift, why would you turn it away?"

"I—"

Phoebe pressed her hand over her mouth and gripped Emily's hand.

"Are you all right?" Emily prepared to escort her friend to the closest chamber pot.

Phoebe closed her eyes and waited a moment. She opened them and inhaled a deep breath. "I can't go to London. My plans are ruined, and so am I."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I can't keep any food down." She slumped in her chair. "I can't go to London for the Season and be sick the entire time. People won't want to be around me." She choked on a sob. "They'll suspect."

"Oh, Phoebe." Emily wanted to put her arm around her friend, despite all the hurt she'd caused, but it would draw attention in front of the guests. Instead, she patted her friend's hand. Would Phoebe's parents send her away? Disown her and their grandchild? Their family name would be tarnished. They'd never be able to appear at another gathering of the ton. All the Dorshams' connections and ambitions would be for naught.

Peter Mathis appeared from around the pillar, his expression stern.

Merciful heavens. What had he heard?

Emily shrank against the wood chair as his form shadowed the light from the blazing chandelier.

"Miss Thompson, I must beg your forgiveness for misleading you." His Adam's apple bobbed. "I had every intention of marrying you out of duty to your family and our friendship, but I've been in love with someone who's been out of my reach. Until now." Mr. Mathis looked at Phoebe, who covered her face with her gloved hands.

"How could this night get worse?" Phoebe murmured against the satin fabric. "Emily's in love with Lord Warren and now Peter confesses a secret love. All my friends shall marry, and I'm destined to be desperate and alone."

Mr. Mathis pulled Phoebe's hands away from her face and knelt in front of her. "Phoebe, I've been in love with you for years. It's always been you, but you were above my station with grandiose plans. You would have despised being the wife of a gentleman farmer, but now…" He dug into his pocket and glanced about to ensure no one else watched. He pulled out a sapphire ring. "Will you accept the protection of my name?"

"What?" Phoebe blinked. "You would have me?"

He nodded.

Phoebe leaned in and whispered. "You'd raise someone else's child as your own?"

"I will raise your child as my own."

Phoebe stared at her hands, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Time seemed to stretch into a long moment, but then a wide smile broke across her face. "Yes. Of course, I will marry you. You've always been more than a friend to me, the man who I've needed."

Mr. Mathis slid the ring on her finger. "We'll need to speak to your parents posthaste."

Phoebe blanched, but Mr. Mathis stood.

"Miss Dorsham?" He held out his hand. "May I have the next dance?"

The glow returned to her face. "Most definitely."

Wow.

Emily watched as Peter and Phoebe stepped onto the dance floor before scanning the room for Jacob. Her gaze met his above the crowd gathering to speak to the marquis and marchioness. The tenderness in his eyes wrapped around her like a shawl, and the pull between them grew stronger with each passing second.

Lord, Your ways are higher than our ways. I'm trusting You .