Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Emma

T he door to Emma’s home swung shut behind her as she stumbled inside, her cheeks stained with tears and her vision blurred. Her hands shook as she tugged off her gloves, trying to suppress the ache in her chest that had only grown since leaving the orphanage. She had thought it was her haven, the one place where she had purpose. Now, even that was lost. The scandal had seeped into every corner of her life, staining it irrevocably, and she had nowhere left to turn.

As she moved down the corridor, Alexander stepped forward from the parlor, his expression softening when he saw her tear-streaked face. He looked as though he wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but he held back.

“Emma,” he asked, concern heavy in his voice. “What has happened?”

She hesitated, wanting to say something dismissive, to push him away and retreat into solitude, but the pain was too sharp, too fresh. Her words came out in a choked rush. “The orphanage… they don’t want me there anymore. The scandal—my foolish actions—have tainted it. They’re worried it will affect the children and the charity’s standing. They’ve asked me to… stay away.”

Alexander frowned deeply, his brow furrowing. “Emma, I told you before—no good could come from meddling in other people’s affairs. It only brings heartache, especially when?—”

Emma raised her hand sharply, her voice cracking. “I don’t need you to tell me that I brought this upon myself, Alexander. I already know!”

He took a small step back, startled by the force of her words, but he recovered quickly, his voice softening. “I only meant to warn you, to help you avoid this pain. You’ve been through so much already, and I hated to see you…” He trailed off, seeing the hurt in her eyes.

She looked away, her hands twisting in her skirts. “I know you mean well, Alexander, but I cannot bear to be reminded of my mistakes every time I come home. It doesn’t even feel like my home anymore.”

“This is always your home, Emma,” he said firmly, his eyes filled with genuine care. “No matter what happens, you’re always welcome here.”

But Emma shook her head, bitterness twisting her features. “It doesn’t feel like home. It feels like your home. Everything has changed, Alexander. This is your home now, everyone revers to it as the home of the Marquess of Howe, hero of Waterloo.” She took a shuddering breath, fighting back tears. “I have nothing. No husband, and no hope of one. I’ve lost my friend Ophelia, my reputation, and now the orphanage, the only purpose I had left. I don’t need you to tell me that it’s my fault. I already know.”

Alexander’s gaze softened with sympathy as he tried to reach out to her, but she turned away before he could say anything further. She rushed up the staircase, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

As she climbed, Emma passed the upstairs drawing room, catching sight of two Irish maids Alexander had brought from his wife’s household. They were dusting the furnishings and didn’t notice her presence in the shadows outside the doorway. She paused, hearing their lilting voices carrying through the open door.

“Poor Lady Emma,” one of the maids whispered, shaking her head. “I hear she’s been through quite the mess. Scandal in all the papers. No man will look at her now.”

“Aye, it’s a shame,” the other maid murmured. “Seems to me she’s been cursed with more troubles than she deserves. She puts on a brave face, but I doubt she’s as strong as she wants everyone to think.”

The maids’ voices faded as Emma’s heart clenched, and she turned away, her face flushing with shame. Even the staff pitied her. She didn’t want their sympathy, didn’t want anyone’s pity.

It was darkening outside, the night settling early as winter crept closer, casting long shadows across the windows and halls. Her hands trembled as she descended the stairs, and her steps quickened as she fled toward the front door.

She couldn’t stay here another moment, couldn’t bear the suffocating feeling of everyone around her offering sympathy yet thinking her foolish. She had to do something to make things right, to take control of this mess.

“Bring around a carriage,” she ordered one of the footmen sharply. She didn’t bother with a destination until the driver had drawn up the vehicle. “Take me to Lady Ophelia’s residence.”

The ride into town was cloaked in silence. Emma felt the darkness closing in, weighing upon her as they drew closer to Ophelia’s townhouse. When the carriage pulled up to the stately home, she hesitated for a moment, her courage faltering. But there was no turning back. She climbed down and knocked on the door.

A moment later, Jeanne, a cousin of Ophelia’s lady’s maid Brigitte, answered. She gave Emma a wary look, her mouth tightening slightly.

“Jeanne, I am here to see Lady Ophelia. I know her parents do not want me to see her but …”

“Lord and Lady Braverman are out,” she said curtly.

Good! Perhaps a chance to see her after all.

“Would you tell her I am here?” she asked.

“She made it clear she does not wish to,” Jeanne replied.

“Please,” Emma began, her voice pleading. “I just want to see Ophelia. I need to apologize.”

Jeanne’s gaze softened as she studied Emma’s tear-streaked face. “I’d not be helping you after everything you’ve done,” she said, her tone firm. “But Brigitte has told me you’re truly suffering for it. Wait for her across the street at Green Park. If she decides to come, she will.”

Emma nodded gratefully, her heart swelling with hope as she made her way to the park. The early evening light was fading fast, casting eerie shadows over the park’s paths as gas lamps began to flicker to life. She realized how improper it was for her to be out alone at such an hour, but a hollow laugh escaped her as she reminded herself that her reputation was already ruined. What did propriety matter now?

Minutes passed in agonizing silence, each one stretching longer than the last. Just as she began to fear that Ophelia wouldn’t come, she caught sight of her friend’s familiar figure approaching down the path. Under the faint glow of a gas lamp, Ophelia’s face was illuminated, her eyes red and her expression stony. Emma’s heart wrenched at the sight of her.

“Ophelia,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she stepped forward. “Thank you for coming.”

Ophelia crossed her arms, her face cold and guarded. “What do you want, Emma?”

Emma took a shaky breath. “I wanted to apologize, to tell you how deeply sorry I am. I only wanted to help, but I ruined everything. I just… I can’t bear the thought of losing your friendship.”

Ophelia’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shook her head slowly. “After everything that’s happened, Emma, I don’t know if that’s possible. So much has changed… too much has been broken.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged, her heart shattering at her friend’s words. “I know I can never truly make up for what I’ve done, but I—I can’t bear to lose you too. I’ve already lost everything else.” Her voice wavered as she continued. “My reputation, any hope of a future… even the orphanage won’t let me volunteer anymore.”

Ophelia’s gaze hardened, her voice carrying a quiet bitterness. “I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for you, Emma. You brought this on all of us. And while you may have lost your reputation, at least you still have your family. You have a home, siblings who care for you. You’ll be able to live in comfort with them until society forgets, and you’ll go back to the orphanage eventually.” Her voice grew cold. “Meanwhile, I am facing the very real prospect of a loveless marriage to someone my parents choose. I had to endure their relentless questioning, telling them why I wanted to marry Evan. They know about Massimo, about everything.” Her voice broke, and she looked away, her face etched with pain.

Emma felt her heart sink even further. “Ophelia, I never wanted any of this for you. I thought… I thought I was protecting you.”

Ophelia let out a bitter laugh. “Protecting me? By ruining my chances with Evan? Did you think that by stopping the wedding you’d stop my parents from marrying me off to someone else? They are already searching. Before the season is over, I will be engaged to someone else. Someone much worse. Someone who will not let me live my life as I wish the way Evan would have.”

“They are searching for another husband already?”

“Yes, of course they are. I suppose because of your actions they will be more cautious so perhaps I will not end up with the worst of the worst but I will be miserable anyhow.”

A chill settled over Emma as she absorbed the depth of her friend’s anguish. “I can’t believe they would force you into a marriage,” she said. “I thought that… after everything…I cannot believe we are both being forced into marriage.”

Ophelia looked at her sharply. “Who’s forcing you into a marriage, Emma?”

Emma’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked at Ophelia, the flickering gaslight casting shadows over her friend’s face. She took a deep breath, the words spilling out before she could second-guess herself.

“It’s the Duke of Wells. He’s so furious that I ruined his chances with you that he’s demanding I marry him instead. He told me himself—he’d make me pay for what I did by forcing me into this marriage, so he could still have everything he wanted with you.”

Ophelia shook her head slowly, her eyes narrowing. “That sounds just like Evan. He’s always been a pragmatist—he’d never let his plans go to waste if he could find another way.” She looked at Emma with a strange, almost pitying expression. “What’s funny is that I used to think you were the pragmatic one. But here you are, letting your feelings take over.”

Emma felt a swell of frustration at Ophelia’s dismissive tone. “You can’t imagine how much I don’t want to marry him.”

Ophelia gave a short, bitter laugh. “I don’t doubt that, but honestly, I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for you. If you hadn’t meddled, if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to ‘protect’ me, I would be the Duchess of Wells right now. I’d have the title, and I’d be free to settle in a cottage somewhere with the man I actually love.” Her voice softened with a note of sadness. “But that’s not my fate, thanks to you.”

Emma felt a stab of guilt that threatened to buckle her knees. She’d thought she was acting in Ophelia’s best interests, but now she could see, painfully, how wrong she’d been. Her voice was a whisper. “I thought I was helping…”

Ophelia cut her off. “Helping?” Her eyes flashed with hurt. “Do you even understand the consequences of what you’ve done? And who, may I ask, is making you marry Evan, anyway?” She watched Emma closely, her brows raised as if daring her to keep playing the victim.

Emma swallowed hard. “He is. Evan, the Duke of Wells. He told me himself that he’d ruin my name in front of all of London if I didn’t agree to marry him. And the very next day, the papers were full of scandalous stories about me.” Her voice dropped to a resentful whisper. “Clearly, he planted them.”

Ophelia let out a slow sigh, shaking her head. “Evan’s a hothead; he says whatever comes to mind when he’s angry. But he’s not a monster, Emma. He wouldn’t use the newspapers to trap you into marriage.” She studied Emma’s face with something between disappointment and exasperation. “Have you even spoken to him since the wedding? Since all this started?”

Emma shifted uncomfortably. “No. Not since… that day at the wedding. But why would I need to? The papers speak for themselves.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes, looking as though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Emma, do you really think this is all Evan’s doing? You wrote that letter, remember? You handed it to my father yourself. Of course, my family knows about it—they’ve been talking to anyone who will listen. And now the entire town likely knows.” She gave Emma a withering look. “But here you are, still blaming Evan. You’ve learned nothing.”

Emma felt her cheeks flush, guilt and shame twisting her insides, but before she could respond, Ophelia rose to her feet, her face set with a cold resolve.

“Ophelia, please,” Emma whispered, her voice thick with desperation. “Don’t go. I?—”

Ophelia held up a hand, silencing her. “Maybe this is what you truly deserve, Emma,” she said quietly, though her tone was laced with bitterness. “Maybe you deserve to marry Evan after all.”

She paused, her expression softening for a brief, painful moment as she looked at Emma. “Or maybe you don’t,” she added, almost to herself. “Because for all his faults—the philandering, the recklessness—Evan is a good man underneath it all. In some ways, I almost hope you don’t marry him, that you remain as miserable as I am now.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing softly as she disappeared down the dark path, leaving Emma standing alone in the park, the weight of her own actions crashing down on her as heavily as the night around her.