Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Emma

T he following morning, Emma remained secluded in her chambers, her heart heavy and her thoughts clouded with regret and humiliation. Shadows played across the walls, marking the slow passage of the morning hours, yet she felt as though time had stopped entirely. She could not face the world, nor the consequences of her own actions. Ophelia’s words echoed in her mind again and again and along with them the images they invoked of the future both she and her friend were now facing.

It wasn’t until later that morning when a soft knock sounded at her door. Startled from her dark reverie, she sat up in bed, barely managing to gather herself. To her surprise, her sister Arabella stepped in, her face lined with worry.

“Emma…” Arabella’s voice was gentle as she closed the door behind her. “Alexander sent for me. He’s dreadfully worried about you. As am I.” She took a seat on the edge of Emma’s bed, her hand resting gently on her sister’s arm. “And I heard what happened at the orphanage.”

Emma’s face fell further as she leaned her head back against the bed’s headboard. “It is worse than you know, Bella,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s more than the orphanage. I saw Ophelia last night. She...she despises me now.” She took a shuddering breath. “And she has every right to. Everyone was correct, after all. I should never have meddled in matters that weren’t mine to fix.”

Arabella’s eyes softened with sympathy, but she did not interrupt. She listened as Emma poured out the details, sparing nothing—she told her about Ophelia’s arrangement with the Duke of Wells, about Ophelia’s secret love, and how Emma’s interference had shattered everything. It all came spilling out, the twisted knot of her own mistakes unraveling before her sister.

“Ophelia had a future planned with the man she loves, Bella,” Emma whispered, her voice cracking. “And now, because of my actions, she has nothing. I ruined it all for her.”

Arabella absorbed her words, her expression one of pained understanding. “Emma, I’m not going to say, ‘I told you so,’ because that isn’t what you need. But…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I cannot help but wonder what has happened to you. You used to be the sensible one—the cautious, practical Emma, the one who always advised us to step back, to examine before acting.”

Emma looked away, biting her lip. “I don’t know either,” she admitted, the weight of the confession bearing down on her. “I barely recognize myself anymore. Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, it’s as if I’m seeing a stranger staring back. I suppose…” Her voice trailed off, but after a moment, she continued, “Maybe it’s all these changes. You and Hanna—you’re married now, while our father is…gone. I failed to secure a husband before Father’s imprisonment, and now, all those prospects are lost forever. I’m not who I used to be.”

Arabella’s hand tightened around Emma’s, her expression one of tender encouragement. “I understand, truly. But you must believe me, when I say that this shall pass. It feels insurmountable now, but in time, things will settle.”

Emma shook her head, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Every door seems closed to me. Ophelia won’t speak to me, my reputation is in tatters, and the orphanage—the one solace I had—no longer wishes me there.”

Arabella searched her sister’s face, sensing there was more, something deeper troubling her. “Emma,” she said softly, “what do you mean, every door is closed? Surely there are still options. Have you truly considered all of them?”

Emma’s gaze dropped to her lap, her voice barely a whisper. “There is…one option left to me,” she said, almost as if the words themselves were bitter on her tongue. “To marry the Duke of Wells.”

Arabella’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she was silent. “The Duke of Wells?” she repeated. “What on earth are you saying?”

Emma sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples as if trying to relieve the headache building there. “At the wedding… he told me I’d pay for interfering, that he’d ensure I’d suffer for my part in it. And then, suddenly, the newspapers were filled with sordid stories, details I can only imagine he arranged to see published. He made it clear that he meant to ruin me if I did not comply.”

Arabella’s expression softened, though she still looked concerned. “Emma, how can you be certain it was him? Gossip spreads, as you well know, and everyone at the wedding could have witnessed enough to piece things together.” She hesitated, a thoughtful look in her eye. “I’ve heard people talking, Emma. People knew you’d written the letter—Ophelia’s family spoke freely of it.”

“That is what Ophelia said as well,” Emma’s head fell back against the headboard, her eyes closing as she let out a long, frustrated sigh. “It hardly matters if the Duke himself is to blame or not. It’s already happened, and my reputation has suffered irreparably.” She looked away, her face flushed with shame. “The only thing left is to marry him,” she said quietly. “And, perhaps, try to salvage what remains of my name.”

Arabella shook her head, frowning. “Emma, please—don’t speak of this as if it’s your only option. We can help you find a way out of this. Why must it be the Duke? Perhaps a baronet or someone else of decent standing could?—”

“No,” Emma said firmly, sitting up. “Marrying some random baronet won’t restore my reputation. Society loves a scandal, yes, but they love a redemption story more. And the only way to redeem myself is to accept the very consequences of my actions.” Her words grew bitter, yet resolute. “The Duke is right in their eyes, after all. Both he and Ophelia are written about as victims. I was reckless and caused untold harm. If I married him, I could at least lay the scandal to rest. Perhaps my disgrace would fade, eventually.”

Arabella studied her sister, her own eyes filled with sorrow. “But are you certain of this? Have you truly spoken to him since the wedding?” She sighed, her voice tinged with worry. “It’s been a fortnight since that day, and he hasn’t reached out to you at all. Are you quite certain he truly intends to go through with his threat? Could he not simply have spoken in anger?”

Emma stared down at her hands, twisting the edge of her sleeve between her fingers. “If he didn’t spread them, then I suspect he’s seen the stories, that he’s just waiting for me to come crawling to him.” She forced a bitter smile. “It’s all very convenient for him, don’t you think?”

Arabella reached out, cupping her sister’s cheek. “Emma, you’re assuming the worst. What if he was simply furious at the time and has since reconsidered?” She hesitated, glancing away as if thinking deeply.

“Ophelia said the same, that he was a good man. But then she also said I deserved to be unhappily married. I suppose that shall be my fate. I will go and see him.”

Arabella gave her a pointed look. “Emma, let Alexander accompany you, if you must. You know he’s the head of the family now. Whatever you intend to do, he should be involved.”

Emma stared at her sister, her emotions swirling in a storm of resistance and resolve. She didn’t want Alexander to come along. Part of her recoiled at the idea of facing the Duke, of confronting the man she’d wronged, and of admitting to herself how far she’d fallen. Bringing Alexander would make it so much worse. Yet another part of her—the pragmatic, determined part she’d nearly forgotten—understood the truth in Arabella’s words.

“If I must go…” she murmured, feeling the weight of the decision settle heavily upon her shoulders. “Then I shall prepare myself for it.”

Arabella gave her hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sadness. “Whatever you decide, Emma, you are my sister, and you’ll never be alone in this.”

Emma swallowed, nodding as she looked away, her mind already filled with the daunting task ahead. She would go to the Duke and tell him she’d marry him – if that was what it took to restore her reputation.

The rumble of the carriage wheels filled the silence between Alexander and Emma as they wound their way through the sprawling countryside toward Haddington Manor, the estate of the Duke of Wells. Alexander watched his sister out of the corner of his eye, his gaze flicking back and forth between her resolute expression and the passing scenery. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but steady.

“Are you truly certain about this, Emma?” he asked. “There may yet be other paths open to you.”

Emma kept her eyes fixed out the window, watching the rolling hills and clusters of ancient trees blur past. “Yes,” she replied softly. “This is the only way I can fix things, Alexander.”

He sighed, shifting slightly in his seat as if searching for another angle. “You’ve considered speaking to others? There are still gentlemen of decent standing who could?—”

“No.” She cut him off, her voice as cold and unyielding as the winter’s wind. “This is the only way to restore what little honor I have left. Besides, I deserve this.” Her fingers clenched the edge of her skirt as if bracing herself against the weight of her own words. “An unhappy marriage.”

Alexander’s face softened as he studied her, his earlier frustration giving way to a compassion that made Emma avert her gaze. “You don’t deserve that, Emma,” he said quietly. “You made mistakes, yes, but you tried to do right. You’re a good person at heart, despite this… misstep.” He let out a long breath, his expression conflicted but sincere. “I only wish you wouldn’t condemn yourself so thoroughly.”

Emma held his gaze for a moment before looking away, her eyes fixed on her gloved hands. The silence returned, but it felt heavier now, filled with the weight of all that had been left unsaid.

In the quiet of the carriage, her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the man himself. Could Ophelia have been right about him? Could the Duke truly be more than a rake and a scoundrel, as he was so often called? The question unsettled her, and yet, here she was, prepared to offer her hand to him in a desperate bid for redemption.

The carriage slowed, jolting Emma from her thoughts as Haddington Manor came into view. Her breath caught as she took in the vast estate. The manor itself rose from the landscape like a grand relic from another age, its stone facade softened by ivy trailing up its walls and its numerous windows gleaming faintly in the winter sunlight.

Ornate gardens flanked either side, sculpted hedges and dormant flowerbeds hinting at the beauty they would possess come spring. A gravel drive curved up to the main entrance, lined with towering oaks that cast long shadows over the estate grounds.

The carriage came to a halt, and Alexander stepped out first, offering his hand to Emma as she descended. She looked around, her heart heavy with trepidation. The sheer size of the estate was overwhelming, a physical reminder of the world she was stepping into, a world she scarcely understood.

Alexander watched her closely, his brow furrowed with concern. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Emma,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “I cannot pretend I think this is a wise decision, but I am here for you. If things do not go as planned—if you ever find yourself in need—my door will always be open to you.”

A warmth rose within her, thawing some of the icy resolve she’d wrapped around herself. She looked at her brother with new appreciation, gratitude flickering in her eyes. He had been kind and understanding to her, hadn’t judged her as harshly as she deserved even though she certainly had judged him.

“Alexander,” just as she began to speak, the sound of the door opening broke the moment. A footman stood before them, his gloved hand outstretched as he gestured for them to enter.

Emma felt her pulse quicken as they stepped into the entrance hall, the air thick with an almost palpable tension. She straightened her shoulders, casting one last, steady glance at Alexander, who gave her an encouraging nod.

With one final, deep breath, she prepared herself to face whatever awaited her beyond the doors of Haddington Manor.