Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Emma

T he following week, Emma sat in her chamber, drumming her fingers impatiently on the vanity as Brigitte, her French lady’s maid, busied herself with pins and powder. The mirror before her reflected her own dubious expression, and Emma sighed heavily, casting her eyes to the ceiling.

“Oh, mademoiselle,” Brigitte chided with a smile, her lilting accent lending a touch of charm to her words. “You will have a marveilleux time this evening, I am certain. You have already missed several of the season’s best gatherings, and you simply cannot miss this one. Surely not with your dear brother back in town, non?”

Emma glanced at her reflection, pursing her lips. “I could find countless ways to occupy my evening far better than at Almack’s,” she said dryly. “In truth, I’d much rather stay here and continue my writing. I’ve just finished a new tale for the children at the orphanage—a little adventure, inspired by Goody Two-Shoes, but with a heroine who is a touch more… defiant.” She allowed herself a small smile. “I thought it would amuse the girls, perhaps even inspire them.”

Brigitte nodded thoughtfully, though a flicker of disappointment crossed her face. “I am certain that the children would adore it, mademoiselle, but it would be wise not to cross your brother. Le marquis has been telling everyone how excited he is to make his return to Almack’s, with you as his honored sister by his side. To refuse him would be…”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. It would be unthinkable.” She sighed, casting another long look in the mirror. Ever since Alexander had insisted on accompanying her and acting as her chaperone for the season, she had lost whatever faint enthusiasm she might have had for the event. But then again, her sisters Arabella and Hanna would be there, and they had spoken of little else for weeks, eager to see their family united in the eyes of society. Emma knew, reluctantly, that she couldn’t abandon them.

“Very well, Brigitte,” she relented, squaring her shoulders. “Continue with my hair and rouge, though there’s no need to fuss. I have no intention of dazzling anyone tonight.” Her voice held a determined edge, as if daring the evening to defy her intentions.

Brigitte gave her an indulgent smile, her nimble hands working swiftly through Emma’s hair. “Perhaps you may dazzle en dépit de vou,” she murmured softly. “And who knows? You may find yourself pleasantly surprised. It is Almack’s, after all. There is always the chance of encountering someone… unexpected.”

“Before my father’s arrest, that was all I wanted,” Emma admitted, her tone suddenly wistful. “A good man to whom I could entrust my heart, my future. But now… well, none of it matters to me anymore.” She glanced up, half-expecting Brigitte to offer the usual platitudes about fortunes changing and love conquering all.

Instead, Brigitte’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “It is indeed a shame you are so reluctant, for I should have thought you would be eager to see Lady Ophelia again.”

Emma froze, her heart leaping at the name. “Ophelia?” she repeated, hardly daring to believe her ears. “Ophelia is… back?”

Brigitte nodded. “Oui, mademoiselle. I spoke to Jeanne—Lady Ophelia’s maid who is, as it happens, my cousin—just yesterday. She told me that Lady Ophelia and her family returned only yesterday from Italy. They have been away a long while, non?”

Emma’s eyes lit up, her initial reluctance vanishing in an instant. “Good heavens, I cannot believe it. Ophelia, after all these years?” She clasped her hands together, the excitement bubbling in her voice. Memories flooded back—her years as a girl, those quiet afternoons when she’d played with dolls, wander the gardens and share secrets with her closest friend. For a time, Ophelia had been the one person in whom Emma had confided, her first true friend.

Emma smiled, her gaze drifting as she recalled those days. Arabella and Hanna had always been inseparable, their shared experiences binding them together in a way Emma had never quite understood. It had been Ophelia who had filled that gap, a sister in spirit if not in blood. But when they’d turned twelve, Ophelia’s parents had forbidden the friendship, citing the tarnished reputation of Emma’s father, who was in his cups more often than not by then.

They had managed to meet secretly for a time, at mutual friends’ gatherings or in Hyde Park, where lenient governesses would permit them brief moments of companionship. And yet, shortly before Emma’s fifteenth birthday, Ophelia had delivered the heart-wrenching news that her family would soon be leaving England.

“She went to Italy,” Emma murmured, almost to herself. “Her grandmother was unwell. And just like that, we were separated.”

Brigitte nodded sympathetically. “Indeed. They were there for so long. I have missed my dear cousin. I am surprised you did not know that her grandmother passed away some months ago.”

Emma shook her head. “I have not heard from Ophelia for some while.”

“I see. Bon. They stayed on after the grandmother passed, for the mourning period, but now they have returned. And Lady Ophelia will be at Almack’s this evening.”

A strange, almost foreign sensation crept through Emma as she absorbed this. For the first time in months, she felt a genuine spark of anticipation for a social gathering. Ophelia—her dearest friend, her lost confidante—was back. She thought of all the letters they had exchanged over the years, each growing shorter as life and distance wedged itself between them. The last letter, nearly half a year ago, had spoken of a young Italian gentleman Ophelia was fond of, of dreams of marriage and new beginnings.

Things had certainly changed since then. Emma glanced in the mirror, catching sight of her own reflection as if for the first time, and for the first time in months, she felt a flicker of that old, youthful hope.

“Oh, Brigitte,” she breathed, a smile softening her face. “It seems I may be looking forward to this ball after all.”

Emma and Alexander arrived outside the famous Almack’s Assembly Rooms, an imposing building known for the stringency of its social rules as much as its exclusivity. The exterior was grand yet understated, with columns flanking the entrance and large windows glowing warmly from within. In her years of attending, Emma had grown accustomed to Almack’s rather sober facade, but tonight it struck her as more forbidding than usual. Perhaps it was the looming presence of her brother beside her, his recent return stirring emotions she hadn’t fully reconciled.

Alexander glanced at her. “You do have a voucher, I presume?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes appraising.

Emma raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Of course I do,” she replied with a haughty tone, though privately she cringed. She had nearly forgotten about securing her voucher entirely, so absorbed had she been with her charitable work. It had only been thanks to Arabella and Hanna’s gentle insistence that she had remembered to acquire one in time.

As they waited to be admitted, Emma surveyed the other attendees, the ladies wrapped in silks and satins, the gentlemen in their somber evening coats. The air was thick with anticipation, and the hum of soft chatter floated out from the vestibule. Almack’s was the hub of London society, a place where reputation and decorum reigned supreme. It was, as she thought with faint amusement, the most respectable court of judgment one could find outside of Parliament.

“It’s been more than a decade since I set foot here,” Alexander mused, glancing about with an almost nostalgic expression. “They had nothing like Almack’s in Galway, you know.”

Emma nodded absently, offering no comment. She wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, especially not with him. But Alexander continued, undeterred.

“I can scarcely believe I’m back in London,” he went on, his tone contemplative. “And now, a marquis in my own right, with my own estates to manage. I daresay the ladies will be setting their caps at me before long.”

“Lucky them,” Emma replied dryly, though a pang of bitterness settled in her chest. She turned away, hoping her disinterest would end the conversation.

Alexander exhaled, as though summoning patience. “Emma, I truly want us to get along. I’ve missed you,” he said quietly. “I know you’re angry with me, but surely you can’t stay angry forever?”

Emma turned back to him, her gaze steady and cold. “I am not angry, Alexander. I’m disappointed. I cannot trust you. I will never trust you. We can be civil to one another, but that is all.”

He seemed to take in her words, his expression hardening. “If civility is all you can manage, then that will have to do for now,” he replied. His tone was clipped, but before she could respond, their progress was interrupted by the slow shuffle of guests being admitted through the doorway ahead.

Alexander broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. “Have you seen our father?”

Emma’s expression tightened, her tone sharp. “In prison, you mean? Do you honestly think I would ever set foot in Newgate to see him? As if his actions haven’t already disgraced our family enough. If I am seen there, my reputation will be even more tarnished.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow, catching the defensiveness in her voice. “But didn’t you just tell me that finding a husband doesn’t matter to you anymore?”

“I speak of my work at the orphanage, not marriage.”

The line moved ahead and, and Emma and Alexander stepped inside Almack’s, where one of the renowned patronesses awaited them. Lady Sefton herself, elegant in lavender silk and adorned with a string of pearls, extended a gracious smile. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she looked Alexander over, her gaze both approving and intrigued.

“My dear Lord Howe!” Lady Sefton exclaimed, extending a bejeweled hand toward him. “What a remarkable honor to welcome you back to Almack’s, no less!” She laughed lightly, almost conspiratorially, as though they were old friends.

Hypocrite. The last time I was here she looked down on me because father had just been arrested.

“We all heard of your achievements across the Channel. The marquisate bestowed by sheer merit—well, that is an accomplishment few in your station could boast. And dare I say, a change from your father.”

Alexander inclined his head, polite but not fawning. “You’re very kind, Lady Sefton.”

“Oh, not kind, merely observant,” she said with a delighted chuckle, clutching his arm as though she’d claimed him for her very own success story. Her glance slid briefly over Emma, her smile lingering just a bit longer on Alexander. “There was a great buzz when we learned of your return,” she continued, eyes flickering up at him with a trace of admiration. “I daresay you’ve been away for far too long. Why, London has missed you terribly.”

Emma felt herself stiffen, knowing the patroness had glanced right past her, dismissing her presence entirely. Still, she said nothing as Lady Sefton motioned them forward, her gaze on Alexander.

Emma glanced sidelong at Alexander as they moved away, noting the way he sighed just slightly, his shoulders falling an inch as the encounter ended. She could tell he’d sensed the same discomfort that had laced Lady Sefton’s words, even if he would never admit it.

They were finally free to enter the ballroom, and the hum of conversation, the rustling of fans, and the gentle strains of music enveloped them at once. Almack’s was a vision of soft candlelight and elegant decor, the cream and gold walls framed by Corinthian columns, and gleaming chandeliers casting a warm, inviting glow.

As Emma scanned the crowd, she caught sight of her sisters, standing with their husbands near the far side of the room. They joined their family and quickly animated chatter erupted as her siblings and their husbands acted as if no time had passed, as if Alexander had always been among them, not miles away without seeing them for sometimes years on end.

Emma, however, stood beside them, not in the mood for such chatter. Instead, her eyes scanned the ballroom for Lady Ophelia. She had to see her dear friend and tell her everything that had happened these last few months before she heard it all from someone else and thought will of Emma’s family.

“Who are you looking for?” Hanna asked, eyebrows arched in curiosity.

“Lady Ophelia,” Emma replied, trying to sound casual. “I heard she recently returned to England.”

Arabella and Hanna exchanged glances, a spark of understanding passing between them. “Ophelia?” Hanna asked, surprised. “You didn’t know she was back? Did you not get her invitation.”

“Invitation?” Emma asked, confused.

“To her wedding tomorrow,” Arabella replied as if it were the most natural thing in all the world.

“Wedding?” she parroted. Was Ophelia getting married to her Italian man? Massimo? Maximus? She could not quite recall.

“Didn’t you know she was back to marry the Duke of Wells?”

Emma felt her stomach drop. “Married?” she repeated, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice. “Ophelia is… marrying the Duke of Wells?”

Arabella nodded. “She and her family returned a little while ago. Apparently, her father saw fit to match her with a man of title and considerable means.”

Emma’s face fell. “The Duke of Wells?” she murmured, almost to herself. “But he’s notorious—a philanderer if ever there was one.” She could hardly reconcile the gentle, kind-hearted Ophelia she knew with a man of the Duke’s scandalous reputation. “I saw him in Hyde Park just last week, fawning over some young debutante.”

Alexander cleared his throat delicately. “Well, perhaps he’s… a bit flirtatious,” he offered, his tone diplomatic.

“A bit?” Emma scoffed, recalling the rumors. “They say he carves a notch into his bedpost for every new conquest. By now, there can hardly be any space left.”

Edwin’s expression grew serious. “One must take rumors with caution, Emma. Were we to believe every tale, people would think I had murdered my own brother.” An awkward silence fell, and Hanna squeezed Edwin’s arm, smiling up at him.

“Indeed,” she said quietly, “and I was once foolish enough to believe such gossip. Emma, it was you who told me to trust my own heart rather than idle words.”

Emma met her sister’s gaze, but her mind remained on Ophelia. “This is different. I’ve seen the Duke’s behavior myself, not only at Hyde Park but at countless balls over the years. And the way he looked at that woman…” She shuddered. “It was clear they were… well-acquainted.”

Arabella laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Do you think confronting Ophelia about this will change her mind? If her family has already arranged the match…”

Emma hesitated, casting her gaze down. She couldn’t bear to think of her friend bound to such a man. “I must find her. She deserves to know what he truly is.”

Alexander stepped in, his expression stern. “Emma, you should take care not to interfere in other people’s affairs.”

She shot him a look. “And when have you ever kept your nose out of ours?”

“Emma,” Hanna said but she no longer listened to him. Instead, she spun around and rushed away into the crowd, determined to find her long lost friend and save her from a horrible match.