Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

Emma

A fter Brigitte had left, Emma took a few moments to take a deep breath and settle herself. Suddenly, the conversation between Evan and Mr. Hatfield appeared far away.

When she finally exited, she vowed to speak to Evan, to find a way to help Ophelia – and maybe Brigitte as well.

As she entered, Mrs. Havisham smiled at her. “Your Grace, there you are. His Grace has been waiting for you.”

“He has?” she asked and dipped her head to the side.

“He asked that you join him on the terrace when you arrive for dinner.”

Emma frowned. They had dined together each night the last few weeks but never on the terrace – and now? It was getting rather chilly outside. Still, she did not want to disappoint him and a part of her felt a rise of curiosity in her chest.

As she stepped out, the terrace glowed in the dim light of the evening, the flicker of candles set against the dusky blue of the oncoming night. The scent of evening—crisp leaves mingling with the faint smokiness of distant hearth fires—wafted through the air, carrying with it a chill that whispered of the approaching winter. Emma hesitated at the doorway, the grandeur of the scene before her catching her breath.

The table was set with meticulous care, adorned with fine china trimmed in gold and a centerpiece of creamy white roses nestled in dark green foliage. Two braziers stood beside the chairs set up for them. Draped over the back of her chair was a luxurious coat of golden velvet, its shimmer catching the light. It seemed to glow, almost like an offering.

Evan turned from the table as if sensing her presence, his dark hair windswept, his features softened by the candlelight. He smiled, a warm, genuine curve of his lips that stirred a pang in her chest. For a moment, Emma allowed herself to forget the nagging doubts and letters locked away in her room.

“Emma,” he said, his voice carrying a rich timbre that seemed to resonate in the quiet. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

She stepped forward, her feet clacking against the stone, and returned his smile. “And miss this? You’ve outdone yourself. I was not certain what to expect when Mrs. Havisham told me.”

Evan approached her, picking up the coat as he did. “I wanted to surprise you. I think we will be warm enough out here with the braziers – and of course I have another surprise.” He lifted the coat and held it out to her. “I noticed you did not have a warm coat for the coming winter. May I?”

The fabric enveloped her as she slid her arms into the sleeves, the lining soft and warm against her skin. “It’s exquisite,” she murmured, running her fingers over the fine embroidery near the cuffs. “Thank you, Evan.”

For a moment, his hands lingered lightly on her shoulders before he stepped back, studying her as though searching for some confirmation of her happiness. Emma smiled, though the weight of her thoughts pressed against her ribs like a cage. “It’s lovely,” she added, her voice softer now.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, leading her to the table.

As they sat, the first course was brought out—a tureen of white soup, steam rising in delicate curls. Its aroma filled the terrace: rich cream laced with the sweetness of onions, the nuttiness of almonds, and a hint of warming spices. Beside it, a loaf of fresh bread sat on a cutting board, its crust golden and crackling.

Evan took the knife, slicing into the loaf with deliberate precision. The crust cracked audibly, giving way to the soft, airy interior. The sound was unexpectedly soothing, a domestic sort of harmony that made Emma feel, for a fleeting moment, as though this was what true contentment looked like.

“You’ve truly thought of everything,” she said, accepting a slice of the bread and dipping it into her soup. The flavors blossomed on her tongue—velvety, comforting, perfect. “It’s delicious.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Evan replied, watching her with a quiet intensity. “I wanted to do something special before it gets too cold to do so.”

His words, spoken with such care, made her pulse quicken. Was he truly as happy as he seemed? Did he carry secrets in his heart, just as she did? Emma curled her fingers around the stem of her spoon, trying to focus on the warmth of the soup instead of the turmoil swirling inside her.

The sunset painted the horizon in hues of burnt orange and deep violet, a breathtaking tableau that seemed almost too perfect. Evan reached across the table, taking her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, the gesture intimate and grounding.

“I’m truly happy that we’re here together,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “This… this feels right, doesn’t it?”

Emma looked into his eyes, and for a moment, all her doubts seemed to fade. “It does,” she whispered, curling her hand around his. But even as she smiled, but even as she spoke, the many questions that remained unanswered bothered her. She still had not asked him about who Rose was, or found out why he hadn’t posed Mr. Hatfield’s question to her. But it was Ophelia who was at the forefront of her mind. She cleared her throat.

“I wanted to tell you that I saw Ophelia this afternoon, she is rather upset.”

He looked up, spoon still in hand. “What has happened? I know she is facing difficulty due to everything that has occurred, but I’d hoped her father would have found a way to smooth the scandal by now and allow her peace.”

“I am afraid it is not so,” Emma said with hesitation.

He waited, his posture attentive but wary, and Emma felt the familiar tightness in her chest. Forcing herself to press on, she began, “Ophelia is being forced into an arrangement with the Duke of Stearns.”

Evan’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening. “The Duke of Stearns? He’s a widower and many years her senior, isn’t he?”

Emma nodded, her throat tightening. “Indeed. She’s desperate, Evan. She’s even asked me to help her run away.”

Evan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Running away might be the only thing she can do in the moment, but what would she live on? Her family would find her eventually. She’d be worse off than before.”

“I know,” Emma said, her voice tinged with frustration. “But it’s not fair. She can’t be with the man she loves just because he’s a commoner. It isn’t right. She wishes to return to Italy and marry Massimo. If she did, her family could not marry her to someone else without scandal.”

“No, they would not. It would be a scandal they could never recover from. Indeed, if she managed to return to Italy, she could marry him but her relationship with her family would be ruined forever. That is not right either. She adores her family – when they are not pressuring her to do things she disagrees with,” Evan agreed, his voice grim.

The air between them grew heavier as silence stretched. Finally, Emma spoke again, her voice quieter now.

“Do you think we may be able to help her?”

Evan wetted his lips. “I think we can. I am uncertain if assisting her running away is the best thing but if it is all that can save her from a marriage she doesn’t want, it may be all we can do. Allow me some time to consider, please?”

“Of course,” she said and sighed heavily.

“That is not all that is on your mind, I gather?”

“No. I spoke to Brigitte and she and the Earl of Weston… Jonathan …well….”

Evan tilted his head slightly. “What about them?” His tone told her that he already had some idea as to what she was about to say.

“Brigitte says they care for one another. Beyond a mere flirtation. Jonathan visits when he knows you’re not here. He arrives early and lingers after visits. Did you know that?”

Evan sighed, the sound laden with exhaustion. “No, but it doesn’t surprise me. Jonathan’s been distant lately. It’s as if something else entirely occupies him.”

Emma leaned forward, her heart pounding. “He’s your best friend, Evan. If this is consuming him, why hasn’t he spoken to you?”

“I wish I knew,” Evan said, his voice heavy. “I’m so tired of all these secrets, Emma. I wish he’d trust me enough to talk. The last time I brought up the subject, he dismissed it, and he has not mentioned it since. I suspected something was amiss but this? You think them truly in love?”

Emma’s gaze didn’t waver. “From Brigitte’s explanation it appears so. None of this is good, Evan. Keeping secrets isn’t good for anyone—not for Ophelia, not for Jonathan and Brigitte, and not for us.”

Something shifted in Evan’s expression, and Emma held her breath. He looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes searching hers. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Secrets are terrible. We should be honest with one another.”

Her heart raced as his words hung in the air. Did he know about the letters? Was this his way of confessing? She searched his face for answers, but the moment was shattered by a low rumble of thunder in the distance.

Evan glanced at the horizon, then back at her. “We should go inside,” he said, his tone quiet.

Emma rose reluctantly, her mind a storm to match the one brewing in the skies. “Let’s sit in the drawing room and finish this conversation.”

But Evan shook his head. “I’d rather speak to Jonathan. I’ll ride to his estate. I need to know his intentions toward Brigitte.” He kissed her forehead lightly, his touch both tender and distant. “I’ll return soon,” he promised before turning and striding into the night.

Emma stood alone on the terrace, the warmth of her coat doing little to ease the chill that crept into her heart.