Chapter 38

CHAPTER 38

Emma

T he next morning, Emma found herself standing in the drawing room of her sister Arabella’s home. Evan hadn’t returned until late the previous night and hadn’t risen yet by the time she left. This did not bother her, though she was rather curious to find out what Evan might have discovered.

“Married life must suit you; you look positively radiant,” Arabella said with a smile, drawing Emma from her thoughts.

Emma laughed softly, more out of habit than genuine joy. “It has been, thank you. As do you. Pray, where is Hanna?”

“Delayed, as is usual for her,” Arabella said with a grin.

As they took their seats on the settee, Arabella continued, her tone shifting slightly. “I saw Alexander yesterday,” she said, watching Emma closely.

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Yes. He asked me to tell you that he wishes for you to call on him soon,” Arabella said carefully.

Emma was silent for a moment, her gaze distant, before she replied, “I shall, then.” A faint smile touched her lips. “I find myself much more inclined to forgive him these days—for leaving us when we were children. Perhaps I understand better now the pressures he faced.”

Arabella’s expression softened with relief. “I’m glad to hear it. He may have made his mistakes, but I believe he’s truly trying to make amends.”

Emma nodded but did not reply further, her thoughts lingering on the paths that had divided their family.

Their conversation soon turned to lighter matters, Arabella eagerly asking about Emma’s new life.

“How are things with the Duke? And how are you finding your new role as a Duchess?”

Emma hesitated briefly before smiling. “It has been... an adjustment, but I am happy. Evan has been like a changed man these last few weeks. He even decided to become a patron at the orphanage.”

Arabella clapped her hands together, beaming. “Oh, Emma, that is wonderful! I knew you’d make a difference. You’ve always had such a generous heart.”

They continued chatting, though Emma felt a little peculiar about not telling her sister about Ophelia and Brigitte’s situations. She usually shared everything with her sisters, but this matter was far too delicate, at least in her opinion. Arabella’s warmth easing Emma’s guarded demeanor. But as the moments passed, Emma’s mind flickered back to Alexander’s invitation, her heart weighed by equal parts curiosity and cautious hope.

It wasn’t until their sister, Hanna, entered the room that Emma’s delicate sense of balance began to waver.

“Emma!” Hanna cried, rushing to embrace her. “It feels like forever since we’ve seen you.”

“Hanna,” Emma said warmly, pulling her younger sister into a tight embrace. “How are you?”

Hanna returned the hug, her expression a mixture of joy and hesitancy as she sat beside Arabella. “I am well. But tell me—what were the two of you speaking of before I arrived? Arabella looked positively delighted.”

Arabella laughed and answered with mock indignation. “Delighted? Well, I am. Emma spent the better part of an hour extolling the virtues of her husband. She’s utterly besotted, and His Grace is a whole new man. I dare say, soon we can call him by his Christian name.”

Emma flushed faintly. “Arabella, truly.”

Arabella only smirked, but Hanna’s curiosity deepened. She shifted on the settee and hesitated, her voice lowering. “I am glad to hear things between you and Evan seem so harmonious. That said…” She paused, glancing at Arabella before returning her gaze to Emma. “I must tell you, I saw Evan recently.”

Emma’s brow furrowed slightly, though she kept her tone light. “Oh? And where did you see him?”

“At Vauxhall Gardens,” Hanna replied cautiously. “It was a few nights ago.”

Arabella tilted her head, her brows knitting in surprise. “What a coincidence! Was he attending a gathering?”

Emma stiffened. She wasn’t aware Evan had been at a gathering, though he had been working in town several evenings this past few weeks. His partnership with Lord Wren had come to an end and he, Jonathan and Mr. Abernathy had been working on an arrangement to part ways with Wren for good.

Hanna’s hesitation deepened, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Not exactly,” she said carefully. “He was stepping into a carriage… with another woman.”

Emma’s heart dropped into her knees and she took a sharp breath.

Arabella’s mouth parted in surprise. “Hanna!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “You’re mistaken. Surely it was someone unremarkable—a servant, perhaps?”

“She did not look like a servant,” Hanna said cautiously. “I … Truly I thought it was one of his birds of frailty. I know you said you and he were in love, but I assumed perhaps you’d made an arrangement allowing him…”

“He’s not even been engaging in rakish behavior in years,” Emma protested. “It was all a front and…” she stopped, not wanting to tell her sisters the whole tale again. Emma inhaled sharply, willing herself to remain composed. “When exactly did you see him? And what were they doing?”

Hanna’s eyes widened slightly at Emma’s tone. “It was late—nearly midnight. I was at the Vauxhall Gardens with Edwin at a soiree and was leaving when I saw them. She was standing by the carriage, and they appeared to be speaking rather… intimately. Then he helped her inside, and the carriage drove away.”

Rose. Her thoughts immediately went to the woman. She wasn’t sure why but if Evan had told the truth about abandoning his rakish ways, then that had to mean the woman he was with was someone he cared about – someone who’d write letters or have letters written to her.

“He was with a woman?” she whispered. “He…betrayed me?”

Arabella interjected quickly, her voice light but firm. “Oh, Emma, it could have been anyone. A cousin, a family friend—even a servant, perhaps.”

Emma shook her head, her tone clipped. “Evan has no cousins, Arabella, at least none in London. And he certainly has no female acquaintance he would be alone with at such an hour.” She drew a steadying breath. “Besides, he was meant to be with Jonathan—the Earl of Weston, and their business partner.”

Arabella frowned slightly. “Perhaps you misunderstood his plans? Men often change their arrangements without thought to keeping us informed.”

Emma’s fingers tightened on her lap, the silk of her gloves creaking faintly under the pressure. “Perhaps,” she said, though her voice betrayed her doubt. After a moment, she added, “There is more. I found letters in my chambers, addressed to someone named Rose. Letters I never read but which… well, they seem personal. They are perfumed and…Far too personal for comfort.”

Hanna’s eyes widened further. “Letters? Do you think they were left there by accident? Perhaps by a prior guest? The chambers were guest suits in the past, you said.”

“No,” Emma said with quiet conviction. “They were placed there on purpose, I am sure. They were far back, not somewhere someone would place something carelessly. And if Rose is the same woman you saw, then I fear she might be someone from Evan’s past, or worse, someone still in his present.”

Hanna bit her lip, glancing uneasily at Arabella. “Perhaps you should confront him directly. Ask him about her. Better yet, read the letters.”

Arabella shook her head. “Confrontation is a dangerous game, Hanna. What if it is nothing? She could harm her relationship unnecessarily. I agree, you ought to read the letters, they might show you it is all harmless and meaningless.”

Emma let out a bitter laugh. “And what if it is something? Am I to sit idly by and pretend I have not noticed?”

Arabella sighed, leaning forward to clasp Emma’s hand. “Emma, I understand your pain, truly. But you must tread carefully. These matters are never as simple as they seem.”

“Simple?” Emma’s voice trembled with suppressed emotion. “Nothing about this has been simple. I have tried to honor my duty, to play my part as his duchess, and yet… yet I feel as though I am being made a fool.”

“Do you love him?” Hanna asked quietly, her gaze fixed on Emma’s face.

Emma froze, the question catching her off guard. Love. The word felt heavy, suffocating. She had never allowed herself to consider it, not fully. “It does not matter,” she said finally, her voice hollow. “Love was never part of our arrangement. I foolishly thought it could be but now …”

Arabella gave her a sad smile. “Sometimes, love finds its way into the most unlikely places, whether we wish it or not.”

Emma stood abruptly, her skirts rustling with the motion. “Thank you for your concern, both of you. But I must go. There is much to consider.”

Arabella and Hanna exchanged worried looks but said nothing as Emma said her goodbyes.

The carriage ride back to her estate was silent, save for the rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestones. Emma stared out the window, her mind awash with conflicting emotions.

Once home, she retreated to her chambers, instructing the staff that she was not to be disturbed. She paced the room, her thoughts spiraling. Memories of the kisses she and Evan had shared flooded her mind, followed by the pain of realizing it might have meant nothing to him. She had opened her heart, if only a sliver, and now it felt as though it had been crushed. She had to know for certain how he felt about her. She had to know if Rose was the woman he’d been with, if she loved him as Emma loved him – and the only way to do so would be to read her letters.

Rising, she moved to her nightstand, where the letters had lain untouched for weeks. Her hand hesitated on the handle before pulling it open. Inside was the bundle—thin, fragile, yet suffused with a weight that felt almost tangible.

Taking it out, she seated herself by the window, her fingers trembling faintly as she untied the silken ribbon encircling the papers. What struck her immediately was how odd the letters were. Letters were usually written on a single large sheet of paper, carefully folded into a compact form that doubled as its own envelope. The outermost page would bear the recipient’s name and address, sealed with a dab of wax. These, however, did not conform to those conventions.

Instead, each letter appeared as a folded piece of plain, unstamped paper, loosely encased in a sleeve of another sheet, blank save for a single name inscribed on the outside: Rose.

Emma’s sharp gaze noted the incongruity almost at once. The ink on the sleeve did not match the handwriting within the letter itself. Whoever had penned the name “Rose” was not the same person who had written the content of these letters. Her breath hitched. These letters had never been sent through the post. They had been delivered—by hand.

Carefully unfolding the topmost letter, she braced herself for what she might find.

The words were few but poignant, each one laced with raw, aching emotion. She read slowly, every phrase a knife twisting in her chest:

I will always adore you, as I have done most of my life. I will love you even if you marry this woman, but know that it pains me that you wish to do this. I know it is not my place to tell you what to do, but know this—despite my harsh words, I love you, and I know you will love me always .

Yours, Rose.

Emma’s hands trembled as she lowered the letter to her lap. This had been written just before their wedding – or perhaps his wedding to Ophelia – either way, it had been written recently.

Her eyes remained fixed on the page, though its meaning continued to echo in her mind. She struggled to reconcile the sentiments written so plainly before her with what she thought she knew of her husband.

There was no mistaking the affection in those lines—affection deepened by years, even decades. The author was not a casual paramour or a passing infatuation. This was someone who had shared an enduring bond with Evan, someone he had trusted enough to keep their letters safe. And yet…Was Evan in love with someone he could not have? Another man’s wife perhaps? Or someone below his station? Was that why he’d reacted so strongly to Jonathan’s romance with Brigitte?

Setting the letter aside, Emma clasped her trembling hands together in her lap and stared out the window. Her heart waged war against itself, torn between anger, pain, and the stirrings of an unfamiliar fear.

For a long while, Emma sat in silence, the crumpled pages beside her seeming to radiate their quiet agony. She could not bring herself to read further—not yet. But the fragment she had glimpsed was enough to leave her shaken.

One thing was now abundantly clear: She could not stay here, could not look at him, could not endure his smiling face and lying words. She had to leave.

And there was but one place she could think of which might provide her with respite.