Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Emma

E mma burst through the doors at the front of St. George’s, her heart pounding as she caught sight of Ophelia crossing the crowded churchyard to an alcove at the far end. Could the Duke have spoken the truth? Had her friend been aware of all of this and she’d ruined her chance? It was true Ophelia loved a commoner but would she have gone so far? No…the Duke had to lie.

He was a scoundrel. A blackmage. He was horrible and haughty and high in the instep. No…. This was all lies, she was sure of it.

Emma’s legs felt heavy as she hurried after her friend, desperate to make things right.

“Ophelia!” Emma called, breathless as she reached the alcove, where Ophelia stood with her family. When Ophelia spotted her, she turned away from her parents and stormed towards the door, her expression cold.

“Why did you do this, Emma? My father said you wrote the letter? Why?” Ophelia’s voice hitched as she spoke, yet it cut through Emma like a knife. Emma took a shaky breath, trying to summon the words to explain.

“I… I thought I was helping you,” Emma stammered, her face flushed. This reaction was not the reaction of a woman who had been saved from anything. The Duke’s words rang in her mind once more.

She looked up at Ophelia, whose eyes filled with hurt and anger. Before Emma could say another word, Lady Braverman, Ophelia’s mother, appeared in the doorway, her face drawn with fury.

“Lady Emma Hayward,” Lady Braverman snapped. “I hear we have you to thank for this?” she said but Emma could not tell from her tone if she was grateful or facetious.

“Mother,” Ophelia interrupted sharply, reaching out and taking Emma by the hand. “Please, leave us.” She pulled Emma outside, out of earshot of the gathering crowd.

As soon as they were alone, Ophelia let go of her hand, taking a step back as she fixed Emma with an accusing glare. “You ruined everything,” she hissed, her voice breaking. “Everything.”

Her throat tightened, and she broke into a cold sweat. She had been so certain she was protecting Ophelia from a terrible mistake, but now… now she wasn’t sure of anything.

“Ophelia, listen to me,” Emma pleaded, voice shaking. “I only did this because I care about you. I thought the Duke was deceiving you! He only wanted a marriage of convenience, and I knew you deserved better. I overheard him at Almack’s last night and he said he intended to continue his philandering ways behind your back. I tried to tell you before, but you were so hard to reach, and…”

Ophelia held up a hand, silencing her. “Emma, I was preparing for my wedding! A wedding that I wanted, more than anything. I know Evan. I know what he is like. You had no right to interfere.” Emma’s eyes widened in confusion, but Ophelia didn’t stop. “I thought you knew me well enough to understand, Emma, but you were too busy playing savior to see the truth.”

“But… what about that man you wrote to me about? The Italian gentleman?” Emma asked, trying to make sense of it. “Massimo, wasn’t it? I thought you were in love with him, not with the Duke.”

Ophelia sighed heavily, her face softening for just a moment. “A lot has changed since I last wrote to you, Emma. I wanted to marry Massimo, but my family would never have accepted him. He is a wine merchant. My father wanted me to marry a duke, not a commoner. He arranged a dinner with Evan when they were introduced by mutual acquaintance while Evan was on a visit to Venice. It was a terrible mess and very clear neither of us was interested in the other but then Evan saw me with Massimo by the canal a few days later and approached me.”

“Approached you?” Emma whispered.

“Yes, to make a deal. He asked me about Massimo and I told him the truth. He proposed this marriage. He wanted a wife because the ton was talking about him not being married yet at his age, and because he needs an heir. I needed a way to be with Massimo.”

She sighed, her eyes turned down. “Evan was going to bring Massimo to England under the pretense of hiring him to work at one of his vineyards. I would have gone there to be with him. The marriage was for show for both of us, so I could be with the man I love and he would have a wife to parade around.”

“And have an heir with? Ophelia, this is terrible!”

“Not more terrible than to be forcible married off to some man I do not care for while the one I love is in another country. Emma, I had everything I wanted in the palm of my hand. But then you came,” Ophelia said, not sounding angry anymore but desperate.

Emma stared at her, speechless. Every word Ophelia said was like a hammer, breaking down all her justifications, all her certainty. “I… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Ophelia,” she whispered, feeling shame burn in her cheeks.

Ophelia’s face twisted in pain. “You acted like you were doing me a favor, but the truth is, you didn’t even ask. I thought of you as one of my closest friends, Emma. Now, I don’t know what to think.”

Emma’s mouth opened to protest, but she couldn’t form the words. “You didn’t tell me, Ophelia,” she finally managed. “You kept this whole plan from me.”

“We’ve barely spoken since I returned,” Ophelia retorted, frustration brimming in her voice.

Emma’s breath hitched. “I was waiting to hear from you! I didn’t even know you were back in England until I heard about the wedding.”

Ophelia’s face faltered. “I wrote to everyone before returning,” she said slowly, uncertainty crossing her face. “I thought you wanted to be left alone. That’s why I didn’t press you when I returned. Besides, my father was so busy arranging the wedding from Italy by the time we got here it was so hectic. I thought you would contact me after getting my letter and knowing I was back. I was going to tell you everything.”

“Well, I never got that letter,” Emma replied, a pit of dread forming in her stomach.

Ophelia’s gaze softened, a frown darkening her face. “Perhaps my mother never sent it,” she muttered, bitterness in her voice. Her mother had never approved of their friendship; perhaps she’d seized the opportunity to discourage it. But even as she considered the possibility, Ophelia’s eyes grew colder again. “But that doesn’t change what’s happened now. You didn’t get the letter, and I didn’t get the chance to explain any of this.”

Emma reached for Ophelia’s hand, but Ophelia pulled away. Desperation clawed at her heart as she stammered, “Maybe I can explain things to your father… Maybe I can fix this.”

“No,” Ophelia said, her voice hollow. “My father has already made a public scene. The Duke’s reputation and mine have been destroyed. There’s nothing you can say that will make him change his mind now.”

Emma’s stomach twisted with horror and shame as Ophelia’s words sank in. All of her intentions to help her friend had only led to ruin. She had been wrong, so terribly wrong. “Please… forgive me, Ophelia,” she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. “I thought I was helping, but I?—”

“I don’t know if I can,” Ophelia interrupted, her voice trembling. “I wanted you by my side, Emma. I was so excited for us to be close again, to share our lives here without anyone’s interference. But you’ve destroyed all of that.” Her voice cracked, and she turned away, gathering her skirts as she made for the door. “I think you should leave.”

Emma’s heart shattered as she watched Ophelia stagger out, her figure slipping through the side door into the dim corridor beyond. The silence that followed pressed heavily on Emma’s shoulders. She took a trembling breath and turned, only to realize that several guests, clustered by the door, had overheard everything. They watched her with varying expressions of judgment and pity.

Her cheeks burned with humiliation, and she lowered her head, pushing past them without a word, her vision blurring with tears. She rushed through the crowd, ignoring her siblings’ concerned calls as she burst out of the church into the golden light of midday.

Outside, St. George’s of Hanover loomed tall, casting long shadows over the gardens and the cobbled street. The grand, ivy-covered stone building stood starkly against the cloudless sky, its ornate arches and stained-glass windows glinting in the sunlight. Around her, guests lingered in small groups, whispering in shocked murmurs, casting sidelong glances in her direction.

Emma staggered toward the edge of the garden, her body trembling, every breath feeling heavy and raw. She rounded the side of the church, where the quiet cloistered garden, hidden from view, wrapped around a small stone wall and burst with autumn blooms in soft shades of red and yellow. Here, shielded by the walls and the rustling of leaves, she collapsed onto a stone bench, covering her face with her hands.

As the enormity of her mistake finally crashed over her, her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, hot tears spilling over her hands. The vibrant garden, so peaceful and full of life, only sharpened the ache in her heart. She had tried to save her friend but had only brought destruction to both of their lives.