Chapter 6

CHAPTER6

Emma glanced up from her cup of weak coffee, trying to catch the eye of the elegant woman opposite her at the breakfast table. But Joanna was fixated upon buttering her toast, her dedication to covering every speck almost too intense.

Meanwhile, Marina was yawning her way through the morning’s papers and Nancy, who had arrived in the early hours of the morning, was at the service table, spooning more eggs onto her plate.

“I really am sorry, Your Grace,” Emma mumbled.

Joanna, Marina, and Nancy all raised their heads.

“YourGrace,” Emma repeated, pointing her chin at Joanna.

Joanna’s lips tightened into a thin line. “And I have told you several times already; it is quite all right. You do not need to keep apologizing to me. You are forgiven. Or, rather, there is nothing to forgive.”

“But… you fainted because of the strain I caused you last night by attending your ball,” Emma said, tears stinging her eyes as she quickly looked back down into her cup.

Nancy gave a soft laugh. “It was not because of you, sweet Emma.”

“Joanna, you must put the poor thing out of her misery,” Marina encouraged, smiling.

Joanna rolled her eyes and set down her butter-smeared knife. “I fainted because… I am with child again, Emma. I did not want to tell too many people in case it does not take, but… my sister and cousin are right, you deserve to know so that you will cease punishing yourself.”

“Oh…” Embarrassment bloomed in Emma’s cheeks.

“And do not refer to me as ‘Your Grace’, either,” Joanna said, more softly. “You are my aunt’s goddaughter. You are as good as family. Call us by our names. At least that way we shall not all raise our heads when you address us.”

Nancy chuckled. “It is rather amusing, though. We are like the spaniels when they hear a shot.”

Emma took a sip of her cooled coffee, unable to resist one more gesture of apology. “Joanna, if I had known I had no official invitation, I would not have come. Please, do believe that.”

“She knows and she believes it,” Marina interjected, sighing. “Even now, my darling mother does as she pleases. You could not have known that she was bending the truth when she said you were invited.”

Nancy sat back down, draping her napkin across her lap. “Where is AuntEliza this morning?”

“Resting,” Joanna replied. “She stayed with me all night, after Emma retired.”

Nancy smiled. “As this is a morning for repentance, I fear that I must apologize profusely for falling asleep in the armchair instead of maintaining an alert vigil at your bedside.”

“Nonsense, sister.” Joanna batted the apology away. “I am just glad that you came, even though I could have smacked Edwin for sending for you at such an hour. You would think I had never done this before.”

“He worries,” Nancy said.

Joanna softened. “I know he does. It is one of the things I love most about him, that he cares so deeply for me, but… he does not realize that, on occasion, his worrying worries me in return.”

Emma observed the conversation, feeling rather out of place. She was practically a stranger to Joanna and Nancy, and even Marina was a rather distant sort of acquaintance, and though Joanna had said that she was as good as family, Emma could not have felt less like she belonged. Except in her own home, perhaps.

A sharp gasp distracted Emma from the intimate chatter of the sisters.

Further down the table, Marina had gone as white as a sheet, her hands trembling slightly on the paper she clutched.

“Marina?” Nancy spoke first. “Is something the matter?”

Marina immediately folded the papers and shoved them under her plate. “Not at all. I just… um… remembered that I was supposed to visit a friend this morning.”

“A friend?” Joanna canted her head. “You know someone all the way out here?”

Marina’s eyes twitched. “Yes. A… uh… childhood friend. I quite forgot, and she will be so very cross with me. I should retire to my chambers and write her a letter of apology at once.”

She moved to take the papers with her, but Emma was faster. Nor did Emma believe there was a jot of truth in Marina’s floundering story. She dove halfway across the table and swiped the papers from underneath Marina’s plate, before rocking back into her chair.

“Emma, do not!” Marina yelped.

“My name is in the scandal sheets.” It was not a question. It was already written across Marina’s face.

“Emma, please,” Marina urged. “Give those papers back to me. I was not finished with them.”

And though she knew her position among these women was already on very thin ice, Emma ignored Marina’s plea and opened up the papers, searching for the smaller pamphlet that held her fate in its ink. It slid out, landing on her thigh.

Discarding the ordinary papers, Emma held up the scandal sheets and took a breath, before turning to the first page.

Wretched Runaway Tramples on Propriety! the article declared.

Emma’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach as she read on: Where else would a degenerate find sanctuary, but in the household of a duke with a reputation as dire. The ball at Bruxton Hall is always a curiosity of the season, drawing guests in droves, but there was a new mystery last night—namely, what possessed the duke and duchess to invite the infamous runaway bride?

With two jilted grooms behind her, and disgrace chasing her, any respectable lady—or, rather, any lady with a shred of respect left—would have hidden away or taken themselves to a nunnery. Instead, in a display of astonishing gall, Lady Emma did not only attend the ball at Bruxton Hall, she waltzed with quite a few gentlemen, flirted outrageously with several more, and was rumored to be rather intoxicated.

“It is not true,” Emma whispered, crestfallen. “That is simply not true!”

It is, however, no mystery who is behind such an abhorrent spectacle. The Duchess of Bruxton is the niece of a particular gossipmonger, who I shall refer to only as “The Magistrate,” for my own safety. And, dear reader, Lady Emma just happens to be The Magistrate’s goddaughter.

So, it stands to reason that there was an element of blackmail at least, to ensure that Lady Emma received an invitation. As such, we must ask ourselves, what did the duchess do that was so terrible it could have persuaded her to invite a fallen woman?

I call upon you all to hold your nerve, lift your chins, and hold propriety and honor in your hearts, for without that, there can be no polite society. I call upon you all to shun these women of wickedness, and to show your collective outrage by refusing to ever attend a ball at Bruxton Hall again. Save your reputations.

If we do not make our stand now, then our society shall crumble before our very eyes.

“Eliza said… Eliza promised that she had prevented this,” Emma rasped, her heart cracking—more for Joanna than for herself. “She swore this would not happen.”

Joanna cast a sideways glance at Marina. “What does it say?”

“It is damning,” Marina admitted, fanning her face with a napkin. “For you and for Emma.”

Nancy gasped. “No, that cannot be! My sister is well-respected and well-liked. She has never done anything to warrant the disapproval of society.”

With a shaky breath, Emma read out everything the scandal sheets said, until hot droplets began to fall onto the pages, making the wretched ink run. If she could have obliterated all of it with her tears, she would have.

“I am so very sorry, Joanna,” she whispered, closing the scandal sheets. “I wish… I could take it back. I wish I could return to yesterday and choose not to attend. I wish⁠—”

“Wishing will not fix this,” Joanna interrupted, though not unkindly. Rather, she sounded like a vexed mother. “But Edwin can. He is more powerful now than he was when we met, and that storm was harder to weather than this. It will not affect us, dear Emma. Only ladies will respond to that unjustified order, and they will have forgotten it by next season. As for the gentlemen—they will simply laugh about it with my husband, and nothing will change.”

She sounded so certain, but Emma could no longer see reason through the dense mist of anger and hurt that swirled in her mind, nor could she feel anything but the guilt that twisted and knotted in her belly. For a fleeting moment, she eyed the door to the rear of the breakfast room, fearing she might be sick again.

“I should leave at once,” she said, scraping back her chair. “I cannot stay in this house where I was never a guest, ruining everyone’s reputations as badly as I have ruined my own. Perhaps, I might consider that writer’s suggestion and take myself to a nunnery. Cleanse myself of my sins and never trouble any of you again.”

I should not have trusted in Eliza.

Her heart clenched. She had asked again and again if she was truly invited to the ball at Bruxton Hall and, every time, Eliza had insisted that she was. And when Emma had suggested that it might not be the best idea for her to attend, even if she was invited, Eliza had brushed off the notion and encouraged her to show a brave front.

It was Nancy who came around to Emma’s side of the table, putting an arm around her. “We have all had our… unpleasant encounters with the scandal sheets, Emma. We have all emerged unscathed. You will, too.” She gave Emma a squeeze. “Venturing off in a state of upset will do you no favors, nor will seeking out a nunnery.”

“You are welcome here,” Joanna insisted. “Do not leave until you are truly ready. We will shelter you here for as long as you need.”

Marina sighed. “And you are undoubtedly safer here than you are at my mother’s residence. I warned her that her hold on society was not what it once was, but she would not listen.” She paused, giving a brittle laugh. “Indeed, I suppose I am partially responsible for that. My marriage softened her, and she has lost too much of her bite. I defanged her.”

“The solution, as I see it, is simple,” Nancy said, too brightly. “We must throw everything we possess, collectively, into finding you someone you like and then we must hasten toward a wedding.”

“A wedding is what got me into this debacle in the first place,” Emma lamented feebly. “Two, actually.”

Marina rubbed her throat, turning the flesh pink. “Can Marcus be persuaded to take the blame?”

“I… would not ask him to do that.” Emma shook her head.

“Well, I would,” Marina said, looking very much like her mother for a moment. “Indeed, I shall. As soon as I have settled my nerves, I will write to him and implore him to ease this burden for you. Perhaps, it may even work in his favor, for if he is shunned then he can marry that maid he so adores.”

Joanna and Nancy both voiced their agreement, stalling any protest that Emma had felt inclined to make. Maybe, now that she thought about it, that was the best course of action. As long as Marcus agreed, of course.

“In the meantime, dear Emma,” Marina went on, “you must behave as if you have not seen that awful article, and as if you have done nothing wrong. That is the only way to weather a scandal. I have seen my mother do it a hundred times and utter ignorance and obliviousness is always the way to proceed.”

“Behave as a gentleman would,” Joanna said slyly.

Emma tried to smile, but tears kept streaming down her cheeks. “My father will assuredly cast me out for this. I will never be allowed to return home. I will never be allowed to see my sister again and… oh, my dearest Lydia—they will marry her off at the earliest opportunity, if only to prove that their good name is not beyond salvation.”

At that, she crumpled, bracing her hands against the breakfast table to keep upright. She could bear any scorn or derision thrown at her. She could bear all of society’s slings and arrows, but she could not bear the thought of Lydia being forced into a union she did not want; a union of pure loveless business, all because of her reckless actions.

Let me take it back, she prayed silently, desperately. Let me take it back. Let me return to my wedding day. I will walk all the way to Marcus this time; I swear it.

But the clocks did not reverse, the room did not change, and she was not transported back to the moment she had messed everything up.

“Her father has promised to cast her out if she is not married within the month,” Marina said, by way of explanation, to her cousins. “After that, she will be prohibited from the house, the grounds, and lose contact with everyone within.”

Nancy gave Emma another reassuring squeeze. “As my sister said, you are as good as family to us, and as your temporary adopted family, we shall beat your father’s ultimatum. We shall find you a gentleman in the month. A gentleman you will not even think of running from.”

“That is not my primary concern,” Emma admitted with a wavering smile and a hollow laugh. “Even if I do not run the next time, I am quite certain the groom will.”

The other women laughed kindly, but the sound did not soothe Emma. She had not meant it entirely in jest, and with that article in the scandal sheets, who on earth would risk an offer of marriage? It would have to be a madman or someone as desperate as her.

Just then, the butler entered the breakfast room, raised an eyebrow at the odd arrangement of the ladies therein, and bowed his head. As he stood to his full height again, he announced, “there is a visitor in the drawing room, Your Grace.”

Joanna glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. “A visitor at this hour? Who is it?”

“He would not give his name, Your Grace,” the butler replied tightly, as if the fact irked him. “He said only that he was expected.”

“Expected?” Joanna frowned. “By whom? By Edwin?”

The butler shook his head. “He merely said, “by a lady of the household, and would not specify which. If he has lied to me, I can send him on his way. It would be no trouble at all.”

“No, no,” Joanna murmured, twisting the gimmel ring that she wore on her left hand. “Let us see if this fellow has anything of interest to say.”

The butler departed and Joanna, Marina, and Nancy began to head for the door. Emma sat back down in her chair, pouring herself another cup of weak coffee. Evidently, this meeting with the visitor did not include her.

Nancy cleared her throat. “Emma? What are you doing?”

“Am I to come with you?” Emma’s eyes widened.

Marina chuckled. “Before anything else, we must wash out those ears of yours. You are family. You are a lady of this household.” She nodded to the table. “Leave that coffee and allow us to show you how duchesses contend with unexpected, early morning visitors.”

Emma bolted from her seat, pursuing the trio of ladies out of the room, across the hall, and over to the drawing room where the visitor awaited. Her heart beat wildly as she trailed them through the door… and stopped altogether as she saw the man perched on the armrest of the settee, wearing the ghost of a smirk upon his lips.

A madman, indeed.