CHAPTER TWO

Many miles away in Sternwood Manor, Lady Emilia Sterling was lost in Bach’s Concerto in D Minor.

The sun streamed in through the windows beside her, warming her face. It should have lifted her spirits, but she was mired in the past, the music only serving as another reminder of allshe had lost.

Her fingers moved dexterously over the keys of the pianoforte, her eyes closed, her mind shut off from the world around her. The piece wassombre and slow, perfectly suiting her mood.

As it swelled to its crescendo, she felt her right hand falter as her index finger slipped from the keys, and she was catapulted back to two years before. Her jaw clenched at the memory as she returned to the beauty of Countess Blackmoor’s drawing room.

Seats were arranged before the piano, waiting for the concert to come, and Emilia felt the familiar buzz of excitement skittering beneath her skin as she waited for her turn. There was nothing in her life that she loved so much as performing.

The concert had been one of her greatest triumphs, her performance faultless. She had received acclaim from many high-ranking members of the Ton, and as she left the piano, the son of her host, Lord Julian Blackmoor, approached her to praise her accomplishments.

They had enjoyed a lively discussion about the music, and it was wonderful to talk with another enthusiast about her love of the complex arrangement she had mastered and to receive the same passion in return.

But it wasn’t long before she realised, in the excitement of the moment, that she had forgotten her decorum, leaning into Lord Julian as they innocently extolled the wonders of Mozart. When she looked up, she saw Henrietta Darcy watching them with narrowed eyes. Emilia quickly leaned away from Lord Julian and ended the conversation, but the damage was already done.

Fiercely jealous of Emilia’s abilities, Henrietta was her greatest rival. She had jumped at the chance to ruin Emilia on the world stage.

The following day, parlours all over London were rife with rumours that Emilia Sternwood was using her charm to corrupt a married man. Despite Lord Julian and Countess Blackmoor vehemently denying the rumours, it did no good. The invitations Emilia had grown accustomed to receiving, inviting her to perform at the houses of their acquaintances, dried up almost overnight.

The humiliation of the affair had been hard enough for Emilia to cope with, but it was her parents who were most affected by it. As an only child, her musical talents and accomplishments had been a source of great pride to Lord and Lady Sternwood.

It had been Emilia’s greatest shame to watch her parents' hopes for her fade into nothing. At first, they staunchly defended her to anyone who might suggest impropriety. Still, as the rumours grew wider and more vicious over time, the acceptance and support she had felt initially began to wane in the face of public disapproval.

It was soon apparent that any hope of salvaging her reputation had been dashed to pieces.

Emilia abruptly stopped playing. Looking outside into the sun, she felt the burn against her eyes as she tried to regain her composure.

Her fingers lifted from the keys as she took a deep breath, looking out at the frost-bitten gardens before her. The ice was thick upon the ground, and stalactites had formed overnight in sparkling points at the base of the bird bath in front of the window.

Emilia jolted violently as the door to the drawing room opened, and her mother entered. Lady Camilla Sterling swept into the room, careless of interrupting her daughter's practice. She was followed by Catherine, their overeager maid, who carried a large tray laden with tea and cake before her.

Her mother did not apologise to Emilia or even glance in her direction. Emilia’s stomach clenched as her mother sat on the settee, patiently waiting for her daughter to join her, not saying a word.

Catherine bustled about laying the tea down for them and settling a plate of small cakes in the centre before hurrying out. Emilia dutifully rose and made her way to sit opposite her mother.

“That was rather mournful,” her mother said as she poured her a cup. “I prefer it when you play more cheerful pieces.”

Emilia bit her tongue and forced a smile. “I shall play something like that tomorrow then.”

They sat in awkward silence for a few more minutes, Emilia longing for the time when she and her mother spoke for hours on a variety of subjects without pausing for breath, but those days were gone.

Lady Sternwood had always claimed that she understood her daughter’s predicament, that in her heart, she knew Emilia had done nothing wrong. But Emilia still felt that her mother blamed her for the position the Sternwood family now held in society. They were no longer of the elite class they had once enjoyed.

“The Christmas party is approaching us,” her mother said suddenly, lowering her teacup to her saucer and spearing Emilia with a long stare. Her brown eyes were dark and heavy against her copper-coloured hair.

“Yes, Mama, I am looking forward to it,” she lied.

“Your father is most eager that you make the acquaintance of the Duke of Elderbridge. He is a revered gentleman and has met your father several times. He is quite willing to overlook the scandal with the Blackmoors and has recently rejoined the marriage mart after the loss of his wife.”

Emilia’s fingers tightened around the handle of her teacup, sipping it carefully. She had learned long ago that speaking her mind too quickly generally got her into trouble. The idea of marrying Benedict Easton, the Duke of Elderbridge, repulsed her. He was twice her age—more so at forty-eight—and had six daughters fully grown. She could well imagine why he wished for a wife—he would want a son.

Emilia nodded as she noticed her mother waiting for a response.

“I see,” she said cautiously, “have you met him, Mama?”

“I have not, but I trust your father implicitly. He would not recommend someone he did not believeworthy.”

Worthy of a woman who has been disgraced and cannot expect anything better, Emilia thought bitterly.

She loved her parents, but her relationship with them had changed beyond recognition since the scandal. They were both hesitant to allow her any freedom and did not seem to notice that their continual references to their daughter’s limited options in society caused her daily pain.

She longed to play in a room full of people again, but that time was also over. She would have to content herself with playing melancholy pieces in the privacy of her own home.

As she considered that bleak prospect, the door to the drawing room opened again, and their butler entered, bowing to the room.

“My Lady, the Fairfaxes have arrived,” he said stiffly, and behind him, Catherine entered again with another tray of tea for their guests.

Emilia’s heart rejoiced as Lord and Lady Fairfax entered, followed by their daughter Charlotte. The two younger women had been best friends since childhood, and her presence was a balm to Emilia’s soul. As Charlotte entered, she gave Emilia a meaningful look and it was clear there was much for them to discuss once their parents had begun conversing.

The Fairfaxes all sat down. Elizabeth Fairfax was the same age as Camilla Sterling, and the two women were similar inbeliefs and temperament. Charlotte and Emilia had grown to be experts at navigating their mother’s changeable wills.

Emilia’s father soon joined them, and he and Lord Fairfax quickly began to speak of the gelding that the latter had recently purchased. Emilia’s mother launched into a tirade to Lady Fairfax about the stresses of hosting a Christmas party and how preparations were progressing. Indeed, Emilia had never seen so much ribbon as had been delivered to the manor in recent weeks. Her mother was determined to show that she was capable of throwing the best Christmas event of the season.

Charlotte sat opposite Emilia, the unspoken conversation between them palpable as Emilia’s mother moved on to the excellent Duke of Elderbridge and all the wonderful things he had accomplished in his life. After enduring this for a further ten minutes, Charlotte dutifully mentioned that she longed for some fresh air and she and Emilia escaped before their mothers found someone that Charlotte could be married off to, as well.

As they closed the outer door behind them, Emilia gave a sigh of relief. Her breath formed in great clouds about her. It was brutally cold, and she was grateful for her muff and hat.

The day was crisp, and the sky was heavy with the promise of snow. The edges of the lawns were lined with fir trees hanging low to the ground, and the women walked along the paths arm in arm, their feet crunching over the crisp ground in unison.

Emilia made it a reasonable distance from the house before she stamped her foot and scoffed so loudly that she startled a robin pecking at the earth nearby.

“The Duke of Elderbridge ,” she spat as Charlotte’s arm tightened around hers. “I declare he is over twenty-five years older than me, with six daughters, three of whom are unmarried and must be younger than I am! Apparently, this is all I can expect from the world of suitors now. The cast-offs of widows who are willing to overlook a scandal that did not even happen.” She kicked a stone viciously along the path as they walked, her nose almost numb already from the bitter cold.

“I cannot believe they are considering him,” Charlotte replied with cold fury.

“Why would they not consider him? I have no other prospects. I cannot set foot in any hallway or drawing room in the country without someone wondering if I will steal their husband!”

“Emilia,” Charlotte said with a long-suffering sigh, “that is simply not true. You are highly regarded amongst our close acquaintances and everybody knows you did nothing wrong. I blame the countess for her dismissal of you. It was badly done. She has not even tried to visit you.”

“If she were to visit me, it would only intensify the rumours,” Emilia retorted. “And to think I once had one and twenty suitors willing to dance with me and five invitations a week for private concerts. Now, if I were invited to a funeral, I would be surprised.”

Charlotte snorted loudly, and Emilia glanced at her friend to see her smiling reproachfully. Her good humour was contagious, however, and they both began to laugh. Despite her simmering anger, Emilia’s mood lifted at Charlotte’s presence.

“If I were to die, I would ensure you were invited to my funeral,” Charlotte said reassuringly.

“I am so grateful, Charlotte, thank you. But if you were to die, I would insist that you haunt me so I have someone to keep me company.” Charlotte’s tinkling laugh carried over the air. “And as I understand it, the estimable Miss Henrietta Darcy is the bell of the ball these days.”.

Charlotte scowled. “She was at a recital I attended recentlyandhad the audacity to come and speak to me.”

“Charlotte, my love, I would never expect you to reject her entirely purely on my account.”

“Oh, it is not only on your account, I assure you. She is a vicious creature. I cannot abide being in the same room with her for more than five minutes. She speaks of herself in the third person and uses the royal ‘we’ whenever she refers to her practice of the piano. Vile thing.”

Emilia squeezed her friend’s arm, feeling a rush of affection for her. Charlotte rarely spoke of the scandal unless Emilia brought it up herself, and it was refreshing to hear her so furious about it nearly two years later.

“But I would not lose hope,” Charlotte continued. “The duke may be eligible, to be sure, but there will be other men at the Christmas ball who might be to your liking. Nothing is certain, and it has been along time since the rumours began. Your family is hosting this event, and your mother will largely control what will take place. There can be no expectation for fresh scandal, and you will be able to play before the company for the first time in months. Focus on that if nothing else. I have longed to hear you play for months.”

“You are right,” Emilia replied with a sigh. “I am sorry Charlotte, I am being very petulant today. I suppose it is a fresh wound upon a wound to learn that I am on the shelf already.”

“None of that. You, my dear, are the most beautiful woman in the world,” Charlotte declared, her voice firm yet soft.”

“This is why I adore you,” Emilia said warmly. “You always lift my spirits.”

“It is my duty, after all. I will not see you so downcast. Have you spoken to your mother of your reticence about the Duke?”

Emilia sighed heavily. “It would be quite hopeless. All my parents think about now is how they will marry me off. I do not fault them; I am well aware that my isolation has weighed heavily upon them both, but Mama would not understand. To her, an eligible marriage bears far more importance than my own sentiments.; she has made that abundantly clear.”

“Well, It pains me to hear it,” Charlotte stated wearily, “yet, in her fashion, she does care for you.”

“She does. But any closeness there once was between us has slowly degraded over time. If I were to broach the subject, it would be yet another argument at the end of an already tumultuous year. It would get us nowhere.”

“Then let us not lose hope that the duke may meet you and be utterly repulsed by your haggard appearance.”

Emilia laughed loudly, and Charlotte grinned. They continued on beneath the weak winter sunshine, walking past the frozen pond and crisp, silent grasses immobilised by frost.

However, Emilia’s smile slowly faded as she considered the upcoming party. She usually loved Christmas; it had once been her favourite time of year, but it felt tarnished somehow. The shine very much dimmed, even as the house became more and more festive around her.

Perhaps she would find someone to her liking at the party. Yet, there remained the troubling question of whether he would be able to look beyond the shadows cast by her past. No one in society was ignorant of the rumours that clung to her—unfounded though they were—and the more one endeavoured to refute such talk, the more it seemed to mark one as a liar.

It was a cruel truth, but the fact that a widower wanted to wed her was an unpleasant sign of what was to come. Only a desperate man would want her.

It had been two years, and yet sometimes, it felt like her disgrace had only happened yesterday. She looked up at the white sky, the clouds heavy with snow, and prayed that this Christmas, her fortunes might change.

She squeezed Charlotte’s arm and felt an answering tightening against her own.

My future may hang in the balance over the coming days, but at least I am not alone.