CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Emilia held her glass aloft like an automaton, forcing a smile onto her lips and keeping her eyes above the heads of the crowd. She could not bear to meet Adam’s gaze.

“To the happy couple,” the crowd chanted, and glasses chimed around the room.

Emilia was not spared from seeing the reactions of the duke’s daughters, however, no matter how much she tried to avert her gaze. Their presence was like a dark shadow in the corner of the room, eating away at the merriment of the rest of the group.

The three girls were positioned at the front and to the side of the hearth. As the yule log burned ever more brightly and Lord and Lady Sternwood accepted many offers of congratulations, the duke’s daughters stood silently like statues, watching their father in apparent disgust.

Sophia was better at hiding her feelings than the others. Penelope looked revolted but was attempting to smile. Caroline was tearful, and Emilia could see her holding her older sister’s hand.

Sophia’s bright blue eyes, so like her father’s, met Emilia’s, and the hate and anger in them almost made her step back to hide behind the duke’s large body.

She ripped her gaze away, not wanting to see the unhappiness in his daughter’s eyes match her own. But as soon as she did so, her gaze alighted instead on the one pair of eyes she had dreaded. In the centre of the crowd, standing still as stone, was Adam Bentley. The usually soft and warm expression on his face was a mixture of horror and fury. Emilia’s heart lurched at the sight of it, and everything came crashing down.

There were voices all around her: whispers, sighs, and high, shrill laughs that cut through her brain like glass. She could not focus on anything, the blood pounding violently and loudly in her ears. She fought to keep herself upright, but there was blackness at the edge of her vision.

She imagined Adam striding forward, a mask over his face, his eyes cold and angry as he looked down at her as though she were nothing. Adam would look at her with pity and loathing and he walked from the room, never to be seen again. The thought wasa fresh lance of pain through her chest.

Her mother’s smiling face was on the edge of her vision, and Emilia knew, above everything else, she must uphold her honour. She could not be seen to let her mother down now. As far as her parents knew, their wildest hopes had just been made a reality. She could not let them down. Not again.

Emilia staggered to the side, her hand loosening from the duke’s grip. Elderbridge turned to her, his broad smile fading as he frowned. Slowly, the smile on his lips faded to a snarl of irritation as she felt herself stagger sideways again.

She had never swooned in her life, but with the emptiness in her mind, she knew that must be what was happening. Blackness was edging into the sides of her vision. It was as though time stood still, her own body moving as though through molasses, a syrupy slowness to her movements as she watched her hands flail wildly into the air in a wide arc.

She fell backwards into the oblivion that had finally come to claim her. The thought of it now was a welcome one. She longed to sink into the darkness of the world, to be lost to it where no one could find her and be at peace, away from the suffocating pain of losing Adam forever.

There were shouts and cries of dismay on the edge of her hearing as she felt her hip jar against the floor just before her head hit the cold surface. The pain was staggeringly sharp, and she sighed, trying to right herself and stand up again, but it was no use. She fell back, the coldness of the floor seeping into her skin as she lay helplessly on the ground.

The last thing she remembered was a shape above her and a hand cradling her head. Somewhere nearby there was a frantic voice, sheer panic in every syllable as it called for a physician. It sounded like the Earl of Bellebrook, but she knew that could not be the case.

Adam will never look at me again.

At the sight of her friend’s distress, Charlotte shoved her way through the guests, careless of the unhappy looks she received from those she removed from her path.

Emilia’s crumpled form hit the floor just as Charlotte reached the front of the hall, and she darted forward as a familiar and welcome presence arrived at her side. Lord Spencer strode forward, all authoritative composure, clearing a path for her to get to Emilia’s prone form.

Charlotte hurried forward, kneeling at Emilia’s side. She risked a glance upward at the duke, but he had already turned away and was speaking in a low voice to Lord Sternwood. Charlotte could have kicked him for his arrogant, disinterested expression.

Charlotte turned away, rage coursing through her veins at the man's audacity. If she could have dragged Emilia away from this place and never allowed her to set eyes on the duke again, she would have done it in a heartbeat.

In the next instant, Lord Bellebrook was kneeling beside her, leaning over Emilia.

In comparison to the duke, Adam’s face was ashen pale. His eyes searched Emilia’s face, and his hands fluttered over her as though unsure whether to touch her.

“We should get her to her room,” Charlotte said decisively as Lord and Lady Sternwood came forward, both of them frowning and looking genuinely concerned.

Charlotte bore them no ill will for what they expected of their daughter, but she was not going to sit by and allow them to give the duke authority over what happened to her friend. He was just the type of man who would command a room, and Charlotte did not believe he had any place in deciding what was in Emilia’s best interests.

“Send for a physician,” Charlotte said, about to say that a footman could carry Emilia to her room, but her voice died in her throat as Adam gallantly lifted Emilia from the floor.

Adam’s expression brooked no argument, and with a brief nod to Lord Sternwood, he carried her from the room with Charlotte and his cousin in his wake.

They left the duke standing uselessly in the great hall, a grimace on his face as he watched Lord Bellebrook’s retreating back. He made no attempt to help his future wife, glaring after them all as though they had orchestrated the whole affair.

Adam carried Emilia’s limp body up the stairs, his heart pounding, his lungs straining at the panic that threatened to consume him. He was grateful for Lionel, who was asteady force at his side, striding up the stairs and opening a door ahead of him.

Adam only registered it must be Emilia’s bedroom when Miss Fairfax followed him inside as he laid Emilia gently down upon the bed. She was still deathly pale, but he could see her chest rising and falling gently.

A heavy hand on his shoulder made him jump, but as he turned, he saw Lionel’s concerned face as his cousin nodded toward the door.

“We should leave the ladies to it. A physician has been summoned,” Lionel said gently, and Adam allowed himself to be led from the room. He knew he could not linger, yet his mind and body screamed at him never to leave her side.

He looked back at her prone form and felt the same all-encompassing fear as he had felt by his mother’s side and then by Anastasia’s. He would not sit idly by while another woman he loved was ripped away from him.

As the door closed behind the two men, Charlotte pushed some hair from Emilia’s forehead, squeezing her hand and stroking her cheek.

“Emilia?” she whispered. “Emilia, darling? It is Charlotte. I am here.”

She took hold of Emilia’s hand, but it was cold and clammy. Charlotte looked at the clock on the wall. It was late in the evening, and she only hoped that the doctor would be able to reach them soon. It was Christmas Eve, yet all of the season's joy had been snuffed out. She sat utterly still, watching Emilia’s face as the snow fell past the window, wondering what would become of them all now their world had fallen apart around them.

***

As Lionel and Adam reached the bottom of the stairs, Adam could hear the hubbub of many voices from the great hall and was grateful when Lionel swiftly led him into the quiet of the library. He did not have the strength to answer any questions just now.

The door snapped shut behind him as Lionel took some of Adam’s weight and pushed his cousin into a chair, walking to a small drinks cabinet in the corner of the room and pouring them both a large glass of brandy.

He returned to Adam, handing him the glass, which the other man took, staring at the amber liquid inside it as though he had never seen such a thing before. His eyes were glazed and unseeing. It was so horribly reminiscent of when Anastasia had died that Lionel felt a jolt of fear in his heart.

Could Adam take this kind of pain again? Could he come back from another loss? He simply did not know.

“She will be alright,” Lionel said decisively, wishing too that he could have stayed with Charlotte to comfort her. She had looked pale and frightened, and he had hated to see it.

All he wanted to do was take her into his arms and tell hereverything would be alright. Lionel was more determined than ever to express his intentions now. If he had not had to support his cousin, he would have marched straight up to Lord Fairfax and asked for her hand right at the moment.

“What can it mean?” Adam’s voice was a whisper. “She told me she hated him. She told me she did not wish to marry him. She accepted my hand ! What is happening?”

Lionel sat opposite him as they both took a long swallow from their glasses.

“It must be a mistake,” Lionel stated quickly, voicing what he had felt in his heart as soon as the duke had made the announcement. “Emilia’s reaction is not one of a woman who is excited at the prospect of marriage. You said her parents approved the match? Perhaps this is their doing, and she has had little or no say in it. It would not be the first time.”

“She is betrothed to me,” said Adam, not hearing him. “She told me she would accept me; she danced with me… I felt… I cannot…”

Lionel leaned forward squeezing Adam’s hand none too gently.

“Listen to me,” he said firmly. “We will get to the bottom of this.”

Adam stared at him, swallowing around the evident emotion he was trying to conceal.

“I do not deserve happiness. Perhaps this is what I get for—”

“No!” Lionel said, almost shouted it and Adam jolted in his chair. “We will not speak of such superstitions. There must be an explanation, and I will find the cause.”

The two men sat together, nursing their drinks, Adam not speaking at all. Lionel watched his cousin with a heavy heart, wondering what on earth could have led to this disaster.

In the great hall, the guests were still murmuring about Emilia’s health. The duke had retreated to a large window, waiting to hear news from Lord and Lady Sternwood, and was being largely ignored and allowed to be alone following the collapse of his betrothed.

Lord and Lady Fairfax were muttering together in a corner while the Marchioness and Countess spoke urgently to their daughter across the room.

Frederick stood beside the yule log, watching the merry flames dance over its surface with joy in his heart and a discreet smile on his lips. He glanced at his mother, who was asleep in a chair on the other side of the room, and then returned his gaze to the flames.

He held a glass of port in his hand. The servants had all dispersed to seek physicians and see to the family, so there was a considerable lack of service. He had almost drained his glass, but there was just enough left to raise it silently to himself and toast his good health.

Things could not have gone more perfectly, he thought cheerfully. It is only a matter of time now. I am sure that Adam will not be able to take this fresh blow.

Now, it was just a case of securing his future. He glanced up at the duke’s back, outlined against the falling snow pattering against the black window before him, and finished his port with a single swallow.