CHAPTER THREE

A week later, Emilia stood at the top of the grand staircase, her heart heavy with trepidation as she watched the carriages approach. Sternwood Manor was unrecognisable after her mother’s attentions over the last week, and she had to admit, it looked wonderful.

Practically every surface was adorned with greenery. Ivy and laurel wreaths hung above many of the doorways, and evergreen branches from the gardens were laid across each mantelpiece. The stairs themselves were hung with silver and gold ornaments that sparkled in the candlelight, and Emilia found herself enjoying the sight of them for the first time in many years.

There seemed to be an atmosphere of hope in the house. She had rejoiced in it at first until she realised the cause. Her mother’s good mood, and therefore her father’s, was due to their expectations of the duke and his imminent arrival.

Emilia swallowed as she glanced down the long flight of stairs, trying to get a handle on her nerves. It was the first event of this kind she had attended since the scandal. Even though her parents were the hosts, she still felt on edge and vulnerable in high society again.

Descending the stairs, she joined her mother and father at the doorway, greeting the guests as they entered. Everyone seemed polite and friendly as they passed her, but many in society were adept at hiding their true feelings until they were in private.

The crunch of gravel outside caught her attention, and a magnificent carriage arrived, pulled by a team of four black stallions. Her mother stiffened instantly, and a wave of nausea rushed through Emilia’s body as she recognised who it must be.

Rich as Croesus, she thought irritably, that’ll please Mother.

From the carriage stepped a tall man with greying, dark brown hair. He had a neat beardclipped close to his chin and bright green eyes that peered up at the house with interest. His lips were thin; his face pinched as though he were evaluating everything in his path. Emilia disliked the look of him immediately.

Behind him, three women emerged from the carriage. They were about the same height and perhaps two or three years older than each other. Emilia was reminded of the sisters in King Lear and tried to work out which two were Goneril and Regan.

They had dark hair like their father, were impeccably dressed in the latest fashions, and had a sneering, unpleasant countenance as though their father’s judgments hadpassed directly onto them.

Emilia had never felt such a profound dislike for so many people on sight before, but her father strode forward promptly as the duke ascended the steps and shook his hand.

All of the daughters wore polite smiles now, but their eyes were cold. In perfect unison, they turned to regard Emilia, as though their movements had been choreographed in advance. Their identical brown eyes looked her up and down as one being—it was the most critical appraisal she had ever been subjected to.

Sophia, Penelope, and Caroline Easton. They were a formidable sight. Sophia was the eldest and gave Emilia such an icy glare that she was surprised she was not frozen to the spot. The two younger girls turned to one another to whisper and burst into giggles, receiving a firm glare from their father.

I may become their stepmother in time. Emilia thought hopelessly. What a terrible fate to have thrust upon me.

She stiffened as the duke approached her, a slight smile on his face as his eyes ran over her body in a way that made her skin crawl.

“Lady Emilia,” he said dutifully, bowing to her as her mother watched their interaction eagerly. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He pressed a kiss to her hand, and Emilia compelled herself to relax as he straightened.

“Likewise, your Grace,” she said formally, retracting her hand as soon as she was able and plucking at the edge of her dress as the duke bowed to her parents and made his way into the ballroom. His three daughters followed behind, gliding into the room with an effortless grace Emilia could never hope to achieve.

Emilia could just imagine her future at Elderbridge House, sitting silently amidst her inherited family. She envisioned herself seated at a long dining table, her sole companions her icy husband and his even colder daughters. Perhaps once she had given him the heir he craved, she might spend all her time alone or locked in a bedroom in the tallest tower, waiting for her knight to come and rescue her.

As Emilia was considering her future and the dim prospects before her, another carriage drew up to the manor. In it, Adam sat with his aunt and Lionel. He watched the house slowly grow larger out of the window and was wracked by a deep sense of uncertainty. Nerves rumbled unpleasantly in his gut, and he could feel his palms sweating inside his evening gloves.

Whyever did I agree to this? Two weeks trapped in a house with a group of strangers. I would rather fall through the surface of a frozen river.

“I am so pleased the Sternwoods are holding their party again this year,” his aunt proclaimed happily.

“Why would they not?” Lionel asked, and his mother rolled her eyes dramatically.

“You know of the rumours, Lionel. I have told you a hundred times.”

“I am sorry, Mother, but I do not hold with gossip.”

Adam turned to his aunt with a frown. “You cannot mean what was said about Lord Julian Blackmoor?”

“Of course I mean it! There were many pernicious comments at the time, and the Sternwoods have not held this event since. I had thought they might recoil from society altogether, but I am glad they have not. I have always liked Camilla Sternwood. She is terribly sensible.”

“Didn’t the countess herself deny the rumours?” Adam asked. He hated any type of gossip and remembered there had been no evidence of any impropriety, only hearsay.

“She did. I have never believed Lady Emilia capable of what she was accused of. Her mother is adamant that nothing took place, and that is good enough for me.”

Adam breathed a sigh of relief as the carriage drew to a halt. The last thing he needed whilst they were in the company of their hostess was his aunt making jibes about the Sterlings' conduct. He loved his aunt a great deal, but her tongue could cut glass.

They all descended from the carriage, Lionel helping his mother down as they looked up at the house. It was a fine building, pale and ornate, with pillars at the front and a beautiful swathe of ivy climbing one side, its evergreen foliage lending a sense of life to the barrenness of winter.

Adam looked about him at the milling guests arriving, feeling very out of place. He was not accustomed to society these days and disliked the idea that he could not escape over the coming days.

They ascended the stairs and Adam winced as his aunt gave a shrill shriek of delight as she saw Camilla Sternwood, a beautiful lady standing beside her husband in the main entrance hall. The two women embraced, and as they did so, they revealed a graceful young woman standing behind her parents. She had long chestnut hair and large hazel-green eyes framed by long lashes.

She was extremely beautiful but stood back from her parents as though to fade into the shadows. Adam felt a jolt of sympathy for her and wished he could do the same.

Then Emilia looked up at him, and Adam found it difficult to catch his breath.

It was as though he were looking at a mirror image of his own pain and grief. There was a darkness at the back of her eyes, a hidden sorrow as though offering a permanent apology to the world. It was as if an unspoken conversation occurred between them in those few seconds, a recognition he could not name but burned so brightly it quite overwhelmed him.

“You are staring, cousin,” Lionel said discreetly, leaning against him and breaking the spell.

Mortified, Adam returned his attention to his hosts, shaking hands with Lord Sternwood and trying not to look at his daughter again. It was more difficult than it should have been.

What an idiotic introduction, he thought irritably. Two steps inside the house, and I have already disgraced myself.

He hurried after his aunt and cousin, keeping his back straight, his gait steady, trying to ensure that no one could pick up on the disquiet swirling in his mind.

As the final guests were shown to their rooms, Emilia breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden silence that fell upon the house. She considered the prelude to the evening ball a success. She had only detected derision and disdain from the Duke of Elderbridge’s daughters. Few other attendees appeared concerned by her presence.

Checking behind her to ensure her mother was not monitoring her every move, she walked along the corridor and into the drawing room. It was blissfully empty, and she quickly made her way to the pianoforte, running her fingers over the keys and knowing that nothing else in the world would calm her as effectively as creating the music she loved.

She sat down before the piano and began to play a piece by Bach from memory. It was a spritely tune that she knew her mother would approve of with a house so full of guests. She wondered about playing something more festive, but the keys called to her of their own accord, and soon she was lost in the lilting melody.

Her mind moved to the duke and his daughters against her will. The thought of becoming their stepmother was a terrifying prospect. She could picture years stretching before her with nothing but empty halls and anger for company. His daughters regarded her as a figure of fun, someone neither to be feared nor obeyed. She knew that if she were to act as their stepmother, they would never view her as anything other than a pawn in their father’s ambition to have a son.

That was how she had felt when the dukemet her gaze. His eyes had been assessing and calculating—she had felt like a prize piece of meat he had come to buy. It made her feel faintly ill.

She much preferred the blue-green gaze of the Earl of Bellebrook. Emilia opened her eyes at the surprising thought and cocked her head to one side, thinking through their interaction.

Perhaps attention was not the correct term, but there had been something deeply intense about the way the earl had looked at her. It was almost as though he had seen into her soul, observing the person and not the scandal. It had been exhilarating.

He is also impossibly handsome, a voice in her mind said unhelpfully.

Indeed, the earl was by far the most attractive man in the company and there was a hardness and intensity about him that stirred something within her. She tried to shake off the unusual feelings and the clenching of her gut as she remembered his dark gaze. She continued to play—throwing her full attention into the music once more.

Above the drawing room, where the piano’s music faded to almost nothing, many corridors twined behind rooms and through passageways as servants scurried about, seeing to the whims of their guests.

In one of the bed chambers, Adam paced before the fire, hoping to shake the tightness in his chest.

He felt as though the walls were closing in around him. Now alone, and without the company of his aunt and cousin, he was on edge, his skin crawling with the need to get outside into the open. He felt trapped in the house alreadyandhad not even managed an hour within its walls.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands and trying to get his mind to settle before he disgraced himself. The dinner bell had not yet chimed; indeed, he was not even dressed appropriately, but he longed to feel the breeze on his face and look up at the wide sky.

Somehow, going outside felt far more appealing than remaining in his room. Aware that his aimless wandering might be met with disapproval, Adam resolved to be quick about it, hoping his hosts would not take undue offence.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the fireplace, he straightened his cravat and ensured he was presentable before leaving his room as swiftly as possible. Perhaps he would find an unlocked door where he could escape, hiding in the gardens for a good while and enjoying the sun's pale glow on his face.

The corridors outside his bedroom were adorned with beautiful tartan bows on every picture he passed. The house smelled of cinnamon and brandy, and he sucked in a lungful of air, a strange nostalgiaand sadness mixing within him as, at first, he rejoiced at the scent before quashing the feeling at the memory of Anastasia.

He had made his way to the ground floor without being detected by anyone. He was relieved to find a cold draft of air coming from somewhere, which suggested a door had been left ajar, and his hopes for escape were a little more certain.

He followed the chill that crept against his skin, and as he turned a corner into a narrow corridor, his feet came to a halt without conscious thought.

Someone was playing a beautiful piece of music and the sound of it floated towards him, hauntingly familiar and evocative.

He breathed shallowly as he recognised the strains of Bach’s Little Fugue in G Minor. His mother had loved that piece. It instantly reminded him of her, her happy smile and bright, sparkling eyes leaping to the front of his mind as though it were his mother herself who was playing, conjured by the spirit of the season.

He was moving before he realised where he was headed, following the sound as a fox follows the scent of a hare, his escape forgotten, a new veracious need to find the player embedded within his mind.

He found himself in a wide corridor with high white doors all along it. One of them was partially open, and he made for it, knowing instinctively that the music must be coming from there.

He tiptoed to the crack in the door, aware that he was prying into a world he had not been invited to. Powerless in the moment, he could not help but move closer, and what he saw was an image that would stay with him forever.

Lady Emilia Sterling was the sole occupant of the room, seated at the pianoforte, her fingers fluttering over the keys as if they moved of their own accord. Her eyes were closed, her face softened in rapture as the music swelled and ebbed, ascending in glorious harmonies that filled the air with raw emotion.

But it was no longer simply the music that captivated Adam; it was the expression on the lady’s face. Her eyes remained closed, no sheet music to guide her—she was playing entirely from memory, utterly enraptured by the piece. Her body swayed with each crescendo, her fingers pressing the keys with such natural grace that it seemed as though the music had become an extension of her very soul. Every part of her was absorbed, as though she were wrapped in the tight, rich column of sound she alone had conjured into existence.

The passion in the room was almost tangible, saturating the air with an intensity that struck him to his core. At that moment, something inside Adam broke free—an unbridled flood of joy and longing that he had long thought locked away, perhaps forever. His heart raced in his chest, filling with a warmth he had not felt since before Anastasia’s death.

It was as if the music had somehow given voice to his own tangled emotions, loosening the knot of grief he had carried all these years. His chest expanded, his shoulders softened, and his fingers gripped the edge of the door to steady himself, unable to look away from the vision before him. He was wholly, irrevocably transfixed, as though every forgotten feeling within him was being awakened by the beauty she summoned one delicate note at a time.