Chapter 19

Emma sat down in the most comfortable chair in the drawing room, letting out a long, slow breath as she did so. After yesterday’s ordeal, she felt herself a little shaken still, but a good deal recovered… though if it had not been for Lord Yeatman’s swift actions, she might well have found herself in a very different situation. The maid came in with a tea tray and set it in front of her and Emma murmured a small word of thanks before dismissing her. She was relieved to have a little quiet this afternoon. No doubt, Martha and her mother would soon come to join her, once Martha had finished her preparations for afternoon calls.

And Lord Yeatman will call upon me soon, Emma thought to herself, smiling. What a joy that will be.

The door opened quickly, stealing her solitude from her and Emma offered her sister a small smile despite the flickering irritation within her.

“Martha. You look quite lovely.” Martha offered her a thin-lipped smile but said nothing, sitting down opposite Emma and then eyeing the tea tray. “I am certain that many a gentleman will come to call upon you,” Emma murmured, a little confused as to why her sister had remained silent and now appeared to be so sour-faced. “Though I should like to speak to you about Lord Wellbridge. I think–”

“Why should you have an interest in Lord Wellbridge?” her sister snapped, her eyes flashing with a fire that took Emma completely by surprise. “You are already betrothed, are you not? Why should you even think of him?”

“I…. I am not.” Confused, Emma attempted to catch her sister’s gaze, but Martha would not look at her, stubbornly staring somewhere around Emma’s left shoulder instead. “I was only about to say that there is something about him which I should like to tell you about. I find myself rather concerned that you might still be considering him.”

Martha let out a harsh, cold laugh.

“Is that so? And here I was, quite certain that you hoped he would be calling upon you instead. Was that not what you wanted? Is that not always what you have desired?”

Emma blinked, her eyes widening as Martha’s furious gaze finally fixed on hers. She had very little understanding of what it was that her sister was saying, and was just about to ask her to explain when the door opened, and the butler stepped inside.

“Lord Yeatman has come to call, Miss Fairley.”

Emma’s heart leaped almost at once as she rose to her feet, the butler having been instructed to bring the gentleman in at once. When he walked into the room, Emma could not help but hurry towards him and, despite her sister’s presence, stepped directly into his embrace and sighed with contentment as he enfolded her into his arms.

“My dear Emma,” he said, softly. “How glad I am to see you.” Stepping back, he caught her hands in his, but his eyes searched her face. “Are you quite well? “

“I am.” Emma turned her head and let her gaze slide towards her sister, though Martha only scowled and looked away. “I have not yet spoken of all that has taken place, but I was intending to do so.”

Something flashed across Lord Yeatman’s face, something which Emma could not quite make out. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and then closed it again, giving her a small shake of his head before moving forward.

“Miss Fairley.”

Smiling, Lord Yeatman inclined his head as he greeted Emma’s sister, though Martha did not so much as get to her feet, making Emma frown hard at the ill manners displayed. She did not understand what had put Martha into such a dark mood, and certainly had no knowledge of what it was that Martha was attempting to express.

“Let me ring for a fresh tea tray.” Going to ring the bell, Emma smiled as Lord Yeatman sat down on the couch, giving her room to sit beside him. “You cannot know how glad my heart is at seeing you again.”

“I am filled with nothing short of relief and joy to see you so well,” came the reply as he grasped her hand, clearly entirely unconcerned about Martha’s presence and what she might think. “The ordeal you endured was a great one.”

Emma swallowed the knot which had formed in her throat and gave him a small yet wobbly smile.

“I am quite well, I assure you. And there has been no difficulty as regards my standing or anything like that. Even my own mother is unaware of it.”

This last part was spoken in hushed tones and though Martha frowned in Emma’s direction, Emma chose to give no explanation.

“I have just come from speaking with Lord Wellbridge,” Lord Yeatman replied, his voice not as quiet as Emma had hoped. “I spoke firmly with him and made it quite clear–”

“You… you have spoken to Lord Wellbridge about Emma?”

Emma glanced at her sister and then back to Lord Yeatman. She lifted her shoulders in a half shrug and then looked again at Martha.

“Martha, I did hope to speak to you about something specific though it would have occurred at a later time, rather than this afternoon. I know that you are expecting other gentlemen callers but mayhap to speak of this now would be wise.”

Martha’s eyes darted from Emma to Lord Yeatman and then back again.

“I do not know what you mean. There can only be one reason as to why you would have gone to speak to Lord Wellbridge about Emma.”

Emma frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“You need not hide it from me!” Martha got up suddenly, throwing up her hands as she began to stride up and down the room, in short, quick steps. “I understand it all. I know of it all!”

“Know what?” Emma’s frown grew deeper as she looked again at Lord Yeatman, though the way his eyes flickered told her that he understood more than she did at this present moment. “The reason Lord Yeatman went to speak with Lord Wellbridge is because of something rather serious which took place, Martha. Though, before I begin to explain, I should like your promise that you will not speak of it to Mother or Father. It is best for everyone that they remain unaware.”

“But not best for me?” Much to Emma’s astonishment, tears began to fall from Martha’s eyes, splashing onto her cheeks, which were now deep red. “Do you not understand that I am already fully aware of this and it has caused me a great deal of pain?” Martha cried, dashing one hand over her eyes to chase away further tears. “I have watched Lord Wellbridge, I have seen everything, and I have found myself broken because of it.” Emma blinked furiously, only for clear understanding to wash over her. Her eyes flared and she put one hand to her mouth, hiding the gasp of horror. Martha nodded, then shook her head and dropped back into the chair. “I have been aware that Lord Wellbridge’s interest lay with you,” she said, brokenly, “but I have not been able to help my heart. I have found myself eager for his company, determined to have it, to be good enough to gain it and yet, instead of that, Lord Wellbridge has continually been drawn back towards you.”

“You… you knew of that?” Emma barely noticed the tea tray set down by the maid, waving one hand vaguely to dismiss the maid without hesitation. “Even I did not know of that, Martha!”

Her sister let out a hard laugh.

“I can hardly believe that,” she said, harshly. “No doubt you saw his interest, but you also saw how our mother and even our father encouraged me towards him. You were able to do nothing other than continue in your attentions toward him, hopeful that his interest would grow despite the attempts of our mother to push him toward me. Is that not so?”

Emma shook her head no, her sister’s eyes narrowing in clear disbelief.

“It is as your sister says, Miss Fairley.” Lord Yeatman’s voice was gentle but held a steadiness to it which Emma appreciated. “She did not know. Yesterday afternoon, when Lord Wellbridge asked to speak to her, she presumed it was about your connection to him. She has spoken to me of Lord Wellbridge often, but it has always been in relation to you.”

Martha said nothing as Emma reached for the tea pot, finding herself eager to do something rather than simply thinking about what her sister was saying. There came nothing but silence for the next few minutes, aside from the chinking of the China teapot on the teacups, though Emma’s mind was whirring with confusing thoughts. Her sister had always known, had always believed, that Lord Wellbridge was interested in Emma’s company, rather than her own, and yet had never said a single word? That did not make sense to Emma’s mind, for surely if Martha had been as eager for Lord Wellbridge’s attentions as Emma had believed, she would have spoken to Emma about her concerns!

“I had no knowledge of Lord Wellbridge’s interest until yesterday, Martha.” Picking up Martha’s teacup, Emma set it down in front of her sister and then looked down, straight into her eyes. “Do you understand? I have not ever even considered him!”

Martha lifted her gaze and looked back into Emma’s face. There were no tears in her eyes anymore, but her face was still flushed. She did not know whether or not Martha believed her, for the expression on her face was inscrutable.

“You said that you did not know of his interest until yesterday afternoon,” Martha said slowly, as Emma turned to pour the tea for both herself and Lord Yeatman. “What does that mean?”

Picking up her teacup, Emma sat back down and, taking a sip of her tea, set her cup down again before she continued. Seeing how Martha had reacted to the mention of Lord Wellbridge and what she had said thus far, Emma’s mind was whispering at her to be cautious and careful.

“You care for Lord Wellbridge, do you not?” Emma began, though with the silence that followed, it quickly became clear that Martha was not about to answer. “I speak the truth when I tell you that I did not know of his interest until it was much too late.”

“What happened?” Martha’s voice was crisp and clear but also devoid of emotion. “How did you become aware of it?”

“Because,” Emma said, choosing each word individually, “yesterday afternoon, he asked me to walk with him for a short while, though we would remain not far from Lord Yeatman and our mother. However, he asked me to sit in his carriage so that we might have a private conversation. I believed it was about you and, given that you are my sister, and given that you had been waiting for such a long time for his courtship, I agreed – albeit cautiously. What shocked me to my very core, however, was that once I sat in his carriage, he climbed in, pulled the door closed, and rapped on the roof so that we were both driven away together.” Martha’s face slowly began to drain of color. “Thereafter, he spoke to me about his supposed feelings,” Emma continued, quietly. “I could not believe what I was hearing.” Her sister closed her eyes, her chest heaving. “Lord Yeatman came to save me. If he had not, I believe that I would, very likely, have been forced into a marriage that I did not want, to a gentleman I did not care for. I am telling you this not because I want to injure you, Martha, but because I do not want you to be injured by him. This has truly shocked me, Martha. I was entirely unaware of his feelings and, in truth, even if I had been aware of them, I would not have permitted him to pursue me.”

“I… I do not believe you.”

“I do not care for him,” Emma replied, fervently, though Martha’s eyes remained steadfastly closed, her lips pursed. “Besides which, I would not have put you through any sort of pain, Martha. I could see that you were eager for his company and, though we are not close as sisters, though we are not friends as I had once hoped we would be, I would never have caused you unnecessary pain. I assure you that this is true, just as I speak it.”

Martha finally opened her eyes and looked back steadily at Emma. She did not speak for some minutes, only to then shake her head and look away, her lips now pulled into a flat line.

“Given what Lord Wellbridge did, I spoke to him directly and stated that he was to effectively end the acquaintance between himself and all of you.” Lord Yeatman reached and took Emma’s hand for a moment, his eyes searching hers. “I hope that you understand why I said such a thing.”

“Of course I do.” Reassuring him, Emma offered him a small smile. “I am only sorry that you had cause to do it.”

“Though you should not have spoken for me.” Martha tossed her head, but Emma caught the glistening tears in her sister’s eyes. “I could have made such a decision myself.”

Emma and Lord Yeatman exchanged glances, though Lord Yeatman gave her only a tiny shrug, leaving the conversation in Emma’s hands.

“It was said out of concern for you,” she explained, simply. “Surely you cannot want to be in Lord Wellbridge’s company again, not after hearing what I have told you about him?”

Martha sniffed but said nothing.

“I understand that you have fought for his attentions for a long time,” Emma finished, an ache growing steadily in her heart as she prayed that her sister would understand that there was no malice in what Lord Yeatman had said to Lord Wellbridge. “But he is not worthy of you, Martha. He never was.”

Her sister swallowed hard and then reached for her tea, still saying nothing.

“You fought for his attentions in more ways than one, did you not?”

Emma frowned, glancing at Lord Yeatman as he directed his words and his gaze toward Martha.

“I do not know what you mean.” Martha lifted her chin, but her gaze continued to jump from Emma to Lord Yeatman and back again. “I think–”

“Yes, you do.” Lord Yeatman shifted a little further forward in his chair, a frown encroaching on his brow. “You have been the one behind all of the incidents that have embarrassed your sister, have you not? You have been the one who made her fall, who knocked the arm of the footman, who, no doubt, paid a bribe to various footmen and maids to act in a particular fashion, so that your sister would appear at fault.”

Emma snatched in a breath, her eyes flaring as she saw color begin to creep up into Martha’s face.

“No, Martha,” she breathed, as Martha’s gaze dropped to her hands as they fiddled in her lap. “No, surely it could not be that you-”

“It was you, was it not?” Lord Yeatman interrupted, albeit with a gentle tone as his hand caught Emma’s again. “Tell us the truth, Miss Fairley, if you will. It is only fair to your sister for her to know the truth. There is no sense in pretending, for I am already quite certain of the truth.”

Emma, her throat tightening and her heart pounding, gazed at her sister, her voice breathless with shock and dread.

“Tell me the truth, Martha, please. Was it you? Are you the one who has been doing these things to me?”

Martha let out a long, slow breath and, closing her eyes, put out both hands and then let them fall.

“Yes,” she said, eventually, her eyes opening to look directly back into Emma’s face. “Yes, Emma. It was me.”