Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

T he weather outside Emily's window had finally turned sunny and warm, and it called to her. How she would enjoy a stroll through Hyde Park on her favorite horse, but alas, Morgana remained in the country. Emily wondered when they might be reunited, and she assumed it might require taking a special trip with the duke and duchess to Wynnwood Park. She wondered if Mr. Westcott would want to accompany them or not… which resulted in Emily shaking her head. Perhaps he would permit her to go alone instead? That seemed more plausible, as he would likely be happy to be rid of her.

Emily went back to her stitching, deciding she would take a walk with her maid at the very least by the end of the day. Then a knock sounded at her door. "Who is it?"

"Your husband."

She could not help the stiffness that overtook her shoulders, knowing his presence was just on the other side of the door. She had nothing to fear from him, only she remembered the heart wrenching sobs she'd left on Isabel's lap, along with everything they'd discussed about her marriage and about him . Emily had thought long and hard about all Isabel had suggested, how everything in marriage required compromise and sacrifice, and how she needed to take a more active stance on the way their lives and marriage would be. So instead of putting down her needlework and going to open the door herself, as if confronting him and protecting her space, instead she tried to remember how he had done it, and just said, "Come in."

He did not respond or react right away, but eventually the handle clicked and the door pushed open. Mr. Westcott stepped inside but only just, and he appeared about as stiff as she felt, but she carried on stitching.

"Forgive my intrusion," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I only wanted to inform you… several weeks ago, I received an invitation to a dinner party and I accepted. Only now I realize the occasion is approaching, and… I suppose it is something we ought to attend together."

Emily did pause her stitching then, her heart sinking. She did not have any desire to attend a public outing yet, for she hardly knew how to be around her husband in private. "Who sent the invitation?"

"Mrs. Lamb, an older widow and a friend of my mother's."

Her mind continued to spin, for she knew countless Lambs among the ton. But there was no use in delaying the inevitable. "And when is the dinner party?"

"This coming Saturday."

With a sigh, Emily nodded. "Very well. You can inform them we will attend together, and I will make myself ready on Saturday."

"Thank you." She did not look up at him, but she could hear the relief in his voice.

And when she expected him to bow and leave, he lingered, so she glanced up. "Is there something more?"

He stood still in the doorway, nicely dressed and excruciatingly attractive. Emily watched the muscle work in his jaw, and the lump in his throat bob up and down, until he finally spoke. "This is not something I would require of you. Going forward, if there is some event or dinner you do not wish to attend, you are at your liberty to decline."

When his eyes met with hers, his brows furrowed together demonstrated his earnestness, and she found the depth of vulnerability in his gaze. That he continued to press the matter made her realize just how serious he was to mend the gap between them, and her heart thundered into pace. He was giving her very clear lines in the sand, offering her a way out.

Emily swallowed and nodded. "Thank you for the clarification. I will attend with you just the same."

His lips slowly curved into a handsome smile, his brown eyes filling with light as a result. "Thank you." Then he nodded a bow and stepped back out of the room.

Emily dropped the stitching in her lap and let out a sigh. This was perhaps the first step of many on the path of creating a life with her husband, but did it have to feel like the weight of the world on her shoulders?

When Saturday came, Emily had seen herself ready with the help of her maid. She wore a fine dinner dress of forest green with golden ribbons, and her blonde hair done up with decorative gold pins. There would be no easing the pounding inside her chest, no relieving the nerves that held her bound, but she would go through with it, as a woman who kept her word. It would be their first outing as a married couple, and she had to do her part.

Making her way down the staircase, Mr. Westcott stood in the foyer waiting for her. She tried to avoid his gaze, but when she reached the bottom step, he offered a hand of support, which brought her eyes up to his. He had cleaned up his appearance as well, but his eyes still bore the same reserved nature from when he'd arrived at her door the day before.

"You look lovely," he said, brows knit together.

The praise brought a heat to her cheeks, and Emily had great difficulty swallowing. He spoke in a low voice, one that reminded her of their moments on the balcony, and she had to press her lips together to avoid looking at his own. Pushing the notion away, Emily nodded to acknowledge him. "Thank you. We must be off, else we'll arrive late."

Mr. Westcott helped her out to the carriage, but neither one of them spoke during their travels. She thought for certain he'd have more to say based off their previous conversation, or perhaps some preparation for the event itself, but it was nothing more than awkward silence.

When they arrived, Emily immediately recognized the location as the home of a woman she had visited before.

He knocked on the door and as they waited, Emily turned to ask, "Is this the home of Mrs. Katherine Lamb?"

Mr. Westcott blinked and nodded. "It is."

"I believe she is a friend of the duchess as well, and we are already acquainted."

Indeed, as the door opened and they were ushered inside, the hostess hurried to greet them.

"How lovely to see the both of you," Mrs. Lamb cooed. "And may I offer my congratulations on your recent marriage. The duchess here was just telling me about the details."

She motioned toward the waiting room, where Isabel stood next to her husband.

"Oh, I have more guests arriving. Do excuse me," Mrs. Lamb said, flitting back to the front door.

Emily moved through the small crowd of guests with her husband. It had been called a small dinner party, of nearly twenty people, yet in Mrs. Lamb's stately house, everyone fit comfortably in the front parlor awaiting the announcement to be seated.

When they arrived on the opposite side of the room, the duke and duchess looked up, and Isabel's face brightened.

"Good evening, Your Grace, Your Grace," Mr. Westcott greeted.

"What a happy surprise," the duchess said. "I did not know we would see you here."

Emily watched the two of them carefully. She had expected the duchess to immediately pepper her with discreet question about any progress since their last discussion, for nothing had changed since their dinner together, and though the duke was normally standoffish, he did not offer a word to greet them. He kept his eyes on the darkening window.

"Is something the matter?" Emily whispered, stepping just out of her husband's earshot.

The duchess sighed. "It is not pleasant. James and I have just come from visiting his mother. You know she has not been well since the wedding, but the doctor said it is very likely she will not recover this time, and that perhaps, she does not have much time left."

Emily gasped and froze. "Are you certain?"

"I am sorry to bear you such news," Isabel said, taking Emily by the hand. Her gaze was pointed, full of meaning, as if trying to convey a truth she could not speak out loud. "The dowager duchess lamented not being present at your wedding and has begged for your company since. She wishes to see you before…"

"Yes, of course." Emily nodded firmly. She would go see the dowager duchess one last time. Perhaps it would be Emily's only opportunity to learn the truth.

She looked at the duke's profile, settling on the notion that once the dowager passed, he would quite possibly be her last blood relation alive. She would have to speak to him about it someday.

Mrs. Lamb's voice welcomed them all to dinner, and requested the duke and duchess to the front, for they would eventually lead everyone into the dining room, starting with the highest rank. That left Emily alone with her husband once again as the crowds gathered.

"Is that you, Westcott?" a gentleman's voice called.

Emily looked over at her husband, who caught the eye of a gentleman. "Ah, my lord." He stood and gave a slight bow toward the gentleman, who approached with a lovely woman on his arm. "May I present my wife, Mrs. Emily Westcott." Then he turned to her and said, "Allow me to introduce Baron Frampton, and his wife, Lady Frampton."

"Pleased to meet you both," Emily said with a curtsy.

"I believe your marriage was quite recent, was it not?" the baron asked.

"It was, some weeks back now," Mr. Westcott answered in monotone words.

"Oh, how lovely. Congratulations!" Lady Frampton said with a bright smile. "And the two of you look so well together."

"That is very kind to say," Emily responded. "As do the two of you."

The baroness tucked her hand further into her husband's arm. "We only claim a few months or so beyond your own time being married, but it is still a joy, is it not, my love?"

He patted her hand. "Indeed. Nothing greater."

Emily could not be more thankful that Mrs. Lamb called the Frampton's down to be seated as well. After all, nobility with nobility. She did not wish to witness their marital bliss or have them think it would be her lot sometime in the future, for it certainly never would be.

"They were acquainted with my sisters in Bath," Mr. Westcott offered in a low voice. "In fact, he would have married my sister Edwina had Miss Beatrice not stepped in to become Lady Frampton."

While Emily appreciated the insight, she had not anticipated his forthright explanation. But it was finally their turn to be seated, so Emily took his arm as they were led into the dining room.

There was a large table, beautifully decorated and well-lit with high candles. She caught a glimpse of Isabel and the duke, and further down the table she saw the baron and baroness still lovingly looking into each other's eyes, but then she saw one face she did not anticipate: Mr. Richard Evans.

He looked up just as she looked away, her stomach churning and her face turning pale. How had she missed seeing him upon arrival? She clung to her husband's arm a little tighter now, without explanation. Could this night become any more ostracizing? The duke and duchess seated at the opposite end of the table, the dowager duchess at home on death's door, Emily's rejected first love in the same room again, her distant husband her only ally, and surrounded by characters like the incredibly amorous Framptons. It simply wasn't fair.

"Are you unwell?" Mr. Westcott asked quietly, his voice low and close to her ear.

"Well enough," she responded, hoping to somehow have seating arrangements that would avoid Mr. Evans. She could not bear her husband to have another outburst.

But of course, they were blessed with the luck to be seated directly across from him.

Unable to avoid his gaze further, she gave him a brief smile, then thanked her husband as he helped her into her seat. She checked quickly to see if Mr. Westcott had noticed, but he gave no indication one way or another.

The first course was served, and Emily had been spared from conversation across the table due to overly large centerpieces. The elderly woman seated beside her proved to be an excellent conversationalist, which meant she had not been left alone in awkwardness with her husband. And yet, he continued to serve her wordlessly by plating her food and filling her drink. Though he appeared to be ignoring her, when she foolishly dropped her fork on the floor, he was the first to get a servant's attention for a replacement.

By the final course of the meal, Mrs. Lamb caught the attention of everyone in the room by saying, "Mr. Evans, what is this I hear about you leaving for Bath?" and thus quieting most other conversations.

Emily kept her head down, pressing her lips together in anticipation as her fork pushed between the peas on her plate. She did not know how much the rest of the company knew her connection to him, but she did not want to face a single one of them if they did.

The familiar sound of him clearing his throat filled the room. "It is true, Mrs. Lamb. I leave first thing in the morning."

"But why now, in the middle of the season? You will leave so many eligible young ladies to mourn your absence."

God in heaven, Emily prayed the earth would open up and devour her. Anything to deliver her from the barbary of the current conversation.

"Yes, well… I suppose I will return next season."

There was an uncomfortable lull that settled over the room, and Emily looked down the table, giving Isabel a pleading glance that she might find some other topic of conversation.

"The food has been exquisite, Mrs. Lamb." It was Mr. Westcott who spoke. "My compliments to your cook."

Mrs. Lamb clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, I am glad to hear it. Though I hope you have all saved room for dessert! "

A gentle hum of chatter overtook the table once more, and Emily let out a sigh of relief. She had no hunger for dessert or even company for that matter, but she was grateful to no longer feel on edge. And oddly enough, she had her husband to thank.

After the long evening, Emily collapsed into the carriage with a sigh, glancing at Mr. Westcott. She had the urge to smile at him, to thank him for his chivalry, and to congratulate him for their success in passing the night together. She wished to have that sort of relationship with her husband, but they certainly had not reached that point yet.

"May I ask you a question?" he asked, shaking Emily from her thoughts.

"Of course."

"What was it that the duchess had to apologize for when we first arrived?" Mr. Westcott sat across from her, his face shrouded in darkness.

A familiar sadness sank back into her stomach. "The dowager duchess, the duke's mother, has fallen ill. They do not expect she will last much longer."

"I see."

"I will likely need to visit her tomorrow in order to see her before she passes."

He nodded, then looked out the window. "Are you very close with them? That is, with the Barringtons?"

Various thoughts passed through Emily's mind at once. Their closeness by blood had yet to be determined. The dowager duchess… she could not be compared to a mother, not in the way Emily would have wished. "The duke and duchess have been very kind to me," was all she could say.

Alex opened his mouth, but paused before speaking, any emotion on his face hidden in the shadows. "Are you in love with him?"

Emily choked on her breath. "With the duke? Of course not." It was such an inane idea, even without what she presumed to know.

"You cannot be surprised by my asking, for it happens a great deal, a ward falling for a guardian."

"That may be so, but he is my…" Emily swallowed the word. She could not speak what she did not yet know to be sure, even if he was her husband. "He is a duke, first of all, and a married one at that. I would never do anything to hurt Isabel so dreadfully. They have both taken such good care of me, and the last thing I would ever desire is to hurt them."

"I understand," he said, putting up a hand in defense. She had expected him to remain quiet after that when he spoke again. "But you are still in love with the other gentleman. The Mr. Evans. Are you not?"

His words were not spoken in accusation, merely stating facts, yet still they stung. Hearing the name again hurt. Seeing Mr. Evans after she had made the decision to give up on him was torture.

"One hardly has control over such things," Emily mumbled, picking a speck of nothing from her dress.

"I understand," he said, then he sighed. "And I'm sorry."

A sliver of moonlight traveled up his arm, briefly lighting his face, and Emily caught a glimpse of his despair. She had to remember he knew what she suffered, and that he had also lost someone his heart may still long for.

"Thank you for saying so." Emily swallowed hard. She'd had very little to apologize for in her life, for she'd had very little in ways to offend, but not with him. She owed him a great deal more than she had given thus far. "I suppose I ought to offer my apology as well. You have not deserved all the mistreatment at my hand."

"Think nothing of it. Your words were required for me to see my errors, and it was a needed perspective if we were ever going to have a chance for resolution." He leaned forward. " The both of us seem to be strong-willed and passionate people, which is perhaps one of the many reasons we could not seem to get off on the right footing."

"Indeed." Emily smiled in spite of herself, fighting off a blush. No doubt he had used the word passionate in reference to their tempers, but it was their reaction to each other on the balcony that filled her mind.

"We had expected to marry other people, but now have only to face the future with each other. I know I am not your Mr. Evans, far from it, but even if I cannot be the husband you had hoped for, I will do my best to be a good husband to you. Perhaps we might be able to see each other happy, after all." Then he reached out an open hand toward her.

Emily hoped he could not see her face in that moment, for she was certain there would be no hiding the blush that was burning in her cheeks, or the way she had to fight the smile from her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest at the prospect. He was proving to be wise and humble, more so than Emily had been, for she never would have found it in her to say such things first. She had accused him of being proud, but she was far too proud herself. And yet, his offer is exactly what needed to happen. The only way to implement what Isabel had suggested, to accept the future with sacrifice and compromise. It seemed almost an impossible feat, but that he had offered the olive branch first made it seem like a much more achievable goal.

She placed her hand in his, their fingers curling together in a firm grasp. She thought he might kiss the back of her hand and found herself almost wishing he would, but she had to purge herself of that immediately.

"Thank you." When he released her hand, she couldn't keep from saying, "Though I might caution you to be careful with your words, husband. Such a speech might take my breath away and make me believe you're falling in love with me."

He let out a breath of air between his teeth. "You needn't worry on that regard, for such a thing will never happen."

Emily attempted a smile in response, one that of course he could not see, but the darkness in the carriage suddenly turned overwhelming. His words shouldn't have meant anything to her, and she should have thanked him for such reassurance. But instead, Emily found she was suddenly staving off the burn of tears in her eyes, for his words felt like a death sentence.

She had given up on Mr. Evans, that much was true, and with it should have gone any hopes of romance in her future. Isabel's counsel had encouraged her to focus on finding contentment in her circumstance, and that had been her goal, to find balance with her husband. So why did his words devastate her so? Was there still some part of her deep down that harbored a hope for love to win out in the end? If he swore no such thing would ever happen between them, that future seemed like hell on earth, and she would almost prefer that he stay her enemy instead. A handsome companionable husband who did not love her was somehow infinitely worse.