Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

F irman is the one who would secure my future; the one my parents—particularly my father—wants. Emma sighed and ran her hand through her hair. If only George were not so determined to remain a bachelor. If only he were not known to be a rake!

The evening's events had left her in a state of dire confusion. Her head and heart were at war, each pulling her in opposing directions, vying to emerge victorious in her decisions.

A barely audible knock at her door startled her from her reverie, and she turned toward the sound, her heart rate accelerating slightly. Who could it be at this late hour? Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she crossed the room and opened the door. Her mother, still dressed in her evening finery and looking very weary, stood in the doorway.

"I was hoping you'd still be awake," Caroline said as she walked into the room without waiting for an invitation.

"Is something the matter?" Emma asked, her concern deepening as she noted the serious expression on her mother's face.

"After seeing you with the Earl tonight, I think it is time we take a step further," Caroline declared without preamble. The firmness in her tone suggested that retreat was not an option.

That familiar sinking feeling overwhelmed Emma once again, and she began to regret opening the door. "Couldn't this have waited until morning, Mother?" she asked, her voice a mix of weariness and frustration.

"We have waited long enough," her mother responded sternly. "I already have some information which would help us. The Earl's daily schedule," she elaborated, producing a piece of paper.

"Are you stalking the Earl now, Mother?" Emma sighed, the weight of her predicament settling heavily on her shoulders. She wouldn't be surprised at the lengths her parents would go to ensure her advantageous match.

"I didn't have to," Caroline replied coolly. "I got all the information I needed from a footman. A few coins did the trick," she added, her tone shamelessly pragmatic.

"Even worse," Emma muttered under her breath, feeling a mixture of dismay and disgust.

"Mind your manners, young lady," Caroline admonished sharply before continuing, "We need that scandal to happen as soon as possible. I was told that the Earl received a new shipment of plants, and he tends to them in the west wing of the gardens every morning after breakfast."

Emma felt a wave of nausea at the thought of her mother's schemes. "Is it not enough to continue getting acquainted with him, Mother? I have his attention now, after all. Surely, we do not need to resort to—" she began, hoping to appeal to some sense of decency.

"Do you think your father will give you more time?" Caroline cut in abruptly. "Or that the house party will last forever?" she added, her words sharp and unyielding.

These were points Emma couldn't dispute. Her father knew no patience, not anymore. And she had fleetingly forgotten that the house party was indeed coming to an end soon.

Panic lit an unpleasant flame within her at this last realization. She was getting nowhere, and her time was running out—if it had not already.

"The truth is," Caroline sighed, her expression wearing a mask of resignation that seemed deeper than ever before. "Your father is already negotiating your dowry with the Marquess of Neads," she announced, her voice low and heavy with inevitability.

"What?" Emma's voice cracked, the panic within her igniting into a full-blown inferno. Her mind raced, her thoughts a chaotic whirl as she tried to grasp the reality of her situation.

"I tried to reason with him, believe me," her mother continued, her eyes reflecting a turmoil that matched Emma's own. "Especially after your dance with the Earl tonight. But he lacks any more faith in you and is determined to conclude things with Neads. I cannot stop him anymore. I cannot buy you any more time after this," she added, her voice filled with a defeat that was almost palpable.

Emma's gaze fell to her white knuckles, clenched so tightly around her night rail that they ached. She was gripping it as desperately as she clung to the remnants of her autonomy, feeling each moment slipping through her fingers like sand.

"And you should know that the Marquess is paying for too," her mother's words cut through the tense air, each syllable a hammer strike to Emma's hopes.

Dear Lord, Emma thought despairingly. Her father was so desperate to secure this match that he was defying custom, allowing the groom to pay for her, rather than her family providing a dowry. It was both humiliating and horrifying.

"He really is selling me," Emma heard herself say, her voice distant, as if it belonged to someone else—a stranger caught in a dreadful tale.

"The Marquess seems desperate for that heir too, it seems. He's willing to pay," Caroline added, her words clinical, detached.

"Now, after getting the Earl's schedule, I managed to persuade your father for one more chance before he signs the agreement with Neads. This is the last we have, Emma. He will not give another," she concluded, her tone final, leaving no room for argument.

"What must I do?" Emma finally asked, her voice a whisper of resignation as the weight of her situation pressed down upon her.

"You must go to the west side of the gardens tomorrow after breakfast when the Earl will be there with his plants…" Her mother instructed, her voice firm, as if carving the path Emma was to walk with precision.

Caroline continued to outline the plan, detailing each step with an efficiency that felt chilling. Emma listened, her heart sinking deeper with each word. She was horrified not only by the machinations of the scheme but also by her own passive acceptance of it. She felt as though she had become an observer in her own life, watching as her path was dictated by others.

The following morning, as the sun cast a gentle glow through the curtains, Antoinetta entered Emma's room with a letter in hand. "You look like you didn't get a wink of sleep," her lady's maid observed with concern as Emma accepted the envelope.

"I had a most restful night," Emma replied, her voice barely concealing the fatigue she felt. She unfolded the letter somewhat abstractedly, her fingers trembling slightly as she scanned the words from her friend.

My Dearest Emma,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits, though I confess I am eager to hear of all the happenings at the house party from which I am so regretfully absent. I trust you are dazzling the guests with your wit, as you always do.

I write to you with thrilling news! Gillingham and I, along with my brothers, are preparing for a grand tour of the continent later this summer. We plan to visit the majestic cities of Paris, Rome, and perhaps even venture as far as the Grecian isles. Gillingham's enthusiasm for the ancient ruins is quite contagious, and I find myself equally excited for the art and the culture we shall experience.

We will be back in England by fall, but I shall call upon you as soon as you return to London, which should be before our departure. How I miss you, dearest Emma! I hope to hear all about your adventures and, perhaps, any romantic escapades that may have transpired in my absence.

Know that you are very much in my thoughts, and I am counting the days until we can sit and share a pot of tea with no cares for the time passing by. Until then, I remain,

Yours always,

Aggie

Aggie's happiness resonated through her words, painting a picture of her fulfilling life. Emma felt a genuine smile touch her lips as she read about her friend's adventures and plans, yet that smile was touched with a shade of envy. Agnes had her husband's love, the support of her family—blessings that seemed so distant and unreachable to Emma. Her friend's life appeared as a farfetched dream from where Emma stood, mired in her own troubles.

She couldn't help but contrast her life with those of her friends. While both Aggie and Frannie were happily married, Emma found herself still struggling to make a suitable match after three unsuccessful seasons. What pained her the most was the way she was being compelled to pursue such a match—through schemes and manipulations that chafed against her very morals.

Tears stung her eyes as she refolded the letter, the paper crinkling under her fingers. With a heavy heart, she placed the letter back in its envelope, deciding not to reply at the moment. Not while her emotions were so raw, her heart so heavy.

"You're lying to me, Emma," Antoinetta's voice cut through the heavy silence of the room, yanking Emma back from the dark tendrils of her thoughts.

"I am positive you did not sleep last night," she added, her eyes piercing as they fixed on Emma, probing for the truth beneath her weary exterior.

"If this were a wager, you'd have lost it, Antoinetta," Emma managed a weary chuckle, trying to deflect with humor.

Her lady's maid, however, did not share in this humor. Her expression remained stern, her concern evident and unyielding.

"Fine. I couldn't sleep," Emma confessed, her shoulders slumping as the admission fell from her lips.

"Is it your parents again?" Antoinetta's voice softened, her usual briskness giving way to worry.

The concern in her eyes nearly sent Emma over the edge, her composure fraying as she fought to keep her tears at bay. Yes, her parents were a constant pressure, a relentless force at her neck. But the turmoil that gnawed at her was rooted deeper than the mere machinations of making a match.

She found herself yearning for something else, something more profound and fulfilling, which she feared she would never have. When she wasn't even certain of securing the outcomes her parents demanded, how could she dare to hope for something more?

"Father is already negotiating my dowry with the Marquess of Neads," Emma revealed instead, her voice barely above a whisper.

She couldn't bring herself to confide in Antoinetta about the internal war raging between her desires and her duties. Not yet.

"Oh dear," Antoinetta breathed out, her usual stoicism faltering.

"The Marquess is also desperate enough that he's agreed to pay for me too," Emma continued, her voice growing colder with each word.

"If I fail here, Antoinetta, I am going to be sold to him," she finished dejectedly.

"You are not going to fail," Antoinetta said, gripping Emma's hand with a firmness that conveyed not just comfort but conviction.

"I'm afraid I do not have as much faith," Emma admitted, feeling a lone tear escape and trace a path down her cheek.

"Oh please don't say that, Emma," Antoinetta implored, pulling her into a comforting embrace. "Every breath we take is a chance, Emma. And so long as you believe it, nothing is impossible," she murmured into her hair. "Promise me you will not give up. Promise me that you will go out there before this party ends, and make the most of it," she added, pulling back to look Emma squarely in the eyes.

Emma wiped away her tears, moved by Antoinetta's unwavering support. Her lady's maid was right; every breath was indeed a chance.

And this party wouldn't last forever. If she did not seize the opportunity now, the regret might shadow her for the rest of her life. She had to try, for her own sake, if not to defy the dire predictions that seemed to loom over her future.

She would set aside her weeping for another day and leave no room for regrets. Emma straightened up, a new resolve hardening within her. "Help me get ready for the day, please," she asked Antoinetta, her voice steadier than it had been moments before.

"That's the spirit," her lady's maid beamed, her face alight with approval and pride.

Fortified by this small but significant rally of spirit, Emma descended to the morning room, hoping to find Alexander and perhaps a chance to alter her course. However, upon entry, she found not Alexander but George, sitting alone, nursing a cup of coffee. The room was otherwise empty.

When he looked up and met her gaze, the expression in his eyes startled her—it was cold, almost venomous. For a moment, George seemed like a complete stranger to her. A chill ran through her as she stood there, perplexed and somewhat frightened.

What was wrong? She wondered, her heart sinking further. What had caused such a drastic change in him overnight?