Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

" W hat is that sound?" One of the voices they'd heard outside the hedges inquired.

"I think it came from within the maze. Let us see what it is," another lady suggested, her words carrying a hint of excitement at the prospect of uncovering a mystery.

"Heavens!" Alexander mumbled as he clumsily struggled to get off Emma. "Forgive me." His movements were awkward and hurried. Panic gripped Emma from every direction, her mind racing with the implications of their accidental pose being discovered.

Just then, she saw another shadow loom over them before a pair of strong hands grabbed Alexander by the jacket and lifted him effortlessly from her. Emma gasped softly as she sat up, brushing off her skirts, only to meet George's fuming gaze.

His glare was such that it made her heart sink further into the pit of her stomach before turning his attention to Alexander. "We should leave before people find us and misunderstand," he said sternly, his voice low but filled with an urgency that brooked no argument.

Alexander appeared fleetingly perplexed as he glanced between Emma and George. Then, as realization dawned on him, he nodded, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "I–I apologize for my clumsiness, Emma. I truly am."

George, without waiting for any further discussion, practically dragged Alexander away by the sleeve. They quickly turned and disappeared back into the maze, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts.

It is I who ought to apologize. She gained her feet, brushing off the remnants of grass and leaves from her dress. She was as relieved as she was miserable. I did what was right , she reassured herself as she hastily patted her hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

The ladies they had heard outside the maze appeared at the entrance. Their expressions were a mixture of curiosity and concern as they scanned the scene.

"Oh, Miss Lovell," one of them exclaimed in surprise, her eyes wide as they landed on Emma standing alone, her attire slightly disheveled.

"We heard a sound…" the other lady added, her voice trailing off as she looked around, expecting perhaps to find more than just Emma.

"What sound?" Emma asked, feigning ignorance with as much innocence as she could muster under the circumstances. Her heart was still pounding, but she held the ladies' gazes steadily.

"You're hearing things now it seems, Agatha," the first lady teased, chuckling softly as she observed no immediate sign of the drama that Agatha had anticipated.

"No, I'm not," Agatha returned defensively, her brows knitting as though she doubted her own assertion as the scene before her seemed entirely benign.

With the ladies' attention diverted into mild bickering and reassured by Emma's composed demeanor, they soon turned to leave, their curiosity unsatisfied. Emma watched them go, her breath easing out in a quiet sigh. She looked down at her frock and noticed a slight tear on the side near her waist. She held her arms closer to her body to conceal it.

Taking advantage of their departure, Emma found her way out of the maze. Once she was within the castle walls, she gathered her skirts and ran up the stairs at the rear. As she swung shut her bedchamber door, the weight of the afternoon's events descended upon her, and she slumped against the door.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. She gathered herself and mindlessly paced the length of her bedchamber, each step echoing the pounding of her heart.

I did what is right , she told herself repeatedly. I did not wrong Alexander, nor myself, nor George…

These words did little to assuage the fear that clutched at her heart, the dreadful realization of what her integrity had cost her. In doing the right thing, she had likely sealed her fate, consigning herself to a life with the Marquess of Neads. Worse still, she faced the imminent wrath of her parents, whose ambitions she had thwarted.

Unable to hold back any longer, Emma surrendered in the fight against her tears. They burned a slow, torturous path down her. It was all too much—the weight of her decisions, the crushing expectations, and now, the looming consequences. She covered her face with her hands and clenched her teeth in an effort to control the sobs that shook her.

Emma thought she heard her bedchamber door opening, but she was uncertain, but the gasp that followed told her she had company. Nevertheless, she did not look up.

"Goodness dear, what happened?" Antoinetta exclaimed, rushing toward her. Before Emma could respond, she felt Antoinetta's arms wrap gently but firmly around her shoulders, guiding her toward the bed.

"There, there," Antoinetta cooed softly as she sat Emma down and perched next to her. Emma allowed herself to cry Antoinetta's arms, for it was the only place she had at this moment where she would neither be misunderstood nor scorned.

"Tell me what happened," Antoinetta encouraged after giving Emma a moment to gather herself.

"I could not do it, Antoinetta. I could not bring myself to betray the Earl in that manner," Emma confessed, her voice muffled against Antoinetta's dress.

"I knew you wouldn't do it. You're not that sort of person, Emma," Antoinetta replied.

Her maid's unwavering faith in her character, despite her current ordeal, brought a small comfort to Emma. Even if the world were against her, she had Antoinetta's understanding.

"I was in the garden to be alone, and I came upon the Earl," Emma continued, her voice faltering as she recalled the appalled look George had given her when he'd intervened between her and Alexander. The memory stung, for it seemed to confirm her worst fears about how he perceived her. She couldn't fathom why his disapproval hurt more acutely than the prospect of failing to secure a decent match. "He saw me with the Earl, and he is disappointed now."

"Who?" Antoinetta inquired, her brows furrowed.

"The Duke. Seymore," Emma clarified, realizing she had not given Antoinetta the entire story.

"Oh, I see." Her features softened, followed by a flicker of something else—perhaps surprise or understanding—that Emma could not quite decipher. "I suppose you hold his opinions in such high regard." She mumbled, more to herself than to Emma.

"What?" Emma asked, not sure she had heard her correctly.

"I am sure the Duke will understand it was merely a walk in the gardens."

Emma shook her head, feeling her face tighten. "It was not only that," she whispered. "I could not trap the Earl, but I tripped over my dress and fell. The Earl fell with me, Antoinetta, and the Duke saw us."

Antoinetta's face colored. "Oh, my dear Emma."

"No one else saw us, but the disdain on the Duke's face told me that I have lost his good opinion, and what little dignity I came into this house party with," she lamented, her voice thick and her throat tight.

"Never say that. Never allow your parents that triumph over you, Emma," Antoinetta squeezed her hand. "You told me that you couldn't betray a good friend as they'd ordered you to. You did the right thing, and I never saw a more admirable act of selfless sacrifice," she added, her words holding warmth meant fortify Emma's crumbling spirits.

"It certainly is a sacrifice, for now I am doomed to a life with the Marquess of Neads," Emma said resignedly, her voice hollow, as if the very thought leeched the life from her.

"There is hope yet," Antoinetta insisted gently.

Emma simply could not see the light. Not anymore. Not when the house party was concluding. She would return to Town and face the fate that awaited her there. A future as the Marchioness of Neads.

"You have been too quiet since we left the castle," Alexander finally broke their long silence as they walked through the farm fields stretching out from the manor grounds.

George's mind was indeed a storm. He'd harbored suspicions, yet the thought that Emma could actually devise such a plan was something he had refused to accept. He had believed in her, believed she was above such deceit. Alas, it seemed his faith had been misplaced. The realization brought not just disappointment but a deep, stinging hurt. If he was being completely honest with himself, it was more than just the act itself—it was the betrayal of the trust he had placed in her.

"What were you thinking, Alexander, allowing yourself to be alone with Emma in that maze?" George demanded, his words carrying the harshness of the emotions raging within him as he battled to keep his anger at bay.

"Surely you do not think I did that on purpose?" Alexander asked, his eyes widening with incredulity. "She found me in the maze when she got lost, George."

Alexander's defense seemed to contain the truth of the unexpected meeting, yet for George, the pieces did not fit neatly. "Lost. Yes," George replied with a heavy dose of sarcasm, and his friend's face registered a look akin to having been struck.

"What are you implying?" Alexander bristled, his stance tensing as if bracing for a blow.

"That you should have left the maze the instant she ventured toward you. It is fortunate that I saw you with her in there and not someone else," George responded, his voice strained. All of this was exhausting him, and he was sure he would not be in this state if it was not Emma he'd seen with Alexander.

"Ah, so it is my fault now that I didn't foresee her tripping?" Alexander retorted with equal impatience. "Or that I would try to help her and unfortunately fall along with her?" His voice rose very slightly.

"Is that what happened?" George asked, his skepticism palpable. He recalled a similar encounter with Emma in the conservatory where she had tripped, and he had instinctively reached out to assist her. Was it merely a coincidence? He doubted it.

"You disbelieve me?"

"That is what she probably wants you to believe. That it was all simply an accident." George stopped and looked about. They had arrived at the thicket that marked the beginning of the old woods where they had spent countless hours as children. George realized he had been walking mindlessly while Alexander had followed him quietly.

"What are you talking about, George?" Alexander's confusion was now mingled with irritation, his brow furrowed as he appeared to struggle to grasp the implications of George's accusations.

George paused, mulling over his next words carefully, knowing the weight they carried. Finally, he said, "Have you ever considered that perhaps Emma sees you not as a friend but a suitor, and that she had intended to trap you earlier in that maze?"

Alex now regarded George with an expression that mirrored the way one might look at a stranger. This unexpected shift in demeanor further tore at George's already strained emotions. He did not need his friend's shock and disappointment, too. Not now, when his own feelings were so conflicted and raw.

"Do you hear yourself, George?" Alex cried throwing his arms in the air. "A ploy to trap me, you say?"

"To create a scandal and trap you into marriage, yes," George confirmed. Alex might not understand this because he saw everyone with a generous heart. He believed them to have the purest intentions. George thought that perhaps it was his fault for shielding Alex too much.

"Emma would never do such a thing!" Alex's defense of Emma immediate and forceful. "Besides, I only see her as a good friend. If you asked me to marry her, I would not, for I have no romantic inclinations toward her," he added, as if to clarify his stance and perhaps to reassure both George of his intentions.

"If you think her incapable of such, then you clearly do not know her." George turned and continued walking, again heedless of where he was going. He only knew that he could not remain in one place in his enraged state.

"And you do?" Alex retorted sharply, keeping pace with him.

"I know what you do not," George responded tersely. "I am not as naively trusting," he added, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. This conversation was veering into dangerous territory, threatening the foundations of their longstanding friendship.

"What is wrong with you, George?" Alexander stopped and pulled George by his sleeve, causing him to stumble slightly.

They stood facing each other for what felt like a long moment. George closed his eyes and inhaled. He could not blame Alex. Even George himself could not fully understand what had come over him, why the possibility of Emma's deceit gnawed so deeply at him, and why it hurt to consider that she might manipulate someone's affections so coldly. Only that he felt a profound disappointment in her, and it was a feeling so potent that it seemed to cloud his judgment and poison his perceptions.

George let out a curse before shoving a hand through his hair and storming off, unable to answer Alexander's query.