Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

E mma heaved a sigh as she stared at the dress and jewelry Antoinetta had laid out for her on the bed. She did not want to go down for dinner. Every part of her being screamed to defy her lady's maid's encouragement and remain secluded in her bedchamber. As if fate conspired against her solitude, her door suddenly burst open.

"Why are you not yet ready?"

Emma turned, expecting to see Antoinetta, but instead, her mother stood in the doorway. Caroline was dressed in a bright peach and gold attire that shimmered ostentatiously under the light, her presence as commanding as her attire.

"You must dress at once. Dinner would not wait for you," Caroline added, her tone brooking no argument.

"I wouldn't want it to," Emma sighed again, her voice low and resigned.

"What is that supposed to mean?" her quirked a brow, her displeasure evident in the sharp arch of her expression.

"That I am not going," Emma stated firmly, finally making up her mind. Tonight, she was in no mood to endure the company of anyone, preferring own miserable self. "I'm afraid I do not feel well, Mother," she added, hoping perhaps to soften her refusal with a plea of feeling poorly.

"Listen here, girl. You will go down for dinner even if you have to crawl." Her mother walked into the room and picked up the dress, tossing it at Emma.

"You are starting to sound a lot like your husband, Mother," Emma observed, catching the dress.

The anger that ignited in the depths of her mother's eyes was both immediate and intense, a clear indication that her remark had struck a nerve. "Watch your words!" she warned sharply as she whipped around, her gaze scanning the room with evident irritation.

"Where is your lady's maid?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she apparently noticed Antoinetta's absence for the first time. Just as the words left her mouth, fate intervened; Antoinetta, unaware of the brewing storm, chose that very moment to reappear in the doorway.

"You are becoming careless with your duties, girl," Caroline turned her wrath toward the poor lady's maid, who blinked in surprise at the sudden accusation. "Perhaps half a wage would get you to pick up your pace," she threatened, her voice harsh and unforgiving.

"Mother!" Emma admonished. "You know how diligent Antoinetta is. You cannot threaten her thusly."

"Why should I not?" Caroline swiveled back to face Emma, her eyes alight with a challenging gleam. "You best cooperate if you want her wages intact then," she added with a sneer that turned Emma's stomach.

She stood aghast, unable to reconcile this vindictive stranger with the mother she once knew. The harshness of her tone, the cruelty of her words—it was as if she was looking at a reflection of her father, not the woman who had raised her.

"Are you using her to intimidate me now, Mother?" Emma asked, her voice strained as she tried to keep her composure under Caroline's unyielding gaze.

"If that is the only thing that will incite you to find a husband, then yes. I am not merely threatening, Emma. I will cut her wages by half if you do not do what is expected of you." her mother replied coldly.

"Now get dressed," she barked as she strode over to the wardrobe. "I change my mind. You are not wearing that dress." Caroline pulled out a different garment that she deemed more suitable for Emma's purposes tonight. A pale green silk dress with an embroidered neckline intended to draw attention.

With a heavy heart, Antoinetta helped Emma into the dress her mother had chosen. Throughout the process, Caroline watched like a hawk, issuing commands on what to change and add with every second breath. Her scrutiny was relentless, each directive more critical than the last.

"This is the last night of the house party and your last chance here. You will not catch the eye of any gentleman dressed like a nun," her mother declared as she adjusted the pearls around Emma's neck.

Resigned, Emma finally descended the stairs for dinner, her mother following closely behind, ensuring that her daughter adhered to every instruction. As they entered the drawing room, Emma's heart sank, for the first gaze she met across the crowded room was George's. His eyes were like sharp blades, and if looks could indeed wound, she felt that his could cut her to the core.

Her heart both raced and ached from the intensity of his scorn, and although she had braced herself for his disapproval, the reality of facing it at this very moment was more than she had anticipated. With a heavy sigh, Emma looked away. The evening was already unbearable, and it had only just begun.

Her gaze settled on Firman next. He was deeply engaged in conversation with Colette, but he sent a warm smile in her direction when he saw her. His friendly gesture was a small solace, but Emma knew this was going to be a long evening.

"I'm starving," Olivia declared, appearing beside Emma with her usual bright smile. She looped her arm through Emma's, anchoring her with a familiar comfort.

"So am I," Emma lied, managing to pin a smile on her face to mask her nerves. The last thing she wanted was to invite any probing questions from Olivia, who was always quick to sense any unease in her.

"I hope Francois would make this meal memorable."

"Oh, I am sure he will," Emma responded, playing along with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. She was also careful not to meet George's gaze across the room. However, she was keenly aware of his presence in the room as he leaned against the window and watched everyone, especially her.

"You have such confidence in him, one would think he pays you to put in a good word for him," Olivia laughed.

"Oh, with such elaborate meals every day, I think that is more than payment enough, don't you think?" Emma quipped back, finding a bit of truth in her own jest.

"I think we might have to get our dresses adjusted a little bit after this house party," Olivia chuckled, patting her stomach in a playful manner.

Emma found herself laughing genuinely for the first time that evening. Olivia's presence was indeed a good distraction, her light-heartedness a balm to the evening's earlier wounds.

Fate, however, seemed determined to test Emma further when a gentleman approached Olivia, requesting the honor of escorting her to dinner. With a smile, Olivia agreed and allowed him to lead her away just as Emma noticed the other guests beginning to pair up for the procession to the dining hall.

Her heart sank further when she observed Alexander offering his arm to Colette. There went another opportunity, slipping away as easily as sand through her fingers. She could almost feel the heat of her parents' disapproval bearing down upon her, their expectations unmet yet again.

She stood awkwardly, hoping for some miracle of a partner, when her gaze drifted across the room to Lady Amberton. She was whispering something to George. His expression that was earlier unreadable immediately turned to stone. Whatever was shared between them concluded with a curt nod from him, and then, to her surprise, he began making his way toward her.

Oh, no! As he approached, there was a marked absence of the usual warmth or charm that occasionally played about his features. Instead, his demeanor was somber, almost lifeless.

"Miss Lovell," he greeted her formally once he had covered the distance between them.

Emma swallowed hard. The cold, distant manner in which he regarded her now made her feel as though she were no more familiar to him than a complete stranger. She curtsied politely, murmuring, "Your Grace."

"May I escort you to the dining room?" he asked.

Nodding, she took George's proffered arm, allowing him to lead her away. As they walked toward the dining room, an awkward silence stretched between them, each step feeling overly pronounced, echoing her dread.

In the dining room, he walked her to her seat, and instead of releasing her hand, he lingered and held her gaze for a moment. There was disapproval in his eyes, but there was something else that had her heart racing all over again and her breath catching. George had given her this look many times before.

"You may take your seat," he whispered, seeming to lean ever closer to her, placing her under his charming enchantment.

"You have to release my hand first," she murmured. It was as though her words had awakened him from some form of slumber. George straightened and cleared his throat, releasing her hand.

As Emma took her seat, her gaze drifted across the room and met Lady Amberton's, who, to Emma's surprise, was grinning at her. There was something curious and unreadable about her expression that left Emma feeling even more disconcerted.

Without another word, George took the seat next to her, his presence overwhelming her senses. Emma tried to focus on her meal but found herself keenly aware of every minute movement he made. It also did not help that he sat so rigidly.

Across from them, her parents' glares bore into her. Her father's gaze was particularly intense, almost murderous. Each bite she took felt like a chore, and swallowing was an ordeal. Dinner, under such scrutiny and tension, turned into the most uncomfortable experience she had ever endured, while every other guest seemed to be having the best moment of their lives.

Emma glanced at Alexander at the head of the table, and when their gazes met, he raised the glass he was holding toward her before taking a sip. After which, he said, "Miss Lovell, I have it on good authority that Francois took great care in roasting this lamb—exactly as you like it."

Heavens! And I could not even taste it! Emma put on a bright smile, making sure her eyes sparkled. "Has my compliment reached him then, My Lord?"

"Indeed, it has." Alexander beamed. "It is not every day an honored guest recognizes his talent."

"And it is not every day one gets to walk away unscathed from a scandal," George whispered, and she immediately tensed.

Her fingers tightened around her fork, and she didn't dare turn to look at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing." George smiled and raised his glass. "To Francois, then! For helping us host such a memorable party." Everyone echoed the sentiment and drank, while Emma could barely raise her sherry to her lips.

"I should send him my compliments, as well," Colette said as though to compete with the attention Emma had.

She felt George lean ever so slightly closer. "What is the matter, darling? Regretting the party has come to an end?"

Oh, he is cruel!

"Is your intention to punish me tonight, Your Grace?" she ground out through clenched teeth while maintaining her smile.

"Did you commit a crime that warrants it?"

Emma had to turn to look at him, and the mask he wore could put a seasoned actor to shame. His smile, although cold to Emma, would appear charming to everyone else. George raised a brow, waiting for her answer.

"No, I did not, and I suggest you examine your perception." she replied confidently, because it was the truth. His eyes narrowed, however, and she knew nothing she would say would convince him otherwise. Turning, she took a slow sip of her sherry and ate her roasted lamb, trying very hard to taste and appreciate Francois's work.

"My perception is intact, Miss Lovell."

"Is that so? Why then can you not see that I would rather eat without conversing with you?"

"Trust me, that sentiment is shared." He glanced at Lady Amberton. "However, someone is determined to thrust us in each other's paths."

"How fateful."

"I wish it were fate." There was a bitter edge in his voice that sent a shiver down her spine. Ignoring it, she forced her attention back to her meal. The relief that washed over her when the meal finally concluded was unlike anything she had ever felt.

As the guests began to disperse, moving off into the gardens to celebrate the last night of the house party, Emma felt a desperate need for fresh air and a respite from the oppressive atmosphere of the dining room. She did not wait for George to offer to escort her out to the gardens.

The air around her was filled with merriment as everyone seemed to be enjoying the final night of the house party. Emma found herself scanning the crowd, her eyes inadvertently searching for George despite her resolve not to. I am not looking for him , she silently insisted to herself, though a small, rebellious part of her heart seemed to disagree.

"Emma," Alexander called, his face lit up with a warm, inviting smile when she turned in his direction. "Would you do me the honor of partnering with me for the country dance?" he asked when he reached her.

"Why, of course." She took the arm he offered, ensuring her smile was as bright as the lanterns around them.

"Our music comes from the guests tonight," Alexander noted as he gently led her toward the dance floor. Emma's gaze followed his pointing finger, and she realized that the orchestra was indeed composed of various guests who had volunteered to play. "They decided to perform. In honor of the final night, you see."

"How thoughtful of them," Emma responded with a light chuckle, genuinely pleased by the spirit the guests displayed. It was a small solace, seeing others reveling in the moment, their joy so foreign to a mind such as hers. "You truly have hosted an unforgettable party, Alex."

"I would not have done it without my family, and a dear friend such as yourself."

Emma's chest tightened. They truly had become friends, and she was glad her conscience had led her onto the right path. Despite that, her heart was breaking and the pain was only increasing. As the first strings of the country dance filled the air, Alexander's expression turned somber, his eyes searching hers with concern. "Is everything all right, Emma?"

"With music, dance, food, and laughter, what could possibly be wrong, Alex?" she replied, forcing another chuckle, hoping her facade was convincing.

Emma released a silent sigh of relief when she saw a smile return to his face, reassured that her performance had allayed his concerns for the moment.

"I thought you looked a little pale."

"It is a cold evening."

His smile turned into a grin. "You are correct." Emma allowed herself to enjoy the dance, and for a moment, she was able to forget her worries. When it ended, she noticed Alexander's expression grow serious as they left the dance floor.

"Allow me to apologize for my clumsiness earlier," he said, his tone earnest.

Something within Emma churned at the reminder of their earlier encounter in the maze, but she quickly masked her discomfort with a graceful smile. "Oh, I ought to apologize, as well."

"There wouldn't be a need for that," Alexander quickly dismissed her concern. "We will just keep our clumsiness between us."

Emma laughed, genuinely this time, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep within her. It was a welcome release from the tension that had been building inside her. In that moment, there was no skepticism about Alexander's intentions or his character.

Still, beneath the temporary joy, her heart ached over how George had treated her. How she wished she could undo the misunderstanding, to explain and perhaps mend things between them.

"Indeed, we will," she agreed to Alexander's suggestion.

"I suppose I should thank you for the marvelous time here then," Emma added. "It is a shame that all good things must end."

"It will continue in London. I must say it was an honor making your acquaintance and friendship, Emma." He gave her hand a pat.

"Likewise," Emma returned warmly. In the end, despite all that had occurred, she still had her new friendships intact. She reminded herself of the sacrifice she had made by defying her parents' wishes, choosing to protect Alexander from an unwelcome entrapment. He deserved more than to be a pawn in a marriage scheme, and certainly not a partner who would deceive him.

When she felt her emotions rising again, she gently drew her hand away and smiled. "Please excuse me, Alex. There is a matter I must see to."

"Of course."

With quick steps, she walked back into the manor, seeking a quiet place where she could regain her composure. She found sanctuary in a dimly lit salon. Closing the door softly behind her, she looked up at the moonlight filtering into the room through the glass doors that led out to a terrace.

Her gaze wandered and settled on a painting hanging prominently above the fireplace. It depicted a tranquil landscape, and she wondered if it was another of George's acquisitions, a reminder of his presence everywhere she turned.

How did I arrive at this state? she mused, feeling the sting of tears threatening her composure. After what he had witnessed in the maze, perhaps he had every right to treat her with such coldness. Yet, he had no idea of the pressures she faced, the desperate measures she had been driven to consider to survive her family's demands.

"Have you seen my daughter?"

Emma tensed. Panic washed over her as she recognized her father's voice just outside the salon, likely questioning a footman. "I believe I saw her go down that hallway, My Lord," came the footman's response.

Her heart pounding, she looked around the room frantically for where to hide. Seeing the terrace, she hurried toward it. As she pushed the door open and stepped out, she nearly stumbled to a halt abruptly at the sight before her.

George was seated on a bench on the terrace, his side to her as he puffed his cigar thoughtfully, seemingly lost in his own contemplations. The gardens stretched out before him, bathed in the soft glow of the evening light.

Emma slowly began to retreat, hoping to slip away before he noticed her presence. Just as she was about to fade into the salon, he turned up.

"Out here scheming to trap another poor soul, I see," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet night air. She froze.