Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

E mma was nestled among the shelves of the library, lost in the pages of a novel, when the butler's discreet cough announced his presence. She instinctively snapped the book shut and straightened her posture on the plush chaise lounge.

"Miss, you have a caller," the butler informed her, his tone formal yet infused with a hint of curiosity.

Was George back in town? The thought sparked an unexpected flutter of anticipation in her chest.

"The Duchess of Preston and the Marchioness of Gillingham await you in the drawing room," he added, pulling her from her brief reverie.

"Oh," Emma murmured, a note of surprise escaping her lips. It was her friends who had come to visit, not George. A peculiar sensation tugged at her heart, one she hesitated to name as disappointment. After all, she was genuinely pleased to see her friends.

Recalling Agnes's recent letter, Emma chided herself for not having responded yet, caught up as she had been in the whirl of events since her return to Town.

She rose gracefully, her gown whispering against the floor as she made her way to the drawing room. Upon entering, she was immediately enveloped in a warm, eager embrace from both Agnes and Frances.

"Oh, how we've missed you, dear," Agnes exclaimed, tightening her hold.

"Why didn't you tell us you were back in town, Emma?" Frances inquired, her voice a mixture of mock annoyance and genuine affection.

Agnes chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "I heard the news from My Lady's maid, in fact. She said she heard it from one of your footmen."

"I was going to…" Emma began, her words trailing off as she searched for an excuse that wouldn't come, her cheeks warming under their expectant gazes.

The truth was, Emma wasn't inclined for any sort of company; her disposition had soured considerably since their return from the countryside. Her parents, ensnared in their own discord, had hardly spoken to her. Her mother, ever the matron of blame, pointed fingers at Emma for every misfortune, while her father, a shadow in their home, seemed to be plotting silently—never one to let grievances lie dormant.

"Emma?" The echo of her name, voiced by her friends, snatched her from the dark spirals of her thoughts.

She blinked, refocusing on the worried expressions of Agnes and Frances. "Something is wrong," Agnes noted astutely, her brows furrowed in concern.

"Do tell us, dear. Are you all right? What has happened?" Frances pressed, her voice laced with worry.

With a heavy sigh, Emma unfolded the events of the house party, detailing the strained interactions and the mounting tensions within her family. She omitted, however, the stolen kiss with George—a secret too tender to expose to even her closest confidants.

"I've never met a more aggravating man. The Duke is intolerable!" she exclaimed, her frustration reaching its peak.

Her friends absorbed her tirade in silence, exchanging knowing looks before their faces softened into identical, mischievous smiles. "Are you falling in love, Emma?" Agnes ventured with a teasing tone.

"What?" Emma gasped, taken aback by the suggestion. Her heart fluttered traitorously, but she quickly quashed the sensation.

"I am not interested in Firman in that manner. He is a very good friend, whom I admire greatly and feel honored to know, but I harbor no deeper sentiments for him," she declared firmly, hoping her words sounded more convincing to her friends than they did to herself.

"Oh, we do not speak of the Earl, Emma," Frannie declared, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she leaned closer, a conspiratorial smile playing at her lips.

"We're talking about the Duke. Seymore," Agnes clarified with a knowing nod, her tone filled with implication. "It seems to us you are developing quite the affection for him," she added, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Don't be ridiculous," Emma retorted sharply, a flush creeping up her cheeks. The very idea was preposterous. She couldn't possibly harbor any romantic feelings for George. Such a thing was utterly impossible.

Is it, though? That annoying little voice in her head dared to question. Emma squashed it mercilessly.

"Oh, but love is ridiculous, Emma," Frannie continued, her voice lilting with amusement. "It robs us of all reason until we surrender to its enchantment. And what a splendid enchantment it is," she finished with a dreamy sigh.

Agnes chimed in, her gaze softening, "I believe that ‘ridiculous' love has indeed cast its spell on you too, dear Emma."

"I am not in love," Emma protested again, more forcefully this time, the words sharp in her throat.

Frannie and Aggie shared a glance, a silent communication passing between them before they both looked back at Emma, smiles broadening. "Oh, but we recognize that look, Emma dear. Because we've all been there," Frannie said gently.

"I just told you two that the man is insufferable! What part of the words ‘insufferable' and ‘intolerable' do you not understand?" Emma's voice rose in exasperation, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Yet, despite her protestations, a seed of doubt took root, leaving her inexplicably unsettled.

Emma's mind drifted to that moment by the carriage, the silent exchange she had shared with George. She remembered the look in his eyes—intense, perhaps revealing more than he intended. At that moment, she had felt a yearning, a longing for something she was too frightened to even name, a feeling that still haunted her.

Yet, even if there was a sliver of a chance with George, she feared it was already spoiled by her actions. A sharp pang twisted within her, the pain of what might have been.

"Oh, we most definitely understand," came her friends' voices, tinged with teasing, pulling her abruptly back to the present.

"We understand your… feelings for Seymore quite well," Aggie declared, her voice rich with amusement.

"Or lack of them," Frannie chimed in, her tone just as playful, an impish grin lighting her features.

"Nothing matters anymore," Emma sighed deeply, the weight of her arranged future pressing down on her. "I am to wed the Marquess of Neads now," she added, her voice tinged with bitterness.

"That will not happen," Agnes asserted firmly, shaking her head with a conviction that startled Emma.

"Do not give me hope, Aggie," Emma pleaded, the tightness in her chest intensifying with the stirrings of a fragile hope she dared not entertain.

"It is not false hope, Emma," Frannie interjected softly, her hand reaching out to grasp Emma's, giving it a squeeze that was both comforting and empowering. "It is belief ."

"So long as you believe, all hope isn't lost," Agnes continued, her voice imbued with a fervor that belied her usual composure. "And I will say it again. You are not marrying Neads," she added with a vehemence that left no room for argument.

"Oh, I do not know where you two, and Antoinetta draw your optimisms from," Emma sighed, her spirits lifted slightly by their unwavering support yet still clouded by doubt.

And her friends laughed, a sound so hearty and genuine it filled the room with warmth. "At the end of the day, we still have our Emma, and nothing will ever change that," Agnes declared through her laughter, her eyes sparkling with mirth. Emma couldn't help but join in, the laughter easing the heaviness in her heart for a moment.

"Don't ever do that again, Emma," Frannie's voice suddenly turned solemn again, her laughter fading as quickly as it had come. Her expression grew serious, eyes locking with Emma's in earnest concern.

"Do what?" Emma queried, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Keep things from us and shoulder all the burden alone," Frances clarified, her tone gentle yet firm.

"We are here for you, Emma," Agnes added earnestly, her gaze as intense as her words.

"That is what friends are for, is it not? To share in the good and bad times. Especially the bad times. So do not carry it all alone. Let us shoulder your woes with you," she continued, reaching for Emma's other hand and squeezing it just as Frannie had done before.

Emma nodded, feeling the sincerity and strength flowing from their hands into hers. She found herself unable to speak, overwhelmed by emotion. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and clogged her throat, a silent testament to the gratitude and love she felt for her friends. Despite the turmoil that swirled around her, she realized that perhaps all was indeed not lost.

George arrived in London earlier than anticipated. Finding the roads mercifully clear, he had switched to horseback halfway through his journey, eager to cover the distance with more haste. Upon reaching the city, he opted to make himself comfortable in Alexander's townhouse in the heart of Mayfair, rather than retreat to the quieter, more isolated Seymore manor on the outskirts.

He felt a pressing need for the lively companionship of his family; the boisterous energy they brought with them was a balm he craved in times like these.

Upon arrival, George was hardly surprised to find he had outpaced his family, who traveled with a considerably larger retinue. As he stepped into the elegant foyer, he noted the quiet that pervaded the residence—a stark contrast to what it would soon become.

"Do you know where the Dewsbury residence is?" George inquired of his valet. George's question, posed insouciantly, betrayed none of the internal questions it masked.

"Oh, most definitely. I know where the Baron lives," his valet replied eagerly.

George told himself he merely wished to know where Emma lived out of simple curiosity. Nothing more. It certainly wasn't because he had any intention of seeing her again.

Yet, as he stood there, watching his valet's meticulous movements, George knew he was not being truthful with himself. He did want to see Emma. However, the Emma he desired seemed vastly different from the one who had recently returned to London. In his eyes, she had become like so many others in society—a scheming fortune hunter. He bitterly recalled how she had nearly ensnared his best friend with her wiles, and how it had been his intervention that thwarted her plans.

These thoughts swirled darkly as he considered his next actions, longing and disdain battling within. Stevens handed George the address written on a small piece of paper just as the sounds of arrival echoed from downstairs. Slipping the paper into his pocket, George left his chambers to investigate the commotion.

As he reached the first landing, he was greeted by the sight of his family bustling in. Jane, upon looking up, clutched at her chest dramatically. "Good heavens, am I seeing a ghost?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.

"George, you're here!" Olivia cried out, her excitement bubbling over. "How in the world did you get to town?" Alexander added, equally astonished.

"I flew," George responded with a chuckle, amused by their reactions.

"I don't see any wings," Olivia teased, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Or a flying carriage outside," she added, her tone playful.

"You must look beyond the surface to see it, Olivia dear," George played along, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh, flying carriages, your imagination is too wild, child," Jane chided her niece gently.

"It doesn't sound too impossible, auntie," Olivia replied, her expression growing almost dreamy. "Think of what voyages we could make with our very own flying carriage," she mused aloud.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, dear," Jane dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand.

"You are too boring, auntie," Olivia retorted, giving an exaggerated yawn.

"Of course. That is why I host the best parties in England," Jane returned proudly, her tone one of playful superiority.

"Second only to the Prince Regent's," Alexander interjected with a mischievous wink in Olivia's direction.

"No dinner for you tonight for that statement, Alex," Jane admonished, her tone mock-stern, drawing echoes of laughter from everyone gathered in the foyer.

"You would starve an Earl, auntie?" Alex clutched at his chest, feigning disbelief and shock.

"Yes, I will," Jane retorted, her voice laced with playful determination, eliciting another round of laughter.

George joined in their mirth, feeling a warmth spread through him. This was precisely why he needed his family. Their spirited banter and infectious joy were irreplaceable.

"Had a change of heart then?" Alexander prodded, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"And I decided to ride all the way," George confirmed with a nod.

"I say, we must celebrate this change of heart," Jane declared, clapping her hands together in excitement. "A dinner party would do perfectly," she added, her enthusiasm palpable.

"Here we go again," Alex muttered, earning a playful swat from Jane's gloves.

"I agree. Hosting dinner sounds marvelous," Olivia chimed in, bouncing on her feet with equal excitement.

"And we cannot have a party without our favorite guest, of course," Jane continued, her excitement growing by the second.

"Pray tell, who is this guest of honor?" Alex inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"Why, Miss Lovell, of course," Jane replied with a triumphant smile.

At that moment, George felt a sudden knot of dread tighten in his stomach. This was something he had not anticipated.

Not Emma. Of all people.