Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

E mma and Agnes had agreed to have tea at Frannie's home that afternoon. It was a perfect opportunity to escape the oppressive atmosphere of her parents' home for a while.

"Why, aren't you the cutest little creature," Emma cooed, cradling Frannie's one-year-old baby, Caspian, in her lap.

"Is he growing more teeth?" she asked excitedly upon noticing two tiny white dots on his lower gums beside the teeth already there.

"Indeed, he is," Frances replied, her voice brimming with maternal pride.

"And trying to eat everything in his path now, I see," Aggie chuckled as the baby grabbed Emma's handkerchief and began to nibble on it.

"You're a hungry little one, aren't you?" Emma tickled the baby, who responded with infectious giggles and babbles.

As the baby's joyous sounds filled the drawing room, Emma felt an inexplicable heaviness settle within her. The realization struck hard and cold: this was a happiness she would never know. She would never have a household filled with such warmth and laughter. The love and pride Frances exuded seemed as unattainable to Emma as the Northern Star. Her heart ached with the bitter truth of it.

Yet, despite the turmoil inside her, Emma's smile remained unwavering. She continued to play with the baby, her laughter joining his, and engaged in light-hearted conversation with her friends.

She might as well savor these delightful little moments while she could.

"Oh, he's always eating, believe me," his mother gave an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation.

"Of course he is. He's a man, Frannie," Emma chuckled, glancing at the baby with an amused sparkle in her eye. "That species are legendary for their appetites," she added, her tone playful.

"BOTH appetites," Agnes chimed in, winking at Frances, who nodded in agreement.

Emma felt a warm blush spread across her cheeks at the realization of what her married friends alluded to. Memories of George's kiss, his touch on the balcony, suddenly flashed through her mind, sending a thrilling pulse through her. If she could relive that moment with him again, she would, she admitted to herself with a start.

"When you get married, you'll understand what we mean, Emma," her friends teased, their giggles filling the air.

Emma couldn't help but join in the laughter, despite the gentle teasing at her expense. The baby's babbles added to the joyous cacophony, as if he too thought the noise a perfect opportunity to contribute to the conversation. They all watched his animated excitement and laughed even more.

"You are going to grow up to be quite the charmer, aren't you?" Agnes cooed affectionately, dropping a gentle kiss on his tiny nose.

The afternoon tea was indeed rejuvenating. The lively banter and the baby's delightful company provided Emma with a much-needed distraction.

But as with all good things, her time with her friends eventually came to an end, and Emma found herself facing the unwelcome prospect of returning home. She dreaded what awaited her there.

"Quickly now. Hurry, hurry," her mother, Caroline, chided the moment Emma stepped into the foyer. "I was just about to send word for you to return home at once," Caroline added, pulling on Emma's sleeve and hastily ushering her toward the staircase.

"What is going on, mother?" Emma asked, her voice tinged with both confusion and a rising sense of alarm.

"The Marquess of Neads is coming to meet you at last," her mother announced, the words striking Emma like a physical blow.

A wave of nausea threatened as her stomach twisted in dread. "We must get you changed and ready to receive him at once," Caroline insisted, her tone brooking no argument as she practically dragged Emma toward her bedchamber.

This sudden flurry of attention from her mother was both unprecedented and unwanted since their return from London. It was the sort of attention that Emma found oppressive and suffocating, not the loving, nurturing kind she longed for.

Half an hour later, Emma was dressed in a gown that felt like a costume of compliance. She stood stiffly in her father's study, the room feeling smaller by the moment as the Marquess of Neads circled her. The Marquess, a withered old man with a drooping bad eye and even worse breath, examined her as though she were livestock rather than a lady, making her skin crawl under his gaze.

Neads was here not so much to meet her but to inspect her, Emma realized with a sinking heart. He hardly spoke directly to her, directing all his queries and observations to her father instead. When he did address her, it was only to issue commands that made her feel more like an object on display than a person. "Turn around, girl… Raise your chin higher… Let's have a look at your teeth…" Each command chipped away at her dignity, and Emma fought the urge to retch.

"Yes, yes. Those hips look wide enough to bear my sons," the Marquess squinted through his one good eye, examining her as though she were a mare at market. Emma's revulsion deepened, a visceral response to being appraised in such a manner.

The Marquess even went so far as to lean closer and sniff her hair, an act that breached all decorum and personal space. Emma instinctively recoiled, the proximity far too close for comfort and utterly disturbing.

As she pulled back, her gaze darted to her mother, searching for some semblance of support or intervention. Instead, she met Caroline's eyes, which held a stern warning against any form of protest.

"Not bad… Not bad…" Neads muttered to himself, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort he inflicted. Emma felt a cold dread settle over her.

"How old did you say she was again, Dewsbury?" The Marquess addressed her father, his gaze remaining unsettlingly fixed on Emma.

"One and twenty," her father replied promptly.

"Still young and fruitful. She would do, Dewsbury," he concluded, finally turning back to address the Baron directly. The words, so casually uttered, made Emma's skin crawl, a deep sense of objectification washing over her.

By the time the Marquess departed, Emma was left feeling diminished and dehumanized. Her father, sensing her distress yet seemingly indifferent to it, added insult to injury. He glared at her with a harshness that bordered on cruelty. "You will live a very happy life with the Marquess," he declared, his tone challenging, almost daring her to contradict him.

Emma had barely stepped out of her father's study, her emotions a whirl, when she encountered the butler, who promptly announced a visitor.

"Lady Olivia Winger is waiting in the drawing room," he informed her.

Surprised yet relieved to have a friendly face to see, Emma hurried to the drawing room. Olivia's presence was a welcome reprieve from the turmoil that had just unfolded. She returned Olivia's warm hug with equal fervor, grateful for the comfort it offered.

After ordering some tea for them, Emma took her seat opposite her friend. "I trust you had a pleasant journey back?" Olivia inquired, her voice carrying a light, conversational tone.

"Exhausting, but otherwise uneventful," Emma replied, choosing her words carefully to mask the true nature of her discomfort during the journey with her parents.

"Oh, the English roads are not the gentlest, I'm afraid," Olivia chuckled lightly, bringing a brief smile to Emma's lips. "But every trip is worth it if I get to see you, my dear friend," Olivia squeezed Emma's hand reassuringly, her eyes sparkling with genuine affection.

Emma smiled warmly in response, a flush of gratitude coloring her cheeks. "I must confess, I wasn't expecting you back in town so early."

"Oh, Aunt Jane couldn't stay away from the town parties for long," Olivia winked conspiratorially, her voice lowering to a playful murmur.

"Oh, Lady Amberton is quite the life everywhere she goes, is she not?" Emma laughed, the tension from earlier dissipating slightly in the lightness of their conversation.

"We are privileged to have her," Olivia responded, her tone laced with fondness and a hint of pride.

"Indeed," Emma agreed wholeheartedly, recalling her own delightful encounters with the vivacious Lady Amberton.

"As a matter of fact, I came here for two reasons today," Olivia announced, her expression turning slightly more serious just as their tea arrived. Emma reached out to pour the tea into delicate China cups, the subtle clink of porcelain a comforting background sound.

"We are hosting a small dinner party tomorrow evening, and I came to extend the special invitation to you," Olivia revealed, her gaze holding Emma's. "And your family, of course," she added, almost as an afterthought.

As Emma absorbed the invitation, her thoughts involuntarily drifted to George. Was he also back in town? The question nagged at her, but she restrained herself from asking Olivia directly, not wanting to appear overly eager or interested.

A part of her recoiled at the idea of attending the party. She wasn't sure she was ready to face George again. As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Emma realized the true nature of her reluctance. She was scared. Scared of seeing him again, scared of the inexplicable and intense longing that surged within her at the mere thought of their reunion.

"George and Alex are looking forward to hosting too," Olivia added, her tone encouraging, as if sensing Emma's hesitation.

So he was also back in town, Emma thought, a flicker of something indescribable passing through her. Alexander would indeed relish the chance to host; he always did. But George? Emma harbored doubts. Not when the last words he'd spoken to her painted her as nothing more than a fortune hunter with poisonous ambitions—a painful reminder that stung anew.

This bitter thought cemented her resolve, and Emma swiftly made up her mind. She would not attend the gathering.

"Why, that sounds lovely," Emma started, her voice faltering slightly as she searched for the right words to convey her regrets without offending. "But I do not think I can make it, for I already have plans for tomorrow evening," she lied, hoping her excuse sounded plausible.

"Oh, but Aunt Jane is practically dying to see you again, Emma. She's hosting specifically for you," Olivia implored, her eyes wide with sincerity. "I want you there too. More than anything," she added, taking Emma's hand and squeezing it gently, her plea almost palpable.

Faced with such earnest entreaty, Emma felt her resolve waver. "I suppose I'll just have to cancel those plans then," she conceded, unable to resist the genuine desire in Olivia's eyes.

Her friend's face lit up with joy at her acquiescence. "Excellent," Olivia exclaimed, sitting up straighter in her chair, her earlier dismay replaced by delighted anticipation as she happily sipped her tea.

Odd anticipation coursed through Emma now that she had accepted the invitation, realizing that this meant she would see George again. Despite the intensity of their last encounter and his harsh words, a part of her, perhaps foolishly, yearned to see him again.

After Olivia had departed, leaving a swirl of excitement in her wake, Emma sought out her mother to share the news of the invitation. Since it had been extended to the entire family, she assumed their collective attendance was expected.

"The whole family is to attend," she stated, trying to mask her own eagerness with a tone of casual information.

"You are not going," her mother countered sharply, her words slicing through the room like a cold draft.

"I beg your pardon?" Emma responded, her voice a mixture of surprise and confusion. The room seemed to tilt slightly, her mother's words upending everything.

"You heard me," her mother continued, her tone flat and devoid of warmth. "Your father and I will go alone. Our presence will suffice," she added, her words final, leaving no room for negotiation.

"But mother—" Emma began, her mind racing for arguments that could sway her mother's sudden and inexplicable decree.

"You have already been given to the Marquess of Neads, and your engagement will follow soon. You have no reason to make further appearances in society now. Least of all to Firman, and especially not to that DUKE," her mother interrupted, spitting out the title with a venom that made Emma flinch.

"Surely you do not mean what you say, mother," Emma implored, her voice tinged with desperation.

"Every word," Caroline said sternly, her gaze hard and unyielding. "You have no one to blame here but yourself, Emma. If you hadn't failed at the house party, this would not have occurred," she finished, her words cutting deeply.

Emma stood, her hopes of mending whatever remained between her and George dashed cruelly by her own flesh and blood. The room seemed colder now, quite like the ice encasing her heart.

"So, are you looking forward to seeing Emma again?" Alex suddenly posed the question to George. It was the evening of Jane's dinner party, and the two friends had retreated to Alexander's study for a bit of solitude before their guests arrived.

"What is so special about Miss Lovell?" George attempted to mask his interest, maintaining a tone of indifference as he lit another cigar, offering one to Alex.

"Oh, everything is special about her," Alex responded with a knowing smile. "Especially to YOU," he added, his gaze probing, as if trying to peer into George's very soul.

George felt a tightness in his chest, a mix of anticipation and dread. What was Alex on to now? He wondered internally. He straightened slightly, adopting a more detached demeanor. "Miss Lovell to me holds the same place as every other woman in society," he asserted, hoping to deflect further inquiry.

"That is a lie," Alex stated flatly, cutting through George's pretense with an almost surgical precision.

"A lie?" George echoed, his voice a blend of feigned surprise and a touch of defensiveness as he searched for the right words to steer clear of the interrogation he felt was imminent. Alex was known for his persistence and knack for uncovering truths people preferred to keep buried.

"I am not a fool, George," his friend continued firmly. "I've watched your interactions with her throughout the house party enough to know," Alex added, his tone indicating that he saw through the fa?ade George had painstakingly built.

George felt the walls he had erected around his feelings for Emma begin to crumble under Alex's unwavering gaze. His attempts at casual dismissal were failing, and he knew he had to tread carefully, lest he reveal more than he intended.

"Have you been stalking me?" George retorted with a sheepish chuckle, trying to deflect the probing conversation with humor.

"And besides, I saw the look you two exchanged by that carriage before she left the castle," Alexander continued, undeterred by George's attempt at lightening the mood. "You have feelings for Emma, George. Perhaps more than you care to acknowledge," he concluded, his gaze fixed intently on George, as penetrating as ever.

Alexander's words struck a chord, and internally, George conceded the truth. I do want her , he admitted silently to himself.

"It doesn't matter," George sighed out loud, trying to dismiss his feelings as irrelevant. "She is not the woman I thought she was," he added, his voice tinged with disappointment as he puffed at his cigar, the smoke swirling around him almost abstractedly.

"What do you mean?" Alexander asked, his brow furrowing in confusion at George's cryptic words.

Taking a deep breath, George confided about the kiss they had shared, and how he subsequently felt that Emma had set out to trap him as well. His heart felt heavy with mixed emotions as he recounted the details.

"Another trap, George?" Alex responded, his tone laced with ostensible disbelief. "I rather think this a foolish notion, man. Emma is nothing but kind and sweet," he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "So sweet you couldn't resist kissing her, in fact," he teased, a broad grin spreading across his face.

But George found himself unable to share in this light-hearted jest. Not right now.

"You recall what happened in the maze?" George reminded him, his tone serious, bringing up a past incident that had left a deep impression on them both.

"Clearly," Alexander nodded solemnly. "And I will say it again. It was an honest accident. Emma never intended to trap me as you claim," he reiterated, his voice firm with conviction.

"I don't know why you are so blind to what is so evident," George grumbled.

"I am not blind. You are only being ridiculously fearful, George," Alex chided gently, trying to ease his friend's worries. "Do not let the past shape your perception of the present. Let it go. This is not another trap," he advised, his voice firm yet understanding.

"You think I'm saying all this simply because I was trapped once?" George countered, his tone rising slightly as he recalled the unfortunate incident that had marred his reputation. A lady had indeed succeeded in creating a scandal with him, but he had staunchly refused to offer for her, maintaining his innocence and choosing his integrity over societal pressure. It was a decision that had branded him with a notorious reputation, one that he wore like an indifferent cloak.

"I am only suggesting that it might be influencing how you view things now, and to not let it cloud your judgment," Alex replied, his expression earnest, hoping to penetrate the defensive walls George had built around himself.

A part of George knew that Alex was probably right—again. But the truth about Emma, or at least what he perceived to be the truth, gnawed at him relentlessly. His suspicions clung stubbornly, mingling with an inexplicable desire that seemed to intensify despite his doubts.

"I cannot claim to know exactly how you feel. But I am confident that I have a good idea," Alex continued, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between them. "And while I cannot speak for Emma's sentiments, I can see that there is something there. So, listen to your heart for once, George. It's calling you in the right direction. I know it," he concluded, his voice carrying a conviction that was hard to ignore.

A pensive silence enveloped the room once more as George digested his friend's words, wrestling internally with his emotions and the decision before him. After a long moment, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his pocket watch, checking the time with a resigned sigh.

"We best join the ladies. Our guests will be here any moment now," George said, his voice carrying a note of finality as he closed the watch.

The truth was, George was eager for the awkward conversation to cease. As he and Alex joined Jane and Olivia in the drawing room, the announcement of their guests' arrival offered him a welcome diversion. Still, as he stood, preparing himself for the possibility of encountering Emma once again, he sternly reminded himself that what he felt was not anticipation.

He and Alex rose to greet the newcomers as Lord and Lady Dewsbury made their entrance. George's attention, however, remained fixed on the door, expecting Emma to follow her parents into the room. But she never appeared.

"Why, where is our dear Miss Lovell?" Jane inquired, echoing the curiosity that undoubtedly occupied every mind present. Her eyes darted to the door, reflecting a shared anticipation.

"I'm afraid our darling Emma is indisposed. She sends her regrets," Lady Dewsbury announced, her tone carrying a tinge of formal regret that did little to mask the undercurrent of tension.

"Oh dear," Olivia's response was immediate, her eyes filled with genuine concern and palpable disappointment.

George felt an unexpected knot tighten in his chest, and he was baffled by the intensity of his own reaction. Why should the news of Emma's absence stir such a profound sense of disappointment in him?