Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

T he moment the carriage pulled up before the Dewsbury residence, Emma's father yanked her out with a force that made her stumble. His face was a mask of fury, eyes blazing as he hissed and cursed.

"I have always known that you would end up a disgrace to the family!" he spat, his eyes filled with venom. "And here we are, are we not?" He laughed, pulling her through the doorway and into the drawing room where he pushed her onto the sofa.

Emma clutched the arm of the sofa to right herself as her mother entered the room but lingered by the door. Her mind flickered back to the grin her father wore earlier, the ecstasy that had lit up his face. The transformation was so abrupt, for he seemed a madman now. She had witnessed his tantrums many times, but never had she seen him thusly. Her mother's horrified expression only confirmed that Caroline too had never encountered such wrath.

"You have shamed my good name in society with your incompetence and indiscipline, and I will have you amend it all," her father roared, pushing a brass statuette from a console. It fell onto the carpeted floor with a thud.

Caroline took a step toward him, her voice trembling when she spoke. "Tristan?—"

"You shall be silent, madam!" he hissed, his eyes narrowing. "It is your incompetence which runs in her blood, shaming us all."

Caroline shrank back, her face paling. Emma wondered if it was his hurtful words or the sheer force of his anger that caused such a reaction. Perhaps both, she concluded, feeling a pang of pity for her mother despite her own troubles.

"Now listen here, girl," he said, turning his furious gaze back to Emma. She shrunk into the sofa, trembling, her heart pounding. His eyes bored into hers, demanding compliance. "You will make this right, or you will face consequences you cannot even begin to fathom."

Emma's throat tightened, fear clawing at her insides. She wanted to cry out, to defend herself, but the words stuck in her throat. All she could do was nod, her mind racing to find a way out of the nightmare that had engulfed her life.

He father came to stand in front of her. When he smiled, a chill ran through her. Who are you? "I will make you do my bidding, one way or another," he declared, his voice chillingly calm. "That rake of a knight you have been chasing will be nowhere in sight come morning. Men like him do not make things right. You are ruined now, and no one else will have you but the Marquess. Thank goodness he is just as desperate as we are."

Something in his tone struck Emma, a painful realization dawning upon her. Had her father orchestrated this entire incident to force her into marrying Neads? The truth twisted her guts.

"You did this!" Emma's fear was immediately replaced by fury and a sense of betrayal. She shot to her feet, he hands clenching at her sides. "You brought that crowd to the gardens knowing George and I were still there."

A wicked smile spread across his face, confirming her worst fears. "Thank heavens you did not inherit your mother's dim wit as well," he said, his words a cruel mockery.

Emma's gaze flickered to Caroline, standing passively by, her eyes dull and lifeless. The sight of her mother's resignation only fueled Emma's desperation.

"Wasn't signing me away to the Marquess enough? Have I not agreed to marry him?" Emma's voice rose.

"Whether I am guilty of your accusations or not, it does not matter." Her father shrugged dismissively. "What is done is done. And that Duke will never marry you," he added smugly.

Emma's heart sank at his words, for they held an undeniable truth. George would never marry her. The weight of this realization pressed down on her, but she refused to succumb to despair. Anger blazed too brightly within her to allow room for misery, though she knew it would follow in due course.

"You have no heart," Emma said, breathless.

"I have a brain, something you and your mother evidently lack," he retorted.

"I have been foolish to think you were anything but a despicable man," Emma spat, her voice shaking with rage.

Her father's eyes narrowed, and before she could react, he rose to strike her. Emma shut her eyes, bracing herself for the blow, but it never came. In a blur of movement, her mother had stepped between them, taking the force of his strike.

Caroline staggered, her face contorted in pain, but she did not fall. Emma's breath caught in her throat as she watched her mother, the usually passive woman now a shield against her father's wrath. The sight filled her with a mix of horror and a fierce, protective love.

"How dare you!" Emma stood taller. "How dare you raise your hand against her!"

Her father's face was still twisted with darkness, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he looked at Caroline. "She brought this upon herself," he muttered, though the conviction in his voice wavered.

Caroline straightened and brushed a wisp of hair from her face. "No, Tristan," she said softly but firmly. "You will not hurt her. Not again."

Emma's heart ached at the sight of her mother's quiet strength, and she felt a surge of resolve. She would not be cowed by her father's cruelty. She took her mother's hand and stood beside her.

"You will not control my life any longer," she said. "You may be my sire, but I will find my own way, with or without your approval."

Her father's face darkened further, but words seemed to escape him. Emma stood her ground, a defiant statue amidst the storm of his wrath. Another strike came, and again, Caroline intercepted it. She cried out in pain, clutching her shoulder where the blow had landed, sparing Emma's face from its intended mark.

She darted to her mother, her heart clenching in fear and guilt. But Caroline, with a strength Emma had never seen before, thrust out a hand to push her away. "Get out of here, Emma."

"But—"

"Leave quickly. Now!" Caroline insisted. "I will take care of things from here."

Emma hesitated only a moment longer before she turned and fled the drawing room as instructed. The last image she saw was her father, towering over her mother. It took every ounce of willpower not to rush back and try to pull her mother away. She knew, deep down, that they were no match for him.

Trusting her mother to handle him, as promised, Emma ran up to her bedchamber. She sat rigidly on her bed, her heart and thought racing. The events of the evening played over and over in her mind, a cruel loop of disbelief and horror. Her hands trembled as she raised them to her face, brushing the tears from her cheeks.

She started when her bedchamber door suddenly opened, a jolt of fear coursing through her as she fleetingly thought her angry father had stormed after her. Relief washed over her, however, when Antoinetta stepped into the room.

Emma's words spilled out, recounting the scandal in a hushed whisper. "I know. I heard your exchange with your father. Everything he said," her lady's maid admitted ruefully.

"He holds no shred of humanity in him," Emma said. "I wish he is not my father."

"I dislike agreeing with you on this matter, but I must," Antoinetta responded. "I am sorry, Emma," she added softly, her eyes filled with sympathy. She took both of her hands and squeezed them.

"I don't know what to do, Antoinetta," Emma sighed. "I never thought I would find myself facing ruin."

"I shall bring you some tea to calm you," Antoinetta suggested, rising. "You require it."

Emma watched her go, then decided to change out of her evening attire. She slipped into a night rail, the simple act bringing a small measure of comfort. Returning to the bed, she sat once more, feeling as though she were living a life that was not her own. Despite the turmoil within her, no more tears came. She felt numb, as if her emotions had been stripped away.

Antoinetta returned with a tray of chamomile tea and milk, the gentle fragrance filling the room. She set the tray down and poured a cup, handing it to Emma with a look of encouragement. Then sat beside her on the covers as she'd done earlier.

"What do you think the Duke will do?" Antoinetta asked.

The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace, and Emma's mind drifted back to George's words earlier that evening. He had spoken with such confidence, assuring her that she always had a choice. Yet here she was, feeling utterly devoid of options, her fate seemingly out of her hands.

George was the one who needed to make a choice now. The only option she had was to wait, and she found herself filled with a crushing sense of powerlessness.

"I keep thinking about how George never offered for that lady in the past. Why would he offer for me now?" Antoinetta frowned, but she urged Emma to continue. "It is a reminder of the harsh realities of our society and how precarious my position is." She wrung the linen of her nightrail. "A part of me wishes to believe that George is a man of honor, that despite everything, he would do the right thing by me."

Antoinetta nodded. "I believe he is honorable. Perhaps the rumors we heard about him are untrue, and there is a reason he refused to marry the lady."

Emma sighed. "Perhaps, and perhaps not." The dejected part of her was gaining strength. "I might be ruined for good, and my future could lie only with the Marquess of Neads."

Antoinetta reached out and took Emma's hands in hers, squeezing them gently. "Emma, His Grace has always been a man of integrity. Do not lose hope. He may yet surprise you."

"I wish I could believe that, Antoinetta. But the past haunts me, and I fear the worst."

"Sometimes, the past does not dictate the future. We must have faith, even when all seems lost. You are braver than you think. Do not let your father's cruelty define you. You have the courage to break free from his grasp and carve out a life of your own."

"How do you have so much hope?" Emma asked in despair.

"I know honorable people exist, and I have observed your interactions with His Grace in Wiltshire. I am confident he will offer for you," she responded.

"There is a reason for his reputation, Antoinetta," Emma whispered. She desperately wanted her fear allayed, but she did not trust George. He had done everything in his power to get in her way during the house party. He believed her the villain, and although he knew the truth now, Emma did not have faith he will act rightly.

"Perhaps this time will be different," Antoinetta said.

"People hardly change. Do not give me hope." Emma shook her head.

Antoinetta reached into the pocket that hung at her waist and removed a small pouch, offering it to Emma. "Then may I give you a different suggestion?" she asked gently.

Emma took the pouch and opened it, revealing coins and banknotes. She looked up at Antoinetta, perplexed.

"It is money your grandmother gave me shortly before her passing, and my wages that I saved over the years," Antoinetta elaborated, her gaze soft.

Emma's brow furrowed. "What are you suggesting?"

"With this money, you can run away and start a new life if the Duke does not offer for you, Emma. You would not have to marry Neads then. It is not much, but it will help you," Antoinetta explained.

"You were not jesting when you said I could run away if it all becomes too much?" Emma gasped in surprise. She felt a prickling behind her eyes as emotion tightened her throat. "Oh, Antoinetta, but this is your life's savings. I cannot possibly?—"

"Yes, you can," Antoinetta insisted, her hand closing firmly over Emma's, forcing her to take the money. "Your happiness and freedom are worth more than these coins. I would rather see you safe and content than trapped in a life of misery."

"Antoinetta…"

"I shall come with you if ever it comes to you running away," Antoinetta said.

"You will?" Emma felt her chin begin to quiver, the promise overwhelming her.

"I'm only here because of you, Emma. No matter what, I shan't abandon you. Ever."

"Oh, Antoinetta," Emma was at a loss for words, her heart swelling with gratitude and love.

"But for now, let us have hope and faith in the Duke. I believe he will do the right thing," Antoinetta said, squeezing Emma's hand once again.

"I have no words to thank you, Antoinetta," Emma murmured, pulling her friend into a tight embrace.

"You don't have to, dear. It is but what an older sister ought to do," Antoinetta replied, hugging her back with a warmth that spoke of their deep bond.

Emma's tears gave way again, and Antoinetta cooed softly. "I'm here. Always."

Emma sobbed, the release of emotions leaving her feeling both drained and relieved. Only after she had collected herself enough to be certain she would be all right did Antoinetta bid her goodnight.

Even after her lady's maid's exit, she found herself unable to fully stanch her tears. The loneliness and fear crept back in, and she cried herself to sleep that night, clutching the small pouch of money as if it were her savior.