Chapter 22

As it was the summer and the Season was over, Emmeline went to her parents' country estate, a large, modern house in Cheshire. The Suntons had been living there for over three generations, and the moment she stepped inside her ancestral home, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders and, at the same time, an inexplicable urge to cry.

"Emmeline? Is that you?" Aurelia ran down the stairs at breakneck speed, her white skirts billowing behind her. She looked as though she could have been some kind of fairy.

Emmeline held out her arms, and Aurelia threw herself into them.

"I never thought you would come," Aurelia said, drawing back to look Emmeline in the face. A frown marred her perfect features. "Are you bruised?"

"Only a little," Emmeline reassured her, but before she could explain what happened, there was a shriek from further down the hallway.

"Emmeline!" her mother said, producing a handkerchief and pressing it to her eyes as she hurried forward. "You're here. Oh my dear, I'm so relieved you're back. Just imagine the things your father has done in your absence."

"Mama," Aurelia began, but once her mother had started, she did not stop.

"Just imagine—he has canceled our opera box for the next Season without so much as consulting me, and when I ventured to say something about the fact that we use the box, he said he has not seen us use it. Which… Well, if he had come to the opera sometimes with us, perhaps he would have seen us use it. Or if he paid any attention to our comings and goings."

Emmeline gave a faint smile. "Have you asked if we can afford it?"

"Oh, there is no doubt about that."

"Then there can be no objection. Don't tell me he has neglected to buy Almack's vouchers for the next Season. Aurelia must have them."

"He says that it is none of his concern," her mother said, dabbing at her eyes again. "And that I must come to it by myself—but the pin money he gives me is simply not enough."

While Emmeline doubted that, her mother was not an illiberal spender, and it was unfair of her father to expect her to purchase the vouchers for the next Season—a not inconsiderable expense—with her pin money.

"Speak with him, dearest," the Countess said, running a hand down her arm. "You know that he listens to you. And, now that you're here, perhaps you might speak with Mrs. Walter about the state of the curtains in the second parlor. They are a positive disgrace."

"Mama," Aurelia said, a little louder this time. "Do you not think Emmeline's face is bruised?"

"Bruised? Good heavens." Her mother took a step back. "What happened, child? Did the Duke raise his hand to you?"

"Nothing like that," Emmeline said hurriedly. "I fell down the stairs. Well, in truth, I was pushed, but not by Ad—not by the Duke."

"You were pushed down the stairs?" A line appeared between Aurelia's perfect eyebrows. "By whom?"

"The Viscount Sarron. You may know him?—"

"Well, of course, I know him," her mother interrupted. "And you cannot in good faith be suggesting that he has acted against you. Why, you could not meet a more handsome and good-natured man."

"Did you tell the Duke?" Aurelia pressed, her large blue eyes fixed on Emmeline's.

All of a sudden, Emmeline felt as though she couldn't breathe. Her throat closed up, and she took a few moments to answer.

"I did," she said when she found her voice again. "But he thought I was merely confused and imagining things."

"Well, of course, you must have," her mother said briskly. "Come now, let's get you settled in, and then you can look at the curtains. I quite declare, they are shocking."

"Mama," Aurelia insisted, linking her arm with Emmeline's. "Perhaps we might save that for later. Emmeline has been traveling all day—have you not, dearest?"

Emmeline gave her sister's arm a thankful squeeze. "Perhaps tomorrow, Mama. I confess, I have a headache."

"Oh, then you must go to bed. Mrs. Walter! Where is that confounded housekeeper when you need her?" In a rush of perfume, her mother turned in search of the elusive housekeeper. "Make the Duchess's bed up," she commanded as soon as the beleaguered Mrs. Walters appeared. "How long will you be staying? Does he expect you to return?"

Emmeline's stomach lurched. "At least a month," she managed.

Originally, she had intended to return for the foreseeable future, but that was with the understanding that neither party liked the other.

Now, it was completely different. Emmeline liked him. More than liked him, in fact.

Was this separation to be forever?

Certainly, she was not going to be the one to write to him and apologize. And if she was ever to forgive him, it would not be for a long while.

Let him stew in what he had done. Let him feel the depths of his regret. Now that he had treated her like this, she no longer had the confidence to say that he harbored affection for her.

"Are you all right?" Aurelia whispered as they made their way up the stairs to Emmeline's old room. "You seem pale."

"I'm merely tired," Emmeline said. "Do you believe me, at least?"

Aurelia averted her eyes. "It is a big claim to make, that Lord Sarron was the one to push you down the stairs. Such an act—can you say with all honesty that it happened just the way you said?"

"Yes! That is what I am telling everyone."

Aurelia sucked on her lip. "I'm sure you believe it, but… What reason could he have to do such a thing?"

Because he was trying to conceal his presence.

Then again, how did Emmeline know that was what he was trying to do? She knew nothing for certain except he had risked her life and no one believed her about it.

What would have happened if she had perished? Was that his aim? Regardless, he had fled into the night, and no one even knew he was at the house.

"Come," Aurelia said soothingly. "Everything will be better now that you are back at home."

Somehow, Emmeline doubted it.

* * *

The next few days tested Emmeline's resolve. Once, she had believed that coming home would solve all her problems, but in reality, it only added to them.

The curtains in the parlor were just as horrific as described, but the servants could do nothing about them unless they were given a greater budget. Something Emmeline had explained several times to her mother to no avail.

Because her mother was, despite all claims to the contrary, not particularly house-proud, standards had slackened inside the house. There was dust on the ornaments, and the fireplaces were not adequately cleaned.

Then there was the issue of her father.

He had married her mother many years ago, and his affection had long since burnt itself out. In fact, as far as the family went, he had largely checked out entirely—he enjoyed the occasional discussion with Emmeline and often asked her political questions for fun, but he mostly treated Aurelia as a pretty ornament.

Their mother, he treated more as a nuisance than a wife, and he often replied to her entreaties with dismissive contempt. For example, he dismissed the issue of the Almack's vouchers and the opera box, and every subsequent effort to bring the subject up again was met with silence or a demand to stay quiet on the subject.

Aurelia and the Countess, accustomed both to this treatment and having Emmeline around to act as a buffer, acquiesced to his demands.

Emmeline, however, had no more patience for this kind of behavior. She would have been foolish to say that Adam had been the perfect husband, but he had shown her what a union based on respect could be like, and she refused to settle for anything less.

"Papa," she said as she entered the study.

Her father glanced up from his papers and gave a wide smile. "Emmeline. Now what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping that you would be a little more accommodating with Mother."

A crease appeared between his eyebrows. "I am not entirely sure I am following."

"You know she has come here in order to plead for more freedom. Almack's vouchers for Aurelia. An opera box."

His frown deepened. "Those are hardly my concerns."

"They are when you hold the purse strings." She put her hands on her hips. "You can only claim indifference when you give others the freedom to operate without you. How long are you going to neglect Mother and Aurelia?"

"Now then." He pushed himself out of the chair. "I am a very busy man."

"With business! Acquiring your wealth. Is that what this family truly needs?"

"And I suppose you know better?"

She closed the door behind her. "I know Mama is not always easy to deal with, but that is not a reason to ignore her demands. And what of Aurelia? How is she to find a husband who will respect her when it is so evident that you do not respect your own wife?"

His face turned purple. "How dare you?"

"I dare because I am part of this family too. And I have been blessed that you see fit to give me the time of day, but the same must be said for the other members of our family."

She waved at the expensive mahogany desk, the imported Chinese drawers, and the gold-leaf wallpaper. Everything in the room attested to their wealth, and after being in a house where not every item was a demonstration of wealth, she realized how much more she prized it.

How lucky she had been to be part of that household.

"Do we not have enough?" she demanded. "How much money will satisfy you?"

He rose to his full height, towering over her. Once, perhaps, she might have been intimidated, but he was nothing compared to Adam.

Adam. Everything came back to him.

"You are out of line, Daughter," he snapped.

"Am I? Then am I wrong?"

"I give your mother an allowance?—"

"For trinkets. Fripperies. She may dress herself with her pin money, but that is not enough to satisfy us in the eyes of the ton. You are expecting unreasonable circumspection from her."

Emmeline glared up into the face of her father because he knew this. He knew beyond a doubt that her mother had too delicate a constitution to make changes to her spending habits without feeling as though it was a direct reflection on her self-worth.

For years, he had been indifferent to the way her mother had cried after every single encounter they had. For years, Emmeline had been reassuring her mother that she was beautiful.

Something that Adam had never once neglected to make her feel. No matter what else, and no matter what opinion she had of herself, he made her feel as though he desired her.

Now, coming home, she understood what a gift that was, and how lucky she was to find a husband who valued her. And at least, until recently, he had valued her opinions and listened to her as well.

"Think of Society," Emmeline continued, trying a different tack. "How is anyone to believe we have the wealth you have spent so many years acquiring if all they see is that we do not have access to the most exclusive establishments in London? You have your clubs, of course, but Almack's is just as vital as White's."

His nostrils flared as he looked at her. "And you think that it is your place to give me this lecture?"

"I am a married woman now, Papa."

"And where is your husband?"

"In London," she said coolly. "But my marital situation is of no concern of yours. We married, as you wished, and I am now a duchess. Be glad that I have come back to demonstrate my clear support for this family. It will only benefit Aurelia."

"As the sister of a duchess, she will no doubt marry well." He waved a hand.

"That is not enough!"

He stared at her for a long while, and she knew she had won. At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and she opened it to find the sweetmeats she had ordered.

"Here," she said, carrying the tray to his desk. "Eat these and at the very least consider the situation. Think about how you will be perceived if you are too neglectful toward your wife." She gave him a pleading glance. "All Mama wishes for is for you to give her a little reassurance and direction. I assure you it won't be much. Tell her a dress looks well on her, or that you like the way she has done her hair. Occasionally go to the opera with her—it will be a good opportunity to find a match for Aurelia as well, which I am certain you want." She plucked a sweetmeat off the tray and popped it into her mouth. "It will benefit you to change your ways a little. I am not asking for the world."

To her relief, his ire had ceased at the sight of the sweetmeats, and he gave her a long, assessing look. There was no chance that he would be in any way repentant, or sheepish, but at least she had gotten through to him in a way.

"Very well," he said after a long moment. "I will endeavor to do as you have requested."

"And the Almack's vouchers? The opera box?"

"Tell your mother that whatever request she makes will, within reason, be granted." He reached out to tug a strand of hair in an affectionate way reminiscent of her youth. "Perhaps I have been a little preoccupied with my business. You are not the first to mention it. I am not an unreasonable man. I will do my best to make changes where I see fit." He sank back into his leather chair and steepled his fingers. "But please ask your mother not to come to me for every tiny matter that she believes requires my attention. It is tiring, especially when she is emotional."

Some things never changed.

"Compliments," Emmeline reminded him as she left the room. "A little kindness goes a long way."