Chapter Nine
Emma smoothed the silver-grey silk of her afternoon gown, conscious that its colour perfectly matched a certain pair of eyes. She had chosen it with particular care, knowing that the afternoon’s entertainment would keep her much in Lord Limnwood’s company.
“The Duke has arranged the most romantic scenes for the tableaux,” Lady Beatrice enthused as they made their way to the drawing room. “Though I notice that Lady Anne looked rather pleased about something at luncheon. I don’t trust that expression of hers at all.”
“Nor should you.” Emma kept her voice low. “Though at present, I find myself much too happy to care overmuch about her schemes.”
“I should think so!” Lady Beatrice squeezed her arm. “The way that Lord Limnwood looked at you at breakfast...” Lady Beatrice squeezed her arm. “I thought that the room might catch fire from the heat of his gaze alone. And don’t tell me that you didn’t notice - I saw you blush every time your eyes met.”
“Beatrice!”
But Emma couldn’t help smiling at the memory. They had maintained perfectly proper behaviour at breakfast, yet somehow every glance, every careful word, had felt laden with meaning after their shared moment in the woods. The memory of his kiss made her heart race even now, though she scarcely dared examine too closely what it might truly mean.
The drawing room had been transformed for the afternoon’s entertainment. Footmen had arranged chairs in a semicircle facing an area cleared for the performances. Screens created a makeshift stage at one end, with small chambers on either side for participants to prepare.
“Ah, excellent!” The Duke beamed at the assembled company. “For our first entertainment, we shall have charades. Then, after tea, tableaux vivants depicting famous romantic scenes from literature and mythology. Each couple will participate in both activities.”
Emma’s heart quickened as Lord Limnwood appeared beside her, bowing perfectly.
“Miss Everton.” His voice gave nothing away, but his eyes held warmth that made her breath catch. “I trust that you are recovered from this morning’s adventure?”
“Entirely, my Lord. Though I might hope for less exciting pursuits this afternoon?”
“I fear that may not be possible.” His lips twitched slightly. “I see that we are to perform the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet in the tableaux.”
Emma’s pulse jumped. The balcony scene? She would have to stand above him, gazing down with a lovestruck expression while he looked up adoringly... which, she had to admit, would require very little acting on either of their parts.
“How... appropriate,” she managed.
“Indeed.” His voice became suddenly uneven. “Though perhaps we might focus on the charades first? I believe that we are in the first group to perform.”
They moved toward the screens, passing Lady Anne deep in conversation with a footman. Emma saw her press something into the man’s hand - a note? - but before she could observe more, they reached their preparation area.
“We are to act out ‘devotion’,” Lord Limnwood said quietly as they consulted their instructions.
His voice held an undercurrent that made her pulse quicken. Emma’s cheeks warmed.
“Though perhaps we should be careful not to be too... convincing?”
“Are you afraid that I might forget myself, Miss Everton?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “After this morning’s... adventure... I find myself particularly aware of the need for proper behaviour. In public, at least.”
The way he emphasised ‘in public’ sent shivers down her spine, reminding her all too vividly of their moment in the forest clearing. Before she could respond, the Duke called for the first performance to begin.
Their charade went perfectly - perhaps too perfectly. Emma knelt in pretended prayer while Nathaniel stood guard beside her, his hand resting protectively near her shoulder. The tenderness in his expression as he gazed down at her was entirely unfeigned, and she heard several sighs from their audience.
“Devotion!” Lady Beatrice called out almost immediately. “Oh, how perfectly done!”
“Indeed.” Lady Anne’s voice cut through the general approval. “Though one wonders if some performers might be drawing on... personal experience?”
Emma felt Lord Limnwood stiffen beside her as they returned to their seats. His hand brushed hers briefly - a gesture of reassurance that only she could see.
“I believe that it’s your turn, Lady Anne,” the Duke said pointedly. “Perhaps you might wish to focus on your own performance rather than critiquing others?”
Lady Anne’s lips tightened, but she rose and moved behind the screens with her partner. Emma barely noticed their performance, too aware of Lord Limnwood’s presence beside her, of maintaining the careful distance between them while surrounded by watchful eyes. As the charades concluded, footmen appeared with tea and refreshments. Lady Beatrice hurried to Emma’s side, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“You and Lord Limnwood were wonderful!” She clasped Emma’s hands. “Though perhaps a touch too convincing? I noticed Lady Anne looking quite put out.”
“Let her look,” Emma said quietly. “We have nothing to hide.”
“No?” Lady Beatrice’s smile widened. “Then why do you both keep watching each other when you think no one will notice?”
Emma felt her cheeks warm.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course not.” Lady Beatrice laughed. “Just as I’m sure Lord Limnwood chose to wear that blue coat today purely by chance, and not because you mentioned yesterday that it was your favourite colour.”
Conscious that her blush was deepening, Emma rose.
“If you’ll excuse me, I believe I need to visit the retiring room before the tableaux begin.”
In the hallway, she paused to collect herself, pressing her cool hands to her warm cheeks. How was she to maintain proper composure when every glance from Lord Limnwood set her heart racing?
“Miss Everton?”
She turned to find a footman holding a silver salver.
“A note for you, Miss. From Lady Beatrice.”
Puzzled - hadn’t she just left Beatrice in the drawing room? - Emma opened the message.
My dear friend,
I require your assistance with a matter of some delicacy. Please meet me in the library at three o’clock. I dare not say more here.
Your devoted friend,
Beatrice
The handwriting looked somewhat odd, but Emma supposed her friend might have written in haste. She tucked the note away, wondering what could be so urgent.
When she returned to the drawing room, the Duke was calling for attention.
“Now then! We shall have a brief interval while the tableaux are arranged. Players, please consult your assignments and prepare accordingly.”
Emma glanced at the clock. A quarter before three. She would have just enough time to assist Beatrice before the tableaux began. As she moved towards the door, she noticed another footman delivering a note to Lord James.
Near the fireplace, Lady Anne watched events unfold with a smile of deep satisfaction.
*****
The library stood quiet and cool, sunlight slanting through tall windows to illuminate dancing dust motes. Emma hesitated in the doorway, surprised to find Lord James rather than Lady Beatrice waiting there.
“Miss Everton?” He looked equally startled. “I had expected to find my brother - he sent a note asking me to discuss estate matters.”
“How strange.” Emma moved into the room, maintaining proper distance. “I received a note from Lady Beatrice requesting my presence here.”
James’ brow furrowed. He glanced toward the depths of the library, making an odd gesture that Emma didn’t quite understand.
“Did you indeed? Most peculiar.”
“Perhaps there has been some confusion about timing?”
Emma looked around, but saw no sign of either Beatrice or Lord Limnwood. The library seemed deserted except for themselves.
“Miss Everton...” James’ voice held an odd note of warning. “I believe that we should -”
Before he could finish, voices approached in the hallway. Emma recognised Lady Anne’s carrying tones.
“But surely you saw them, my Lord? Both going towards the library, quite alone...”
Emma’s heart stopped as Lord Limnwood’s voice responded.
“I’m certain that there must be some explanation.”
“Oh, indeed.” Lady Anne’s laugh held what sounded oddly like triumph. “Shall we see what that explanation might be?”
Emma was frozen in place, suddenly acutely conscious of how this looked. Her eyes went to Lord James, but before she could do or say anything, the library door flew open.
Lady Anne stood there, Lord Limnwood beside her, and behind them several other guests including Lord Radmill. Emma’s breath caught at the expression on Limnwood’s face as he took in the scene - her and Lord James, apparently alone together.
“Well.” Lady Anne’s voice dripped satisfaction. “How... interesting.”
*****
Nathaniel stared at the scene before him, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes reported. Emma - who only that morning had melted into his kiss, had looked at him with such trust and affection in her eyes - stood in private conversation with James. His own brother. The two people he had just begun to let past his careful defences, meeting in secret.
Lady Anne’s words from moments before echoed in his head: ‘You must come at once - I’ve seen something that you need to know about...’
He had followed her reluctantly, irritated by her interruption of his thoughts about the morning’s intimate moments, about the way that Emma had felt in his arms, the emotion in her eyes when she’d looked at him. Now Lady Anne’s eagerness to bring him here took on new, terrible meaning.
The betrayal struck deeper than any physical blow. Memories of Charlotte’s scandal rose unbidden - another trusted family member, another secret meeting, another web of lies and betrayal. He had been such a fool, letting his guard down, letting himself feel... letting himself hope...
Pain transmuted to fury, fed by his own stupidity. Had they laughed at him, planning this assignation even as they encouraged his growing feelings? Had James known, when he urged Nathaniel to trust his heart, that he himself intended...
He couldn’t complete the thought. Better the cold comfort of anger than this searing agony of betrayal. His chest constricted, each breath an effort as proper behaviour warred with primitive urges to shout, to strike, to demand explanations. Instead, he let ice fill his veins, letting rigid control suppress the volcano of emotion beneath. They would not see how deeply this cut. He would not give them that satisfaction.
The irony struck him with brutal force - he who had just begun to trust in feelings over propriety, was now faced with the very situation his rigid rules had been designed to prevent.
Every beat of his heart felt like it was breaking.
*****
“Nathaniel,” James started, “this isn’t-”
“Isn’t what?” Nathaniel’s voice could have frozen fire. “Isn’t exactly what it appears? My brother and Miss Everton, meeting in secret?”
“We’re not meeting in secret!” Emma found her voice. “I received a note from Lady Beatrice -”
“How convenient.” Lady Anne’s smile was pure poison. “Though one must wonder why Lady Beatrice is even now in the drawing room, seemingly quite unaware of any note.”
Emma’s mind whirled. If Beatrice hadn’t sent the note... She looked at James and saw dawning comprehension in his eyes. They had been intentionally trapped – she could come to no other conclusion.
“My Lord,” she turned to Lord Limnwood, “surely you cannot think…”
“Think what, Miss Everton?” His voice was arctic, his expression rigid with control. “That I find you alone with my brother, having apparently arranged a secret meeting through staged correspondence? What precisely should I think?”
Emma felt the words strike like physical blows. The rigid disapproval in his face, the utter lack of trust in his eyes - it was too much. Without another word, she turned and fled the library, her composure shattering further with each step.
Behind her, she heard a new voice speak - her aunt’s voice? - but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t bear to hear more accusations, more assumptions of her guilt. She had thought that their growing understanding meant something, had dared to hope that he might trust her character above appearances. She had been wrong.
If she had waited a moment longer, she might have heard Lady Agatha say, quite clearly, ‘I can assure you, Lord Limnwood, that your brother and Miss Everton were never alone in this room’.
But she didn’t wait. She ran, skirts rustling, until she reached her chamber. Only there, behind a locked door, did she allow her tears to fall.
The tableaux would begin soon. She would have to find some way to face them all again, to play Juliet to his Romeo as if her heart weren’t breaking. She had never understood until now just how that story’s heroine must have felt.