A Game of Hearts

Chapter Ten

“I can assure you, Lord Limnwood, that your brother and Miss Everton were never alone in this room.”

Lady Agatha’s calm voice cut through the charged silence following Emma’s departure. Nathaniel felt each word like a physical blow. His hands began to shake as the full import of her statement registered - he had not only doubted Emma and James, he had publicly accused them without a moment’s consideration of their characters or their previous trustworthiness.

Lady Agatha had emerged from behind the shelves, her expression giving nothing away, though her eyes held a mixture of disappointment and concern that made Nathaniel’s shame deepen. He watched Emma’s aunt settle herself on the nearby couch with perfect composure, while his own world tilted on its axis.

The memory of Emma’s face as she fled - hurt, betrayal, heartbreak - burned behind his eyes. Only hours ago he had held her in that woodland clearing, had kissed her with such tenderness, had felt the walls he’d built around his heart beginning to crumble. Yet at the first hint of impropriety, he had betrayed not only their growing understanding but his own brother’s honour.

James stood rigidly by the window, his usual easy manner replaced by cold dignity. The transformation from his typically laughing brother to this stern-faced stranger was entirely Nathaniel’s doing.

“I must trust, brother,” James’ voice held an edge that Nathaniel had never heard before, “that my word would have been sufficient, had you bothered to ask for it.”

The words struck deep - not just because of their truth, but because they echoed countless conversations where James had urged him to trust more and judge less. He had failed them both - Emma with her generous heart that he had so casually broken, and James who had always supported him despite his rigid ways.

“I...” Nathaniel began, but Lord Radmill interrupted.

“Most irregular, this entire business. Though perhaps not surprising, given... certain circumstances.”

The implied slight to Emma’s reputation made Nathaniel’s hands clench. He had allowed this - his quick judgment had given credence to such assumptions. Even as his heart cried out to defend her, his own actions had denied him that right.

Lady Anne’s satisfied expression had faltered at Lady Agatha’s appearance, but now she rallied.

“Indeed. Though one must wonder why -”

“One must wonder,” Lady Agatha’s voice could have frozen an ocean, “why anyone would find it necessary to treat a private matter as a theatrical performance. The tableaux will begin shortly. I suggest that those not directly involved in this situation might better employ their time preparing for that entertainment.”

Her meaning was clear. The assembled onlookers shifted uncomfortably. Nathaniel noticed Lady Anne’s expression flicker - something about Lady Agatha’s presence had clearly disturbed her carefully laid plans. The sudden realisation that this might all have been planned - but not by Emma and James - sent fresh waves of self-loathing through him.

“Lady Agatha is quite right.” Lord Radmill seized the excuse to retreat. “Come, Lady Anne. We should...”

“Indeed you should.” Lady Agatha’s gaze fixed on Lady Anne with such penetrating intensity that the younger woman actually stepped back. “I’m sure that you have much to prepare for.”

The room emptied quickly, Lady Anne casting one uncertain glance over her shoulder as Lord Radmill all but dragged her away. When the door closed behind them, the silence stretched taut as a bowstring. Nathaniel’s chest felt too tight to breathe. The magnitude of his mistake pressed down on him like a physical weight. He had spent so many years guarding against scandal, trying to protect others as he had nearly failed to protect Charlotte, that he had become the very thing he feared - someone who destroyed reputations through hasty judgment.

“James.” His voice emerged rough with emotion. “I cannot express my shame at having doubted you. There can be no excuse for such behaviour from a brother.”

The words seemed pitifully inadequate against the depth of his transgression. He forced himself to meet his brother’s eyes, ready to accept whatever condemnation he found there. James’ expression softened slightly, though the hurt remained visible.

“Perhaps not. Though I begin to understand why Lady Anne took such pains to arrange this little scene.” At Nathaniel’s questioning look, he continued, “She seemed unusually interested in my movements this morning. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now...”

“Now it becomes clear that she arranged the entire situation.” Lady Agatha settled more comfortably in her chair, her tone suggesting that she had suspected something of the sort all along. “The forged notes, the careful timing, the theatrical discovery - all designed to create exactly the reaction it achieved.”

“But why would she...” Nathaniel broke off as understanding dawned, bringing fresh horror. “Because she saw. The other morning, during the treasure hunt, in the garden...”

He remembered their momentary kiss in the garden, after Emma had slipped into the pond - how perfect everything had seemed in that moment, no matter how short it had been.

They had brushed it off at the time, and he had thought that Lady Anne understood his veiled threat, understood that she should say or do nothing.

But his joy had made him careless - he should have known that Lady Anne would be watching, waiting for any opportunity to strike. Their little adventure in the woods this morning had obviously made Lady Anne infuriated – enough that she had chosen to act, in a manner that seemed indirect.

He had, without ever meaning to, handed her the perfect weapon - his own tendency to assume the worst at the first hint of impropriety.

“Something significant occurred between you the other morning, and, perhaps, today also?” Lady Agatha’s eyebrow rose. “Yes, I rather thought that it must have, given your changed behaviour at breakfast. Lady Anne would hardly have gone to such lengths without some motivation.”

The memory of that morning’s joy in the woodland clearing twisted like a knife in Nathaniel’s chest. How quickly he had turned from that moment of perfect understanding to assuming the worst of Emma’s character. The realisation made him physically ill.

“I have been a complete fool.” He sank into a chair, his head in his hands. Every beat of his heart seemed to echo with Emma’s name, with the memory of her hurt expression as she fled. “To doubt both my brother and the woman I most care for, all because of manufactured evidence...”

“Evidence manufactured by a woman who has shown herself quite capable of spite.” James’ voice held surprising venom. His expression, when Nathaniel dared look up, showed not just anger at Lady Anne but deep concern for his brother. “I confess, I had thought her merely ambitious. I see now that she is something far worse. It has been obvious for some time that she sees you as a good potential match – not that you would ever consider a woman like that. But now, now that you have shown signs of caring for Miss Everton, Lady Anne has chosen to eliminate the competition, as she sees it.”

“Eliminate the competition? I don’t…”

“Simple, brother – if Miss Everton and I had been forced into a compromise, and therefore into a marriage, that would have left you unable to be matched with her, and in Lady Anne’s opinion, available for a match with Lady Anne herself. As I look at it now, I realise that this is all about Lady Anne wanting you for her husband, for the higher place in society that marrying you would give her. Miss Everton and I are unimportant to her – whatever happened to us doesn’t worry her at all, so long as it furthers her own desires. None of this is your fault, Nathaniel, although I confess that I would have been happier had you not been so fast to allow yourself to be deceived…”

Nathaniel closed his eyes against a surge of gratitude for his brother’s forgiveness. He didn’t deserve such understanding, yet James offered it freely, already moving past his own hurt to focus on the larger problem.

“The question,” Lady Agatha said firmly, though her eyes held compassion as she regarded Nathaniel’s obvious distress, “is what we intend to do about it. Lady Anne’s scheme must be exposed, and quickly, before the damage to Miss Everton’s reputation - and your own happiness, my Lord - becomes irreparable.”

The pragmatic tone helped steady him. Yes, he had been monumentally stupid, had let his fears override both love and trust, but wallowing in self-recrimination wouldn’t help Emma – or James, for that matter.

“But how?” He looked up, forcing himself to focus. “We can hardly simply announce to the assembled company that she forged notes and arranged a false compromise.”

“No.” James’ expression turned thoughtful, his tactical mind - so often hidden behind his easy manner - clearly at work. “But we might arrange for her to expose herself. This evening, at dinner perhaps?”

“yes – but before that,” Lady Agatha interjected, her voice gentling, “you have a tableau to perform with my niece. I suggest that you find some way to communicate your regret to her, Lord Limnwood. Emma has a generous heart, but it has been sorely tested today.”

The thought of facing Emma across a crowded room, of having to maintain proper polite social distance while his heart ached to beg her forgiveness, seemed an impossible task. Yet he had no choice. His own actions had created this situation - now he must find a way to fix it.

“Whatever it takes,” he said, his voice rough with determination, “I will make this right. With all of you.”

The words emerged as both promise and prayer. He would find a way to earn back Emma’s trust, to prove himself worthy of the love that he had so carelessly damaged. The alternative - losing her because of his own rigid fears - was unthinkable.

“Good.” Lady Agatha rose, and Nathaniel saw in her expression the same strength that he so admired in Emma. “Then let us plan exactly how to ensure that Lady Anne’s schemes rebound upon her own head. I believe that I have an idea...”

Her tone held both wisdom and a hint of steel that gave Nathaniel his first real hope since this nightmare began. Between Lady Agatha’s clever mind, James’ observation skills, and his own determination to make things right, surely they could find a way forward.

If only his heart would stop replaying the sound of Emma’s retreating footsteps, the memory of tears that she had refused to let fall.

*****

Emma’s hands trembled so badly that she could barely manage the door latch. The moment that it clicked shut behind her, her legs gave way. She slid down against the solid wood, her skirts pooling around her as the first sob tore free.

How had everything gone so terribly wrong?

This morning in the woods he had held her as if she were precious, had kissed her with such tenderness she’d dared to hope...

His grey eyes had been so warm, his smile so tender as he’d drawn her close, made her believe that perhaps he was beginning to truly see beyond mere proper behaviour to something deeper between them.

All of those hopes were shattered now.

The first hint of scandal had him believing the worst of her.

She pressed her hands against her mouth, trying to stifle the sounds of her sobbing. Even now, even here alone, the habits of proper behaviour ran deep. But oh, how it hurt. The cold accusation in his eyes, the rigid disapproval in his bearing - he hadn’t even asked for an explanation. Hadn’t trusted her character enough to question Lady Anne’s staged discovery – for it was very, very cleverly staged, she was now certain.

“You fool,” she whispered to herself, the words catching on another sob. “You utter fool, to think that his growing feelings for you might overcome his rigid propriety.”

She should have known better. Hadn’t he shown her from the start exactly who he was? Every moment of warmth had been followed by withdrawal into proper behaviour. Every spark of connection had been carefully guarded against possible observation.

Even their kiss in the garden during the treasure hunt... her fingers brushed her lips at the memory. Even then, his first response to discovery had been denial. She had forgiven that, understanding his wish to protect her reputation. But this...

Fresh tears spilled as she remembered his arctic tone. ‘What precisely should I think?’ The words echoed in her mind, cutting deeper with each repetition. He should have thought that she was worthy of trust. That their feelings for each other meant something more than mere proper form.

The worst part was knowing that they still had to face each other. The tableaux... dear heaven, she would have to play Juliet to his Romeo, to pretend love and trust while her heart lay shattered at his feet. A laugh that was more than half sob escaped her.

How appropriate that they should play those star-crossed lovers. Though in their case, it wasn’t warring families that stood between them, but Nathaniel’s own rigid nature.

She forced herself to rise on shaking legs, moving to her dressing table. The mirror showed her a ghost - pale face, red-rimmed eyes, and tear-stained cheeks. She would have to compose herself somehow, and find a way to face them all with dignity.

But first... first she needed these few moments to mourn what might have been. What she had thought they had.

Her fingers found the note he had sent just that morning, tucked into her dress pocket. ‘I trust you are recovered from this morning’s excitement,’ he had written, his careful phrases somehow conveying so much more than their surface meaning. She crumpled the paper, the physical action doing nothing to ease the tight band of pain around her heart.

“I will not break,” she told her reflection firmly. “I am my father’s daughter. I will show them all that proper behaviour can mask anything. Even this.”

But in the privacy of her own heart, she knew that nothing would ever be the same. Growing affection, love, as she had hoped it to be, it seemed, was not enough to overcome a lifetime of rigid rules and quick judgment. The hardest part was knowing that despite everything, her heart was already so deeply engaged - even now, even knowing that he would always choose propriety over trust, she still yearned for him.

Emma pressed a cool cloth to her eyes, the practical action steadying her slightly. Years of training in proper behaviour provided a framework - she knew exactly what steps to take to make herself presentable again. Each small task could be a barrier between her broken heart and the world’s observation.

A tap at the door made her start.

“Come in, Susan.”

Her maid entered, took one look at her face, and moved immediately to the washstand.

“The water’s quite cold, Miss. Just the thing for... for refreshing oneself before the tableaux.”

Emma felt a rush of gratitude for this tactful pretence that nothing was wrong.

“Thank you. Though I fear I’ve crushed my dress rather badly.”

“Nothing that can’t be put right.” Susan’s deft hands smoothed the silver-grey silk, carefully avoiding any questioning of how it had become so crushed. “Though perhaps... that is, the blue silk might be more suitable for the tableaux? It brings out such a lovely colour in your eyes.”

The blue silk. Which she had chosen this morning specifically because Nathaniel had admired it once.

“No.” Her voice emerged sounding harsh, and rather sharp. “The grey will do very well.”

“Yes, Miss.” Susan’s hands were gentle as she helped Emma repair her hair. “Though if you’ll permit me to say, you look quite pale. Perhaps a touch of rose water...”

“To hide that I’ve been crying?” Emma met her maid’s eyes in the mirror. “No, Susan. Let them see what they will. I have no reason to hide my distress - I am not the one who should feel shame for what happened in the library.” The words made her sound stronger than she felt, but speaking them helped. She had done nothing wrong. If Lord Limnwood chose to believe the worst of her without evidence, that was his shame to bear, not hers. “Besides,” she managed a small smile at Susan’s concerned expression, “a pale complexion will suit Juliet. She was, after all, about to face her own tragedy.”

“Oh Miss.” Susan’s hands stilled on her hair. “Surely it’s not as bad as all that? When this morning...”

“This morning is gone.” Emma squared her shoulders. “We must deal with what is, not what might have been.”

Yet even as she spoke, her fingers traced the crumpled note in her pocket. The evidence of what might have been, of happiness so briefly held before propriety and suspicion tore it away.

“There now.” Susan stepped back, surveying her work. “Your hair at least is perfectly proper again.”

Perfectly proper.

The words echoed with bitter irony.

She had never wanted to be perfectly proper - she had wanted to be loved.

To be trusted.

To be valued for herself, not for her adherence to society’s rules.

What a fool she had been.

“Thank you, Susan.” She rose, smoothing her skirts one final time. “I believe that I can manage now.” But as her maid turned to leave, Emma caught her arm. “Susan... thank you. For not asking. For just... helping.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears that Emma herself could no longer shed.

“That’s what we do, Miss. We help put things right again.”

If only, Emma thought as she waited for Susan to leave, everything could be put right so easily. But some breaks went too deep for simple repair.

She took a deep breath, then another.

She could do this.

She could face them all - could face him - with perfect composure.

She had survived near scandal and near poverty and society’s cutting judgment before. She would survive this too.

Even if her heart felt like it might never beat properly again.

A tap at her door made Emma’s spine stiffen. She wasn’t ready, not yet...

“A note from Lady Agatha, Miss.”

Susan’s voice held relief at having something helpful to offer.

Emma’s hands trembled slightly as she broke the seal.

My dearest niece,

Do not rush to join the others. Take what time you need - I have informed the Duke that you are resting before the tableaux, and he quite understands.

Remember this, my dear - things are not always what they at first appear, particularly when certain people take great pains to arrange deceptive appearances. Your own character is beyond reproach, and will be proven so.

Trust in yourself, even if you cannot currently trust in others. And know that I have seen more than some might think.

Your loving aunt.

Emma read the note twice, her mind catching on certain phrases. ‘When certain people take great pains to arrange deceptive appearances.’

Something in her aunt’s wording suggested that she knew more than Emma did about what had happened in the library.

But how? She had been alone with James when...

A memory flickered - James’ odd gesture, as if trying to tell her something. Had there been someone else in the library? Someone who had seen... And… hadn’t she heard another voice, just as she strode out of the library, under all of those disapproving eyes?

She shook her head. It hardly mattered now. Whatever her aunt might have witnessed, it couldn’t change the fundamental truth - that Nathaniel had believed the worst of her without a moment’s hesitation.

Still, her aunt’s words steadied her. Yes, her character was beyond reproach. She had done nothing wrong. Let them whisper and watch - she would show all of them what dignity in the face of unfair judgment looked like.

She tucked the note carefully away, smoothed her skirts one final time, and moved to the door. Whatever came next, she would face it with her head high.

Even if her heart lay in pieces on the library floor.