Chapter Twelve
The Duke’s dining room glittered with candlelight, crystal, and carefully maintained civility. Emma kept her eyes on her soup, aware of the subtle glances being cast in her direction. Lady Anne’s voice carried from the far end of the table, something about the proper way to arrange morning visits. The banality of her conversation struck Emma as almost offensive after yesterday’s events.
She could feel Lord Limnwood’s presence, though she carefully avoided looking at him. The seating arrangements - which she suspected her aunt had influenced - placed him across and two seats down from her, close enough to be aware of, but too far away for direct conversation.
“I trust that your headache is better, Miss Everton?”
Lord Radmill’s voice drew her attention.
“Much better, thank you.” She managed a serene smile. “Though I fear that I missed some fascinating botanical drawings this morning.”
“Oh yes!” Lady Anne’s voice took on that satisfied tone which Emma was beginning to hate. “Some of us made the most interesting discoveries in the conservatory. Didn’t we, Miss Morton?”
Emma saw Lord James’ head lift sharply at that. Something passed between him and Lady Agatha - the barest exchange of glances.
“Speaking of discoveries,” Lord James’ voice carried that perfect aristocratic tone that somehow commanded attention, “I had the most illuminating morning. It’s fascinating what one can learn about people’s true characters when they believe themselves unobserved.”
Lady Anne’s soup spoon clattered against her bowl.
“Indeed?” The Duke looked interested. “Do tell us more, Lord James.”
“Well, you see, I was sketching orange blossoms – and it’s a remarkable thing, the acoustics in that part of the conservatory...” Emma saw Lady Anne go rigid, her face draining of colour. Beside her, Miss Morton seemed to shrink in her chair. “One hears the most remarkable conversations there,” James continued pleasantly. “About careful plans, and forged notes, and how easily certain people can be manipulated. Particularly, it seems, those who pride themselves on propriety.”
The silence that fell was absolute. Emma’s breath caught as understanding dawned. She dared a glance at Lord Limnwood and found him staring at Lady Anne, his expression thunderous.
“I’m sure that I don’t know what you mean.” Lady Anne’s voice shook slightly. “Really, Lord James, to suggest...”
“Oh, I suggest nothing.” Lord James’ smile was razor sharp. “I merely repeat what I heard. Your own words, in fact, about how satisfying it was to see your schemes succeed. Though you did mention being somewhat disappointed at how easily my brother believed the worst. What was it you said? Ah yes - ‘one staged scene was all it took’.”
Emma’s hands clenched in her lap as the full import of his words registered. It was as she had suspected, Lady Anne had arranged everything - the notes, the discovery, all of it carefully planned to create exactly the scene she desired.
“This is outrageous!” Lady Anne pushed back her chair. “I will not sit here and listen to such accusations!”
“Not accusations, my dear.” Lady Agatha’s voice was all icy civility. “Merely a repetition of your own words. Though I must say, they sound rather different when spoken before the entire company than they did in what you thought was privacy.”
“I...” Lady Anne looked wildly around the table, finding no sympathy in any face. “Miss Morton, surely you...”
But Miss Morton, it seemed, had some sense of self-preservation. She kept her eyes firmly on her plate. The Duke cleared his throat.
“Lady Anne, I believe that your father’s carriage is still at your disposal. Perhaps it might be best if you were to make use of it. Tonight.”
The dismissal was clear. Lady Anne rose, her face now flaming with humiliation. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then clearly thought better of it. With one final glare at the assembled company, she swept from the room. In the silence that followed, Emma felt rather than saw Lord Limnwood’s eyes turn to her. She kept her gaze carefully on her soup, though her appetite had quite deserted her.
“Well,” the Duke said cheerfully, “shall we have the fish course? I believe that Cook has prepared something quite special.”
Emma escaped to the terrace as soon as propriety allowed. The evening air held a hint of spring, despite February’s lingering chill, and she needed its freshness after the stifling atmosphere of the dining room. Her mind whirled with Lord James’ revelations, with the knowledge that Lady Anne truly had orchestrated everything. A step behind her made her spine stiffen. She didn’t need to turn to know who approached - she would know his presence anywhere.
“Miss Everton.” Lord Limnwood’s voice was rough with emotion. “I hardly know how to begin.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t.” The words emerged sharply, brittle and harsh. She forced herself to turn, to face him. “Lady Anne’s schemes may explain the situation, my Lord, but they do not excuse your immediate assumption of the worst.”
He flinched as if struck.
“No. They do not.” He moved to the balustrade, keeping careful distance between them. “I could say that I was prompted by past experience, by having seen scandal destroy reputations before. But the truth is simpler and far worse - I failed to trust in your character, in the understanding growing between us.”
Emma’s hands clenched on her fan.
“In what was growing between us? You mean the trust that we were building, the feelings which we were just beginning to acknowledge? The same feelings that you so readily dismissed at the first hint of impropriety?”
“Emma.” The raw pain in his voice made her breath catch. “I have been the worst kind of fool. My fear of scandal, my rigid adherence to propriety - they made me forget everything that matters. Made me hurt the two people I should have trusted most in all the world.”
“And you did exactly what Lady Anne expected. You saw what she arranged for you to see, and you never once considered that there might be another explanation. Never once asked for the truth.”
“No.” He turned to face her fully, and the moonlight caught the anguish in his expression. “I let my fears override everything - my trust in you, my trust in James, my own heart’s knowledge of your character. I have no excuse.”
“Your fears?” Something in his tone caught her attention. “What fears could be strong enough to make you doubt so completely?”
He was silent for so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer. When he did, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“I once found my cousin Charlotte about to elope with a fortune hunter. She was so innocent, so trusting - she thought that love could overcome everything. She never knew that he had already ruined two other women. If I hadn’t returned that exact day...” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. “I thought that my rigid adherence to propriety would protect others from such harm. Instead, it made me quick to assume the worst, to see scandal where there was none. To hurt those whom I love most in a misguided attempt to prevent hurt.”
Emma’s heart twisted at the pain in his voice.
“And what of now? Will you always be looking for scandal, always quick to believe the worst?”
“No.” He took a step towards her, then stopped himself. “These past days have taught me that there are worse things than scandal. Losing your trust, seeing the hurt in your eyes - nothing could be worse than that. I would rather risk a thousand scandals than ever cause you such pain again.”
She studied his face in the moonlight, seeing the truth of his words in his expression.
“Pretty words, my Lord. But can I trust them? Can I trust you?”
“I pray that you will try.” His voice roughened. “I know that I have no right to ask it, but my feelings for you run deeper than I ever expected could be. Even when I was being an utter fool about showing it, even when I was hiding behind propriety, my heart was already yours. Give me the chance to prove that I have learned to trust in these feelings more than in rigid rules.”
Emma’s heart thundered in her chest. The sincerity in his voice, the raw emotion in his expression - everything in her yearned to trust him again. But...
“How can I be sure?” She forced herself to speak past the tightness in her throat. “The next time that someone suggests impropriety, the next time that appearances are against me - how can I trust that you won’t immediately assume the worst?”
“Because I’ve learned what truly matters.” He moved closer, though still maintaining proper distance. “When I thought that I’d lost you... when I saw the hurt that I caused... Emma, I’ve never felt such shame, such devastating regret. I would rather face anything than ever see that pain in your eyes again.”
“And yet you caused it so easily.” She lifted her chin. “One suggestion from Lady Anne, and all of your kisses, all of your words of affection, meant nothing.”
“They meant everything.” His voice roughened. “That’s why it hurt so much - because I love you so deeply that the thought of betrayal was unbearable. But I was a fool. Instead of trusting in that love, I let my fears rule me.”
“And now?”
“Now I know that love means trusting, even when appearances suggest otherwise. It means asking for truth rather than assuming the worst.” He took another step closer. “It means believing in you, in us, more than in any rigid rules of propriety.”
Emma’s breath caught at the intensity in his eyes.
“Pretty words, my Lord.”
“Not just words. A vow.” His hand lifted as if to touch her, then dropped. “Give me the chance to prove it. To show you that I’ve learned what truly matters.”
She studied his face in the moonlight. The proud, rigid man who had condemned her so quickly was gone, replaced by someone who looked at her with such naked vulnerability that it made her heart ache.
“I cannot pretend that it didn’t happen,” she said finally. “I cannot forget how easily you believed the worst.”
“I don’t ask you to forget. Only to let me earn back your trust.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “To let me show you, every day, that I’ve learned to value love over appearances, truth over assumptions, you over everything.”
Something in Emma’s chest loosened at his words. Not everything - the hurt was too deep for that. But enough to let her breathe properly for the first time since the library.
“It will take time,” she said softly. “Trust, once broken, is not easily mended.”
“Then I will spend however long it takes proving myself worthy of that trust.” The moonlight caught the hope dawning in his eyes. “You once told me that kindness need not compromise propriety. Now I understand that trust need not compromise caution, that love is stronger than rules.”
Emma felt tears threaten.
“When did you become so wise, my Lord?”
“When I nearly lost everything that truly mattered through being a fool.” He smiled slightly. “Though I believe that I had an excellent teacher in the value of balancing proper behaviour with genuine feeling.”
Despite herself, Emma felt an answering smile touch her lips.
“And have you learned your lesson well?”
“I believe that I have at least learned where to start.” His expression sobered. “That is, by saying, with complete sincerity, that I am more sorry than I can express for doubting you. For letting fear override trust. For hurting you just when we were beginning to understand each other, just when I was starting to let myself hope for something more between us.”
Her tears spilled over then. Nathaniel made an instinctive movement as if to brush them away, then stopped himself, remembering propriety. But this time the restraint felt like respect rather than rejection.
“We should go in,” Emma said softly. “Before we’re missed.”
“Of course.” He offered his arm with perfect correctness, as she brushed the tears away herself. “Though perhaps... might we walk in the gardens tomorrow? With your aunt as chaperone?”
“To continue this conversation?”
“To continue earning your trust.” His eyes met hers. “However long it takes.”
Emma placed her hand on his arm, feeling the familiar spark between them, but tempered now with understanding rather than just attraction.
“Tomorrow then,” she said. “We can begin again.”
The drawing room’s warmth enveloped them as they returned. Emma was acutely conscious of the eyes that turned their way, of the sudden lull in conversation which suggested that their absence had been noted. But for once, Nathaniel seemed unconcerned with the appearance of things.
“Miss Everton required some air after the excitement at dinner,” he said clearly, his voice carrying just enough for interested parties to hear. “I trust that Lady Anne’s departure has not cast a pall over the evening’s entertainment?”
The Duke’s eyes twinkled.
“Not at all. Indeed, I find the atmosphere much improved. Though I confess, Lord James’ talent for observation has quite overshadowed my plans for charades.”
“Perhaps something less dramatic?” Lady Beatrice suggested from her place at the pianoforte. “Some music?”
Emma moved to join her friend, aware of Nathaniel’s gaze following her. The weight of it felt different now - less a burden of judgment, more a warmth of genuine care.
“I trust all is... progressing?” Lady Agatha murmured as Emma passed her chair.
“We are beginning again,” Emma said softly. “With better understanding on both sides.”
Her aunt’s smile held satisfaction.
“Good. Though I suggest that you allow him to prove his word over time. A man’s actions speak louder than his declarations, however prettily phrased.”
“I have learned that lesson well.” Emma’s fingers brushed the pearls at her throat. “Though perhaps we have both learned something about trust and judgment.”
The evening passed in gentle conversation and quiet music. If anyone noticed that Lord Limnwood’s expression held more warmth than rigid propriety when he looked at Miss Everton, they were too tactful to mention it. And if Miss Everton’s smile, when she bid him goodnight, held promise of forgiveness to come, well, that was between them.
Some healing, after all, was best accomplished quietly, with patience and understanding on both sides.