Chapter Twenty-One
“I wish you weren’t leaving!” Tess exclaimed an hour later as she and Emmy embraced in the courtyard. “I shall miss you so much!”
“And I shall miss you,” Emmy said, pulling back so she could meet Tess’s gaze. “I will only be gone a fortnight, though, and when I return we may begin preparations for our next dinner party.”
“Good,” Tess said with a smile. “I shall look forward to that.”
Emmy turned to face Alex, who was saying goodbye to Griff and Olivia while the servants finished loading their luggage into the waiting carriage.
His gaze met hers, and while his eyes weren’t precisely cold, they had certainly lost some of their warmth. Not that she could blame him.
“Well…” She offered him a tentative smile along with her hand. “Goodbye, Alex.”
He hesitated a single heartbeat before wrapping his hand around hers, his grip solid and comforting, just like him. “Goodbye, Emmy.”
She slipped her hand free and turned toward the carriage, her heart galloping, emotion clogged in her throat.
Collect yourself. This is what you want.
“Emmy?” Olivia’s quiet voice greeted her as she stepped into the carriage and sat down across from her brother. “Are you certain about this?”
Settling back against the squabs, she smiled. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Perhaps because your husband clearly doesn’t want you to go,” Griffin said, arching his brows in that annoying, older brother way of his.
“And because I’m not entirely certain you want to go, either,” Olivia said, her worry evident in her bright blue eyes.
“Nonsense,” Emmy replied briskly. “I wouldn’t be sitting here in this carriage if I didn’t want to go.”
Neither Olivia nor Griffin said a word to that, but their expressions conveyed their skepticism perfectly.
“I assure you, this is exactly what I want,” Emmy said as the carriage began its slow and bumpy exit from the courtyard. “I miss London. And it is only for a fortnight, after all. I’m hardly leaving Bristlewood forever.”
“I know, but—”
“Livvy, please,” Emmy interrupted. “We had this discussion already this morning. This is what I want.”
Olivia nodded, though her frown did not disappear. “Very well.”
The carriage rolled from the courtyard and out onto the lane, and Emmy refused to look back, keeping her focus firmly on the view out the window while she worked to make the guilt go away.
This was good. She needed this trip. Life had grown far too cozy at Bristlewood, but some time away would surely put things to rights. She would be able to breathe again in London, wearing her old life, in her old home, far away from Berkshire and Bristlewood and her husband.
Who apparently loved her.
Agitation prickled, dampening her palms.
Alex loved her.
It was precisely what she had hoped to avoid, and yet, his confession had filled her with warmth, with pleasure. How was it possible that the same words that pleased her could also scare the wits out of her?
Poets wrote of love as if it were a gift, a sublime honor, and perhaps it was, for some people. For others, though, it was a burden. A prison. One which led to total ruin.
She could not imagine Alex doing anything to harm her, but she was still his wife. His property . Whether or not he thought of her that way was moot. In the eyes of the law, he owned her body, and if she gave him her heart, he would own all of her.
This escape, brief though it would be, was necessary. She needed this time for herself, for her own peace of mind, to recapture at least some of her control, some of her old self.
Then perhaps, with a little time and distance, she could forget that he’d said he loved her, and in her absence, he could forget it, too.
And then, when the time came to return to her life in Bristlewood, she would come back feeling like Emmy again.
It was nearly four o’clock when the carriage rolled to a stop outside the River Rooster Inn’s cheerful blue door.
Emmy said nothing as Griffin handed her down from the carriage after Olivia, though she was not terribly happy about the reminder of her husband.
Was it really only two weeks ago that she and Alex and Tess had stayed here? Was it only two weeks ago that she was married?
And were there no other inns where they might have stopped instead?
Firming her jaw, she pushed all thoughts of her husband aside and followed Griffin and Olivia inside, determined to make the best of the situation.
After arranging their rooms for the night, the trio sat down to dinner in a private dining room where they were served a meal of pea soup, roast pheasant, and potatoes and cabbage before parting for the night to sleep.
Emmy knew from her previous stay that the inn’s fare was more than decent, but she ate very little, her appetite indifferent. She was glad when the meal was over, and she could retire to her chamber for the night. It was an exhausting day, and she was ready to rest. She only hoped she could sleep.
An hour later, after she’d finished her bath, she dressed in her nightgown and had nearly finished plaiting her hair before the fire when a knock sounded at the door.
“Yes?” she called out, assuming it would be a servant, or perhaps the inn’s proprietor, but the voice that answered back belonged to her brother.
“Emmy? It’s Griff. May I come in?”
She frowned, perplexed by the unexpected visit, but she strode to the door to let him in, donning her wrapper on the way.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked, as she swung open the door.
He shook his head. “Everything is fine. May I come in?”
“Of course.” She stepped aside to let him pass then shut the door and faced him. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit from the esteemed Marquess of Keswick?”
Griffin clasped his hands behind his back, his mouth grim, and she had the sudden feeling she would not like whatever it was he’d come to say.
“This is not a visit from the marquess. This is a visit from your concerned older brother.”
She tipped her head to one side and eyed him, feigning ignorance. “Concerned? About what?”
“About you, of course,” he shot back, his gray eyes both exasperated and annoyed. He sighed. “And about Olivia.”
“Olivia?” She took a step forward, her brows pinched. “What’s wrong with Olivia? Is it the babe?”
“No, no. Nothing like that,” he said, holding up a hand to stay her. “She feels guilty, Em. She thinks she’s responsible for you being here.”
“What?” Emmy crossed her arms over her chest. “That is absurd.”
“Is it?”
“Well, of course it is!”
Griffin dipped his head as if studying the rug, and said, “I saw you, too, yesterday—walking with Whitcomb. Holding hands.” His gaze met hers. “You looked happy.”
The words made Emmy’s chest ache, and she tugged the edges of her wrapper around her body, suddenly chilled. She had been happy during their walk, hadn’t she? There was no denying it. Not to herself.
“Alex is a kind and thoughtful husband,” she said, skirting her brother’s unspoken question. “I enjoy spending time with him.”
“Then why did you run from him, Emmy?”
“I did not run.”
Griffin arched one skeptical brow.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, she turned away and began to pace the well-made but weathered Turkish rug.
Her brother cared for her, and he was only here because he was worried, but that did not mean she welcomed his interference.
Telling him so would be a waste of time, though. He was a grotesquely stubborn man, and she knew him well enough to know he would not leave until he had an answer. One he deemed satisfactory.
“I suppose I did run away,” she finally admitted quietly. “I suppose I felt I had to, though I am not certain you would understand why.”
“Let me try.”
She drew in a breath and faced him, searching for the right words to illustrate her feelings. “Marriage does not impact a man the way it does a woman. A man may do as he pleases and go where he likes, much the same as he did before he was wed. It is not the same for women. We do not have your freedoms.”
Griffin straightened, a scowl falling over his face. “Are you telling me Whitcomb is exerting his control over you? That he’s—” His mouth clamped closed, his gaze hardening. “Is he mistreating you?”
“No. No . Alex would never hurt me.”
Some of the tension left her brother’s shoulders and he nodded, evidently satisfied with her answer. “Then what are you trying to tell me, Em?”
She puffed out a sigh. “I am trying to say that men have all the power. That in my marriage, my husband has all the power, and I suppose I thought that if I kept my distance, maybe I could keep my heart, and then at least he would not have all of me. At least a little part of me would still belong only to me.”
Griffin watched her for a moment, as if digesting her words, and then said, “You’re right about one thing: the power imbalance between wives and husbands is absolute, and unfair. But I think you underestimate your husband, Em. And what it means to be loved.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I do.”
“Emmy—”
She held a hand up, cutting off his words. “No. Please. I don’t want to talk anymore tonight. I’m tired, and I just want to sleep.”
He nodded, his face softening, though there was clearly more he wished to say. “Of course. I’ll leave you now, only—if you do want someone to talk to, remember that I’m always here for you. I just want you to be happy, Em.”
“I know,” she said, mustering a small smile. “And thank you.”
Her brother left her then to return to his wife, leaving Emmy alone again in her cozy rented room.
And as she lay in bed some time later, staring up at the ceiling from beneath a heap of blankets, she waited for the contentment to come. But it never did.