Chapter 9 #2
His absence pressed harder as the noise of the wedding breakfast faded.
During the dance, she had been too aware of him to feel the wound properly.
His hand on her back, his voice low over his dry remark about the club, and the wedding kiss still alive between them—all of it had given hope just enough room to rise before he crushed it.
Now, there was room enough for the ache itself.
“I have made certain that your quarters are as far away from mine as possible.”
Frances caught her in the corridor just as she thought she might escape to breathe alone for one minute.
“Emily, darling.”
There was no avoiding a mother who used that tone.
Emily turned to find Frances standing with her gloves in one hand and concern written too plainly on her face to be hidden by grace.
“Before I go, I only wish to say, well…” Frances hesitated in a way that made Emily’s whole body tense. “A wedding night can be awkward at the beginning, and men are sometimes more eager than considerate—though your father never was—but you need not be frightened if?—”
“Mama.”
Frances stopped, color touching her cheeks.
Emily wanted to laugh and cry and vanish all at once. “Please don’t.”
“I only mean to be helpful.”
“I know.” Emily softened at once because her mother meant love even when she delivered mortification. “It is only that I do not think your advice will be required.”
Frances searched her face. “What do you mean?”
Emily looked down at the carpet, then forced herself to answer plainly, “I have a feeling the Duke wants us to lead separate lives, Mama.”
Saying it out loud did something ugly to the truth. It made the whole marriage seem even more barren than it had in her thoughts.
Frances stared at her, the shock on her face quite evident. “On your wedding day?”
Emily gave the smallest shrug. “He appears committed to consistency.”
Her mother looked stricken on her behalf, which she could not bear.
“It is all right,” she said quickly.
“It is not.”
Emily managed a thin smile. “It would help me very much if you pretended it was.”
Frances’s mouth trembled. Then she stepped forward and kissed her forehead with such tenderness that Emily nearly broke on the spot. “You are my brave girl.”
No bride wished to be brave. Emily wished to be loved . But the carriages were waiting. Dominic was already calling for one more cloak, and the servants were attending to him rather quickly. Sybella embraced her, and then they were gone.
It felt almost like a dream as the house grew quieter.
A maid came to take Emily upstairs to remove the weight of the day from her hair, dress, and person. Emily submitted to it all in a kind of haze. Pins were removed. Silk was loosened. Jewels were taken away. Hands moved carefully around her, and every kindness felt strangely remote.
None of these women could give her what the day had taught her to want. Their gentleness only cleared more space around the longing in her heart.
By the time she was free of her wedding gown and wrapped in a shift, the night sky had deepened beyond the windows.
Her new room was elegant and calm, with a fire laid and turned low, the great bed hung with draperies she had once imagined looking romantic in the right circumstances.
Tonight, however, they only looked formal.
She looked up, about to turn around, when a soft knock sounded at the door. She turned too quickly, her heart leaping before sense could catch it.
It was Harriet.
The child stepped in with unusual solemnity, both hands clasped around a small toy animal, some faded little thing made of cloth and stuffing that had once perhaps been a rabbit and now was mostly something that comforted her.
“I know you have a real doggie,” she said, coming nearer, “but when I was scared to move from Mama’s room to my own, this helped.”
Emily looked down at the toy, then at Harriet’s earnest face.
“Oh, Harriet,” she murmured.
The child pressed the toy into her hands. “He is very good at sleeping near people who do not want to sleep alone.”
Emily had to swallow before she could trust her voice. “Thank you.”
Harriet leaned in to hug her, all warmth and trust and the sweet scent of soap and ribbons. Emily held her fiercely for one brief second.
“You may keep him forever,” Harriet said as she drew back. “Or only tonight, if you like.”
“I shall be very honored to borrow him.”
That seemed to satisfy Harriet. She wished Emily good night and disappeared again.
Emily sat on the edge of the bed with the toy in her lap and felt more keenly than before the split running through the house. At last, there was nothing left to do but get into bed.
The maid extinguished the last candles one by one and withdrew, and soon, silence settled.
Emily lay beneath the blanket with the little toy tucked beside her hand and stared into the dark.
Adam had already told her what sort of marriage they would have. He had already shown her the room placed far from his. She ought to know better than to wait for anything softer. Yet the memory of their kiss worked against her sense. Any bride who felt what she had would wait.
So she waited.
The house made its ordinary nocturnal sounds. A servant passed once in the hallway, and somewhere far off, a door opened and closed. The fireplace grew even dimmer as Emily listened to each noise with her whole body.
Eventually, the silence stretched long enough to lose all innocence. She lay awake in her bridal chamber and understood with painful clarity that Adam had wanted her all day and still chosen the opposite.
It was clear now.
He was not coming.