Chapter 4 #3
“The mothers didn't fare much better,” Peggy continued.
“One was already gone, died during childbirth.
One died of the shock, and the third... well, they say she simply vanished.
Couldn't bear the grief or the shame. The girls were taken in by an aunt, a Dowager Viscountess, who lives like a ghost in the countryside. A recluse who kept them hidden away for years, long past their time to debut. That is why they are only appearing now, nearly two years late.”
“Why would you tell me this, Peggy?” Emily asked, dropping her head into her hands with a frustrated groan.
“I am already drowning in the tragedy of my own family. I asked for gossip to lift my spirits, not to hear a story so pathetic it makes my own life look like a cheerful comedy by comparison. Three fathers lost to a snowstorm and a bottle? It’s absolutely miserable. ”
Peggy winced, looking genuinely contrite as she smoothed the edge of the pillowcase. “I am sorry, My Lady. Truly. I didn't mean to pile more grief onto your plate. It’s just... well, the reason the servants are wagging their tongues is because of the Duke.”
Emily peeked through her fingers, her brow furrowing. “The Duke? Of Carrowell? What does he have to do with this?”
“The rumors, My Lady. They say the blonde one, the eldest, has set her sights squarely on him. They say she didn't just go to Lady Birks’ house to pay respects, she went to plead her case for the List. She’s looking for a Duke, and she’s looking for yours.”
Emily sat up straight, her irritation shifting into a strange, hollow ache. She looked toward the window, thinking of these girls who had survived such a bleak, cold end to their childhoods.
“The poor girl,” Emily murmured, her voice losing its sharp edge.
“If she has suffered so much, does she not deserve a life of actual warmth?
Why would anyone search for a husband only to settle for a man like His Grace?
He is infuriating, arrogant, and entirely too pleased with his own nonsense.
Surely, after all they've been through, they would want a love match. No one deserves to be tethered to a man like that simply because he has a fortress of a house and a title that keeps the wind out.”
She shook her head, a soft sigh escaping her. “If it were up to me, I wouldn't wish a marriage of convenience for her. It’s a cold way to live, Peggy. To wake up every morning next to a contract instead of a partner.”
The room went quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft crackle of the embers. Peggy looked at her for a long beat, her expression softening into something uncharacteristically bold.
“That is a very beautiful sentiment, My Lady,” Peggy said quietly. “I know you mean it. But... you’ve always wanted a love match too, haven't you? You spent two seasons waiting for it.”
Emily opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat.
“Yet,” Peggy continued. “Here you are. Doing the exact same thing, My Lady. You're trying to win a man you can't stand because you need his protection for Frederick. How can you wish for them to have love, when you’ve tucked your own heart away in a drawer just to survive the month?”
“It is not the same thing,” Emily said finally.
Peggy said nothing. She had the wisdom, after all these years, to know when to press and when to simply wait.
“I had callers,” Emily said. “Not long ago. I had plenty of them.” She said it without vanity, simply as a fact.
“After my debut, after everything with Alistair, I still had callers. Good ones. Men who were serious and eligible and who would have made perfectly reasonable husbands.” She paused.
“But then Anne stopped writing to me secretly.”
Peggy's expression softened.
“Her letters just stopped,” Emily said. “They simply stopped arriving, and I did not know why, and I could not ask anyone about it.” She looked down at her hands.
“I think I went a little quiet after that. I stopped responding to callers. I stopped entertaining the idea of any of it because I could not concentrate on building a future when I did not know what had happened to my sister.” She paused. “Then she died.”
The silence that followed that sentence was its own kind of grief.
“By the time I came back to myself,” Emily continued.
“The Season had moved on without me. As it does. Callers find other drawing rooms when you stop opening your door to them,” She said.
“I am not without prospects entirely. I know that. But a month, Peggy. With a month left and everything I am carrying, I cannot afford to wait for the right feeling to arrive at the right time.”
“You could still find it,” Peggy said gently. “A love match. “
“Perhaps,” Emily said. “Perhaps in another Season, with more time and less at stake, I might have. I would like to believe that.” She looked at Frederick.
“But right now there is him, and he is not an abstract possibility. He is right here, and he has been through more than most grown men survive. He needs something certain. I am not going to let Papa send him to an orphanage, Peggy. I would sooner walk into the Thames in my best gown.”
Peggy let out a breath that was almost a laugh and almost something else entirely.
“Frederick is not going anywhere,” Emily said. Simply. Finitely. “He is Anne's child. He is the only thing left of her in this world, and he is not going to an orphanage. Not while I am breathing.” She paused. “So if that means marrying Theodore Merrick, then I will marry Theodore Merrick.”
Peggy looked at her for a long moment. At the straight back, the folded hands, and the composed face that Emily wore like armor.
“She would be so proud of you, My Lady,” Peggy said softly. “ Lady Anne. Sad... but proud.”
Emily looked at Frederick.
She did not say anything. But her throat moved, just once, and she pressed her lips together briefly and looked at the ceiling for a moment, trying her best not to cry.
Then she smoothed her skirts, rose quietly from the bed, and leaned down one last time to press her lips to the top of Frederick's head.
“Goodnight, Frederick,” she whispered.
She straightened. Looked at Peggy. “We should get some rest,” she said. “Tomorrow is going to require a great deal of composure.”
Peggy smiled and rose to her feet, too. “It always does, My Lady.”