Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“You must go now, or Owen will be greeting the guests on his own,” Emma said, securing her pearl earbobs as she eyed Mrs. Buckley. “I am fully capable of walking across the lawn when I am ready.”
“I can wait for you, Emma.”
“It is kind of you to offer, but really, it is better this way. My hair is not yet finished, and the ball has already begun. I’ve forgotten how long it takes to ready oneself for an event such as this.”
Mrs. Buckley’s brow furrowed. “If you’re certain.”
Emma crossed the room, taking her employer’s arm and gently steering her into the corridor. “I am sorry not to be prepared in time to walk over with you, but I am certain Mrs. Bates would be happy to do so.”
“That is no matter.”
“I will see you shortly.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Buckley shot her one last look before slipping away and leaving Emma to finish preparing for the ball.
The reality of the situation was that Emma’s nerves were frayed.
If the entirety of Briarstead was discussing whether she ought to be considered a fortune seeker, she wasn’t certain she wanted to mingle with them while drinking lemonade and laughing at their jokes.
She would much rather remain where she was comfortable: on the fringes, in the sweet little cottage, alone.
A quick glance in the dressing room mirror showed the rose gown with ruching at the bust and hem that she had made over for this ball.
It was simple, but it fit her figure elegantly and showed off her graceful neck, matching her pink lips.
She appeared as though she belonged. At one point in her life, she had fit in.
Her circumstances had greatly altered, but why did that determine whether she was worthy of the company in Buckley Place?
She was still Emma Darling. She had not changed in the fundamental ways that mattered.
She finished pinning her curls to the crown of her head, allowing herself the pleasure of a slightly more elaborate hairstyle than usual.
It was softer than her typical knot, lending her face a more youthful appearance.
And it was for herself that she styled it, to give herself the confidence she needed.
That, and for Owen, of course.
A smile curved her lips. Let the gossips say what they will. She and Owen were happy.
When she finally finished her toilette, she wished someone had remained behind to look at the back of her hair and inform her if there was anything out of place.
But Cook had gone to the big house to help for the evening, and all of the servants were loaned to Buckley Place as well.
The only person who had remained behind was Mrs. Bates, and she had walked over with Mrs. Buckley.
Emma twisted, hoping to see the back of her hair, but eventually gave up. She pulled a shawl over her shoulders and drew in a steadying breath. It was time to leave.
She was halfway down the stairs, her long silk gloves dangling from her hands, when a floorboard creaked near the front door that made her feet stop in their tracks. An icy feeling trickled down her spine. “Mrs. Bates?” she called. “Did you remain behind?”
No reply met her ears.
Houses creaked. It was a common noise. Surely the foreboding feeling caused Emma to imagine worse things awaited her than the reality. It was likely the dogs.
Only…they were all sleeping in the kitchen, were they not? She took another step and heard the floor groan again, the clear sound of a foot on a floorboard.
“Who is there?” she asked. There was nothing in the corridor with which she could defend herself. If she darted into the parlor, she risked closing herself in. If she could make it to the front door—
Just as Emma decided to hurry outside, a figure stepped from the servants’ corridor, blocking the doorway. Her stomach turned, as she immediately recognized both Simon Yardley and the glint of victory in his eyes.
Her feet skidded to a stop, anxiety running over her skin like hundreds of ants. Her fingers tightened around her long gloves, knuckles turning white. “Good evening, Mr. Yardley. You’ve just missed Mrs. Buckley. I’m afraid she’s already gone to the ball. Shall we walk over together?”
“No, I don’t think so.” His voice held a calmness that caused her alarm. “We won’t be going to the ball tonight.”
His confidence was worrisome. Emma feigned a degree of confusion. “What is it you need?”
His eyes remained fixed on her. “What an interesting question. I need a lot of things, you know. Money, for one. A wife to unlock my mother’s inheritance would be good. There are multiple ways you will be useful to me.”
Emma took a step back, fear driving a stake through her. “I can provide neither of those things.”
“Not the money directly, perhaps. But when my mother died, she left the most absurd direction in her will—something we did not discover until recently. In order to receive the bulk of my inheritance, I must marry. Strange, is it not? I had been paying you special attention at first merely to keep Owen’s attention free so he might see my sister without being clouded by you, but when I realized I needed a wife, I decided you might help in both quarters.
Marriage to you will bring in even more funds than I’d originally imagined. ”
“I’m not interested, though I am flattered you would think of me.”
Simon took another step closer. “The thing is, Miss Darling, I am not asking.”
Her gut twisted at the dark look in his eyes. She turned, running for the parlor, aware of his footsteps close behind her. She dropped her gloves as she reached the fire poker and clasped the handle, swinging it around to face him, holding it with both hands.
Simon skidded to a stop, his hands going up. “This does not need to be difficult, Emma. We’ll both benefit from an arrangement.”
She cringed at his use of her given name but swallowed the sour taste it left in her mouth. “There is no reality where I agree to an arrangement with you, Mr. Yardley. Now, please leave.”
Simon lowered his hands. “You do not wish for your life back? To reside in Thornbrook Hall once again? You would be the mistress of your old home and have all of the luxuries that come with it.”
“No, thank you.”
His expression hardened. “Is there something wrong with my house, Emma? With me?”
Clearly, he was addlebrained. But she knew better than to take his bait.
“You cannot mean to imply you are happy in this situation. You’re hardly better than a servant,” he spat.
Oh, how wrong he was. She used to believe that, but she was wrong as well.
Mrs. Buckley had treated her like family, like the daughter she was never able to have, and Emma had been blessed to be in this house for the last nine years.
But Simon, of all people, did not deserve to know these precious truths.
“You will leave now,” she said through her teeth, waving the iron poker despite her trembling. “Or I will begin to scream.”
A hard expression fell over his eyes. “You think I did not consider that possibility? That I imagined you would walk willingly to my carriage and go off to Gretna Green without any coercion?”
Dread snaked through her. What had Simon planned?
“I tried to do this while Owen was gone, but each time I visited this blasted cottage, you were not to be seen. You’re a troublesome woman, you know? Difficult to pin down. So now that I have you, I need only to put you in the carriage that is waiting right outside the door, and then we can leave.”
Right outside? They would be long gone before anyone even noticed her absence. But right now she had a weapon, and she would not go without a fight.
“I will not agree to a wedding.”
“You will. I was prepared to do what I must tonight to separate you from Mrs. Buckley, and fortune favored me there. But do not think I won’t do what I must to ensure you speak the one word needed to secure a legal wedding in Scotland.”
Emma was beginning to feel lightheaded, fear surging through her body in waves.
Simon took a step closer, and she swung the poker. He dodged just in time to avoid being hit, but then he lunged, taking her by the arm. Emma gripped the poker hard, but she was no match in strength for Simon, and he wrested it from her hands, flinging it to the floor.
Simon’s hand dug into her arm as his other arm secured her against him. “Walk now, and if you scream, I’ll make certain Mrs. Buckley pays for it.”
Emma considered her options. She was not entirely helpless. Not yet.
He prodded her into the corridor, then toward the front door, half dragging and half pushing her. Once the door opened to the darkening sky, there were only a few steps between them and the waiting carriage. Emma’s panic grew.
This was it. If she was going to gain her freedom, now was her last chance, or he would have her.
They reached the carriage. Emma suppressed her anxiety. She needed her wits about her.
As Simon reached to open the door, she took her chance. He only had one arm around her, so she kicked back hard at his knee at the same time that she brought her head back, smashing it into his nose.
He let out a curse, releasing her on impact.
Emma lifted her skirt and bolted. She made it around the carriage, tearing across the lawn. The house was in sight. She needed only to make it near the house, and she would be safe.
Pumping her legs as hard as she could, she began to feel she had made it away when a hand grabbed the back of her skirt and yanked hard, and she went down.