Chapter 3
The day after Emmeline’s arrival, Rebecca had already dragged her out of the house and out into the city’s most fashionable district.
“You need new things if you are to properly attend the Season’s events with me,” Rebecca had argued, and Emmeline had reluctantly agreed.
The sisters had spent the late morning going from shop to shop, placing orders to be delivered to their townhouse.
Turning down another street, the girls saw a familiar sign up ahead.
“I heard that there was to be a new collection of art being sold today,” Rebecca informed her sister, her eyes begged Emmeline to attend with her.
The girls had spent many an hour in just such places with their father, Horace Frampton, a noted antiquarian and businessman of good reputation.
Emmeline smiled; Rebecca’s excitement was contagious. Taking her sister’s smile as an affirmation of attendance, she grabbed her arm, and the girls hurried excitedly toward the auction house’s front entrance. T
hey entered to find a sizable crowd of people, the air humming with the low drone of a myriad conversations and palpable excitement. Emmeline’s body thrilled with the nostalgia of it all. “I have missed this,” she murmured, squeezing her sister’s hand in a moment of familial memory.
Rebecca squeezed Emmeline’s hand in return, giving her a soft smile of understanding. “I am glad that you have returned home where you belong.”
Emmeline returned Rebecca’s smile. In truth, she did not know where she belonged anymore, but in this moment, that did not matter. In this moment, she was with her much-beloved sister, doing something that they loved. “Let us find a seat before the auction begins.”
The sisters weaved their way through the crowd until they found a couple of empty chairs toward the back of the room. They were fortunate to find seating at all, given the size of the crowd that had already taken their places in anticipation of what was to be on offer.
When the auctioneer took his place at the podium, he hammered his gavel to call the room to order, and the drone of conversations faded to an anticipatory silence. The first handful of items were interesting but did not cry out to Emmeline to be taken home with her.
About midway through the auction, a cloth-covered rectangle was carried to the front of the room. The auctioneer smiled at someone toward the front of the crowd, then addressed the room at large.
The cloth was removed, and Emmeline’s heart skipped a beat. Beneath the cloth was the sketch of a most beautiful feminine portrait.
A woman was portrayed in soft, sweeping lines against an aged parchment. “Here we have a rare opportunity indeed,” the auctioneer announced. “This unfinished portrait is believed to be none other than one of Leonardo da Vinci’s beautifully mysterious ladies.” A renewed hush fell over the crowd.
Emmeline could not tear her eyes away from the subtle beauty of the woman. The yellowed aging of the parchment did nothing to detract from its beauty but added to the mysterious air of the woman portrayed.
“I must have it,” she breathed.
The woman’s expression was a mix of nostalgic sorrow and secret strength. It spoke to her heart as nothing before ever had. When the auctioneer called for the first bid, her hand flew almost by instinct alone up into the air.
Her heart raced in excited trepidation as others began to bid as well. As the bids went higher, slowly but surely, people began to fall out of the competition until only Emmeline and one other person toward the front of the room remained.
Emmeline strained to see who was still bidding against her, but was unable to make out more than the back of a man’s head.
Her father had left her some money with the intention of it being for just such artistic pursuits, and she had not touched it until now, and yet the price was rapidly climbing toward her limit.
At just the moment when she thought that she might lose, the man bidding against her in the front row turned around in search of his competitor. Emmeline’s breath caught in her throat as she recognized the piercing hazel eyes of Michael Egerton, the Earl of Ravenshollow.
The auctioneer looked from the earl to Emmeline, then back and forth, confusion and uncertainty on his face as he attempted to get the earl to bid once more without success.
Emmeline had no notion as to how long they sat there staring at each other before Michael turned back around and shook his head.
“Sold!” cried the auctioneer, slamming his gavel down upon the podium.
The auction continued on until every last piece was sold, but Emmeline saw none of it, lost in her own thoughts and memories of the man she had loved her entire life.
It had broken her heart when her parents had married her off to a complete stranger for his title and social standing, instead of to the boy she loved next door.
To make matters worse, her husband had never allowed her to return to England, preferring to keep her at his summer estate, far away in Scotland, even though he had an English estate in Leicestershire that would have made more sense for a lady of her standing.
The last time that she had seen Michael was the day that she had left for Scotland with her parents on holiday; by the end of their trip, Emmeline had been married. She had never even been allowed to say goodbye.
When the auction ended, Emmeline went to pay for her purchase and arrange for its delivery to her family’s townhouse.
As she and Rebecca exited the auction house, she saw Michael walking ahead of them toward a carriage.
Emmeline grabbed Rebecca’s arm and hurried after him.
“Michael,” she called after him tentatively.
Michael stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around to face her. Emmeline’s heart stuttered in her chest at the cold, reserved look in his eyes.
Every other aspect looked the same as the last time that she had seen him. He was older, less light and free in his expression, but mostly the same. The way he looked at her, devoid of love, was the main difference in his countenance, and it was more than her heart could bear.
“My lady,” he greeted somberly, inclining his head in the proper respect due a marchioness. “My condolences for your loss.”
Emmeline was not certain whether he meant the loss of her husband or her father, but she supposed that it did not matter. She inclined her head in acceptance of his sympathies. “Is that why you surrendered the Da Vinci? I have never known you to back down from a work of art that you truly desired.”
“It was in respect to your late father,” Michael acknowledged. His eyes swept over her half-mourning attire. “He was a good man. He is missed.”
Emmeline nodded in acceptance of the compliment to her late father’s memory. “I am pleased to hear that it was not out of pity.”
“Never,” he affirmed. In truth, his eyes held no pity at all, only a cold anger.
“How are you? How have you been? It has been some time since we last spoke.” She offered him a tentative smile in an effort to thaw the ice between them.
“I am perfectly adequate. I thank you for your inquiry, my lady.”
Anger flared in Emmeline’s chest at the distance between them, but she knew that it was not his fault.
He has every right to be angry. We loved one another, planned to spend the rest of our lives together, and then I was gone and wed to another. He has no way of knowing the truth of the matter, that it was all against my will. Emmeline’s heart ached for what might have been.
“If you will pardon me, my lady, I must bid you ado. I have pressing estate business to attend to. The auction was but a brief respite. Alas, I must return empty-handed.” Michael bowed and turned to leave.
In spite of herself, Emmeline could not stop the next words that left her mouth. “It is not like you to surrender so easily.”
They both knew that she meant more than the artwork.
“I learned long ago when it is time to concede that which I desire,” Michael retorted without turning back around and stepped into his carriage, commanding his driver to go.
Rebecca stood by Emmeline with a look of utter consternation.
“Well, that was rude,” Rebecca huffed. “I remember Michael being more charming than that. He did not even acknowledge my presence. In point of fact, he only had eyes for you, angry as they were. What happened between the two of you? You used to be so close when we were children.”
Emmeline shook her head. “I do not wish to discuss the matter.”
Rebecca studied her sister’s face, sudden realization dawning as her eyes grew wide in understanding. “There was love betwixt the two of you. What happened?”
“Father and Mother married me off to the highest bidder,” Emmeline bit out bitterly, and turned to walk back toward the family townhouse.
Rececca hurried to catch up with her, but did not press her for details, allowing Emmeline the solace of silence.
Michael has every right to behave coldly toward me, but that does not remove the sting of his indifference.
Emmeline felt irrationally angry and more than a little hurt, feelings that she knew she had no right to have, and yet they persisted.
I should have written to him, explained everything, but I was a coward and too broken-hearted to explain how I had done my duty and betrayed our love. How can one find the words to express such pain? Emmeline shook her head. There are no words.
He had not written to her either. Their love had died on the vine before it had ever had a chance to come to fruition. Worst of all, she missed their friendship the most.
Rebecca reached out a reassuring hand and gave her sister’s balled-up fist a gentle squeeze. Emmeline relaxed her fingers and accepted the loving gesture of comfort. She gave Rebecca an apologetic look.
“Forgive me for my sour mood. I have ruined our outing with my melancholic turn of thought.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Do not give it another thought. I may not truly know or understand everything that you have endured, but I am here to listen whenever you wish to unburden your heart.”
Emmeline smiled at her beautiful sister. “However was I so fortunate as to have a sister such as you in my life?”
Rebecca blushed prettily, accepting the compliment with good grace. “No more fortunate than I to have you, dear sister.”
Spirits lifted somewhat by Rebecca’s loving support, Emmeline walked arm in arm with her sister back home. To her delight, the auction house had already delivered the Da Vinci piece. Emmeline carried the framed sketch up to her bedroom and closed the door.
She untied the twine and folded back the wrapping protecting the artwork. Once again, the sorrowful strength of the woman captured within robbed her of breath. It was a feeling that she understood all too well.
It was as if Da Vinci had peered into her very soul and brought the pain within to life for all the world to gaze upon. A single tear slipped from Emmeline’s lashes, splashing down her cheek to fall unbidden onto the portrait’s gilded frame.
This woman knew what it was to have lost love and somehow survive the pain. Emmeline traced the line of the woman’s curls as they fell in waves down the parchment, her eyes held captive by the downward turn of the eyes, the full curve of her lips.
Sighing, Emmeline brushed the errant tear from the frame and turned to find a place to hang the artwork. As she moved toward a blank space on the bedroom wall, she passed the mirror hanging over the room’s fireplace.
In her reflection, she found the same haunted expression in her own eyes as that of Da Vinci’s muse. She turned her gaze away from the discomfiting sight and back down to the portrait in her hands.
The words of William Shakespeare floated through her mind. “Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but love.”
Emmeline shook her head, forcing back the tears. She did not allow herself to be broken by the cold indifference of her husband. She would not be broken by this either. “Love is a devil, indeed,” she murmured, straitening her shoulders.
A knock sounded on her door.
“Emmeline, it is time to dress for the ball,” Rebecca’s voice called through the wooden portal. “Come and see the new dresses that have just arrived.”
Emmeline smiled at her sister’s enthusiasm as she laid Da Vinci’s portrait down on her side table.
“Coming,” she called back. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and opened the door, stepping over the threshold with the determination to let go of the past and step boldly into an unknown future.