Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Four Months Previous, London
The night in London had started as many others.
Lady Emily Sterling had no way of knowing how low her spirits would sink.
Only an hour before the ball began, she had reminded herself that she ought to enjoy the evening.
It was not the first ball she had attended since that night in Town when a certain gentleman with a crooked smile and quiet steadiness had asked her for a dance.
She had not looked for Mr. Eastwood tonight—he had been called away to York weeks ago—but she had wished, foolishly, that someone of his character had been there nonetheless.
Especially when her hopes came crashing down upon her.
Emily had fled the ballroom as gracefully as she could manage, though she feared anyone watching closely had seen the tremor in her steps.
The ladies’ withdrawing room was mercifully quiet. The door closed behind her without a sound, muting the music, the hum of voices, the rustle of ballgowns. For a blessed moment there was stillness and the faint crackle of the fire in the grate.
She moved deeper into the room, past the tall mirror with its gilded frame. One glance at her reflection—eyes over-bright, color too high in her cheeks—was enough to make her turn away. She did not wish to see herself. Not when the echo of those words still rang in her ears.
Mr. Waldegrave, a suitor she had tried to dismiss when she realized his nature was selfish and cruel, had found a way to speak to her. His verbal attack had been brief, but effective.
Country manners…
…no true notion of how to behave…
…an earl’s daughter in name only…
…you will disappoint your family…
Of course, she knew she should not give heed to his words. He was unkind. Arrogant. Angry that she had spurned him. Yet his words were the exact fears she harbored in her heart.
I will make you sorry. Already, people are talking and seeing you for what you are.
She tried to recall something pleasant. Anything to block out the sting.
That made her mind reach again to that brief dance with Mr. Eastwood.
He had spoken so gently to her, stuttering once before offering an apology that made her laugh despite her nerves.
He had made her feel seen without being judged. That memory felt far away now.
Emily swallowed hard, her throat tight and sore. Her father’s title, the new consequence attached to their family name, her sisters’ careful efforts in teaching her how to curtsy, how to speak, how to move—none of it mattered if one careless remark revealed how she did not properly belong.
Her steps carried her toward one of the tall windows as if of their own accord. Heavy curtains framed the glass, the folds deep enough to hide inside. It was childish, perhaps, but she could not bear the thought anyone discovering her, sitting openly and weeping like a silly girl.
She slipped behind the curtains and sank into the corner, her pale blue skirts crumpling around her. The fabric brushed against the wall and floor, then all fell still. The enclosed space felt oddly safe, dim and muffled. She drew her knees close and pressed her face into her hands.
She tried—truly she did—not to cry. It was foolish.
Overly sensitive. A proper lady would have brushed off a cruel comment with a laugh, or answered it with a clever remark.
A proper lady would not be hiding, holding herself together by sheer force of will.
But the words had lodged into her chest like thorns, scraping with every breath.
A small, ragged sob escaped her before she could stop it. She bit her lip, willing herself to silence.
Do not make a spectacle. Do not give anyone reason to look.
Another sob trembled out, quiet but impossible to entirely swallow back.
“Emily?”
Emily’s head jerked up at the sound of her name—without the ill-fitting title of lady—spoken in a voice of true concern. She blinked against the blur of tears as the curtain shifted, lamplight spilling into her refuge.
Juniper stood there, the rich colors of her gown a blur of jewel tones above Emily’s hunched form. Her expression was all kindness and worry, those dark eyes warm rather than critical.
Emily’s cheeks burned. She dashed at them with the back of her gloved hand, trying in vain to wipe away the evidence of her shame. “I—I am sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I did not mean… I did not intend for anyone to see me like this.”
“There is nothing to apologize for,” Juniper said, her tone soft as she lowered herself into a crouch beside Emily.
The rustle of her skirts, the faint scent of rosewater and something bright and citrus, wrapped around them both.
Juniper took Emily’s trembling hands in her own and gave them a reassuring squeeze.
“But you must tell me—what has happened? I saw you not ten minutes ago, and you seemed perfectly well.”
Emily shook her head, fresh tears stinging her eyes.
She did not wish to repeat the words. Saying them aloud would make them feel truer somehow, giving them weight enough to crush her completely.
“It is nothing,” she managed to say, though her voice wavered.
“Someone said something. Something…unkind.”
Juniper’s mouth tightened, though her touch remained gentle. “What did they say?” she asked quietly. “Who was it?”
Emily couldn’t meet her gaze. Shame curled in her stomach, sharp and twisting.
“I have no wish to talk about it.” Her words came out small, a little broken.
If she spoke it, Juniper will know how foolish Emily was.
How unfit for all of this. “I only… I want to leave. I cannot face them all again, not after—” The rest dissolved into another sob, her throat closing around it.
Juniper’s hand moved to Emily’s back, stroking in slow, comforting circles. The kindness of the gesture made Emily’s eyes sting all the more. “You need not explain if you do not wish to,” Juniper said. “But you are not alone, Emily. I will not let you face this without someone by your side.”
Whatever she was supposed to be, she did not feel equal to any of it. Tears spilled over again despite her effort to hold them back, but she nodded all the same. It was a strange mixture of humiliation and relief—that someone had found her, that someone cared. That Juniper cared.
“I will find one of the ladies in your family,” Juniper said at last, rising gracefully to her feet. “They will know what to do, and they can take you home if that is what you wish.”
Home. That word did not mean to Emily what it did to Juniper.
Her friend meant the townhouse where the Sterling family resided at present.
But that was not home to Emily. It hadn’t felt like home even once.
She missed the country home, humble in size with barely enough room for all of them, and simply furnished but filled with the memories of easier times.
Away from the music, the bright lights, the watchful eyes weighing every word she spoke, every step she took.
Emily nodded, unable to form a proper reply.
The tightness in her chest eased just a fraction.
Juniper believed her distress mattered—not because of her father’s title, not because she ought to be useful or accomplished, but simply because she was hurt.
“Thank you,” Emily whispered, a little hoarse, wiping again at her cheeks. “I… I am very grateful.”
Juniper offered her a small, encouraging smile and gave her shoulder a gentle pat before letting the curtain fall back into place. Emily listened to the soft retreat of her footsteps, the distant rise and fall of the music beyond the withdrawing room door.
Alone again behind the curtain, she drew in a careful breath. Her eyes still burned, her heart still ached, but a fragile thread of steadiness wound through the pain.
Perhaps she was not quite as alone in this glittering, unforgiving world as she had feared.