Chapter 24 #2
That landed differently. Juliet flinched as though struck, and Frederick looked away.
Emmeline saw Aaron at the dinner table, saying Juliet used to let him speak of his mother, brightening at every mention of her and then dimming when no answer came.
“He misses you,” she said softly.
Juliet covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes shining. “I know.”
For a moment, the room held only Juliet’s unsteady breathing and Frederick’s grim silence.
Then Juliet stepped toward her. “I owe you an apology most of all. If I had not run, you would not have been taken to the wrong chapel. You would not have been humiliated or forced into this whole tangle.”
Emmeline thought of Foxdale, of his cold convenience and her own resigned walk toward a life without warmth and her heart beat a little faster.
“I did not wish to marry my betrothed either,” she said, very quietly.
Juliet blinked through her tears.
“Perhaps what happened was for the best,” Emmeline continued, though the words trembled with more truth than she had meant to reveal. “For me, at least. But things have settled now. Rowan is not the same man he was that morning. If you came home, I believe he would hear you.”
Juliet shook her head at once. “I cannot.”
“Juliet—”
“Please.” She reached for Emmeline’s hands, gripping them with desperate cold fingers. “Please do not tell him. Not yet.”
Emmeline’s heart twisted violently.
Rowan’s face rose before her. Rowan in the morning light, trying not to smile because Aaron had teased Biscuit. Rowan in bed, body hard and trembling above hers, whispering her name.
And now this.
“He deserves honesty,” Emmeline said, and the words hurt as they left her because they condemned her even before she had chosen. “He is still searching for you. And Aaron deserves to know you are safe.”
Juliet squeezed her eyes shut. “I know.”
“Then how can you ask this of me?”
“Because I am not ready to face him,” Juliet said, the words breaking.
“I am a coward, perhaps. When I think of his anger, I feel like that girl in the wedding gown again, with everyone waiting and my whole life closing around my throat. I need a little more time. Only a little. Please. Do not tell Rowan, and do not tell Aaron. Not yet.”
Emmeline looked at Frederick.
His usual lightness was gone. “I should have told Rowan,” he said. “I know that. But when I found her, she was terrified. I could not deliver her back like a parcel.”
“And now?” Emmeline asked.
“Now I am in too deep to pretend wisdom guided me all the way.”
The absurdity of that almost hurt more because it sounded like him.
Emmeline drew a slow breath, but it did not reach the bottom of her lungs.
There were two loyalties inside her now, pulling until she felt she might split apart.
Rowan was her husband. He had finally begun to trust her with pieces of himself he had kept locked away for years.
Yet Juliet stood before her trembling, asking only for time.
Emmeline had been a woman standing before a marriage she did not want. She could not forget that simply because she had been fortunate enough to be stolen from it.
But compassion could not become betrayal.
“All right,” she said, and the words felt like stepping off solid ground. “I will not tell him today.”
The moment she said it, her stomach turned, as though her body had recognized the lie before she could justify it.
Juliet’s relief was immediate and terrible. “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet.” Emmeline held her gaze, her voice softening without losing its firmness. “I am giving you one day, Juliet. One day to gather your courage and decide how you wish to face him. Tomorrow, you must either tell Rowan yourself, or I shall tell him.”
Juliet’s face went pale. “Tomorrow?” “Yes.” Emmeline’s throat tightened, but she did not look away. “I will not lie to my husband like this. I will not let him keep searching when I know you are safe. And I will not let Aaron continue to ache for you without an answer.”
Frederick exhaled slowly, his expression grave. “She is right.”
Juliet looked between them, frightened and stricken.
“I know it feels impossible,” Emmeline said more gently. “But Rowan doesn’t deserve this. He cares for you. Give him the truth before silence makes it uglier than it already is.”
Juliet swallowed hard, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I do not know if I can.”
“Then use tomorrow to become the woman who can,” Emmeline whispered.
For a moment, Juliet said nothing. Then she nodded once, small and broken.
“All right,” she breathed. “One day.”
The moment she agreed, Emmeline’s stomach turned, as if her body had decided that even this mercy was still a lie.
Frederick cleared his throat, though his voice remained subdued. “We must get you back to the garden before Aaron suspects I have kidnapped you.”
Emmeline tried to smile. It failed.
Juliet touched her arm lightly. “Is he well? Aaron?”
The question nearly undid her. “He is better,” she said. “He has a puppy now. Biscuit.”
Juliet’s lips parted, a watery laugh escaping her. “Rowan allowed a puppy?”
“After great suffering.”
“That sounds more like him.”
“He is changing,” Emmeline said, and the truth of it made guilt burn through her. “Do not wait until he hardens again.”
Juliet looked down.
Frederick opened the door carefully and glanced into the corridor. “Come.”
The walk back felt endless. Every step seemed louder than the last, every breath a betrayal being rehearsed. By the time they reached the garden door, Emmeline had gathered her composure so tightly around herself that it felt like stays drawn too hard.
Aaron saw Frederick first.
“Lord Calham!” he called, abandoning all dignity as Biscuit bolted with him across the lawn.
Frederick caught the puppy’s lead before Biscuit could wrap himself around his boots. “Captain Biscuit. You have grown more lawless since our last meeting.”
“He tried to eat a rose,” Aaron reported.
“Such poor manners.”
Aaron laughed, then looked at Emmeline. “Can we stay? Please?”
The guilt moved through her so sharply that for a moment she nearly swayed again, but Emmeline forced herself to breathe.
“No, darling,” she said gently. “We ought to return home.”
His face fell. “But Lord Calham just came.”
“And Lord Calham will visit you soon,” Frederick said quickly, his eyes flicking once to Emmeline’s face with an apology he did not speak aloud. “I give you my solemn word.”
Aaron studied him. “With another ship?”
“One cannot flood the navy too quickly. Perhaps something else.”
“A cannon?”
“Absolutely not,” Emmeline and Frederick said at once.
Aaron grinned reluctantly, and that small concession nearly broke her heart.
The ride back to Ironford House passed in a blur of wheels and sunlight.
Aaron spoke of Biscuit’s crimes against the roses, then of possible cannon alternatives, then of whether Frederick might know how pirates spoke.
Emmeline answered where she could, smiled when required, and all the while felt the secret sitting behind her ribs like a stone.
When Ironford House came into view, she felt dread rise so swiftly that she had to press her hands together in her lap.
Rowan was waiting in the hall.
The sight of him struck her with such force that for one foolish, aching second, she wanted to run into his arms and confess everything against his chest. He looked up as they entered, and the warmth that moved through his eyes when they settled on her made the guilt turn bitter.
“There you are,” he said warmly.
It hurt worse than anger would have.
Aaron launched into an immediate account of Biscuit’s behavior, and Rowan listened with a faint curve at the corner of his mouth, though his gaze kept returning to Emmeline.
“You are pale,” he said at last.
Her heart lurched. “Am I?”
“Yes.” He stepped closer, the concern in his face sharpening. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” The lie came too quickly, and shame rushed after it. “Only the walk. I am a little tired, that is all.”
Rowan’s eyes searched hers.
She could bear his anger. She could bear his commands, his silences, even the terrifying tenderness he sometimes gave her now without warning. But this careful concern was almost unbearable. It made her want to lean into him and tell him she had found his sister and promised her silence.
Instead, she stood still as his hand came to her elbow.
“Come upstairs,” he said. “You should rest.”
Despite everything, a faint, broken smile touched her mouth. “There is no need to fuss.”
His thumb brushed once against the inside of her elbow, subtle and warm through the fabric of her sleeve. Her body reacted instantly, traitorously, heat unfurling beneath the guilt. She remembered that hand lower on her body, the roughness of his breath against her mouth.
His gaze darkened slightly, as though he had followed the thought across her face.
Then the concern returned.
“Rest,” he said more softly. “For my peace, if not yours.”
She nodded because she could not trust herself to speak.
He guided her upstairs himself, his hand steady at her back, and with every step the secret grew heavier. At her chamber door, he paused and looked down at her.
“If you need anything, send for me.”
I need you to forgive me. The thought was so painful that her eyes burned.
“I shall,” she said.
Rowan studied her another moment, then bent and pressed his mouth to her forehead.
It was too gentle.
When he left her there and the door closed between them, Emmeline stood in the quiet of her chamber with one hand pressed to the place his lips had touched, already feeling the first crack widen beneath her feet.