Chapter 25
Theo knocked on the solid oak door of Wescott’s study and entered at the summons. Despite the early afternoon, the curtains were partially drawn, leaving his uncle’s face half in shadow. “You requested to see me?”
“Sit,” Wescott said.
Theo took the chair across from the writing desk, swallowing a nervous lump.
It was unlikely Wescott knew of Theo’s trespass yesterday.
Nobody had seen him and Emmeline, and even then, no one outside the family knew of his connection to Wescott, so they wouldn’t exactly run to the earl with the scandalous news.
Wescott leaned forward, wrapping the Starry Night pendant around his fingers.
“Is there something wrong with it?” Theo asked.
“No, no. You delivered, as I asked.” Wescott absentmindedly stared at the pendant.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you need it? It doesn’t seem valuable.”
“Value can be ascribed to more than just the cost of a necklace.”
“Nostalgia?”
Wescott’s pale blue eyes drilled into him.
“Revenge.” He tucked the necklace into the drawer.
“But that’s not why I called you.” He stapled his hands on the desk.
“I have a meeting with my estate manager tomorrow, and you’re to attend it.
You need to get to know him, the properties he manages, see the books, understand how the work is to be done. ”
Theo stared at the polished dark wood of the desk. In his dreams, where he was brave—like one of the heroes in Emmeline’s books—he’d stand up to Wescott and tell him the truth. He’d tell him he couldn’t follow his plan and become his heir because he was in love and wanted his own life.
“Do you hear me?”
He gulped. “Yes, Uncle.”
“Look at me.”
He raised his eyes as Wescott narrowed his. He knows. Not about Emmeline, but he had to know something was wrong.
“If there’s a problem, tell me now.” Wescott’s voice was demanding, rather than reassuring of finding a solution to that problem.
“Uncle, are you sure this is a good idea?”
“What is?”
“Me.”
Wescott scoffed. “You’re having doubts?”
“Well, I—”
“Without me, you’d be an illiterate French peasant, spending his days milking cows and raking hay. You owe yourself to me.”
A part of him, yes. But not the whole. Without Wescott, he’d still be himself.
A different version, perhaps, but himself nonetheless.
He’d still love his family in France; he’d still like to fall asleep under the stars on a warm summer night, and ride horses, and play vingt-et-un with Jean-Baptiste …
And he’d still love Emmeline, even though in that reality, he’d probably never have met her.
“You weren’t the one to raise me,” Theo said.
“Only because your loggerhead of an uncle wouldn’t let go of you.”
“You won’t speak like this of Uncle Gustave.
” Theo kept his voice calm, even though a stormy sea began to rage inside of him.
If it weren’t for that rage, he’d find his sudden rebellion amusing …
fascinating. He’d known of his destiny his entire life.
It was a given, as much as breathing and walking without thinking.
But now, after that kiss yesterday, after Emmeline’s admission, Wescott’s plans for him no longer felt like a fated, secure future.
They felt like a prison.
Wescott leaned closer. “The best thing you uncle’s ever done was agree to my proposition.” He pulled a book from the side and slammed it open on the desk, indicating the conversation was over. “You’re free to go.”
Free. If only. Theo got up and left without another word, letting his feet take charge as he mulled over the conversation.
The worst about Wescott and his argument was that he was right.
Even if Theo excluded himself from the equation, there was still the financial aid to Uncle Gustave and the whole family—aid that Wescott gave because of Theo, but it still helped all of them.
How many times in the years when crops failed would they have gone hungry if Wescott hadn’t helped?
How much worse would Aunt’s eyesight have gotten if she were forced to mend more clothes by the failing daylight instead of being able to buy new ones when needed?
And Jean-Baptiste—he’d have never discovered he liked natural sciences if Theo hadn’t convinced his tutor to teach his cousin, as well.
He didn’t only owe himself to Wescott. He owed his family, too.
“Leon?” Cass’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. Her head barely peeked out of a massive bouquet of roses on the table in the parlor. Make that bouquets. As Theo approached, and more of the room opened up, he realized every free inch of every table was besieged with flowers.
“What happened?” he asked, the ridiculous view lightening up his mood.
“Balls happened.” Cass pursed her lips and removed a card from the bouquet. “To Lady Cassiopeia. You shine like the sun at midday. Mr. Alterton.”
“Oof.”
“It’s not even the worst one.” She sat down on the sofa and supported her chin with her hand. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in sorting the bouquets out, worst to best?”
Theo beheld the selection. “The thistle one. Easily the worst.”
“I know! I think he was trying to be unique.”
He sat down next to her. “If it’s of any consolation, it’ll be over soon. The dinner is next week; Uncle will present me, and your admirers will find you a lot less relevant.”
She cast him an amused side glance. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Will you miss it?”
“The attention? Not in the slightest.” But as light as her voice was, her eyes hid a shadow underneath.
She’d been nothing but kind to him since he’d arrived, but as they sat together in companionable silence, Theo wondered if she’d had just as little choice, as little say in the matter, as he did.
He wanted to think not—she was Wescott’s only daughter, and surely he wouldn’t force her to do something she didn’t want. She was his blood.
“Cass,” he started, but then she looked at him and smiled, and he wavered. What did he intend to do—sow doubts into her mind? Wasn’t him being rattled enough already? “Thank you,” he said instead.
The anger, boiled down now to merely a simmer, still whispered inside him. Prison. Prison. But he swallowed it down.
“Thank you for keeping me sane. I don’t know who else I’d talk to otherwise.”
Emmeline’s words, so similar, from a few nights ago, echoed in his mind, making his heart squeeze. He forcibly brushed them away and clapped his knees. “Bouquet ranking, then?”
“Let’s do it.”
***
“Lady Evans’s musical, but only if you want to be deaf for the next two days—which you might, especially if you intend to go to Davenports’ dinner afterward …” Louisa lowered the invitation into her lap. “Emmeline? Are you listening?”
“Yes,” Emmeline said, not sounding convincing even to herself.
Where had she been? Not in the present, sitting with Louisa in Sebastian’s parlor, picking out invitations.
No, she’d been miles away, thinking about the museum and how Theo had kissed her like he was drowning and she was his air, then left without a word—
Well, that was a touch too dramatic. He did leave with words, but they didn’t help her much.
“No, you’re not!” Louisa said in a friendly accusatory tone.
“I was …”
“You’ve been thinking about someone.” Louisa gave her a cheeky smile. “But it’s not Daniel, is it?”
“No,” Emmeline said as gently as she could, hoping that wouldn’t disappoint Louisa too much.
The corners of Louisa’s mouth turned down, but she schooled them back into a smile. “Is it that friend of yours—Theo?”
Emmeline sighed.
“Well.” Louisa raised her chin. “I might need to have a talk with him because, based on your peculiar behavior, he’s either making you very miserable or very happy, and I will not stand for the former.”
Emmeline let out a short laugh. Her friend’s support was reassuring, even if unrealistic. “So you don’t mind it?”
“Is he making you miserable or happy?”
Both. And most of all, confused. “I … I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you believe he returns your feelings?”
That kiss made her want to say yes, but his behavior was still so bizarre.
“This might make sense,” Louisa continued, making Emmeline think she’d switched to a different topic, until, “Especially if what Theo told Papa was to save you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Back at the wedding.” Louisa leaned in. “All my information is second-hand, of course”—she briefly pouted—“but what I know is that Viscount Grey was hell bound on punishing you, and then Theo talked with Papa, and then Papa talked with Grey, and suddenly, you were free to go.”
Wooziness blurred Emmeline’s vision. She’d thought Theo talking to the duke back then would land him in trouble; but Louisa was claiming he got her out of trouble?
She could almost rejoice if she weren’t so baffled about what kind of leverage Theo could possibly have used.
“Hmm.” Louisa glanced at the invitations spread on the table. “You know what would help with your predicament?” She picked up one card. “A masquerade ball.”
“How?”
“Oh, they do wonders. Or so I’ve been told. It’s something about the masks that makes people braver.”
Emmeline’s mind flashed back to the other masquerade ball. To her swirling in Theo’s embrace, them laughing over the dessert table, and later on, on that balcony, under the moonlight … It had been special. Perhaps Louisa had a point.
“You two will talk, dance … I’ll wait outside with a cricket bat, in case he breaks your heart …”
“Who are you mortally injuring now?” Sebastian said, entering the parlor.
“No one,” Emmeline said determinedly, patting Louisa’s hand.
“I find that hard to believe.” He sat on the sofa opposite from them, but his cheerful face dropped when he scanned over the army of invitations. “Dear God, don’t tell me we’re going to all of those.”
“Not all,” Emmeline said. “But the masquerade ball …”
“I’ll ask Lady Kemper to send your friend an invitation if he doesn’t have one yet,” Louisa whispered confidentially.
“The only one I will request is Lord Wescott’s dinner,” Sebastian said.
“Still panting after Lady Cassiopeia?” Louisa’s tone seemed mocking, but it also held a tinge of annoyance.
“Not at all,” Sebastian said. “But Wescott never holds dinners, which means this will be a special occasion. We simply cannot miss the drama.”
“Maybe he’s grown tired of his daughter’s indecisiveness,” Louisa mused. “He’ll line up all the suitors and she’ll have to pick one.”
“So, we’re going to that one?” Emmeline asked. When Sebastian nodded, she turned to Louisa.
“Papa is still not moving from his study, I’m sure Daniel won’t wish to come, and I believe Mama also said no. But if you’re going, I’ll be there,” Louisa said.
“Even with my company included?” Sebastian asked.
“Even with yours.” Louisa sounded almost amicable, until—“It is the hunting season for us all.”
Sebastian leaned on the armrest of the sofa and crossed his ankle over his knee.
“I’ve always found the season silly. Don’t get me wrong—drama, that’s fun.
Who’s cheating on whom, who lost their money at cards, who’s pretending to be someone else …
” He winked at Emmeline. “Thoroughly entertaining. But this excessive hunt for a partner—really, one ought to simply go to the other person and tell them how they feel.”
“You’re saying this to make me disagree,” Louisa said.
“I suppose the world would end if we agreed for once.”
Emmeline looked from one to the other. “I need to get some things … to write the invitations down,” she mumbled and hurried out of the parlor, leaving the door open for propriety. She leaned on the wall outside and perked her ears.
“… but if you liked the Greek room, you should wait until Lord Elgin’s marble collection is moved there,” Sebastian said.
“I’ve heard of those. Weren’t they his private property?”
“Let’s say a little bird in the Parliament told me they might not be for much longer.”
“Miss?” Rafferty was standing at the foot of the staircase. “Do you require—”
Emmeline put a finger to her mouth and wildly gestured to the parlor.
The butler paused at the wall next to her and asked, quieter, “What are we doing?”
“We’re making the scene from Dark and Stormy happen.”
He had no further inquiries to that, and Emmeline returned to her eavesdropping.
“If you wish, I’ll procure you an invitation,” Sebastian said.
“You would?”
She had no idea what the current topic was—something science-related, surely—but she’d never heard Louisa this amicable toward Sebastian.
“Assuming you don’t shoot me first.” Even from this far away, the amusement in Sebastian’s voice was clear.
“I don’t believe duels between the two sexes are allowed.”
“Then what have we been doing?”
And Louisa, of all things, laughed.
“Miss, I don’t think it is proper for His Lordship—”
“Oh, fine,” Emmeline grunted at Rafferty, loudly cleared her throat, and entered the parlor.
Louisa and Sebastian were where she’d left them, although they were leaning ever so slightly across the table, toward each other. Emmeline clenched her teeth to prevent herself from grinning like an idiot and resumed her place on the sofa.
“You didn’t bring your diary, or whatever you were seeking?” Louisa asked.
Oops.
Louisa smiled and patted Emmeline’s hand. “Goodness. You really are in love. Don’t worry. We will make him declare himself.” She looked at Sebastian. “What will you wear to the masquerade, my lord?”
“Sebastian, please,” he said. “I’m thinking Henry VIII. His younger years, of course. I can do the portly version later on. Establish a timeline, perhaps.”
“In thirty years, everyone will know you’ll turn up as the king once more.”
Sebastian nodded wisely. “That’s when I shock them and come dressed as Queen Elizabeth, instead.”
And Louisa laughed again, indicating her earlier reaction hadn’t been a fluke. Emmeline, too, smiled—at her friends, and a healthy bout of optimism returning to her heart.