Chapter 26
Seeing Lord Wescott’s residence, Emmeline was not at all surprised at Lady Cassiopeia’s popularity among the bachelors.
This kind of hunting, as Sebastian had sardonically called it, was more about one’s worth than character, and even though Lady Cassiopeia seemed like a perfectly polite, well-behaved young woman, surely, her father’s fortune helped.
While they milled about in the parlor with other guests, waiting for dinner to be called, Emmeline had counted no less than fifteen paintings from the masters, including a Gainsborough work of a family in front of a serene country landscape, hanging over the fireplace.
She had no doubt the statues and busts in the foyer were genuine, too.
The guests’ glittering attires further reinforced Wescott’s importance.
The ladies must’ve emptied their jewelry boxes for the finest pieces, and the gentlemen were having a silent competition over who’d managed the crispiest shirt collar and the most complicated cravat knot.
“That’s him,” Sebastian whispered near her ear. “Here he comes.”
Sebastian, Emmeline, and Louisa hovered by one of the sofas, idly chatting with another couple who couldn’t stop emphasizing how Wescott was to set aside a foal of his finest stallion for their youngest son to ride next summer.
The man in question now headed toward them, threateningly serious in his all-black attire.
Wescott’s eyes swept over the gathered company as he greeted each one, finally stopping on Emmeline.
“My cousin, Miss Marshall,” Sebastian introduced her.
Wescott issued a polite nod. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with the Marshalls.”
“I come from the States,” Emmeline said, flashing Sebastian a worried look. Hopefully, Wescott wouldn’t be too curious about her origins.
“Is that so? Fascinating.” The earl sounded anything but fascinated. “I trust you’ve been enjoying London.”
“Uhm—yes, very much.” Would’ve been even better if she’d managed to talk with Theo, but she and Louisa had hit an unexpected obstacle: they didn’t know how to get in touch with him. So far, Emmeline had always run into him, so she had no idea where he lived.
She was out of luck this evening, too. Theo wasn’t here, not that it surprised her. He wasn’t one for fancy dinners. Her best option, she surmised, was to linger in Hyde Park every day until he went there for a ride.
“There she is.” Wescott’s voice lightened up. Lady Cassiopeia approached them, and he gave her a peck on the cheek. “How are you, darling?”
“Fine, Papa.” Lady Cassiopeia managed the tiniest smile. She wore a silk gown, simple in style but stunning in color, shifting from bronze to a dark blue as the light hit the fabric. “Don’t let me keep you from your company.”
“Nonsense. This is your party, as much as mine. Besides, I don’t believe you know all the guests already. Miss Marshall is new to town.”
Cassiopeia met Emmeline’s eyes. “We’ve been introduced.” Her slight smile stayed, but it didn’t reach her eyes—unlike her father, who was positively beaming as he looked at her.
A pang of guilt, leading to homesickness, pierced Emmeline’s chest. Lord Wescott might be the typical haughty aristocrat, but there was no doubt he loved his daughter.
I wonder what Father is doing right now. If there was such a thing as “right now” in her strange time travel conundrum. If she never came back, would he miss her? Would he ever realize she didn’t mean her awful last words to him?
They talked some more. Lord Wescott touted Cassiopeia as an absolute prodigy on the piano, even creating her own composition, while Cassiopeia blushed and tried to steer the conversation to a different topic. After a few minutes, Wescott moved on, herding his daughter along to greet more guests.
“I might need to change my mind,” Louisa finally spoke up. “I don’t envy her that much.”
“Admitting envy is the first step to progress,” Sebastian said, earning himself a light slap on the arm from Louisa’s fan.
Emmeline didn’t need to ask her to clarify. Perhaps it was the pressure of speaking to an important man, but the minutes in Lord Wescott’s company had left her drained. Did Lady Cassiopeia feel the pressure, too?
Oh, if only she could be wherever Theo was right now; surely somewhere more relaxed and pleasant. It would be too late for walking or riding. Perhaps he’d be reading a book by the fire, in a warm and cozy room …
Would he go for one of Miranda Stormcliffe’s novels? And would he spare a thought for her?
Dinner was called, Louisa muttered, “Finally, I’m starved,” and the guests drifted to the foyer. But before they could find their partners to accompany to dinner, Lord Wescott rose a few steps on the staircase and clinked a glass of champagne.
“If you’d spare me another minute, I have an important announcement.” He beckoned to somewhere in the crowd, and Cassiopeia wormed her way through and joined him.
“Of course, you all know my darling Cassie.” Lord Wescott took her hand. “The most wonderful daughter a father could ask for. But tonight, it’s time to introduce you to another member of my family. A distant relative he might be, but no less important—for he is about to become my heir.”
Murmurs and gasps rose in a gathered audience.
“And that is why I come,” Sebastian said. “The drama.”
“I thought Lord Wescott didn’t have a male heir,” Louisa whispered. “Not an illegitimate son, surely?” She sounded shocked, but also excited at the possible prospect.
Unlikely, but it would be quite fun. Oh, just like in The Lord of Two Hearts!
“Mr. Royer, if you’d join us,” Wescott said toward the top of the staircase.
Emmeline was still musing about that potential story—imagine Lord Wescott had two sons, a legitimate and an illegitimate one, vying for the title, even calling a duel—and had been paying only partial attention to the black-clad figure descending the stairs until he came into the light of the chandelier, and the candles’ flames reflected in his silvery, starry eyes.
Theo.
Emmeline didn’t know what happened next.
She could only stare at him. Louisa nudged her and said something to her; Sebastian might have whispered something to Louisa, and Wescott was talking—he was talking about him, Leon, but it was Theo.
He was right there, standing next to the earl, looking as fine as Emmeline had ever seen him in a pure black, perfectly fitted cutaway and a gray silk waistcoat matching his eyes. Surely, they weren’t …
They weren’t saying Theo was Lord Wescott’s heir, were they?
“You’ll have ample opportunities to get to know him,” Wescott said. “And of course, you are all invited to the event of this season. I’ll see you in St. George’s …” His eyes glittered again as he looked at his daughter, and he joined both hers and Theo’s hands.
Emmeline’s heart dropped into her stomach as the duchess’s voice from all those months ago echoed in her head. Wedding at St. George’s …
“Where, come June, Mr. Royer will take my daughter’s hand in holy matrimony.”
***
Theo had reduced Wescott’s ostentatious engagement reveal to a simple going-through-the-motions.
He had to occupy his thoughts with something else, even if it was staring at that one lady’s turban and wondering if the feather on it was real.
It wouldn’t get any better; there was no solution for his situation, but he at least tried to convince himself the reveal was the worst part.
When Wescott joined Theo’s hand with Cass, Theo’s face reflected in hers—a mask of politeness, a second away from breaking.
But then applause rang out, reaching over Wescott’s words about moving on to dinner, and the tension released a fraction.
Cass gave him a small smile—“Thank God it’s over,” it seemed to say.
He still felt sick to his stomach when he thought of everything to follow, of having to converse with all these people tonight, of the months leading up to the wedding, of the years ahead of him.
Accepting his fate had been so much easier a few months ago. Or even weeks ago, before Emmeline came back, before she gave him hope he had no business having.
As the guests paired up and walked into the dining room, one of them broke from the crowd and slipped through the door into the sitting room. The woman was a blip on the periphery, but Theo instinctively looked, anyway—then did a double take.
Emmeline?
She’d disappeared through the door already, but he caught sight of those raven locks and the swishing of a pink skirt. Not enough to confirm, but even with his brain lacking more information, his heart recognized her.
She shouldn’t be here.
He made a step toward the sitting room, but Wescott stopped him. “Where are you going, boy?”
“I need to—uh—” Theo pulled on his cravat. “Change.”
“The dinner is about to start.”
“Papa, let him have his fashion disaster,” Cass said, her look letting Theo know she hadn’t quite fallen for it. “Or an avoidance of one, as it is.”
Wescott sighed. “Ten minutes.”
Theo nodded and made a few steps back as if preparing to return upstairs, but once Wescott and Cass left, he sped toward the sitting room.
It was empty, the lights turned down for the evening.
He marched through it, throwing glances left and right to make sure the runaway wasn’t hiding behind a sofa.
Into the hallway, next—in front of him lay the conservatory, also left in darkness, the luscious plants throwing jagged shadows on the moonlit tiles.
A sniffling sound came from it.
Theo progressed carefully, building dread slowing his steps. He leaned around a group of plants, and there she was, sitting on the sofa, one hand clenching the fabric of her skirt, another covering her mouth. Emmeline.
He’d still hoped, until this moment, that it wouldn’t be her.
She hiccuped, then flinched and looked up. Her eyes, glistening with tears, widened as he approached.
“Go away,” she said.
“Please, listen to me.”
She stood up. “Oh, now you want to talk? Now you want to explain?”