Chapter 27
Emmeline spent the next week going through the stages of grief.
She spent Sunday in bed, crying into a pillow. Luckily, Sebastian left her alone once he realized she wasn’t up for a consolatory talk, but she was grateful he kept sending tea upstairs.
She spent Monday pacing the house until she knew the dimensions of every room, clenching her fists and practicing the lecture she’d give Theo. She’d ask him why he was such a coward, why he had to follow some misplaced sense of duty, and why he gave her hope to begin with.
She spent Tuesday regretting the imaginary quarrels of the previous day and realizing Theo had never made her any promises.
In fact, every time he came close to one, he pulled back, and now it made sense.
He was not a coward; he only did what he was supposed to do.
She told so to Louisa, who came to visit her that day, and assured her no vengeance upon Theo should be taken, so she hoped her friend wouldn’t plant herself on Wescott’s doorstep and challenge his precious heir to a duel.
She spent Wednesday pulling herself back together and going out to find the last clue.
It was easy enough—a short search around Westminster—but it wasn’t the same without Theo.
She had no one to discuss the riddle with, to theorize, to support her in some ridiculous scheme to gain possession of the pouch and to celebrate the victory.
Her treasure hunt had ended without fanfare.
She spent Thursday working on the clue. She spread all the lettered tiles on the coffee table in the sitting room.
When Sebastian came by, she didn’t tell him about Lady Scarlet but claimed it was simply a game—she had to put together an address in London.
Sebastian happily threw away his plans to meet with his friends for cards at Boodle’s and instead dove into the puzzle.
For hours, they scoured the map and switched around tiles, convinced the address must be on a square due to SQU being written on one tile, until, late into the afternoon, Emmeline shifted around some letters, and the solution fell into place.
Kemper Masquerade Ball.
It was so obvious now that she knew it. They’d first seen Lady Scarlet at a masquerade ball. Of course, she’d want to meet them at one.
Them. Emmeline circled around the word in her mind.
Lady Scarlet may have been her mission from the start, but Emmeline wouldn’t have succeeded without Theo.
If he wanted to come, he deserved to be there, and she’d have to survive through the heartbreak of seeing him again.
What could she do, anyway? Spend the rest of her life hiding?
He was about to become heir to one of the most prominent men in the country; she could hardly escape his mention.
So she penned him a letter—a very simple note, only telling him of the solution. At least now, as she grimly acknowledged, she knew where to send it.
By the time the ball arrived, almost a week later, Emmeline got her spirits up to where she at least enjoyed some of the party.
Her friends provided a welcome distraction.
Louisa arrived to help her with the costume, although Emmeline ended up going for a very simple white gown and a white half-face mask to match.
Sebastian entertained her with musings about his own costume, wondering whether he should carry Henry VIII’s list of former wives with him or pretend he was seeking a new one at the ball.
He and Louisa didn’t leave her alone at the ball, either.
Like two loyal, moral-support guards, they led her from this part of the room to the next, avoiding that group of people (for Emmeline didn’t feel like conversing) and going to that dessert table.
It took her an hour into the party to realize Sebastian and Louisa hadn’t bickered once this evening.
“And that’s why crop rotation is absolutely crucial,” Sebastian said as they were loitering around the fringes of the room, and somehow, the conversation had turned to plants again. “Personally, I instruct my manager to follow Townshend’s four-crop method.”
“Do you start with legumes?” Louisa asked.
“Of course. They give you the added benefit of being able to eat pea soup as soon as possible.”
Louisa smiled. “I hadn’t talked to the manager at Lennemere for a while—well, since Mama told me that’s not ladylike—so I’m not sure which methods we’re employing. Perhaps you should talk to Papa.”
Emmeline swished the punch in her glass, observing the two from the side. Sebastian looked at Louisa, then back to the swirl of couples dancing in the center of the room, and very casually remarked, “Perhaps I should go speak with your father.”
And Louisa, doing the same, said, “I think I’d like that.”
“Do you think you might like a dance as well?”
Louisa waited for a moment. “I believe I would.” Then, as if remembering her guard duty, she looked to Emmeline.
“It’s fine, you two go. I can handle myself.” Emmeline gave them a reassuring smile as they left for the dance floor, slipping into a slight, thinking frown as she watched them take their position.
If Sebastian was her direct ancestor on her mother’s side, and Sebastian liked Louisa, did that mean Louisa was also …
Oh, that was weird.
A flash of red on the periphery broke her trail of thoughts.
She’d wondered if Lady Scarlet would come dressed in red.
She whipped her head to the side, only to be disappointed at first when the newly arrived guest was a man, then be shaken out of her reasonably stable existence upon realizing it was Theo.
He was wearing a standard outfit, mostly black, like many other men; but unlike their simple, black half-face masks, his was a bright crimson.
In a flash of memory, Emmeline was taken back to their masquerade ball—to her handing him a red ribbon hastily made into a mask and tying on a white version herself.
He remembered. He had to.
She glanced at Louisa and Sebastian, not to seek help, but rather to make sure they wouldn’t notice.
They were sufficiently distracted, talking while they weaved through the other couples in the quadrille, and when she looked back at Theo, he was already approaching around the side of the ballroom.
He had to step around a few people and avoid a footman carrying drinks, but his eyes never left her.
She clenched her glass, then figured it wasn’t safe in her shaking hands and deposited it on the table. Stay calm. Just stay calm. But instead of obeying her commands, her heart beat faster, matching the lively tune of the orchestra.
“Emmeline.” Theo stopped next to her.
“Theo.” She hated that her voice came out much too close to a plea.
“You look …” He gulped and glanced to the side. “Beautiful.”
“Where’s your fiancée?”
“She’s not attending this evening.”
She couldn’t decide whether to be happy about that or annoyed at herself for being happy.
“May I have a dance?” he asked.
She wanted, with all of her heart, to dance with him, even if it was one last time, and her heart would shatter afterward.
She also wanted to throw a drink into his face, as Miss Meriwether did in The Lady of Craighugh Castle, with great drama and flair, and tell him to go home to his fiancée and dance with her instead.
But on this evening, drama didn’t win.
“Yes,” she said.
As he took her hand and led her to the dance floor, the song ended, but after an applause and partners bowing to one another, a new melody started—slower, steadier, triple meter.
A waltz.
A few murmurs rose around them. For this time, the waltz was still relatively new and clinging to controversy.
Theo, however, gave no sign of abandoning his intentions.
He took her right hand, intertwined their fingers, and stretched their arms out, almost as if showing her how to fly.
He put his other hand on her waist, and the touch, even as light as it was, sent strings of warmth into her core.
And they danced, along with a few other brave couples, spinning in a circle. He led her with sure, smooth steps, in a perfect rhythm.
Wescott must’ve paid for dancing lessons, too.
“How have you been?” His voice was a touch lower than usual, as if he was trying to hard to control it.
“You have to ask?” She wanted her tone to be harsher, but she couldn’t.
He looked down, then back at her. “You don’t know how sorry I am that it can’t be different.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I’m sorry I went along with anything at all.
When we met again, I should’ve never conceded.
I should’ve left you alone to spare your torment—and mine.
Hell, I should’ve stopped it all earlier, even back in Dorset. ”
It sounded so sensible, logical—but she still hated it because he’d made her happy, and now he was saying he shouldn’t have.
“I hate it,” she said. “I hate him for trapping you in this. And I hate that you have to stay in that trap because even if I don’t think it’s the right thing to do, I know you do—because he’s your family, and it’s fair and loyal, but I still …”
They kept spinning in a larger circle, but in the same direction, leading to her feeling woozy.
She wasn’t sure if Theo knew, and that was why he held her waist tighter, but she welcomed it anyway.
It was a single hand, surely looking like nothing else but the proper grip for a waltz to the rest of the dancers, but to her, it felt like a secure embrace.
It drew up images purely from a dream; of him staying with her always, of her one day calling him hers, of feeling his lips again, of knowing what that kiss at the museum might eventually lead to.
But it was just a dream. Because she’d never know—not with Theo, and if she couldn’t find out with him, she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out with anyone.
The other couples danced as far away from each other as their joined hands allowed them, almost as if trying to escape one another, but Theo pulled her near—not enough for their bodies to touch, but so tantalizingly close.
Enough for every brush of her skirt against his legs to leave a tingling impression on her skin.
The heat in the ballroom was palpable, but his was scorching.
“I know what you would do.” She didn’t think his voice could get any lower.
“I know what your books would tell you to do. I’m sure you could rattle off a whole list of heroes who’d defy the odds, send the villain to kingdom come, and get their deserved victory.
” He bent his head, drawing near enough that his whisper caressed her cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be like them.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat, tempted to close her eyes just so she could feel him more with her other senses. But she never wanted to stop looking at him, either. “Heroism isn’t all in sword fighting.”
He gave her a weak, sad smile and tilted his head, his eyes capturing the light of the chandelier. “I know it’s unfair to say it, but if you’ll let me be unfair for a moment more, I’ll say it, anyway.”
She nodded.
“I love you.”
She returned the same smile—weakened, partially from her despair, partially from hearing those words said—and inched closer still, leaning her head against his cheek. “I love you, too.”
He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to.
Safe and secure in his embrace—for one last time, at least—Emmeline finally closed her eyes.
If she knew Lady Scarlet’s tricks, she would’ve done something—stop time, perhaps, or create an infinite loop of just them, forever dancing in this bittersweet moment, a second after confession, a minute before disaster.
And when she opened her eyes again, she was there.
Theo had rotated them, so over his shoulder, Emmeline was facing the staircase leading into the ballroom.
A lady in red stood at the top, as if conjured by Emmeline’s imagination.
Her scarlet mask, embroidered in gold and bordered with feathers, covered her face but not her dark hair, gathered in a pouf, with one curled lock hugging her neck.
Her dress was almost as Emmeline remembered it from the night in the castle: tight sleeves with a long string of lace, a corseted bodice with an embroidered front, and a wide skirt flaring out from the hips.
They found Lady Scarlet again.
Theo must’ve sensed Emmeline’s distraction because he slowed down at first, then stopped and followed her gaze.
“It’s her,” Emmeline said.
Lady Scarlet spread a fan in invitation and slipped out.
Still holding her hand, Theo looked at Emmeline and nodded.
They weaved through the dancing couples and skipped up the steps.
Lady Scarlet had no intention of escaping this time.
The glimpse of the red skirt around the corner was a tease to make them follow her, and they did—through an empty drawing room and another parlor until they entered a smaller, darkened space: a private sitting room for the family, with a chaise lounge set diagonally in front of a dying fireplace, and two windows allowing some light upon it.
Lady Scarlet sat there, the fan still spread in front of her face, as if getting ready to pose for a portrait.
Emmeline stopped, catching her breath. “We finally meet.”
“So we do, Miss Marshall,” Lady Scarlet said, teasing laughter in her voice.
It was the voice of an older woman, and as she lowered her fan, Emmeline could indeed see this was no longer the young lady they’d chased at the castle.
Strands of gray ran through her hair, and little wrinkles were etched into the corners of her eyes and mouth.
The said mouth curled into a smile. “Or should I call you Emma?”
Emmeline blinked. Nobody had ever called her that. It was always Emmeline, or Aunt Emily would sometimes call her Blue …
Lady Scarlet smiled and stood. “It’s all right. I won’t blame you for forgetting, even if it was much longer for me, still.” She came closer, the light from the window chasing the shadows off her face until Emmeline could see it clearly—an oval face with dark eyes, older, but recognizable still.
“You’re Maria Grey.”