Chapter Twenty-Two
A knock at Emmy’s door woke her. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she cast a confused glance around the dim, unfamiliar room, her mind a disoriented haze.
Where … ?
The fog lifted and understanding dawned, bringing with it the memory of where she was. Or, more accurately, where she was not .
This wasn’t her room at Bristlewood, and she was alone in her bed.
Alex.
Her heart clenched as it all came back to her in a rush, the words she’d said to him, the flash of pain in his eyes.
With an agonized groan, she pulled the counterpane over her head as if she could hide from the memory. A child’s fantasy.
Another knock sounded at the door, more insistent this time.
“Yes? What is it?” she called out irritably through the layers of bedding.
“Emmy?” It was Olivia. “Are you unwell?”
Squelching a sigh, Emmy tossed the covers aside and slid out of bed, pulling her wrapper on before sweeping open the door.
“I am perfectly well,” she said, her tone more than a little tart. “I was sleeping .”
“I am sorry for waking you,” Olivia said as she breezed into the room and shut the door, looking bright-eyed and beautiful in her yellow muslin gown. “Only, it’s nearly eleven o’clock, and Griffin is eager to leave before this rain makes an absolute mess of the roads.”
Nearly eleven? Emmy looked at the clock on the wall, confirming the time with her own two eyes. Ten fifty-two.
“I’m sorry, Livvy. I had no idea it had grown so late. I…had trouble getting to sleep last night.”
Olivia cocked an eyebrow knowingly. “Any particular reason why?”
“Yes,” Emmy shot back, folding her arms over her chest. “An exceedingly lumpy mattress.”
“Hmph.”
Ignoring her friend’s blatant skepticism, Emmy strode to the dressing table. “Will you help me dress? I think I’d like to wear the blue muslin today.”
“Of course I will,” Olivia said before crossing the room to Emmy’s portmanteau.
Emmy rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and splashed water from the porcelain basin on her face, the shock of cold just what she needed to dash the last remnants of sleep from her eyes.
“Griff and I have already had our breakfast,” Olivia said as she gave Emmy’s gown a good shake. “The food here is quite good, and the coffee is excellent. Griffin wants to leave as soon as possible, but of course we will not go until you’ve had something to eat and— oh . Oh, Em, this is gorgeous . Is it new?”
Emmy turned, patting her face dry with a square of linen. “Is what new?”
“This ring.” Olivia held out a small, dark box, one Emmy had never seen before. “It’s lovely. Was it a gift?”
Confused, Emmy set the linen on the dressing table and crossed to the bed, taking the little velvet box from Olivia’s hand.
“I’ve never seen this before,” she said, staring at the ring, her brow puckered. “You’re right, it is gorgeous.”
The ring was an antique, its simple gold band the perfect setting for the yellow and purple sapphires clustered together in the shape of a pansy.
“You found this in my portmanteau?” she asked, trying to understand.
Olivia nodded. “It was hidden away in one of the corners. It isn’t yours?”
“No. It isn’t.” Emmy frowned down at the ring, wondering how it had come to be in her bag, which she had packed herself only hours ago. Where had it come from?
She turned the ring over to peer at the inside of the band and paused when she spotted some markings there. The lighting was poor, so she walked to the window and turned the ring toward the muted light streaming in from outside.
“There’s an inscription here,” she murmured, squinting to read it. “‘ For Emmy. Only’ —” She broke off, her breath catching in her throat as she read the words once again.
For Emmy. Only Emmy.
The ring was from Alex—a gift, and one he’d commissioned specially for her. This was no bribe to right things between them. He’d had the ring made days ago, long before she left Bristlewood.
But why?
Because he loves you, you fool.
The words whispered through her mind—her heart —and she realized what an idiot she was, how wrong she’d been. Alex didn’t love her because she was his wife, his Mrs. Whitcomb.
He loved her. Her.
To him, she was Emmy first. She had always been Emmy first. He didn’t want to change her or control her. He wanted to love her, and he wanted her to love him. That was it. Nothing more.
Why was she only now realizing it?
Saints be, what a fool she was.
She leaned against the window and read the ring’s inscription again, the four simple words engraved like tangible proof of her husband’s love and respect for her.
Oh, Alex. I’m so sorry.
“I have to go back,” she murmured, her chest swelling at the thought of seeing Alex again. She pushed away from the window. “I have to go back,” she said again, louder this time, urgency crashing through her as she strode to the bed and pulled off her nightgown.
“What? Where?” Olivia asked, bustling forward to help her into her chemise.
“To Bristlewood. I have to see Alex. I have to talk to him and tell him that I—” She broke off, swallowing past the knot of regret in her throat as she turned to face her friend. “I’ve been such a fool, Livvy.”
A beaming smile spread across Olivia’s face. “I was wondering when you would notice,” she said, not unkindly. “Come, let’s get you dressed.”
Hastily, Emmy donned her gown and boots, and after downing a cup of coffee and three bites of toast, she ushered Olivia and Griffin into their carriage and off they set for Bristlewood up the dampened dirt road.
Nervous energy had her shifting in her seat, and her heart thudded an uneasy rhythm as the carriage rolled steadily on, rain tapping softly against the roof. The minutes ticked by, bringing Bristlewood and her husband ever closer.
What was she going to say when she saw him? What would he say? Would he be glad to see her? Relieved? Grateful?
Or would he be angry?
She closed her eyes, her stomach fluttering, her fingers tapping nervously on her knees. If he was angry with her—and, honestly, why wouldn’t he be?—she hoped at least he would give her the chance to explain. She had so much to say to him and she would not be easy until she’d said it.
She only hoped the damage she’d done was not too great to undo, or the hurt she’d caused too great to forgive.
Alex shut his book closed with a snap and rose from his favorite leather armchair in the library. Heaving a sigh, he tossed the book onto the chair, unintentionally waking Gracie and Prescott who were dozing on the rug in front of the fire.
He muttered an apology for disrupting their slumber, and a moment later the two dogs laid their heads down and resumed their nap.
Alex began to pace.
Ruddy, blasted rain.
He longed for the open air and a brisk, rigorous walk to distract him, but the weather cared little for his desires.
So, here he was, trapped indoors with his agitation, his aching heart, and his thoughts of Emmy.
Another sigh escaped him, and he scowled, raking a hand through his hair, his strides never breaking.
God’s teeth, with the way he was carrying on one would think the world had ended.
So Emmy had gone to London. So she’d expressly said she didn’t want him to go with her. What of it? She hadn’t left him. Not for good.
She simply needed some time away. It was still early in their marriage, and she didn’t totally trust him yet, and that was understandable, wasn’t it?
Her concerns were valid, and he could recognize that, even though he knew he would never harm her or try to bend her to his will. She would come to understand that for herself, eventually. All she needed was time.
She would come around.
Wouldn’t she?
He scrubbed a hand down his face and muttered an oath. He was well on his way to losing his bloody mind.
Walking to the nearest window, he gazed out through the rain-spotted glass, unable to see much, though he didn’t really care to.
What in blazes had possessed him to tell her he loved her? What reaction had he expected to receive?
His cheeks grew warm, regret washing over him—not because he’d confessed his feelings, but because he’d confessed them too soon.
She didn’t love him, and she wasn’t ready for him to love her. He knew that, even before she’d rejected him.
Then why the devil did you say it?
“Alex?”
He startled and turned from the window toward his sister’s voice. “Yes? What is it, Tess?”
She eyed him for a moment, her dark brows furrowed. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’m perfectly well.”
“No, you’re not,” she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re moping.”
“I am not moping.”
He was.
“You are.” Tess sighed and shook her head as if greatly disappointed in him. “It’s obvious you did not want Emmy to go. So why did you let her?”
Alex threw his arms out, his frustration unleashed. “What choice did I have? She is not my prisoner, and I am not her captor.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Though apparently that is how she feels.”
“No,” Tess said softly. “I cannot believe that.”
He shrugged. “It is what she said.”
“Well, she’s wrong . Emmy is happy here. I know it.”
A small, humorless smile touched his lips. “Happy people don’t run away, Tess.”
“They do if they don’t realize they’re happy.”
Alex turned from her and pressed his lips together.
Blast it, how could she not know?
If Tess thought she was happy and Lady Keswick thought she was happy, how was it that Emmy did not see it?
Because she doesn’t want to.
Because she does not wish to be happy here.
She’d practically said as much, hadn’t she?
And there was nothing he could do about it. If she were truly unhappy here, he would attempt to work out why, and once he had his answer, he would do all he could to rectify the matter.
But if she didn’t want to be happy…
Well, there wasn’t much he could do about that, was there?
“Alex?”
He looked at his sister.
“Give her time,” she said, her tone soft, her small smile encouraging. “If you are patient, I know she will come ‘round.”
Emmy’s brother had said much the same. Be patient. He nodded. “I hope you’re right. I—”
A throat cleared, interrupting his words, and he and Tess turned in tandem to find Dottie standing in the doorway, visibly agitated.
“Begging your pardon, sir, for the interruption, but I…” She trailed off, wringing her hands.
“What is it, Dottie?” Tess asked in a tone intended to soothe.
“It’s your father, miss. He—he isn’t in his bedchamber and I…I cannot find him anywhere.”
Tess frowned. “Did you check the gallery? Or the green salon?”
Dottie nodded. “Yes, miss. I’ve checked every room I’ve ever found him in.”
“Have you seen Mr. Whitcomb at all today?” Alex asked her, concern knotting his stomach, though he swiftly tamped it down. It was too early to be concerned.
“No, sir.” She shook her head, her brown eyes round with alarm.
Alex looked to his sister, but she also shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since last night,” she said. “At dinner.”
It was the same for him, too. Their father had been quieter than usual ever since Emmy’s departure yesterday, but not so much as to cause any worry.
“He’s probably napping in some corner of the house,” Alex said, as much for himself as for the two worried-looking ladies. “Come. He can’t be far. We will find him.”