Chapter Thirty-Four
Emily didn’t have the chance to speak with Isabella until after breakfast, during which Isabella’s appearance—dictated, no doubt, by Louisa—was characterised by sulky silence.
“Come, Oliver,” Louisa said, picking up her letters and sweeping from the table. “We have lots of preparations to make.”
Emily stayed where she was, sipping at her tea and trying to pretend as though Oliver had not slipped from her bedroom earlier that morning.
Isabella glowered at her plate, her eyes red-rimmed.
Emily should have known this wouldn’t be an easy conversation, but sometimes the most necessary ones were the least pleasant. She had the benefit of being in a gown far finer than she was accustomed to, engaged to the youngest son of an earl, and hosted by a marchioness.
There were worse things in life.
“Are you going to marry him?” Isabella asked at last.
Emily nodded, putting her teacup back on its saucer. “I am.”
“And you love him?” This question was phrased somewhat belligerently, but Emily merely nodded again.
“Yes.”
“Do you not think you ought to have let me marry him instead?” Isabella demanded, suddenly passionate. “He promised me he would marry me.”
“He did,” Emily said, “and believe me, that was my original intention. And I am sorry for any distress it may have caused you. But, you see, Oliver never fell in love with you, and I don’t believe you loved him either.”
“That isn’t the point.” Isabella turned tearful blue eyes on her sister. “He was mine first.”
“That’s not how people work, Bella. You don’t own them or their choices. He shouldn’t have flirted with you and suggested you might marry for the sake of his inheritance, and you should not have encouraged him to, though I can understand why you did.”
“I don’t want to go back to the life we had before! Am I supposed to just accept my position? We were born as gentlemen’s daughters, and yet we lived in drudgery. How is any of that fair?” Isabella looked glassy-eyed at the table. “You seemed content with it, but how could I be?”
“Content?” A bitter laugh left Emily’s lips.
“What would you know about how I felt, Bella? Did you ever ask me if this was the life I wanted? If I missed the days of having servants and not having to crawl about on the floor lighting fires? Tell me what you did to help with the household chores, hmm?”
A line appeared between Isabella’s brows. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes you do. You would just rather not understand, because understanding means taking accountability for your actions. I made excuses for you for years because you were so young when our parents died, but no longer. What about when Father died? You were fifteen then, only two years younger than I was when Mother died and I had to take on everything.” Emily pressed a hand to her chest. For years, she had kept all these feelings trapped inside, and it felt good to finally let them out.
“Did you truly think that you deserved a better life because you are prettier than me?”
Isabella’s sullen expression told Emily everything she needed to know.
“Well, then,” she said, inhaling deeply.
“I suppose this is a lesson for you. People are not entitled to things just because they happen to have something. Oliver was never entitled to my love—I offered it to him because he proved himself worthy of it. And you were never entitled to his hand in marriage just because you are pretty, though I agree he treated you badly. But that is no reason to run away with Lord Marlbury when I warned you of what he was like.”
“What he was like seven years ago to you.” Isabella’s jaw jutted out stubbornly, and Emily realised that Isabella had assumed that because she was prettier, she would have a greater hold over Marlbury.
Such conceit, and it was partly Emily’s fault. Isabella had grown up being about the prettiest girl for twenty miles, but she didn’t have the understanding of the world that such beauty required; she didn’t know that it just made her prey for less noble minds.
With no prospects or dowry, she had no appeal as a wife, but she had plenty of appeal as a disposable dalliance.
Emily sighed, rubbing the centre of her forehead. “I suppose it’s too much to assume you insisted on waiting until you were wed.”
More silence.
“He said he would take care of me.” Isabella’s voice broke. “Why is it every man who promises me anything lies?”
“Oh, Bella.” When Isabella put her hands over her face, Emily rose and crossed to the other side of the table, wrapping her arms around her sister. “Foolish, foolish girl,” she murmured. “How did you come to meet him so he took you with him?”
“I saw you and Oliver together and I assumed you had married and gone back to Lord Marlbury’s house, so I went to confront you.
But instead I found . . .” Her voice trailed off, and Emily understood.
Instead, she had found Lord Marlbury with his shallow charm, no doubt prepared to be outraged that Oliver would throw over such a pretty girl in favour of Emily.
The rest was history.
“He said he would marry me to make up for Oliver not, only it was more complicated than merely going to a church, especially because I was under the age of majority. As the son of an earl, he couldn’t risk a runaway marriage, so we would have to await your return home to get your permission.”
“No doubt he would have loved to see the look on my face,” she said grimly.
“It made sense, Em.” Isabella shot to her feet, wiggling free of Emily’s arms. “And he made me feel as though I was the first woman to ever make him . . .”
“I know,” Emily said softly. “And it’s easy to believe him when you want to.”
“He talked about his time with you, and he told me he regretted leading you on when he had no intentions where you were involved—because of course things were different when he was so young.” Her face flushed with the strength of her feelings. “You would have believed him too.”
“That’s all very well, but why did you go to London?”
“He received a letter and said he had urgent business in London, and if I came with him, he would marry me there, with or without your permission.” Isabella wiped under her eyes plaintively.
“I had already been staying with him for a day or two at the house—I thought that if you knew I had no chance other than to marry him, you would have to give your permission.”
Of course. Because Isabella had known that if Emily could have refused the match, she would have done. And it hadn’t occurred to her even once to doubt Lord Marlbury’s name.
Emily slumped back into the chair. So much of this could have been avoided if Isabella had not been so determined to marry above herself.
“And so you followed him to London where you had no friends and no protection,” Emily said. A pang of pity made its way into her heart. “Oh, Bella.”
Her face crumpled. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t he want me?”
“He did, Bella. But he doesn’t want a wife at present—and if he did, he would want neither either of us could offer.
We have neither a dowry, position, connections .
. . Gentlemen like Marlbury marry for little else.
We could not have advanced his position in any respect, and so we were not worthy.
It took me a long time to come to terms with that, and I’m sorry if it hurts you.
It hurt me too. The world can be a cruel place.
” And once, Emily had only ever seen its cruelty.
Now, however, she felt a small smile cross her face.
“But it is not only cruel. There is goodness to find, too. You should put less emphasis on your physical charms, dearest. You are beautiful, but it cannot be your only character trait.”
Isabella looked down at her shoes. “When you and Oliver marry, will you invite me to live with you?”
“We will be in the country,” Emily warned. “And it will be a quiet life. Is that what you want?”
“I would rather live with you than strangers. Besides.” Isabella shrugged as though it was nothing. “I missed you.”
Emily felt a new warmth in her chest. Isabella might have plenty to learn, and lots to unlearn, but they were still sisters.
“When we’re settled in, of course you can come to live with us.
” She enfolded Isabella in her arms. “I’m still angry with you,” she whispered against Isabella’s hair, “but I love you. No matter what you do, even if I don’t particularly like you sometimes, I will always love you. That’s what sisters do.”
There was a tremor in Isabella’s voice as she said, “Why didn’t you come back?”
“I tried, I promise, but with the snow and the wrecked carriage, we couldn’t.” She hugged Isabella closer, feeling as though they had stepped back in time to after their mother died, when all Emily knew how to do was hold on. “I’m sorry, dearest. I never intended to leave you. Can you forgive me?”
Isabella sniffed. “Can you forgive me for running away with Lord Marlbury?”
“Oh, darling.” Emily kissed Isabella’s tearstained cheek. “I already have.”
By the time Oliver rejoined Emily, she was alone in the drawing room, having sent Isabella upstairs to wash her face. He came to sit quietly by her, waiting for her to begin.
She rested her head against his shoulder. “Where did you go?”
“If we are to marry, we must have a marriage licence.” He patted his pocket.
“With it, we may marry whenever you’d like, banns or no banns—although I agree we should do things properly.
” He slanted a small smile at her. “There’s an announcement to be published in the newspaper tomorrow, if you would like to cut it out and paste it to the wall of your bower. ”
“I don’t have a bower.”
“I expected you could, in our new home.” He took her hand, sliding his fingers between hers. “If you wanted.”
She wasn’t sure if she did want. “I don’t think I sound like the sort of lady who has a bower.”
“What sort of lady are you, then?”
“The sort that has a quiet country gentleman for a husband, and who gets her dresses muddy as she spends time in the garden. I would like chickens—”
“Petition for one to be called Doris,” he said immediately.
“—And strictly no pigs.”
He grinned. “And here I thought you and Clarabella might have bonded.”
“I do not bond with vicious swine who chase me across farmyards.” She squeezed his hand. “Does that sound acceptable?”
“A life with you sounds better than anything I could imagine.” He hesitated. “I told Henry about my . . . difficulties yesterday. And I expressed my hope he would teach me how to run an estate.”
Pride swelled in her chest. “What did he say?”
“Something about how I should have told him years ago, and that of course he will teach me.” He looked at their linked fingers rather than her face.
“If you like—if you are amenable, that is—I would like you to be there too. So we can learn together.” He frowned a little, his eyes uncharacteristically serious. “It’s not your responsibility, but—”
“Oliver,” she said, so proud she could hardly think straight. “Of course I will help you in any way I can. Your life is my life.”
“I’m afraid I may need you to write all my correspondence.”
“Then it is fortunate that my handwriting is excellent.” She smiled at his nervousness. “I am not a stranger to hard work, remember? And you will learn well.”
“I hope so. If I can learn in a more practical way. It may, of course, require us living with Henry and Louisa for a time after we’re married.
Ideally, I would have done this all beforehand, but .
. .” He let the words trail away. She didn’t need him to finish the sentence.
That had been a different time, when he had been fleeing instead of chasing.
They had both let fear dictate their lives.
No more.
“We should also discuss your house in Dalston,” he said, glancing down at her head. Her stomach gave a little flop of nerves. That house had been the bane of her existence for seven years, requiring repairs she could neither afford nor undergo, and slowly falling apart around her ears.
And yet she loved it.
“If we are ever to visit Mr and Mrs Chambers,” he said carefully, “we will need a place to stay. It strikes me as convenient to establish the home as a small place of residence in the north—perhaps we could arrange something with Louisa and Henry so they might contribute somewhat to its upkeep in exchange for having use of it. After all, Cumbria is a rather splendid part of the country, and—” His words cut off when Emily flung herself in his arms and kissed him full on the mouth.
“I love you,” she declared, “and if I could, I would marry you all over again.”
He smiled, looking absurdly pleased with himself.
“If I had known that was all it required to win you over, I would have made far more rash promises from the very beginning. As for marrying me”—his smile turned soft—“once will do. So long as you promise to stay by my side for the rest of my days. I will be quite lost without you now, you know.”
For once, perhaps the first time, fear did not squeeze her heart.
All she felt was contentment. This was the future she had never known she wanted, and it tasted sweeter than the richest honey.
“I won’t make promises I can’t keep,” she said, and when he frowned, she leant forward and kissed him.
“But I will stay with you for the remainder of my days.”
He kissed her back. “Well,” he said. “That will have to do.”