Chapter Seventeen #2
It had worked for a moment, until Emilia saw Nathaniel and Oliver watching them from across the room. She had been struggling to breathe through all the attention, but knowing that she was secretly a disappointment to her husband was an agonizing weight on her chest.
When Grace’s attention was stolen, Emilia took the opportunity to slip into a shadowed corner, allowing herself a moment to regain her composure. Nathaniel was supposed to come and find her for the first set of the evening, but she was unsure how she meant to endure it.
The thought of Nathaniel’s hand on hers, the movements of the dance bringing them close, and his eyes locked on hers had made her heart flutter with foolish anticipation only a few hours ago—now it seemed torturous.
For it only made Emilia realize how much closer she wished him to hold her, and how he seemed to not want her close at all.
“I wonder whether she knows what sort of husband she has secured.” A muffled voice drifted from behind the ivy-covered pillar that served as Emilia’s hiding place.
Emilia froze, and her heart rate increased. There was no doubt in her mind as to whom they were referring. Everything in her told her to flee before she heard too much, but she stayed firmly planted.
“I would think she has done quite well for herself,” a younger, sweeter voice responded. “His Grace is very much admired.”
“From a distance,” the gravely voice replied. “One can not exactly describe him as cold, but there has always been something foreboding about him. One never feels entirely at ease in his company.”
Emilia waited for the other unknown lady to come to Nathaniel’s defense again, but she did not.
“I confess, I have often thought him rather pompous.”
“He inherited far too young. A position of such consequence bestowed before one’s character is fully formed is apt to produce arrogance.”
“A gentleman so perfectly composed is generally concealing something.”
Emilia set her glass on a nearby table with a thud. It was becoming something of a habit now, her feet leading her to places her mind had not yet decided were a wise place to go—but there was no hiding once she stepped into the light.
“I suppose it is far easier to judge a gentleman’s character from a distance,” she said coolly.
A group of three ladies—all varying in age, and none of whom Emilia had ever met—stared at her, mouths agape.
Emilia could tell by the heat radiating down her neck that her face was flushed, but rather than the nerves that had plagued her before, it was from anger.
“Your Grace,” the youngest lady stammered. “We did not mean for you to overhear.”
“No,” Emilia replied, her tone clipped. “Such remarks are seldom intended for their subject.”
The younger ladies dropped their gazes, but the older woman merely raised hers in challenge.
“We meant no offense, I assure you,” she said. “They were merely observations. His Grace is a gentleman of…considerable prestige.”
“Yes,” Emilia replied. “He is.”
The older lady's lips pressed into a tight smile. “And yet,” she continued, “you must admit there are those who find him rather difficult to know.”
Emilia’s hands clenched at her sides. “I should think that says more of their efforts than of his character.”
The young lady who had yet to speak stepped forward to rest a hand on the elder lady’s arm. “Mama, we should leave the duchess to enjoy her evening.”
Emilia resisted the urge to laugh—no part of her evening had been enjoyable.
The girl’s mother brushed her off, offering Emilia another painfully pretty smile. “You speak of his character so confidently, especially for a marriage so recently formed.”
Emilia felt the swirl of emotions burning hotter, but for the first time, she did nothing to try to squelch them.
“My confidence,” she said, her voice remaining steady even through her rapidly beating pulse, “rests not on the duration of our acquaintance, but on my trust in the man himself.”
The woman hummed sweetly, as though Emilia’s answers were exactly what she wished to hear. “You are very certain of your husband’s virtues, Your Grace.”
“I am.” Emilia narrowed her gaze, desperate to gain the upper hand.
“And yet,” the woman continued. “A gentleman does not often place a lady in circumstances like the one in which you found yourself at the Beckley ball.”
The woman’s two young companions stepped away from her, likely for fear of catching the daggers Emilia was sure were coming from her own eyes.
“Circumstances are not always as they appear.” Emilia’s voice trembled, but there was nothing she could do to steady it, and she needed to press on. “My husband is not in the habit of acting without honor.”
“No one has suggested otherwise,” the woman replied, though everyone within earshot had just heard her do precisely that.
“Have they not?” Emilia returned, the edge in her voice now unmistakable. “I should think implying impropriety where none exists is a rather bold way of expressing admiration.”
“You mistake me, Your Grace. I speak only of appearances.”
“And I speak the truth!” Emilia had never heard her own voice raised to such a volume before. The music and chatter in the room had swallowed her outburst, keeping it from traveling too far, but those who stood in close enough proximity were now watching the exchange with open curiosity.
“If His Grace chose to marry me with haste, it was not out of necessity, but on honor and principle. Two things that I have found to be severely lacking amongst this evening’s company.”
Emilia took a step towards the woman, whose confidence was now waning. “And if I were you, I would be very cautious in forming judgments of a man whose respect you have never been in a position to earn.”
Emilia could not remember what the woman had said next, or if she had said anything at all. All she could hear were the slight gasps and chuckles from the crowd of observers as she turned and rushed from the room.
She did not stop until she discovered an empty alcove, completely hidden from the light glowing from the ballroom.
She pulled off her gloves, pressing a hand against the flushed skin above her chest, feeling the quick rise and fall of her breathing. She tried to count her breaths, attempting to slow their rhythm, but they only came faster.
She could hear her sharp voice and pointed words echoing in her mind.
Where had been her honor and principle?
Where did one draw the line between defending another’s character and attacking the one who questioned it?
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her other hand against the cool wall to steady herself.
Nothing about how she had conducted herself had been proper…
or discreet. Nathaniel was sure to hear whispers of her outburst. They had barely been present in society for an hour, and she had already proved herself to be a complete embarrassment.
The tears began to fall, and Emilia lacked the strength to stop them. The first sob wracked her body and she leaned into it, letting her head drop against the wall. Her knees began to tremble and as the second sob came she let them fold.
Before she hit the ground, she felt herself being lifted, a strong hand cradling her head and guiding it to rest on a solid chest. The smell of spiced rum and citrus filled her senses, and her body relaxed against Nathaniel’s despite her desire to run from him.
Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her, one hand pressing firmly into her back, holding her steady when all she wanted to do was crumble. His other hand was splayed gently against the back of her head, his thumb brushing a calming pattern against the curve of her neck.
Emilia’s breaths came more easily, but still at a rapid pace, her heart beating wildly.
She thought she felt Nathaniel’s heart just as strongly, but his touch was so disorienting she could not be sure.
She knew she should step back, but she could not bring herself to leave the comfort of his arms—or to look him in the eyes.
Nathaniel leaned back, and his hands slowly moved to cup the sides of her face. He tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, and Emilia was surprised to see his own eyes glistening with tears.
“What happened?” He asked, his voice brushing against the open wounds on Emilia’s heart like a balm.
“It was nothing,” she whispered, her throat raw from the tears.
“It was not nothing,” Nathaniel’s hold on her face tightened before he relaxed. His eyes searched her face as his absentmindedly traced the edge of her jaw. “Someone said something to you.”
Emilia took a steadying breath before stepping back out of his hold. Her skin still buzzed under the memory of his touch, but she could think much more clearly.