Chapter Thirty-Three
Emma shut her eyes and sucked in a breath. It was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat, and the ticking of the mantel clock sounded like rifle fire.
She sensed the tension stretching out between James and herself and forced her eyes open. Just one glance at his earnest, handsome face made her soul cry Yes, yes, yes! But her mind was sending out warnings. It wasn’t that simple. An alliance between them would affect so many people besides themselves. There were his parents to consider, her parents, her former employers, and, of course, Charles. She couldn’t predict how he’d react to the announcement of her engagement to Viscount Tidworth—especially when the newspaper had stated she would soon be engaged to Charles. He had it in his power to ruin everything.
She had to assume from James’s lack of comment that he knew nothing of the item in the paper. Dare she tell him?
Finally, she found her voice. “Thank you, dearest James. It is I who am honored by your proposal. But I need time before I give you my answer.” Time to contact the Bath Chronicle and demand a retraction. Or would that just attract even more attention to herself?
He looked confused, and the light in his eyes dimmed. Already she was hurting him, and she hated herself for it.
“What do you need time for?” he asked. “I thought we had an understanding, you and I. Have I made a complete idiot of myself…again?”
“No, not at all!” she rushed to say. “You’re so very precious to me, but it has all come about so suddenly, like a rock rolling down a hill that lets loose a landslide. I’m quite swept away by your proposal and need to find my feet again.”
“Don’t doubt me, Emma. I’d never hurt you. I’ll cherish you, be entirely faithful, and give you everything you could possibly want. Why do you hesitate? Why waste a minute of the time we could be spending together?”
He’d give her anything she wanted? Would he, perhaps, be prepared to change his plans for Tresham? But with the specter of that announcement in the paper still lurking, now was not the time to ask. She said, “It’s complicated—”
“No,” he interrupted, looking decidedly put out. “It’s simple. I’ve asked you to marry me. You can either accept me or decline my offer. Please don’t play games.”
He hadn’t moved, but his body wasn’t at rest. She could feel the tension emanating from him, though he was doing his best to appear calm. It tore her apart to have to tell him, to risk wounding him, but tell him she must. There could be no secrets between them if their marriage was to be a success.
Her voice shook as she said, “I think, before proceeding, you should know that there’s been some impropriety between myself and Charles Keane.”
He jerked back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Charles! I don’t believe it. You can’t be saying you’ve dallied with Charles? Then why, by all that’s holy, have you encouraged me?”
“No, you don’t understand. I didn’t set out to encourage you, James, it just…happened. You said yourself that you weren’t sure of your feelings until last night.”
Curse it! That wasn’t the right thing to say to him, at all.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said fiercely. “I’ve loved you much longer than you might imagine. But I wasn’t going to declare myself until you gave me hope.”
He loved her?
Dear lord. That only made things worse! Tears stung her eyes as she answered, “But when we first met, you did nothing but criticize me. You hated me, I know you did.”
“Maybe because I so desperately hoped you were better than you appeared to be. Criticism is not always a condemnation. It can signify a desire for change, for improvement. I felt you had it in you to be the very best of women. And ultimately, I was proved right. Or so I thought.”
His last words seared through her, like a knife to the heart. She must be wounding him badly for him to lash out in such a way. They’d argued before, but this was far worse, much bloodier, much deeper.
“I’m sorry. I know I’ve made silly mistakes in the past, but it’s too cruel of you to bring them up now. I’ve tried to be a more trusting person. I’ve tried to be less judgmental, I really have. It’s hard.”
It was becoming more difficult to breathe. If she couldn’t control herself, she’d be sobbing her heart out in no time.
“You’re right. Forgive me.” He dragged a hand across his eyes and got to his feet.
She did the same, her pulse racing. “I don’t want to hurt you, dearest James, I really don’t. But have you considered all the difficulties we might encounter? How can a future earl stoop so low as to offer himself to a former governess? It would be as scandalous as a duke marrying his housekeeper. You’d be snubbed by Society. I don’t want that for you. You need the approval of the ton for your charity, and you need to uphold the great name of the noble house of Rossbury.”
She needed to be sure of his love. She needed his reassurance that he was well aware of the sacrifices he’d be making if he married her. He was too important a man to retire in obscurity to his country estates and bleed out his years with no one but a wife and children to keep him company. Besides which, any children they had would bear the taint of the scandalous match he’d made. In time, he’d come to resent her.
Which would be unbearable.
He just stood there, looking at her as if she’d plunged a dagger into his heart. And twisted it.
“If I don’t care about those things,” he said, “you shouldn’t, either.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me more about what happened between you and Charles.”
The words stuck in her throat, so she just went to the chair cushion, removed the folded newspaper, and put it in his hands.
She watched the color drain from his face as he read the words, then read them again. He frowned at her. “Is this true?” he asked, jabbing a finger at the word announcement in the paper.
“No! Of course not.”
He scanned the address on the wrapping. “This is Charles’s writing. Why did he send it to you?”
She hadn’t even thought to look at the handwriting. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. “I…I’ve no idea. I have never had any intention of marrying him, nor have I ever wanted to. He’s joked about it, yes, but you know what he’s like. Let me speak to him. I’m sure I can get him to make the paper retract the piece.”
“No!” James spat out the word. “You’re not to talk to him.”
“But how can I give you an answer with this hanging over our heads? Please, James, let me speak to him. Tell me you understand.”
“Oh, I understand. Charles Keane. Yes, I understand very well.” His head darted forward like a snake about to strike, but then he took a deep breath and went very still. “So, you’ve been having an affair with Charles.”
She gasped in shock. “No, nothing like that!” How could he think so little of her? “He’s flirted with me, and he wrote to me at Tresham. He kissed me last night in the grotto—without my permission, let me assure you—and some interfering busybody must have seen us. “
“He kissed you?”
She’d never seen anyone look so utterly horrified. Fear crept up her spine.
“I hate to say it, because he’s your friend, but he forced it on me. I never invited his attentions, I swear.”
James stared at her, his eyes hard as marble. Surely he must believe her? Fear turned to terror, stealing all the air from her lungs.
“Nevertheless. We have nothing more to say to each other.” Each word sounded like a stone dropped into an echoing tomb.
The tomb of all her hopes.
He swung away from her and unlocked the door. She hastened after him and placed a trembling hand on the doorknob.
“Don’t go like this, please. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I had to tell you. How could you ever respect me if I was less than honest with you?”
She moved her hand up to his arm, but he shook her off and turned the knob.
Her tears singed a trail down her cheeks. “Please, James,” she begged. “Let me speak to him and sort out this mess. Then I can give you my answer.”
He turned to her in the open doorway and looked down at her with an expression devoid of all warmth. “I’m not sure I have any interest in hearing that answer,” he said, and swept out of the room.
The hallway was full of bustling servants, so she couldn’t pursue him without losing her dignity. She retreated, wiped away the treacherous tears, and ran to the window to watch him leave. She could tell from the jerkiness with which he pulled on his gloves that he was furious. He stalked off down the street at speed, the folded newspaper beneath his arm.
Not once did he look back.
She went to the door, locked it, then collapsed into a chair and dissolved into sobs.