Two

Waverley Hall, January 1811

“You want me to marry my brother?”

“Honestly, Emma, must you be so gauche?”

“Forgive me. I must have misheard you.” Emma St. James took a breath of relief. “I thought you said you wished me to marry Eustace.”

“I only made a suggestion. Something must be done.” Regina Ludlow St. James, Emma’s stepmother, fanned herself furiously. Regina was of a ruddy complexion, and her coloring always reddened when irritated, angered, or embarrassed. Despite Emma’s best efforts, her stepmother always seemed to flush a florid palette whenever they spoke. Emma tried to avoid her as best she could, but her tactics were becoming less and less successful.

“I am sorry if I have distressed you, Stepmother,” apologized Emma, eyeing the door. Despite the cold winter day, the brisk walk outside would be a relief from the uncomfortable conversation. “Would you like me to inquire after tea?” Emma began to rise, hoping to make her escape.

“No, no, do not run off again. This needs to be settled once and for all. You will be turning twenty-one in a fortnight!” Regina pronounced Emma’s crime with narrowed eyes, as if it were entirely Emma’s fault for reaching her majority.

“Please do not distress yourself, Stepmother,” said Emma. “I understand I will come into my inheritance, but I have no intention of—”

“Forcing me out of my home? Leaving me destitute?” cried Regina, pulling a handkerchief from her bosom and blotting her puffy eyes. She had once been a beauty but resisted the passing of time with the liberal application of cosmetics, the powder highlighting every line and wrinkle, giving her skin a crepey appearance.

“Of course not,” responded Emma, though if she was honest, the thought of no longer living with her stepmother was not an unappealing one. “I understand my father left the estate to me, but—”

“He left everything to you!” cried Regina, her eyes flashing.

“He did leave you a jointure.” Emma tried once more to convince Regina that she was not the injured party. Her father’s will had left the majority of the estate to Emma, though held in trust until she turned twenty-one. The two trustees, her stepmother and stepbrother, saw Emma’s coming into her majority as a threat.

“A mere pittance,” said Regina with a sob as she buried her face in her handkerchief.

“I have no intention of casting you out.” Emma intended to be comforting but it came out as more of a sigh. As she drew nearer to her majority, she was having to endure her stepmother’s dramatics with increasing regularity.

“No, of course not, dear.” Regina looked up with dry eyes. “For you are the sweetest girl, my dear, lovely daughter. I could not love you any more than if you were my own flesh and blood.”

Emma smiled tentatively in return, never quite sure about her stepmother’s sincerity.

“I…I do have another notion, which would be a great service to an illustrious person, a peer of the realm. You like to be useful, do you not?” Regina gave her a cajoling smile.

“I do like to help as I am able,” Emma replied in tentative agreement, doubting she would approve of Regina’s new scheme any more than she had appreciated any of the other plans her stepmother had devised.

Regina held up a letter with an air of importance. “I have learned that the Earl of Langley is concerned that his grandsons make appropriate matches. His daughter ran off with an American sea captain, and they live like savages in Boston or some such—oh!” Regina blinked at Emma, clearly forgetting her audience. “But that can be nothing to you, can it, dear? The point is, Lord Langley has eligible grandsons, sea captains I believe, and he has made polite inquiries about sending appropriate brides. He is determined to have his grandsons marry respectable English girls, not one of those brash Americans.”

Emma stared at her stepmother. Was she really so desperate to secure her own comforts that she would banish Emma to the New World to get it? Emma paused, waiting for her to say it was all in jest, but Regina returned her gaze with a distressed, pleading one of her own.

“You will forgive me if I will decline to be sent to America to marry a stranger,” said Emma stiffly.

“Not a stranger, the grandson of the Earl of Langley. Here, read for yourself. Is it not an excellent plan? Just think—you could be wed to the grandson of an earl!”

Emma reluctantly took the offered letter. “Who is still a stranger to me.”

“What difference could that possibly make?”

Emma was saved the indignity of reply by a sudden, small intruder. A little girl from the village burst into the room, running directly to Emma. “Please, come quick. It’s Tommy. He fell from a tree!”

“What is that to us? Call a doctor or some such,” said Regina with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Where is that butler? Can he not keep out such persons?”

“Tommy fell?” asked Emma, jumping up. “Where is he, Kitty?”

“You know this urchin’s name?” Regina was aghast, the powder in the lines of her mouth cracking as her jaw dropped. “I suppose you plan to help this child?”

“Yes, of course. They are dear children.”

“But that is the same excuse you used last week with the case of measles, and the week before with some old man’s gout, and the week before that when some farmer got consumption. Every poor tenant cannot be special to you. Besides, we must come to some resolution. Eustace will be here soon, and he expects things to be settled.”

“Forgive me, but I cannot tarry.” Emma tucked the letter into her pocket and made for the door, relieved to have an excuse to exit the unpleasant encounter.

Emma followed Kitty to where Tommy was lying inside a modest farmer’s cottage, his anxious mother pacing back and forth. The child’s arm was propped up on a pillow, twisted at an odd angle.

Emma had followed her father on his rounds ever since she could remember. Some thought it was strange for a gentleman to study medicine, but Dr. St. James was a man who held a particular fascination for medicine. He had become a doctor and a surgeon, and promoted the general welfare of his considerable estate by acting as a gentleman physician to any of his neighbors, tenants, and laborers who should find themselves ill or injured.

Dr. St. James was considered by most to be eccentric, but to Emma he was a wonderful companion. Since Emma’s mother had died when she was a baby, Emma and her father were especially close. He trained her to assist him as well as to handle things when he was out of town. They had done everything together, and he claimed her to be an excellent physician—at least, that was what he always said. Emma was completely content in this, ignoring the talk that it was unseemly for a young lady.

Eventually, however, as Emma neared her sixteenth birthday, the talk of the ladies of the neighborhood grew so loud not even her father could ignore it. Emma was not prepared, they said, to be brought out into society. Emma needed someone to guide her. Someone to teach her to be a proper lady. Emma needed a mother.

So her father found one for her. And then he died.

Emma shivered a little at the remembrance. She forced herself to focus on the patient at hand. She would need to set the bone, for it was badly broken. She prayed for guidance to help her heal the little boy and got to work.

The sky was growing dark by the time she walked back to Waverley Hall. She was tired and hoped to sneak back into her room without another encounter with Regina.

“They are waiting for you in the drawing room,” the butler said ominously when she returned to Waverley.

“They?”

“Mr. Ludlow has arrived from London.”

Emma’s heart sank. The last person she wished to see was her stepbrother. Eustace was six years her senior and had rarely lived with the family, as he was at university when Emma’s father married Mrs. Regina Ludlow. Eustace came for holidays, glowered at everyone, complained about everything, and left long after everyone tired of his presence.

Emma took a breath and entered the drawing room. Regina and Eustace were sitting near the fire on the cold January night.

“Emma! Wherever have you been?” demanded Regina, though she knew exactly where Emma had gone. “We had to eat dinner without you and I daresay there’s none left.”

“Emma,” acknowledged Eustace Ludlow, his face permanently in something of a sulk. His heavy brow and sullen mouth did nothing to brighten his gloomy expression. After graduating without fanfare from Cambridge, Eustace had spent several years in London as a man about Town. The experience had only hardened his resolve to find fault with everything and everyone he met. Eustace made a slight movement as if he was begrudgingly obliged to stand since Emma had entered the room, but his mother waved him off.

“Oh, you needn’t bother with ceremony. It is only Emma,” Regina said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Do sit down, Emma, next to Eustace on the settee. Why, you two look like a happy couple.”

“Good evening, Eustace,” said Emma, perching herself on the edge of the settee as far from Eustace as possible.

“Emma, my mother has informed me that you refuse to sign the property transfer papers,” began Eustace, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Yes, I do not feel there is any need—”

“That is because you are a stupid, ignorant girl who does not have the slightest notion what it takes to run this estate,” interrupted Eustace. “You cannot manage on your own and are determined to destroy this household and ruin the tenants. I find it selfish in the extreme that you are refusing to sign a very simple document.”

Emma clenched her hands together as heat flared up the back of her neck. “My father felt I could manage.”

Eustace stood with a snort. “Your father was a dreamer, a friend to the impoverished. Why, he never even raised his rents and kept virtually no records of transactions.”

“My father believed a handshake was sufficient. He had known his tenants his whole life. He grew up with them.”

“Yes. He did,” replied Eustace in an incriminating manner. Since Eustace had taken over the management of the estate as Emma’s trustee, Emma had received many complaints of raised rents, reduced charity, and more stringent oversight, all of which Emma suspected went to finance Eustace’s preferred lifestyle in London. “This matter needs to be resolved. You will sign the contract.”

Emma took a deep breath. “You will forgive me for being disobliging, but I will not sign something that is so clearly against my father’s will for my life.”

“Mother, make this chit of a girl see sense!” cried Eustace in frustration, turning on his mother.

“I have tried,” whined Regina. “You know what she wants. You must be willing to accommodate.”

“So it has come to that.”

“I fear it has.”

They both seemed to know the issue at hand, but Emma was mystified.

Eustace turned to her with a malevolent glare. “So you think to hold out for an offer, is that your game?”

“I…I am not playing any game.” Emma leaned farther away from him.

“It all becomes clear. You will not sign over the management of this estate, as is only right and proper. No, you want to hand it over in marriage instead. Our little Emma here has the stone-cold heart of a viper. You refuse to sign and wait instead for me to make you an offer. You wish for the security of my name, is that it?”

“No! No, I assure you it is not!” Emma could not be more adamant. She had hoped she had made her position clear earlier when Regina had suggested it.

“Do not play coy. If marriage is your price, so be it, but let me be clear that I can never respect the manner in which you have trapped me into this union!”

“No!” Emma shouted. She took a breath and tried again at a more moderate, if forced, tone. “Eustace, this is nonsense. We are brother and sister. We cannot be married.”

“You are not blood relations,” interjected Regina. “So the alliance is legal. I had it checked.” Regina gave them a stealthy grin.

Emma gulped for air. If she were forced to wed Eustace, her entire inheritance would be turned over to him. Not to mention the fact that she would be forever bound to one of the most unpleasant men in all of Britain.

In a flash, everything became clear to her. Why she had never been allowed to have a season. Why Regina had carefully kept her apart from others beyond their immediate tenants, ensuring that Emma never visited friends or allowing anyone to visit her. At first, after her father’s death, Emma had no interest in seeing anyone, but long after the traditional period of mourning was over, Regina kept her isolated. They had wanted to ensure that Emma could not meet anyone whom she could possibly marry. No, they were determined to have her inheritance, her father’s estate.

“Allow me to ease your mind, Brother,” said Emma in a measured tone. “In no way do I wish to entrap you to marry me. In truth, I think we both know we would be quite ill suited.”

“Emma!” gasped Regina with wide eyes. “Do reconsider. My son makes a great concession for you.”

Emma’s back straightened at the suggestion that a marriage to her would be a condescension. “I am aware of the…honor he does me, but I cannot accept.”

Eustace’s jaw tightened. “You are refusing my offer of marriage?” He seemed genuinely surprised she would refuse him.

“I am. Despite everything, I do wish you happiness and I doubt you would ever be pleased with a marriage to me.”

Eustace snorted once again. “You are correct at least in that regard. But that does not remedy the situation. You need to sign over control of the estate to me, or I shall be forced to take matters in hand.”

“You will regret refusing my son, Emma,” muttered Regina.

Emma was certain that was not true. No matter what they would do next, she would never regret refusing to wed Eustace.

Eustace’s glower deepened. “I fear we have kept you long after you have been wishing to return to your room. Good night, Emma.”

Summarily dismissed, Emma rose, wished them both a good night, and proceeded to her chamber for a much-needed rest. When she reached the darkened staircase, she paused, a sinking feeling overcoming her. Despite her proper upbringing, she removed her slippers and crept back to the drawing room on stockinged feet, pausing just outside the door to listen to the conversation inside.

“…cannot understand why you have not resolved this!” Eustace’s raised voice could be clearly heard in the hall.

“I’ve done everything I could. You know I would do anything for you, my dear boy,” said Regina, attempting to placate him.

“Clearly, it is time that I take matters in hand. Emma is an unreasonable chit and demonstrates the inability to make sound decisions. Thus, we shall be forced to have her committed for the utter madness she is currently displaying.”

Emma stifled a gasp. She had thought nothing could surprise her. She was wrong. The pressure put on her by her stepbrother had been unpleasant, but she had never felt her very freedom or personal safety to be at risk.

“Oh, Eustace, do you think it has come to that?” asked Regina.

“Yes. I do not see any other option.”

Defend me. Emma held her breath, waiting for her stepmother to speak for her.

“But, my dear, only think of the unpleasant gossip this would create for you, to be known as having an insane sister.”

It was not precisely the type of defense for which Emma had hoped, but it was something. Eustace paused as if considering how his plan could affect his reputation. He finally muttered, “Not blood anyhow. Can’t see as it matters.”

“Well, I suppose you must do what you think best.” Regina acquiesced without further complaint.

Emma put a hand on the wall to steady herself, suddenly feeling off balance. Regina had abandoned her. Emma wanted to believe that she could not be falsely accused and locked away for madness, but she knew a woman’s word was nothing compared to a man’s. If Eustace decided to claim she was mad, she had very little recourse.

Her mind spun, trying to think of someone she could turn to for assistance. Regina and Eustace had broken off acquaintances with the families in the neighborhood, and Eustace had fired her father’s steward and replaced him with a man loyal to Eustace alone. Most of her friends were the villagers who, though kind, could not help her stand against Eustace. If he claimed her insane, she would be committed to an asylum. She liked to think that some of her father’s former friends would help her, but an appeal could take years, and all the while she would be…

Emma crept stealthily back to where she had left her shoes and silently climbed the stairs to her room. She could not allow herself to be sent to an asylum. And yet, her only other options were to sign away her inheritance or marry Eustace.

Emma took a deep breath. There was one last escape. She unfolded the letter Regina had given her about the Earl of Langley’s desire to find English brides for his grandsons. Though Regina had suggested it, she knew Eustace would never have approved. He would never let her marry another, not even an American. If she was going to escape, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

She pulled out a sheet of paper and dipped her quill in her ink. She had always wanted to travel. Considering the alternative of being locked away in an asylum, the New World was an excellent place to start.