The Reunion by Sara Portman (8)

“I am convinced he is the most arrogant, high-handed, insensitive man in the whole of England.”

Emma marched through the front door of her uncle’s town house with such ferocity, she nearly overturned a porcelain urn standing on one side of the entryway.

Her uncle smiled blandly as he watched one of the footmen rush to steady the rocking object. “My dear, don’t be so sure. I’d say the House of Lords is packed to overflowing with arrogant and high-handed men from all corners of the British Isles.”

“Perhaps, Uncle, but I do not take exception with those men, as they have not chosen to practice their arrogance upon me.” Emma untied the green ribbons of her bonnet and pulled it from her head. “Even considering the rampant arrogance you claim runs through the peerage, I defy you to name one other lady among the congregation at St. George’s today whose first knowledge of her pending nuptials occurred when she heard her own name during the reading of the banns in church.”

Emma still seethed from it. She had been so angry upon hearing it, she had nearly called out her objection. She should not have been surprised, not after his shouted announcement to Lady Spitzer on the prior evening. Every time she began to believe there was decency in him—that he might be capable of some consideration for her—he proved otherwise by taking some high-handed action that rendered her powerless in her own life.

“You can hardly claim ignorance of the betrothal, Emma.” Aunt Agatha removed her own bonnet as she stepped into the hall. “That very subject has occupied your thoughts and everyone else’s for much of the past several days.”

“Still, he knew very well I was not resigned to the marriage. Calling for the banns to be read was premature.”

To think, the insufferable Mr. Brydges had suggested she might possess the talents for Drury Lane. He should look to his friend the duke instead. All his apologies for disregarding her feelings were clearly a grand performance. How very smug he must feel, thinking he had her well and trapped after shouting his intentions last evening and ordering the banns the next day. “How very efficient he is. Well, I’m not trapped yet. I can still maneuver out of this.”

“Are you quite sure you want to, dear?” her uncle asked.

“Have I ever given you any reason to doubt it?”

“Have you thought of the poor girl whose debut he’s orchestrating?” Aunt Agatha asked. “Think of what she’ll face—navigating London society when she’s known nothing but a simple life in Boston. Only think how difficult that will be for her.”

“I’m sure you are correct, but I could not imagine a less suitable person to ensure Lady Charlotte a successful debut. Mine, as you’ll recall, was a dismal failure.”

“Perhaps.” Aunt Agatha studied the flower arrangement on the hall table rather than her niece. She plucked several stems from the vase and placed them to better advantage. “I suppose Marion Gilchrest, or perhaps Lady Wolfe would be better equipped to take the girl through her paces. Their daughters are quite accomplished.”

Emma’s guilt swelled at the thought of the inexperienced Charlotte under the tutelage of a hawk such as Lady Wolfe. She shook her head. “I know your game, Aunt, and it will not succeed. I do sympathize with young Charlotte, but that is not sufficient reason to marry her brother.”

Aunt Agatha dropped her ruse of flower-arranging and faced her niece. “Perhaps it is not sufficient reason on its own, dear, but when all the other, perfectly sufficient reasons have failed to sway you, I thought it might tip the scales.” Her wan smile was barely apologetic. “The duke’s sister will need considerable help in preparing herself to face the ton. I expect she could also use a kind and sympathetic friend, don’t you agree?”

Much as she tried, Emma could not find an objection to refute her aunt’s logic that didn’t sound entirely selfish and unkind. She released a weary sigh.

“I do not begrudge the duke his plans for his sister. I believe his intentions are noble and wish him great success in his endeavor. I simply don’t understand why I must be caught up in it. You heard the gossip at the Fairhaven ball,” Emma insisted. “All the ton would consider him a fool to actually marry me.”

“But he has publicly confirmed his intention to do so. If you do not marry him, they will consider you the fool.”

“Aunt Agatha!” Emma couldn’t dispute the claim, but she hadn’t expected such plain speaking from her aunt.

“I mean no insult, my dear—only to share the truth of it. You know by now my wishes for this marriage have nothing to do with the opinions of society. I have no sons or daughters of my own to see married. If the Ridgley name bears some tarnish for a broken engagement, your uncle and I should be affected very little, if at all.” She stepped forward to take Emma’s hands. “I seek only your security and happiness, my dear. Do you truly believe you’ll be happiest living alone in your cottage, with no husband or children to care for? I know your memories of your mother are deepest there, but that can only lead to melancholy.”

Emma sighed heavily. In truth, the counsel of her aunt and uncle was not lost upon her, and, righteous indignation aside, this decision bore so many facets, her mind was befuddled by them. “I wish I had never been affianced to him,” she said wistfully.

“But that is already done, my dear, and cannot be undone.” The earl lifted a folded letter from a salver on the hall table. “You have a letter from your friend Miss Betancourt. Why don’t you take some time to yourself, Emma? Your aunt and I will leave you to your letter and your thoughts.”

* * *

Emma took the letter to her room. It sat unread on her bureau as she lay back, fully dressed, across her bed and considered the case of the duke’s sister. She could not help but sympathize with Charlotte. Emma’s debut at seventeen had been disastrous in all respects. She’d masked her insecurities with resistance and lack of effort. When her father took matters into his own hands to secure her future, he’d named that very lack of cooperation as the reason, insisting she’d have no prospects at all if he left the matter to her for another season.

And Emma at least had the advantage of being brought up knowing what to expect. Moving about in society was a carefully choreographed dance and poor Charlotte Brantwood would not even recognize the tune. How awful to think of the unwitting, frightened child subjected to the harsh treatment of Lady Wolfe. Emma simply couldn’t see Georgiana Wolfe having the strength of will to manage John or protect Charlotte.

She really must stop thinking of him as John if she did not intend to marry him.

If she did not intend to marry him? Was she considering it?

She supposed she was.

She recalled the brief moment in her conversation with Mr. Greystoke in which she believed he may have established a claim to her hand. Somehow, she didn’t feel the same sense of alarm in considering marriage to John.

She could admit he was not the villain she’d imagined him to be all these years. She could respect, even admire, the choices he’d made for his family. She was embarrassed to think of how passionately she’d defended him to Mr. Brydges. Did she truly believe any woman should consider herself fortunate to marry him? Was she becoming resigned to the rationality of marrying her fiancé, or was she allowing herself to be influenced by what she’d experienced in his arms? She could not be certain that it was common sense rather than girlish, romantic feelings urging her to consider the marriage, and that conflict was very troubling to her peace of mind.

She would be very naïve, after all, to imagine his interest in her was anything more than a means to an end. He’d told her as much.

John himself seemed to be at the root of her indecision, for though she knew he did not harbor great affection for her, she could not bring herself to decide for certain whether he truly possessed the nobility of character she had begun to suspect. Still, he had refused throughout the period of their re-acquaintance to honor her wishes, despite the clarity and repetition with which she’d conveyed them. Would he be a fair husband? Would he be domineering and high-handed? Would he sell her cottage once she married and it was no longer hers, but his? Could she be happy married to a man like him? Would her happiness count for anything?

She could not know. And therein lay the crux of her final resistance.

With no further answers to be derived from her self-analysis on the subject of marriage, Emma sighed and turned to the distraction presented by her letter from home.

Although the greatest share of Emma’s life thus far had been spent at either the family estate in Lancashire, or the house in town that had been her father’s and then her uncle’s, she would always feel that home was a cottage in the small, insignificant village of Beadwell. And Lucy Betancourt, the local vicar’s daughter, would forever be her closest and dearest friend.

Emma broke the seal on Lucy’s letter, anticipating a long narrative full of the details of life in Beadwell since Emma had been away.

Preposterous.

Emma threw the letter onto her table. Simon would never do such a thing; she was sure of it.

Guilt filled her. Simon had been Mr. Crawford’s target solely because Emma was far away. The odious man had been harassing her from the moment her parents were gone. Now he was threatening Simon because of her personal interest in the boy.

How frightened Simon must be.

Rage filled Emma. How could a man do this to a boy? All for a piece of property. It was unspeakable.

Once again, she cursed the timing of her presence in London. She should be home, where she was needed.

Emma put her head in her hands and let the guilt enrobe her. If only there were not the matter of the unresolved betrothal—she would rush to Simon’s aid immediately.

She could not allow Simon to face false charges when she was personally responsible. He was only thirteen—a child. She had to do something, and she would continue to manage her own affairs. The Duke of Worley did not control her. His announcements and grand plans could not prevent her from being where she was needed most. Banns or no, he could not have a wedding without a bride.