Chapter Thirty-Five
For three days, Emma waited in hope of word from James. But after that grim scene between them, he seemed disinclined to visit No.12 Great Pulteney Street.
The countess remarked upon it, and the earl said it was a pity, for he thought the young people were having a good effect on their son, taking his mind off his recent troubles.
No one felt James’s absence more than Emma. If only she could speak to him, explain herself, show him how she felt! But he’d denied her that privilege. He’d turned his back on her and left her dangling, unable to span the chasm that had opened between them.
Sometimes she stopped pitying herself and raged at him silently, blaming him for overreacting to her disclosure. Just because he’d been thrown over once didn’t mean he would be again.
She’d never meant to jilt him. She’d meant only to be open and honest. Far better he heard about what had happened directly from her instead of reading it in the paper.
If she ever found out who’d observed her being kissed by Charles and sent the juicy gossip to the Chronicle, she would not deal kindly with them. If they had any decency at all, they’d have rescued her from his clutches instead!
Not telling James meant risking that he might seek clarification from Charles. Which he surely would have done—no doubt resulting in disaster. Charles couldn’t be trusted not to exaggerate the situation simply for his own amusement.
Aside from the anonymously sent newspaper, she hadn’t heard a word from Charles, either. Surely, he’d have something to say on the matter? He was just as implicated as she, and now all of Bath Society would be expecting a proper announcement.
Or a refutation.
So why was he keeping silent? He knew where she was to be found.
She had to speak to him. She must make him understand that he needed to deny the scandal suggested by the paper and claim it was a case of mistaken identity or that it was an outright lie.
If he didn’t, any hope she had of reconciliation with James would be in peril.
A knock on her chamber door put a stop to her gloomy thoughts. It was George, come to say goodbye.
“Damn shame you’re all going away tomorrow,” he said, throwing himself into a chair with a dramatic sigh. “Why you need to vanish off into Darkest Wiltshire when all the delights of Bath surround you, I’ve no idea.”
Emma nodded. She’d no wish to go away, either, but they were due to leave next day for the house party at Stourhead. Which meant she was running out of time to find Charles.
“I don’t want to go,” she replied. “I’d rather stay with Mama and Papa while the Rossburys are away.” She didn’t yet know whether or not James would be joining their party.
Part of her prayed he would. Another part of her hoped he wouldn’t—for it would be torture.
“You have to go, foolish girl,” George said. “You’re under the patronage of the Countess of Rossbury. To disobey her would be to resign yourself to a life of loneliness and misery. No one who is anyone will want to know you if she throws you off.”
There was only one person whose opinion of her mattered. And he, it seemed, had already deserted her.
“Why do these people have so much power to manipulate our lives?” she grumbled. “Why can we not be free of them?”
“You can be free of them if you don’t care about money or what Society thinks,” George responded with a shrug. “But I think you do care, my dear sister. You care very much. Anyway, it’s unfair you should complain about going to Stourhead—I’d give my left arm to come with you.”
Of course he would. The frequency with which he’d been visiting Great Pulteney Street to check on the progress of Jemima’s heel had been remarked upon more than once. And now she was being spirited away from him. But could he possibly feel more bereft than she did, at James’s absence?
“I understand Stourhead’s been planned on a very grand scale, with grottoes, lakes, walks, rides, and more follies than you can shake a stick at,” George said. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say follies. I mean copies of classical architecture. Oh, to have the money to indulge in one’s whims! But I daresay you’ll be able to do that in the not too distant future.” He smiled over at her.
“What can you mean?”
“Don’t go all miss-ish on me! You know perfectly well what I mean. Tidworth. You’re the apple of his eye.”
Perhaps she had been, a few days ago. But now, she wouldn’t wager anything on how he felt. He probably despised her, and this knowledge just made her want to crawl into a hole and die. If only she could somehow prove to him that he had no need to worry about Charles Keane.
“Oh, George! If only you knew!” She scrabbled in her reticule for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
Her brother sat forward, frowning. “Why the tears?” he asked. “Do the attentions of England’s most eligible bachelor not please you?”
Had it been so obvious? She was starting to believe that James had been singling her out for longer than she’d been aware. Perhaps even longer than he realized himself.
“Does everybody know?” she asked, her voice quavering.
“Of course not. I’m teasing you. I just noticed the way he danced with you the other night and how much he looked at you. The pair of you were forever disappearing off for a stroll.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise.
“Not that I’m complaining—it meant I had more of Jemima’s attention. Oh, but she’s the sweetest creature, don’t you think? So very kind and compassionate, and she takes such pleasure in life—I’ve never yet seen her dreary. She bears her bad foot admirably, although I’ve made it a good deal better. But I’m loath to cure her completely, for what use will she have for me then?”
Emma forgot her own heartache for a moment, filled with trepidation. “You’re not seriously setting your cap at Jemima Pitt? She’d never be allowed to marry you!”
Her brother steepled his fingers, his expression sober. “She might, you know. I’m close to receiving the offer of a partnership in Harley Street, where all the best doctors reside. One day I might number some of the highest in the land among my patients. Or, if we stay on the right side of Tidworth, I could doctor his wounded veterans. His older brother died in a veterans’ hospital, you know. A minor wound at the battle of Waterloo, but he got gangrene. Very sad.”
Yes, she knew. It must have been hard for the family to lose their elder son. Harder still for James, having to step into shoes he never expected to fill. She dabbed at her eyes again.
“Anyway,” George went on, “I’ve discovered that Jemima’s family is not nearly as lofty as the Rossburys. It would be a fairly even match on both sides, especially if we’re prepared to wait a year or two while I better myself.”
Wait a year or two? She could scarcely imagine! When she’d been in James’s arms, she hadn’t ever wanted to leave them. Not for a minute, let alone a year. The last three days had stretched out interminably in his absence. She’d felt as though something was shriveling up inside her, curling up and dying from the lack of his attention.
From the lack of his love.
She let out a trembling breath. “Oh, George, I’m getting a headache. Would you mind leaving me, please? I think I need to rest.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” he said jovially. “What with all this packing and preparation for the journey, the house is like a Bedlam. Anyway, I’ll drop by tomorrow to see you all off. I’ll just go and speak to Jemima before I go. I can hear the pianoforte being thumped enthusiastically in the drawing room. Excuse me.” He gave Emma a brief peck on the cheek and left her alone with her thoughts.
She settled on the bed and stared unseeing at the ceiling. What if James genuinely had loved her far longer than she’d been aware? He might not even have been certain of it himself. Which made the current situation between them even more dismal.
It also made her examine her own feelings more closely. If it was possible to be in love, yet not know it, perhaps the symptoms she suffered each time she was close to James were more than just a physical response.
Perhaps they were the first genuine stirrings of love, as well.
Maybe, if she simply sought him out and told him how she felt, all the pain, guilt, and anguish would abate.
Unless, of course, he rejected her outright.
Which just didn’t bear thinking about.