The Reunion

by Sara Portman

“Yes, it has been an age, hasn’t it,” Mrs. Woodley added, her brow furrowed as though she strained to recall their last visit.

  “I suppose.”

  Aunt Agatha was more kind than Emma would have been in her place. Of course it had been an age. It had been the ridiculous woman’s entire age.

  “But we were fortuitously nearby this afternoon, so naturally I insisted we call,” explained Lady Bosworth.

  Aunt Agatha patted Lady Bosworth’s hand. “A happy fortune, indeed.”

  Truly, Aunt Agatha was a saint.

  False excuses thus disbursed, the new arrivals turned to study Emma with unveiled curiosity. So intense was their examination, if Emma’s manners had been only slightly lower, she would have made a face at the peering matrons.

  “And how are you, dear?” Lady Bosworth asked.

  “I am well. Thank you for inquiring.”

  Lady Bosworth pursed her lips skeptically.

  It appeared the vultures were not only circling, but had flown in for a closer inspection. Everyone wanted to know if she’d been jilted yet and, if so, how she was tolerating it. They wanted the honor of relaying the final destruction of her reputation—in all its gruesome detail—to their circle of acquaintances. How would the women react if she claimed to be perfectly grand, awaiting the duke’s return with her betrothal ring? The thought only occurred out of pettiness and she tamped it down.

  All eyes turned collectively as Jenkins once more entered the room. He had recovered his dignified expression as he once more handed Aunt Agatha a pair of calling cards.

  After a brief glance at the cards, Aunt Agatha responded with a bemused nod. “Perhaps you could bring extra chairs from the earl’s study once you’ve shown the ladies in. Thank you, Jenkins.”

  More ladies? At this point, it seemed the only distraction saving Emma from answering to the amassed spectators was the arrival of more spectators. She almost—almost—would have preferred the arrival of the duke.

  Emma stiffened when Jenkins announced the additions to their party. She was tempted to glare when Lady Grantham and Lady Wolfe strolled into the room as though they were welcome and wanted, the latter dragging her reluctant daughter. Georgiana Wolfe appeared so uncomfortable when introduced that Emma decided the girl may actually possess some common sense. She could not say the same for the elder ladies, considering the complete lack of pride it must have taken for them to visit and feign cordiality. They knew full well Emma had overheard every hurtful, gossiping word the previous evening.

  While the newly arrived ladies eyed Emma and were eyed in turn by Lady Bosworth and Mrs. Woodley for poaching on their gossip-hunting ground, Jenkins and a footman carried in first one and then another high-backed chair from the earl’s study, arranging them to create a conversational circle. Though muted with age, the scarlet brocade upholstery still looked garishly out of place against the delicate gold and sage of the drawing room.

  Others must have agreed, for as soon as Jenkins and the footman departed, a shuffling commenced. All the ladies sought to find a seat, studiously avoiding the red chairs as though they might themselves appear garish sitting upon them. The matter was finally resolved with some tactful direction from Aunt Agatha.

  Emma, who had remained seated throughout the debacle in what was likely an unforgivable lack of manners, found herself joined on the settee by the Ladies Markwood and Blythe. Lady Bosworth and Lady Grantham occupied the room’s two sedately colored armchairs, while Lady Wolfe and her daughter sat upon two wooden-backed chairs pulled from the card table in the corner. Mrs. Woodley, as the lowest ranking woman in the room, and Aunt Agatha, as the gracious hostess, were relegated to the boldly colored transplanted chairs.

  Thus arranged, the ladies conversed on trivial subjects. There was a discussion of the fine selection of food at the Fairhaven ball and the wonderful music at a prior event hosted by Lord and Lady Gilchrest. Several polite questions were directed to Georgiana, who responded with equal politeness and the appropriate deference of a well-trained daughter.

  Emma participated very little, noting with detached interest that an uninformed outsider would have seen nothing more than a group of ladies engaged in a pleasant afternoon visit. He would likely have failed to notice the large number of curious peeks at Emma and would have had no reason to be suspicious of subtly probing questions regarding her plans for staying in London or attending certain events.

  Emma provided direct answers when she could and did not elaborate, frustrating them all in their quest for information. As an unfortunate consequence, everyone seemed loath to leave, lingering long past the brief stay dictated by etiquette.

  As Emma had no intention of sharing the status of her engagement—which was, frankly, uncertain—she could only take comfort in the knowledge that polite topics of conversation would eventually become sparse.

  When Jenkins entered the room with yet another card, Emma considered feigning an ailment. Only loyalty to her aunt kept her in her seat while he left to show the caller up.

  “The Duke of Worley.”

  That man would appear at this moment. Could he not detect from the number of carriages lingering nearby that she and her aunt were occupied hosting a meeting of the Gossiping Ladies’ Society?

  As every head turned toward the door, he sauntered past Jenkins and into the fray, hesitating only a moment to digest the numbers in attendance.

  He greeted Aunt Agatha first then worked his way around the circle, greeting each woman with the same charming attention he’d displayed the past evening. In return, the ladies fawned over him as though he bore no responsibility at all for the scandalous abandonment of his young fiancée or for failing to appear at his father’s sickbed. He was, after all, a young, unmarried duke of significant fortune. Thus, he could be forgiven any transgression. Emma sat rigidly in her chair while he finished the circuit with a murmured remark that managed to inspire a blush in both Wolfe ladies.

  Then he faced Emma. His azure eyes twinkled with amusement as he addressed her. “Here I was worried you might be without company. It appears you have no shortage of social connections.”

  He was calling her a liar for claiming she lacked social clout, yet he knew as well as she, most of these women were not visiting out of friendship.

  Aware of her audience, she regarded him with a polite smile. “We are particularly well attended today, Your Grace. I was only just wondering to myself what the cause may be.”

  “Have you no theories?” he asked.

  “None that occur to me.”

  All the ladies listened unashamedly with the exception of Georgiana Wolfe, who listened but had the decency to squirm. Was it too much to hope that he would leave and return when they would not be performing for an audience?

  “I would invite you to sit,” Emma said, “but I’m afraid I have no seat to offer.”

  “A problem easily solved,” he said. “Shall we have our walk as we planned?”

  A clever maneuver on his part. They had not planned a walk, but he had to know she wasn’t likely to argue the point. She would need a more private moment with the duke to reiterate her earlier position on their engagement, but a walk in the park at the most crowded time of the afternoon would not afford much privacy.

  “Thank you, Your Grace, but as you can see, my aunt has visitors. As she is not available to accompany us, I fear we shall have to delay our walk to some other time.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Wolfe interjected, practically leaping from her chair as she shoved her daughter forward. “Georgiana would love to take some fresh air. She’d be happy to round out your numbers for a walk in the park.”

  Emma judged by Georgiana’s appalled look that her earlier assessment had been correct, and the girl was indeed a rare jewel of rationality despite her mother’s best efforts.

  As chaperones went, a young, unmarried girl to protect the virtue of another was not ideal, but no one could really suggest to Lady Wolfe’s face that her daughter may not be a fit chaperon
e—a fact which Lady Wolfe surely realized. She looked quite pleased with herself and her coup. Not only would she have every reason to stay and observe the aftermath of the outing, but she had also created an opportunity to place her very unmarried daughter in the immediate company of a duke who, in everyone’s expectation, would be equally unspoken for by the time the outing was done.

  As a triumphant Duke of Worley led two scowling ladies from the drawing room, Emma wondered how many of the gathered spectators would have the gumption to remain until they returned.

  * * *

  John had maneuvered the walk in order to escape Lady Ridgely’s overpopulated drawing room, but once they arrived, he realized the inadvertent brilliance of the decision. It seemed the whole of fashionable society had come out that afternoon in a carriage, on a horse, or on foot. It was the perfect day for it—warm, but not uncomfortably so—yet John suspected the determined crowd would have reliably appeared even if the weather had not been quite so favorable. They came for the choreographed dance of nods and greetings, the purpose of which was to notice and to be noticed and, above all, with and by whom one was noticed.

  John tilted his face up to the sun and breathed deeply of the flower-scented air. He didn’t generally enjoy crowds, but a stroll with his fiancée would certainly quell the current expectation that the betrothal had ended. She was quite becoming, after all, in a pale green day dress.

  Why hadn’t she gotten married to someone else in all this time? Where had the suitors been in four years? John supposed poor judgment on the part of other gentlemen wasn’t entirely surprising and, as it benefitted him now, he could not object to it.

  “Shall we walk toward the Serpentine?” he proposed

  Lady Emmaline stared at him as though he had suggested they stand in the middle of Rotten Row and flag down carriages. Miss Georgiana Wolfe, who seemed determined to walk several paces behind in the manner of a lady’s maid or governess, did not respond.

  “It may be crowded near the lake,” Lady Emmaline said.

  “For good reason. It’s the most scenic spot.”

  Lady Emmaline’s lips pursed. Her amber eyes regarded him coolly for another moment. Just when John felt certain she would voice her objection and insist upon hiding in some out-of-the-way locale, she gave an acquiescent dip of her chin. With no opinion contributed by Miss Wolfe, their group walked in the direction of the Serpentine.

  “How have you enjoyed the season, Miss Wolfe?” Lady Emmaline asked over her shoulder in an unveiled attempt to coax the girl forward. “Have you had an opportunity to attend the theater?”

  “I like London very much. And I particularly enjoy the theater.” Her answer was polite, but she did not yield the buffer of her position.

  When silence followed, John gave Lady Emmaline a cheerful smile. “It is remarkably warm today, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, but it is not unpleasant,” she responded. “I rather enjoy the outdoors.” She turned to call over her shoulder again. “Do you enjoy the outdoors, Miss Wolfe?” She paused in her stride, a maneuver that forced the girl to step alongside her. John halted as well, lest he find himself well ahead of the ladies.

  “I enjoy taking some air occasionally.” Miss Wolfe glanced nervously at John before she admitted, “I’m not much of a horsewoman, though.”

  “Not all can be.” Lady Emmaline said kindly, with a reassuring hand upon the girl’s arm. “You’re fortunate enough to be lovely and will, I’m sure, be forgiven almost any other failing.”

  Miss Wolfe’s cheeks took on a soft blush at Emma’s compliment. She shot another uncertain glance at John.

  Lady Emmaline saw to it that conversation continued between the two women, posing questions to Miss Wolfe with enough frequency that the young lady could not possibly withdraw again. The inquiries became impossibly mundane, but John admired Lady Emmaline’s fortitude in continuing to generate them. She asked where Miss Wolfe had acquired the ribbon that adorned her bonnet and conducted a complete survey of which instruments the girl might have learned to play. When she inquired as to the list of any novels Miss Wolfe may have recently enjoyed, John knew without question the woman would go to any length to prevent him from addressing the true purpose of his visit. Clearly, she was no more favorably disposed to the situation after a night to think on it. His fingers closed around the small ring that weighted his pocket. She would exhaust herself of idle conversation eventually. He suspected she already found the conversation as painful as he did.

  John was saved from concocting an interruption by feminine calls of “Georgiana! Georgiana!”

  “Oh, it’s Elena Westbrook. And Caroline Dunford,” Miss Wolfe said as they approached a group of young ladies waving animatedly.

  John did not recognize the girls, of course, but he easily recognized the desperate relief in Miss Wolfe’s expression as she spotted her saviors. The girl hurried away at such a pace, John suspected she would have grasped at any passing acquaintance for whom she could remember a name.

  “You should consider Georgiana Wolfe,” Lady Emmaline said, turning back to John after watching the girl join her friends.

  He eyed her and could not help the upward tug at the corners of his mouth. “Do you mean to suggest I propose marriage to the girl who just fled from my company as though she happened upon an escape route from inside Newgate?”

  Lady Emmaline’s eyes rolled skyward at his dramatics but, in all fairness, the girl had run away.

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “She only did so because she has enough sensitivity to understand the present awkward situation—one she knows full well was engineered by her mother, not by you. She seems a reasonable, intelligent girl.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I am perfectly reasonable. I am simply uninterested in becoming your duchess.”

  John cocked his head to one side and studied her. “And why is that precisely?” he asked. “Why would a perfectly reasonable young lady choose to be the wife of an aging widower with little income and a brood of children when she might be a duchess instead?”

  She cast an assessing glance around them before stepping forward to John and lifting her gaze unflinchingly to his. “Why should I supply an explanation for my actions when you’ve failed to provide a satisfactory one for yours?”

  It was not an informative response. “Have you developed an affection for this Greystoke fellow?” he pressed.

  Lady Emmaline’s eyes fell to her hands. “He is a perfectly amiable gentleman,” She said. Her voice was gentle but firm.

  “So you have not.”

  She looked up sharply and was no longer gentle in responding. “My feelings toward Mr. Greystoke are none of your concern.”

  “Particularly as we’ve already established you have none.” He watched her, daring her to dispute it.

  She remained silent, and they both knew she was unwilling to voice the lie.

  “Which leaves us the question,” he continued, “of why you object to marrying me when it is the best course for us both.”

  “The best course for me?” She hissed, her widening eyes taking in the sun like amber flashes of lightening. “How can you know the best course for me?”

  “You’ve already conceded your consideration of a match predicated on security rather than a deep affection,” he explained in a cautious tone, lest he further stoke her ire. “If you are seeking to secure your future—as we all must do, Lady Emmaline—surely marriage to me can provide greater comfort and security than that which may be offered by almost any other.”

  She did not respond with an immediate objection and John was hopeful she had seen the sense in his rationale. As she continued to study his face in silence, an unreadable expression upon her face, his confidence waned.

  She turned away to view the lake and presented her profile before responding. “You presume too much in knowing the sort of life in which I might take comfort.” The slight breeze caused her skirts to ripple, a fluid motion at odds
with the erectness of her posture as she gazed out onto the idyllic beauty of the park reflected in the water of the Serpentine. She was quite lovely and, though the strength of her resolve was in conflict with his present agenda, he admired her for it.

  “It may be that we get on well together,” he suggested. “We could be… friends. Even affectionate friends.”

  She turned then to peer incredulously at him. “Friends?” she echoed, her voice elevating nearly an octave. “Affectionate friends? You cannot be serious. Before our engagement, I was virtually unknown. You put my name on everyone’s lips as the most infamously rejected fiancée in living memory. My family were humiliated.” She paused in her tirade to notice passersby looking their way and lowered her voice to an angry hiss. “Did you truly believe I would leap at the chance to marry you now?”

  “I understand the offense I have given to you and your family, Lady Emmaline, and I am sorry for it. I urge you not to allow injured pride, no matter how justified, to overrule good sense.”

  She lifted her chin. “A certain amount of pride is necessary to maintain one’s dignity.”

  John sighed. It seemed he was hurting his case rather than helping it. “What of the fact that the gossip was untrue?” he tried.

  She squared her shoulders but the strength of her posture did not extend to her expression. She did not meet his eyes when she responded, “As you and I well know, society rarely bothers with anything so trivial as the truth.”

  In that moment, it occurred to John that the woman he had offended, the woman who had been harmed by his abrupt and mysterious departure was not the person who stood before him now exhibiting quiet determination. She had been a young girl, barely grown, and though he had known her even less at seventeen than he knew her now, he could guess she had not yet had this woman’s strength. Perhaps the iron of her will had been forged from the very predicament in which he had placed her. He reached out to take her gloved hands in his.

  “I am very sorry, Emmaline, to have been the cause of suffering for you and your family.”

  Wide, golden eyes looked up at him in what he could only count as alarm. Because he had addressed her too familiarly? Because he held her hands? He could not know, because though she opened her mouth to raise what he could only assume was an objection, she never gave voice to it. Instead, her attention fell to where her hands sat limply in his and she stared a moment as though assimilating this contact before finally pulling them away.