by Kimberly Nee
“Mrs. McKenzie—” Julian shifted in his chair to lean forward.
“Hush!” Momma snapped, her eyes sparking with fury. “You’re to sit and be quiet until my husband arrives.”
The door opened and Emma swallowed a groan as Garrett stormed in, his topaz eyes blazing as if they were on fire. “What the hell did you do to my sister, McCallister?” he growled, grabbing Julian by the shirtfront to haul him up from his chair.
“Take your hands from me. Now.”
“Garrett, let go of him.” Emma shot up from her seat, only to be held back by her mother’s hand on her forearm. “Momma, make him stop. This is silly.”
“Silly? Hardly.” Momma snapped. “This is as serious as it gets. Garrett, do you know what he did? Julian, do you know what sort of a scandal you’ve caused, compromising my daughter in the middle of a hallway during a party?”
“I heard, Momma,” Garrett assured her. “I heard.”
Julian blushed. Had she ever seen him blush before? She didn’t think so, and yet, now, Julian dangled from Garrett’s fist, and a dull flush colored his cheeks. “I meant to ask Captain McKenzie’s permission for Emma’s hand.”
Garrett’s hand and jaw went slack at the same time. As Julian dropped back into his chair, Garrett turned to his mother. “Are you going to allow this?”
“Momma, it’s true. And Garrett, isn’t he your friend? Why do you sound surprised that Momma might accept?”
“He is my friend—was my friend. He crossed the line, though, when he put his hands on your b—” Now it was his turn to blush, and he dropped into the nearest chair.
The office door banged open and her father stalked across the room to his desk. “This is a disaster. At the Christmas Party, Julian? When the house was filled with people? You decide to go and disgrace my daughter in a hallway?”
Emma hated herself for blushing, but she couldn’t help it. It was sordid, of course, but her father had a way of making it sound even more sordid, and that made her lunge for the wastebasket once more. The lemonade glass found its way from her grasp as her back arched and every muscle locked up.
A gentle hand touched her back—Julian’s she assumed, but then someone shoved it away and she knew it had been Julian’s. A sweet—if futile—gesture, but if she ever stopped throwing up, she might smile from it.
When she sat back, she didn’t know where to look. Garrett looked too frightening. If she let her gaze linger on Julian, it would only infuriate her mother more. And if she looked at Momma…
Not possible. Forget looking at her mother. Every time she did, it was a reminder of what her mother saw. Emma’s gown open, her breast out, and Julian’s mouth on it. Beyond humiliating, that’s what it was.
Although she sat, her knees trembled under her parents’ furious glares. She couldn’t remember the last time either one of them looked so angry with her. But that wasn’t it. Not entirely. And what else she saw filled her with a sorrow she’d never felt before.
The disappointment in their eyes was far worse.
She wanted to look at Julian, and when she did, she wished she hadn’t. He didn’t look any happier than she felt.
But he leaned back in his chair and calmly said, “I have every intention of asking for Emma’s hand. I had intended to do it all along.”
“Perhaps you should have done it before you took it upon yourself to paw her,” Garrett growled from his perch on the sofa.
“I didn’t paw her.”
Garrett leapt to his feet. “You didn’t? Really?”
“Garrett, leave off.”
But Garrett ignored Papa’s low warning. “You think my sister is some barmaid you can grope in public?”
“Garrett.” Papa rose from his chair. “Sit down.”
Garrett scowled, but halted his stride. “She’s too good for you, man. Papa, tell me you aren’t going to give your blessing on this.”
Papa sighed deeply and ran his hands through his silver hair. “I have no other option. Your mother and I are in agreement on this. Emma, you and Mr. McCallister will be married as soon as we can make the arrangements.”
Chapter Thirteen
EMMA SAT CROSS-LEGGED on her bed, staring at the pale blue quilt beneath her. With a fingertip, she traced one of the embroidered yellow flowers, her heart heavy. Every time she imagined marrying Julian, it was never with her parents glowering and oozing disappointment in her. Nor did involve Julian’s scowling and looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but Stonebridge.
After Papa had dropped the hammer, she’d stolen a glance at Julian. His clasped hands had rested on his knee, the knuckles white. His shirtsleeves were rolled back, and the muscles in his arms were whipcord tight up through his shoulders. He still wore his waistcoat, but the frock coat lay over the back of his chair, where it landed when he tossed it. His expression had remained neutral, but his eyes narrowed.
Even now, she swallowed hard just thinking about it. It was hardly the expression of a man happy to be taking a bride.
A bride. Julian’s bride. Those words were supposed to thrill her, and yet…tears stung her eyes. She didn’t want to be married this way. There were supposed to be tears of joy and proclamation of “Welcome to the family!”
“Em?”
Emma looked up at Mary, standing in the doorway, her expression somber. “Come in, Mare.”
“Everyone has been asking about you. I’ve been telling everyone you aren’t feeling well.”
“That’s true enough,” Emma replied softly, swiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist. “I don’t feel well. I feel sick to my stomach.”
“What happened? Momma is trying to act as if everything is just fine, but her heart just isn’t in it. And Garrett and Papa both look as if they might kill someone.” Mary climbed up onto the bed to sit across from her. She looked worn out, with dark smudges beneath her eyes.
Emma glanced at the clock on the mantle. It wasn’t quite ten yet, and the party would be winding down soon. “Where’s Drew?”
Mary shrugged. “No one seems to know. He and Miss Monroe had a bit of a spat outside the ballroom.” Color crept into Mary’s cheeks and she lowered her voice. “Outside. In the garden.”
“What were you doing in the garden?”
The color deepened and Mary smiled. “Ben Jacobs asked to court me.”
Mary looked so happy, and Emma wanted to share in that happiness, but the bitter unfairness of everything tempered it for her. She didn’t want Mary to be caught, but it just didn’t seem exactly fair that she and Julian had been. “That’s wonderful, Mary.”
Mary’s smile faded. “What happened?” she asked again. “I saw Papa and Julian talking about something, and neither one looked happy. Next thing I know, Momma came hurrying by me, and she looked like she was about to cry. What’s going on?”
With a heavy, heartrending sigh, Emma told her everything—from the first steamy kiss in Julian’s room, to the compromising position in which they’d been found not an hour earlier.
“And now, he has to marry me,” she finished, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them.
“But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? And Julian was going to ask for your hand anyway, wasn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but…” Emma rubbed the tip of her nose. “Not like this. And it’s my fault. I kissed him.”
“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t think that. He wanted to court you, so maybe it’ll all work out for the best.”
“I don’t suppose it matters now,” Emma muttered, blinking against the sting of fresh tears pressing against her eyelids. “What’s done is done, and there’s no undoing it.” She swallowed hard and met her sister’s sympathetic gaze. “And in a few days, I will have what I always wanted. And yet, the thought makes me want to cry. It’s hopeless.”
Mary slid her arm about Emma’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “So go ahead and cry, and when you’re done, maybe it will all seem a little less hopeless.”
Emma didn’t reply, but buried her face in her sister’s neck and let the tears come.
Chapter Fourteen
WHEN EMMA OPENED HER EYES, it was morning. She didn’t remember Mary leaving, only crying herself dry on her sister’s shoulder, and then their roles reversed as Mary laid her back on her pillow and drew the quilt over her.
But she must’ve drifted off shortly after. It was the only explanation for how thick her head felt. Her eyes were gritty, as if she had been doused with a bucket of sand, and they were swollen from all the crying. What a horrid day.
She squinted at the clock. It was almost noon. Amanda hadn’t been sent to wake her, and she didn’t know if that was good or bad. And what was more, she didn’t much care. Her head ached far too much for her to care much about anything. She was numb…too numb to care. Sleep still lay over her like a hundred pound quilt. And no matter how she rubbed her eyes, it refused to go away.
The door creaked open and Amanda came into the room. “Miss McKenzie, your mother and father would like to see you in your father’s office at once.”
She nodded, her head still stuffed with sleep’s thick cotton wool. Of course they wanted to see her. There was a wedding—a hasty wedding—to be planned. She forced out, “Is Mr. McCallister here as well?” around a heavy yawn.
“No, I don’t believe so.” Amanda drew open the draperies to let in the weak winter sunlight. As the light spilled into the room, the rest of the thick cotton wool fell away from Emma’s head. She rose and stood with slumped shoulders as Amanda went to work undressing and then redressing her.
It felt like her arms were filled with lead as she raised them to comb out her hair. It was a tangled mess, with what seemed like a thousand pins jabbed here and there. “How furious are they?”
“I wouldn’t say either one is furious,” Amanda replied, taking the comb from her hand. “They seem sad, actually.”
Of course they did. She’d let herself be compromised under their roof. And no one could even fault Julian. He’d tried to stop her, and she just rolled over his protests, blind to everything but what she wanted. And now he’d hate her. It was one thing for him to ask for her hand, quite another for him to have it forced.
Her shoulders sagged as Amanda wrested the last pin from her hair and untangled the last knot. After winding Emma’s hair into a single plait, Amanda said, “Nothing is ever as bad as it seems.”
“Is that so? Because this seems pretty awful.”
She expected Amanda to play dumb, to pretend she didn’t know why Momma and Papa wished to see her. But to her surprise, Amanda offered up a stern look and said, “Are you surprised by that?”
The maid knew? Emma groaned. She was doomed. She rubbed her forehead, feeling another headache creeping into her brain. “Have they told you?”
“Not exactly.” When something that looked much like sympathy flitted over the maid’s severe features, Emma grew irritated. She didn’t want the maid’s pity. Didn’t want anyone’s pity. It wasn’t as if she killed someone, for the heaven’s sake. Was what she and Julian did so terrible it warranted pity? It was a kiss. Only a kiss.
She rubbed her forehead again. Very well. It was a little more than only a kiss, but that didn’t signify.
The pitying look was too much. The last of the sluggishness faded as she marched over to slam the door. “Oh, don’t look at me that way,” she snapped, turning back to press her forehead against the cool wood. Her head ached, her eyes ached. Everything just…ached.
But then she looked up as Amanda touched the top of her head with a gentle hand. “I didn’t mean to patronize, Miss McKenzie.”
“I know, and I’m sorry for being a beast. But still—” Her throat squeezed painfully shut. “Please, Amanda, who knows, and what do they know? Please, just tell me.”
“Miss McKenzie.” Naked pain laced the maid’s voice, and Emma could almost see Amanda’s pale face, her forehead lined the way it did whenever she was worried or upset. Deep furrows would groove the inner edges of her brows, the skin at the outer corners of her eyes would fall in crepe-like folds, and her gaze would be serious. “I couldn’t…”
“It was only a kiss.” Emma couldn’t keep the impatience from her voice. “That’s it. A. Kiss.”
But Amanda didn’t look as if she agreed and Emma didn’t feel much like discussing it further. Besides, there was little sense in putting off the inevitable, so she lifted her head and with a deep breath, squared her shoulders. “Very well.”
“Miss McKenzie—”
“No. It’s all right, Amanda. I doubt I would want to repeat it if I was in your shoes.”
The door opened with a creak, and her stomach began bubbling again. Her mouth grew dry, while her palms grew damp, and she wasn’t entirely certain she wouldn’t be ill. Yet somehow she managed to make her way downstairs and into her father’s office.
Her father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, hands folded before him as if he was afraid he’d choke her otherwise. His shoulders were stiff, his back ramrod straight.
Behind him, Momma stood, equally stiff, one hand resting on Papa’s shoulder. They looked tired and worried, but not exactly angry any longer.
That sick feeling returned as she stood before them, and she found she preferred their anger over this. She couldn’t remember the last time either one of them looked so disappointed in her, but it would be a long time before she forgot this. This filled her with a sorrow she’d never felt before.
“Sit.” Papa gestured to the chair before his desk.
She drew in a calming breath as she sat. It was a good thing Julian wasn’t there. She didn’t want any more witnesses to her shame. Even if he shared in that shame. “Momma, Papa, I—” Her throat constricted and a lump rose. She swallowed hard against it and tried again. “Momma, I am sorry.”
Momma stared at her for a long moment, as if she wasn’t exactly certain who Emma was and needed the time to recall her name. Then, she shook her head, her voice weary as she said, “How could you do this? Why? You know how we felt about this.”
“Momma, I—you must know I never meant to hurt—”
“It doesn’t matter why, and what you meant to do or didn’t mean to do means nothing now.” Papa broke in, his voice low and growly, as if it hurt him to speak. “None of it does. What’s done is done, and now, we have to do what’s necessary.”
“I understand.” Emma couldn’t hold her father’s sad stare, but cast her gaze down at her hands, folded demurely in her lap.
“We cannot avoid some scandal,” his voice rumbled over her.
Emma peered up through her lowered lashes to see him cast a sidelong gaze at her mother, whose expression slid from disappointment to something Emma couldn’t quite place.
Momma nodded. “But this wedding will mitigate it.”
“Mitigate it?” Emma turned back to her father.
“Mitigate it.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve already spoken to Cook and Amanda, and they are preparing.”
Now Emma snapped her head up. She looked from her mother to her father and back. “And when will the wedding take place?”
“You and Julian will be married on Saturday,” Momma replied softly.
How many times had she dreamed of hearing those same words? Only, in her mind, they didn’t have that sour note of regret in them. They didn’t leave her feeling hollow and dead inside. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She wasn’t supposed to nod somberly, all the while knowing her mother and father were so deeply disappointed in her. There was supposed to be joy, not sorrow, in the thought of her and Julian marrying. No one was supposed to be angry over it or put out by it.
“Did you hear your mother?”
She nodded. “I did, Papa.”
“And you have nothing to say?”
“What am I to say?” She looked from her mother to her father and back again. They both seemed to expect her to say something, but she had no words. How did one respond to such a situation? It wasn’t exactly
something she was taught by any tutors or maids. “I’m sorry if I brought shame on you. I never meant to. It was the last thing I would ever want to do.”
Papa sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I know.” He glanced at Momma. “We both know. Unfortunately, there is nothing else we can do about it.”
Emma’s eyes stung. She didn’t want to cry and fought to keep the tears at bay. Her voice broke as she said, “Momma, I never meant to hurt you, or Papa. I meant no disrespect. None at all. And there are no words to express how terribly I feel about all of this.”
“Why?” Momma repeated and this time, Papa didn’t dismiss the question.
“I don’t suppose it matters much now,” Emma said, “But Julian was going to ask to court me. I just wish he had before this happened.”
“So do I,” Papa murmured, his chair squeaking as he sat back.
Momma cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, it no longer matters. Now, you should go upstairs. I’ve sent word to Mrs. Pierce that we’ll need her services. She should be here soon.”
Emma nodded as she rose. “Yes, Momma.”
The walk back to her chambers took longer than ever. What would the rest of her family think, or do, when they saw her?
She clapped a hand to her forehead. How angry would Rose be, that Emma would marry before her, especially after all she and George went through trying to fix their betrothal? And did they even manage to work out the Darcy Penrose problem? So now, on top of being a disgrace as a daughter, a failure as a temptress, she was a disloyal friend. Wonderful.
A heavy sigh rose to her lips as she sank onto the step and let her head fall into her hands. She’d ruined everything. No, that wasn’t right. She and Julian ruined everything. She didn’t do it alone.
“Em?” Concern softened Mary’s voice as she sat beside her sister. “Are we having a wedding?”
“Saturday. The seamstress will be here to fit me for my wedding dress.”
“How are Momma and Papa?”