by Ella Edon
She sniffed. “It’s not you.”
Her voice was muffled by her hands. He stayed where he was, and she lowered her hands at length, and sniffled, sadly.
“I’ve been such a fool.”
“Milady!” He felt almost angry. How dare she speak so, about herself? “You’re a wonderful daughter! You have done all of this for your father. Nobody could call you a fool.”
“I know,” she declared. “But…but he never asked me to do one whit of this, and I’ve got it all wrong, in any case. And I’ve risked everything, just because I’m a fool.”
“No, you’re not.” Luke looked into her eyes, holding her gaze with his. Her eyes were wet with tears. She looked so unhappy that he had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around her.
She turned away and stared into the fire. He held his peace, and after a few moments, she started speaking.
“The year when I turned ten, my mother died. My father lost everything – his existence. He loved her in a way I’ve never seen anybody love another person. Her death left him empty in a way that nothing can fill.”
Luke said nothing. He stayed exactly where he was, sensing that she needed simply to speak.
“I spent much of my time with him— listening when he talked, being around him. He had been far more distant before. We started to spend an hour, here and there, reading, talking, going to the park. It was nice, though he still looked empty and sad. Then, about two years later, everything changed. Father fell in with Lord Clayston and his friends, and then, he…was different.”
“Different?” Luke prompted.
She looked at him guiltily, as if she’d said too much.
“He was just different. That’s all,” she said. “But now, we have to discuss letting you go.”
“Milady, you don’t have…”
“We are going to let you go,” Emilia stated firmly. “But you have to speak to my father, first.”
“Your father?” Luke’s brow shot up in surprise. It occurred to him to ask why, if her father was not incapacitated, he hadn’t spoken to him himself. But he kept his silence.
“Yes,” Emilia said swiftly. “I don’t know when. He didn’t say when. But soon.”
“What does he wish to discuss?”
“I don’t know,” Emilia snapped. She looked even more miserable than she had earlier, and Luke decided not to press too hard.
“I understand,” he assured her. “Well, in that case, mayhap we should discuss our own plans? We should meet in town sometime – you mentioned Knollford’s?”
“I can’t be seen alone with you,” she said swiftly. “This was…extenuating circumstances.”
“I understand,” he said again. He felt a little hurt. He had thought that they were reaching some sort of an understanding. How little did she trust him, that she would refuse to see him again once he was liberated?
“When you’re released, I trust I shan’t see you again,” she said.
“Milady…why should that be?” He was genuinely confused. Why should they not meet up again? It seemed bizarre they had never met.
“It wouldn’t be seemly, would it?” Emilia inquired. “Especially not if you…if…” She looked away, cheeks going red swiftly. “If you think of me as a woman of no shame.”
“Milady! No…” He reached out to take her hand, but realized that was taking too much liberty with her. He leaned back in the chair again, acutely conscious of how close he was to her. “I don’t think that! I think you have no reason to be ashamed, but I know you are a discreet and modest woman.”
Emilia looked at him, eyes ringed in red. “I have behaved shamefully. Stupidly. I have been alone with you four times! I shouldn’t even be here!”
She stood up.
Luke shook his head. “Milady, why would you think that?”
“I should just go,” Emilia stated. “I needn’t stay here. We will negotiate your release tomorrow.”
“As you wish.”
She shot him a firm look, but seemed reassured by whatever she saw in his face. She sighed.
“I will see you tomorrow, Lord Westmore. And I’ll have tea sent up directly.”
“You needn’t…” he began, but she’d already gone, shutting the door behind her. He heard the key turn in the lock. He sat down, feeling dazed.
What had happened? Why was she suddenly so changed?
It was, he had to suspect, something to do with her father. He felt angry. He should appreciate what she’d done! She had done it to help him! If he had reprimanded her for it, he only wished he could see the man himself, for a thorough talking-to!
“Tea, milord?”
He jumped up, hearing June’s voice at the door. He opened it, and she came in, bearing a tray. She looked quite cheery, he thought. She put it down on the table, checking the curtains and the fireplace as she did so.
“June?” He frowned, looking in the cup.
“Yes, milord?”
“This is chocolate, not tea. And the pastries…?”
“Milady’s orders, sir,” she said swiftly. “She said to bring you a dish of chocolate and what the cook had made this morning.”
“Oh. Thanks, then.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
When she’d gone out, he sat back, a bemused expression on his face. Emilia had seemed so angry with him. And yet, she’d remembered his partiality for chocolate, and for jam pastries! He sighed. She was a mystery.
Sniffing the dark, fragrant temptation in the cup, he shook his head. It was a mystery he hoped he could one day solve.
And one day soon. He was, he guessed, too fond already to want anything else.
Chapter Eight
Concerning Past and Future
Emilia sat down heavily on her bed. She looked around the room, blankly, as if seeing it for the first time. The white flocked-silk walls, the satiny bedspread, the chestnut-wood box of trinkets. It seemed like it all belonged to another person, from another time.
“Emilia, you’re being foolish,” she told herself firmly.
This was all stuff and nonsense! Her father, who had given her all these things, had always cared for her, loved her. He had given her every piece of furniture in this room, everything in it. She recalled begging him for the wallpaper, and how he’d simply smiled, and said that, since it was her wish, expense was nothing.
“If he didn’t care, then pray, why would he do that?”
It wasn’t the same thing, though, and she knew that. Acts of random open-handedness were second-nature to him. In the same way as he shrugged at the expense of her wallpaper, he would cast a handful of bank-notes on the table at bridge, or give a Christmas gift to all the servants, sparing no expense. It was his nature to give openly.
“If he loved me, he would show it differently. He would think about my safety, and my future, too. Not just his own.”
She was stunned. It was as if, for the first time, she’d seen a layer of him she’d never thought to see. His gambling, his illicit deals…What did he think those would do for her? If he cared about her, wouldn’t he have stopped that years ago? They could have left the country, if need be. He had relatives with estates on the Scottish border. They could have escaped his creditors, cut all ties, and made another existence for themselves.
“If I’d never met Luke, would it have ever been so clear?”
She shrugged. What was it, that had finally made her see things in another light? She couldn’t put her finger on anything, except for the fact that Luke had shown her kindness. That he really seemed to care, to touch at part of her soul.
She recalled the way he’d looked at her in the carriage, when they were alone. The touch of his eyes, meeting hers. That hesitant smile.
“Milady?” It was June, her voice calling through the door. “Are you there?”
“Come in, June,” Emilia replied woodenly, as her thoughts of Luke evaporated swiftly. She dabbed at her cheeks, wishing she could cover up the worst signs of her crying.
“M
ilady!”
June came over at once, putting her hand on her shoulder. “What’s the matter? What has happened?”
“Nothing, June,” Emilia sniffled. She looked in the mirror, adjusting her hair, which had partly fallen out of its up-do. She wished that she didn’t look so obviously distressed. “Did you have news from the doctor?”
“No, milady,” she said, tidying the dressing-table automatically, fluffing up the cushions on the divan as she usually did. “I didn’t, but I’m sure it will all be well. The prisoner is also doing well.” June turned to her with a small grin.
“I’m pleased about that,” Emilia said tensely, not wanting to betray any feeling where Luke was concerned. Somehow, between Luke and her father, she’d gotten the sense that feeling too deeply about anybody was a fool’s choice.
“Well, he seemed that way,” June continued, blithely. “Oh, milady! That vase…it’s cracked! Should I take it to be repaired?”
Emilia frowned at the vase. A small, squat one, made of fine Venetian glassware. She hadn’t noticed it had been knocked over by the curtain.
“No matter, June,” she said softly. “I doubt anybody can repair it.”
“Oh. Well, it’s still pretty,” June said, righting the vase again on the windowsill. “It just won’t be water-tight no more.”
“That’s alright.”
When June had gone, Emilia lifted up the vase. She closed her eyes. She could recall, so clearly, the day her father gave it to her. She had been fifteen, and it had been a few days before her birthday.
“Father,” she remembered saying. “It’s so beautiful.”
“It’s yours,” he’d said. It had been on the end of his desk when she’d seen it, winking in the sunlight.
“No, Papa!” she protested, her heart glowing with warmth as she lifted the treasure, staring at the way the fine facets sparkled in the light. “My birthday’s next week.”
“What does it matter?” Her father grinned expansively. “You’re my dearest daughter! And any gift’s a trinket, compared to the wealth of what I feel when I think of you.”
Emilia beamed, feeling truly touched. “It’s so beautiful,” she said lightly.
“It comes from Venice,” her father replied. “They make the best glass anywhere in the world there.”
“Venice,” she murmured, closing her eyes, imagining the place. She’d read about it in books – the canals, the gondolas, and the people dressed so elegantly as they walked past blue waters.
“Yes.” He nodded. “As far away as Venice.”
“Where did you get it?” Emilia asked. She lowered it, looking up at his face, frowning.
“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted.
That had been the end of the conversation. Emilia hadn’t thought about it at the time. Now, she knew, with horrible awareness, where it had come from. It was one of the many smuggled things that had passed through his hands. He’d simply chosen to keep this one, instead of selling it.
“Oh, Father,” she said sadly. “How did you get into this state?”
She put the vase back on the windowsill. In its own way, it seemed a symbol. Both of her father – his broken state, the shattered and fragile world of his illicit dealings – and of herself. Her love had been in that vase, and with his selfishness, he’d shattered it, as carelessly as he’d once handed it to her.
She went through to her boudoir. This, too, seemed so hollow now. He’d redone it in purple and white, the way she’d asked for it when she was nineteen, as a present. An acknowledgement of her new maturity. Now, she wondered why he’d even bothered. Why celebrate her debut into society, when it didn’t matter if she’d blasted her reputation clean away?
She sat down on the divan and closed her eyes.
In her mind, Luke Preston’s voice spoke to her. You’re a wonderful daughter. You did this.
She was too tired to cry, but she wanted to. He understood. His gentle voice, the way he sat with his hand on her shoulder, the way he bore her no judgement. She wished she could have told him more, told him why she was crying now.
“I’m glad I didn’t. Imagine what would have happened.”
She smiled wryly to herself. It would simply have compounded her difficulties. At least this way, after her father spoke with him, Luke would know no more details than he could glean from books, and also be sworn not to divulge what he knew.
“And then, what about my future?”
She bit her lip. She would be sensible never to see Luke Preston again. He knew too much about her, and had reason to believe she was a woman of no scruples.
“I’m sure he also thinks I’m crazy.”
She sighed.
I should go up to the Scots border. Lady Arundel, my friend, is there. She’d take me in. I should stay with her and quietly disappear from society. At least that way, I can incur no more scandal.
She didn’t want to do that, but what could she do? She had to leave. The thought of encountering Luke Preston in society again, after this, was simply too much for her.
She sat on the divan for a long while. There was a soft knock at the door – the inner one, where her bedroom met the hallway. She stood, frowning.
“Daughter?” her father called. “Are you there?”
“Yes,” Emilia called back, feeling her heart lift with joy in spite of herself. She went to let him in, conscious of the fact that he hardly ever visited her here. For him to do so, there must be something troubling him.
“What is it?”
He was standing on the threshold of her room. His pale, lined cheeks were streaked with damp. His eyes were wet with tears. He said nothing, simply looked at her.
She felt her heart twist, but was also wary. Given what she had just been thinking, she didn’t want to let him in too far.
“Father?” she asked softly. “What’s the matter?”
Wordlessly, he held out his arms. When she enfolded him in an embrace, he leaned on her shoulder.
“My dearest daughter,” he said. “I’ve been a fool. A stupid, blind fool.”
Emilia felt her heart twist. “You haven’t, Papa.”
He looked at her. “I have,” he insisted. “My brave daughter. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. You were alone with that man. I should never have let that happen. What sort of a father am I?”
She shrugged, but her heart glowed inside. “I wanted to try to help you.”
“I know you did,” he said. “I am the most selfish so-and-so that ever breathed.”
She chuckled at the expression. “No, you’re not,” she assured him. “You didn’t mean for me to do…what I did. And I cannot blame you – after all, I made a big mistake myself.”
He shook his head. “No. The mistake is mine. All mine. But that’s alright. I’m going to put it to rights. Whatever it takes.”
“Papa…” Emilia felt relief flow through her like a wave. All the same, she remained wary. What was he planning on doing?
“I’ll see to it that nothing of this is ever mentioned again. We’ll make sure he never talks of anything that happened in this house now. And then, I intend to deal with Carrington myself. I have let this go on for too long. Far too long.”
“Papa…”
“What, my daughter?” He looked at her tenderly.
Emilia just smiled a little sadly. He was doubtless planning how to spring to action and do whatever needed to be done in order to ensure her safety. It wasn’t his fault that was what mattered most to him. And at least he’d thought to consider her safety!
“Nothing, Papa. And, thank you. Truly.”
“It’s nothing, my daughter,” he said. He looked up at her, blue eyes distant. “I sometimes think…I sometimes wish I could have been a better father. I have been a fool.”
“You haven’t,” Emilia said, feeling her own throat choke up again. “I love you, Papa.”
“I love you too, daughter.”
She reached for him and enfolded him in her arms. They stood tog
ether for a moment, then he turned away.
“I must go upstairs,” he said. “See if Croxley can make sense of just how much Carrington is owed.”
“Yes, Papa.”
She watched him go up the hallway, feeling her heart twist in her chest. He was still wrapped up in his own dealings, but at least he’d thought to consider her!