“I believe she was right there next to us, but the poor woman had never seen fireworks before, you see. One can hardly blame her for her lack of attention toward us.”
Beatrice slumped back against her chair, a perplexed look upon her face. She looked at Emily, her eyes suddenly narrowing as if she’d just seen something extraordinary. She leaned slowly toward her as she scrutinized every inch of her sister’s face. “Oh my,” she finally gasped. Emily averted her gaze with a growing degree of shyness, the sudden sensation of being under a microscope making her extremely uncomfortable.
“What?” Claire asked, noticing the look on Beatrice’s face. “What is it, Bea?”
“You’re in love with him,” Beatrice stated, much in the same way that she would have done if she’d just solved a mathematical equation. “You’re in love with Francis, the very man whom you’ve done nothing but complain about for the past ten years or more.”
A heavy silence filled the room. Emily could feel the weight of it confining her to her chair. She had no idea what to say. In truth, she hadn’t known that she loved him—really loved him—until that very moment. Her sister’s words somehow confirmed what she hadn’t yet had the courage to acknowledge. “I believe I am,” she finally sighed. “Oh my God, I’m in love with Francis Riley.” Without further warning, she burst out laughing. She was completely incapable of containing herself. How utterly wonderful. “This is probably the last thing I had ever expected to happen,” she giggled. Before she knew it, Beatrice and Claire had joined in until the whole room was filled with the sound of their laughter.
“Emily,” Beatrice said, her voice suddenly serious. “Do you know if he feels the same way toward you?”
Emily’s laughter subsided immediately at that question. It was the one thing that she had no desire to think about. Trust Beatrice to force her to confront it right there in the middle of her breakfast. Letting out a long sigh, she shook her head. “He desires me,” she told them plainly.
Claire looked as though she might choke on her scone at that remark, whilst Beatrice appeared on the verge of collapse. “Emily,” she managed to say with some degree of haranguing.
“Don’t you dare lecture me on propriety right now, Bea,” Emily said as she shot Beatrice an admonishing look. She could see Claire freeze out of the corner of her eye. “You are my sisters and I want to share all of my thoughts and feelings with you without constantly having to worry about being judged by you.” She bit down on her lower lip as her eyes softened into an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Bea, but we’re too often too afraid of stating things plainly because it’s ‘just not done.’ Well, to hell with that!” she exclaimed, as both of her sisters’ jaws dropped like flytraps. “I don’t think Francis loves me. I do, however, know that he respects me. I know that he enjoys spending time with me and I know that he yearns to have me in his bed.”
“He told you this?” Beatrice asked, dumbfounded.
“He did indeed.”
“Well, I certainly have newfound respect for the man,” Claire muttered. “I wish someone would tell me something like that.”
“Watch yourself, Claire,” Beatrice scolded. “It’s bad enough that Emily has taken to blatant honesty—however, I’d still like to remind you that you’re a lady and that there are certain things that ladies simply do not discuss.”
“I would never dream of saying such things in public, Bea,” Emily said. “But like I said, you’re my sisters. Who else would I say such things to?”
“Your confessor?” Claire ventured with a chuckle.
“Perhaps I would if I were Catholic,” Emily agreed with a grin. “And be given a thousand Hail Marys to absolve me from my sinful thoughts.”
“Ah, so Francis is not the only one thinking of sojourning in bed.” Claire’s voice was cheeky to a fault, her implication undeniable as she arched an eyebrow and challenged Emily for the truth.
“I must admit that there is nowhere I would rather be,” Emily acknowledged with a dreamy gaze.
“Even if he doesn’t love you?” Beatrice asked in shock. “And when on earth did you become so candid, Emily?”
Emily met her sister with a happy smile. “I don’t know. I’ve felt a change come over me for the past few months . . . something just had me feeling so tired of all the presence, and I must admit that it’s really quite liberating. And then with this whole thing with Adrian—I’ve just had enough.” She paused for a moment to sip her tea. “So yes, Bea, even if he doesn’t love me. Don’t you see that everything else—his eagerness to share my company, his genuine respect for me, and his ardent desire that’s forever in his eyes, all of that—is more than enough for me to be eternally happy? And perhaps in time, he will love me as our relationship grows.”
Beatrice nodded thoughtfully. “I believe you’re right, Emily. I believe you would be happy. But I must ask . . . why do you assume to know his heart? How do you know that he doesn’t love you already? After all, he’s known you for years—since you were children, in fact.”
“There’s something in his past, Bea,” Emily said with a hint of concern. “I’ve still to discover what it is, but whatever it is, it’s something that has consumed him to such a degree that there’s been no room for love or happiness of any kind. Since coming to London, however, I’ve witnessed a gradual change in him. I’ve seen him smile and laugh for the first time since I can’t remember when. So perhaps in time, the darkness will pass, and he’ll let love in again. Until then, however, everything else will have to suffice—and it shall, for they are just as valid elements in a relationship as love. In fact, they are the building blocks upon which love might have a chance to grow.”
Reaching for the envelope that lay beside her plate, Emily eyed the elegant script of her name, written on the front of it. She opened it carefully and pulled out a letter. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. It appears that I’m about to be late for an appointment.”
“With whom?” Beatrice asked as her eyes followed Emily to the door.
“With Kate. She says that she would like to talk.” Emily registered the apprehension in Beatrice’s eyes. “I have no quarrel with her, you know—she and Adrian love each other, they’re happy together, and the feelings that I had for Adrian are nothing compared to what I now feel for Francis.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that she hurt you beyond compare. Even if you’re no longer suffering, she paid no heed to your feelings at the time. Talk to her if you must, Emily, but don’t allow her to reclaim the position she once held in your heart by giving you an apology or an attempt at an explanation—she’s not worthy of it.”
“I know, Bea. I’ll be back soon. Will you be here?”
“Jonath— Mr. Rosedale,” Beatrice quickly corrected herself, “will be taking us to pick up our calling cards from the printers any minute now.”
“I had completely forgotten about that,” Emily said as she bit down on her bottom lip. “Would you mind picking mine up, too?”
“Of course not. In any case, we should be back in a couple of hours or so.”
Emily decided to ignore her sister’s use of Mr. Rosedale’s Christian name. There would be plenty of time for her to ask questions about that later. Right now, she was running very late. “Very well, then, I will see you later.”
By the time Emily crossed Piccadilly and entered Green Park, a faint drizzle had started up. She opened up her parasol and headed toward the tall and slender figure that stood sheltered beneath a large oak. “I was beginning to think that you wouldn’t come,” Kate said as she walked toward her.
“I’m sorry, but I only just received your letter this morning. How are you, Kate?” Reaching out her hand, she linked her arm with Kate’s as they began to stroll down the Queen’s Walk.
“I’m well,” Kate told her, “though I do miss our friendship terribly. I’m so sorry for the way in which both Adrian and I treated you. It was most unkind and inconsiderate of us. I think we were both so caught up in our own happiness that we completely forgot about everything else. I’m truly sorry.”
“You hurt me very badly, Kate,” Emily agreed. “But I’m so much better now— and stronger, I think—because of it. Coming to London has done me a world of good—I can see why you love it so.”
“Have you been to the theatre yet?”
“No, not yet, but Francis took me to see Vauxhall Gardens yesterday and I must say, it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before in my life. It was wonderful.”
“I believe that you and Francis have spent quite a lot of time in each other’s company lately. Am I right?”
“I find myself enjoying his company more and more, Kate. I’ve spent so many years disliking him, yet now that I’m taking the time to talk to him, to get to know him again, I can’t help but be drawn to him. In fact, he’s largely to blame for my speedy recovery following my heartbreak over Adrian.”
“So you’ve taken a fancy to him?”
Emily paused for a moment. “No, Kate, I’ve fallen in love with him.” Kate spun around to face her friend, a look of grave concern upon her face. “What is it, Kate?” Emily laughed nervously. “Why the worrisome frown?”
“I’d hoped it hadn’t come to this,” Kate said. “Oh God, Emily, that I should be the one to break your heart twice is really more than I can bear.” Her eyes welled until tears dampened her rosy cheeks.
“Good grief, Kate, whatever is the matter?” Emily asked in trepidation as fear ran coldly down her back.
“I’ve heard a lot of talk lately,” Kate said, “about Francis. First at Lady Cunningham’s garden party the other day, and then again yesterday when I was out to tea with some friends of mine.”
“What kind of talk?” Emily asked with a growing sense of alarm.
“Emily, Francis has a mistress,” Kate told her seriously.
Emily froze for a moment, then burst out laughing while Kate looked on in shock. “Are you serious, Kate? I’m sure there must be some mistake. Francis just isn’t the sort of man to entertain a mistress. In fact it’s completely preposterous.”
“Apparently it’s quite a well-known fact amongst the ton, Emily. So well-known, in fact, that I’m quite surprised we didn’t hear of it sooner.”
“Do you have some proof, Kate? Some form of evidence that might convince me? Because to be quite fair, I’m not particularly inclined to believe such a rumor—and it is a rumor, is it not? Or have you actually seen the woman?”
Kate didn’t respond; she merely looked at Emily until her unspoken answer sank in. “Oh God,” Emily muttered. “Where did you see her?”