The grand carriage pulled up to Ashbourne House, its polished crest glinting in the fading sunlight. Harrison, seated inside with his mother Violet, his sister Beatrice, and the determined Clara, looked out the window as the familiar estate came into view. It had been a year since his father's passing, and though his new title as Viscount felt weighty, returning to Mayfair carried a bittersweet comfort.
Beatrice broke the silence, leaning toward her brother with an eager smile. "Do you think Emma will be here to welcome us?" she asked brightly.
Harrison's chest tightened at the mention of her name. His voice remained steady as he replied, "I'm sure she will be." Yet in his heart, he hoped for more than her polite presence—he longed to see her, to speak with her, and perhaps, to find out if the connection they had shared all those years ago still lingered.
Clara, seated across from them, adjusted her hat, her sharp eyes catching the subtle change in Harrison's expression. She had no doubt who Emma was, though she had never met her. The stories of Lady Emma Hastings, with her striking beauty and poised grace, had reached even the farthest circles of society. Clara's lips pursed slightly. A rival indeed.
As they descended from the carriage, the household staff moved swiftly to greet them. Inside the house, Eleanor and Emma who has arrived earlier, patiently waiting for their arrival in the Ashbourne mansion. Emma's gown, a soft shade of green, complemented her warm brown skin, which seemed to glow in the evening light. Her presence commanded attention, and even the staff paused briefly to admire her as she walked through the hall.
"Will they be here soon?" Emma asked, her voice calm, though her pulse quickened.
"They should be arriving any moment," Eleanor replied, her gaze softening as she looked at her daughter.
Before long, the grand doors opened, and the Ashbourne party entered. Beatrice rushed forward first, her delighted voice carrying through the hall. "Emma!"
Emma's face lit up, and she moved gracefully toward her closest friend. "Beatrice," she said warmly, embracing her. "It's so good to see you again."
Clara entered next, her gaze instantly drawn to Emma. The stories hadn't done her justice. Emma was stunning, with a kind of effortless beauty that Clara found deeply unsettling. She was neither dark nor fair but carried a rich, golden-brown complexion that seemed to capture the light. Clara's admiration quickly turned into unease.
Harrison entered last, his steps faltering slightly as his eyes met Emma's. It had been a year since they had last seen each other, and she seemed even more breathtaking than he remembered. He inclined his head, his voice quiet but steady. "Lady Emma."
"Lord Ashbourne," she replied with a slight curtsey, her own emotions carefully concealed.
Eleanor, ever the gracious friend, stepped forward to greet Violet, exchanging pleasantries before ushering everyone toward the drawing room. Emma lingered behind, her eyes briefly meeting Harrison's once more before she turned to follow.
Throughout the evening, Clara hovered near Harrison, her attempts to capture his attention growing increasingly bold. Yet Harrison's focus remained divided between the polite demands of his guests and the quiet presence of Emma, who seemed to command the room without effort.
As the group settled, Beatrice leaned toward Emma, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "You've been the talk of Mayfair, you know. Every eligible gentleman is counting down the days to your debut. Every newspaper talks about you, even in London."
Emma gave a soft laugh, brushing off the comment. "I'm sure they'll find other distractions soon enough."
"Hardly," Beatrice replied. "You'll outshine them all."
Meanwhile, Clara, seated beside Violet, leaned closer to Harrison. "I can only imagine how difficult it must be to take on such a title at your age," she said sympathetically.
Harrison nodded, though his response was distracted. "It has its challenges, certainly."
Clara's eyes narrowed slightly, her frustration growing as she noticed his gaze drifting toward Emma once again.
As the evening wore on, Alfred and Thomas returned from the estate, their entrance marked by the lively conversation only Thomas could bring. At fourteen, he had grown into a spirited young man, eager to prove himself under Alfred's tutelage.
The gathering continued with subtle undercurrents of tension and unspoken emotions. Clara's growing jealousy, Harrison's quiet longing, and Emma's composed but guarded demeanor hinted at the storms to come.
The evening had grown quiet as the last of the servants discreetly departed, leaving the Ashbourne and Hastings families in the grand drawing room. There were no guests this evening—only family. The air was thick with unspoken words, and each moment seemed to carry the weight of years gone by. Harrison, now Viscount Ashbourne, couldn't help but steal glances at Emma, who, with her quiet grace, seemed to command the room. He had longed for this moment—yet now that it was here, he was unsure how to bridge the gap that had grown between them over the past year.
The year since Edmund's passing had been a heavy one for Harrison. He had inherited his father's title and responsibilities, finding himself thrust into a world that had previously been distant to him. Every step he took had been measured, every decision more weighty than the last. But none of those burdens had dulled his thoughts of Emma.
It had been a year since they had last seen each other, and Emma had only grown more radiant in that time. But her beauty was not the sole reason for his longing. He could sense a shift in the air when she entered a room—a quiet elegance, an unspoken grace that seemed to draw all attention. And yet, Harrison could feel there was more beneath the surface. Emma had spent eight years in England, adapting to a life that was far from the one she had once known. She was no longer the girl he had known, but neither was she someone else entirely. She was Emma, and yet, she wasn't.
As the evening wore on, the guests—Alfred, Violet, and Beatrice—conversed nearby, while Emma and Harrison found themselves alone for the first time since his return. Emma had always been surrounded by people, even when she had first arrived in England, but this night, it seemed that fate had given them this fleeting moment.
"Lady Emma," Harrison said softly, his voice holding a quiet intensity.
She turned to face him, her heart skipping a beat at the familiar tone. "Lord Ashbourne," she replied, her smile polite but distant.
Harrison stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "It's been a long time," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of emotions.
"It has," she replied. "A lot has changed."
"I know," he said, his eyes searching hers, as if trying to understand what was different between them. "I've missed our conversations."
Her breath caught at his words, and for a moment, the walls she had built around herself threatened to crumble. "And I've missed them too," she said quietly. But the words didn't feel like the truth. There was something more, something unspoken between them that she wasn't ready to face.
Just as the tension thickened, Clara, ever the opportunist, entered the room, her gaze flickering between Harrison and Emma. Her voice was smooth but calculated as she addressed Harrison. "Lord Ashbourne, I wanted to speak with you about the upcoming ball."
But before Clara could take another step forward, Beatrice, who had been standing nearby, moved in quickly. "I think Emma and Harrison would like a moment alone," she said, her voice light and teasing. "Why don't you and I go find Mother? I'm sure she'll be looking for us."
Clara hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly. But with a forced smile, she stepped back and excused herself, though her gaze lingered on Harrison and Emma, sharp with unspoken intentions.
With Clara gone, Emma turned back to Harrison, her heart racing. "It's been a long time," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I know," he replied softly, his gaze intense. "I don't want to lose touch with you again, Emma."
Her breath faltered at the sincerity in his words. She had never been able to dismiss the connection they shared, even after all these years. "I've changed, Harrison," she said quietly. "The years here have... changed me."
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out almost instinctively. "You're still the same," he said, his voice filled with the kind of certainty that made her heart ache. "I see you. The Emma I've always known."
For a moment, it was as if the world around them disappeared. But just as quickly, doubt crept in. Could she truly let herself fall back into something so fragile, knowing the complexities of their lives now? She was no longer just Emma—the girl he had once known—but a woman caught between duty and desire.
Before she could voice her thoughts, a familiar voice broke through the silence. "Ah, there you are," Thomas said, his cheerful tone cutting through the heavy atmosphere. He had returned with Alfred, his mischievous grin lighting up his face. "I was wondering where everyone had gone."
Harrison smiled at Emma's younger brother, grateful for the distraction. "We've been catching up," he replied, though his gaze never strayed far from Emma.
"Well, it's about time," Thomas continued. "The ball is coming soon, and Mayfair is already buzzing about my sister's debut. Everyone is talking about it." Thomas said, leaving Emma and Harrison alone once again.
At the mention of her debut, Emma's stomach twisted. The expectations were already high, and she hadn't even taken her first step into society yet. What did it all mean? She wasn't sure anymore.
"Emma, I need to tell you something," Harrison said being awfully uncertain.
"I, I..... Emma!, Beatrice voice came out of nowhere, I need to speak to you." yanking her away from Harrison.
As the fire crackled softly in the drawing room, Emma and Beatrice remained seated, their earlier laughter giving way to a quieter, more reflective mood. Beatrice leaned back against the plush cushions, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames.
"You know, Emma," she began, her voice steady, "I don't think this world suits me. All the balls, the suitors, the endless talk of marriage—it feels so... suffocating."
Emma turned to her, surprised. "But you've always seemed so at ease in this life."
Beatrice smiled faintly, a wistfulness in her expression. "That's because I've learned to play the part. But deep down, I want more. I want to write stories that inspire people, travel to places that most women never dare to dream of. I don't want my life to be defined by which man I marry or how well I host dinner parties."
Emma's heart swelled with admiration. Beatrice had always been bold, but this was a side of her that felt even more courageous. "Bea, that's... incredible. You should do all those things. The world needs someone like you to shake it up."
Beatrice chuckled, though her eyes softened. "It's not that simple, Em. Expectations are chains, and even I'm not free of them. Mother delayed my debut, but she hasn't given up on the idea of marrying me off to some well-connected lord." She paused, her tone turning playful. "Maybe I'll fake an interest in one of your suitors, just to stir things up."
Emma laughed, the sound lightening the mood. "You'd outshine me if you tried. But truthfully, Bea..." Her voice faltered for a moment before she continued. "I don't want to marry just anyone. I can't imagine looking for a suitor when the person I love is already standing in front of me."
Beatrice's eyes widened slightly, and she reached out to clasp Emma's hand. "You mean... Harrison?"
Emma nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've loved him for years. But it's hopeless, isn't it? He doesn't see me that way."
Beatrice hesitated, her brows furrowing. "Emma, I need to tell you something. It's not that he doesn't see you that way—far from it. But there's a complication."
Emma's stomach twisted at the tone of her friend's voice. "What do you mean?"
Beatrice paused, her gaze flickering with a sense of urgency, before she whispered, "Harrison has been promised to Clara."