Emma stood frozen, her gaze fixed on Beatrice, who shifted uneasily under the weight of her silence. The words hung in the air like a suffocating mist: "Harrison is promised to Clara."
Promised. The word was a knife that twisted with each echo.
Beatrice hesitated, reaching for Emma's hand. "I—I thought you should know before you..."
Emma pulled her hand away, her face carefully blank. "Before I what, Beatrice? Embarrass myself by thinking there was something more between us?"
"No, Emma! That's not what I meant." Beatrice's voice trembled, but Emma's mind was elsewhere, drowning in memories of stolen glances and unspoken words.
"Does he love her?" Emma's voice was steady, but her chest burned with the effort to keep it so.
Beatrice's hesitation spoke volumes. "I... don't know," she admitted. "But our families have been discussing it for even before father died. It's what's expected of him."
Expected. Duty. Always duty.
Emma nodded, her movements sharp and mechanical. "Thank you for telling me, Beatrice. I'll keep that in mind."
Before Beatrice could reply, Emma turned on her heel and left the room.
Emma's footsteps echoed in the marble hallway as she made her way to the library, her sanctuary. She pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside, the scent of aged paper and leather-bound volumes wrapping around her like a protective shield.
She sank into the nearest chair, her composure cracking. Her hands trembled as she stared at the empty fireplace, the flames in her heart extinguished. How could he? How could Harrison let this happen?
A knock startled her, and before she could respond, the door creaked open. Harrison stepped in, his presence filling the room.
"Emma."
She didn't turn. "You shouldn't be here."
"Please, just listen to me," he said, his voice low and urgent.
"Why?" She finally looked at him, her eyes flashing. "So you can tell me how much Clara means to you? How perfect she is for you?"
Harrison's brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. "I had no say in this. My family—"
"Your family," Emma interrupted, her voice rising. "It's always about your family, isn't it? And what about you, Harrison? What do you want?"
"I want..." He faltered, his hand raking through his hair. "I want you to understand that I never asked for this. That I—"
"Enough," Emma snapped, rising to her feet. "Don't say things you don't mean. Don't pretend that you can't change this if you truly wanted to."
Harrison stepped closer, his voice raw. "Do you think I don't care? That this isn't tearing me apart?"
"Then do something about it!" Emma's voice cracked, her composure slipping. "Fight for what you want, Harrison. Or don't, and let Clara have you. But don't stand here and expect me to wait for scraps of affection while you fulfill your 'duties.'"
Harrison's eyes darkened with frustration, but before he could respond, Emma brushed past him, her gown sweeping against his legs.
At the door, she paused, her back to him. "If you've truly made your choice, Harrison, then so have I. And I choose not to be second to anyone."
The door closed behind her, leaving Harrison alone in the silent library. He stared at the empty space she left behind, his heart heavier than ever.
Emma walked briskly through the corridors of the Ashbourne mansion, her chest tight and her vision blurred with unshed tears. She needed to get away—far from Beatrice's words, far from her own spiraling thoughts.
At the far end of the drawing room, Eleanor sat with Violet, their soft voices blending with the clinking of china as they discussed Emma's upcoming debut. Eleanor glanced up just in time to see Emma's retreating figure.
"Is she all right?" Violet asked, noticing Eleanor's distracted expression.
Eleanor frowned. "She looked pale earlier. I'll check on her. Excuse me."
Rising, Eleanor smoothed her gown and exited the room. She caught sight of Emma speaking hurriedly to a footman near the entrance hall.
"Emma?" Eleanor's calm, steady voice made Emma freeze mid-sentence. Slowly, she turned to face her mother.
"Mother, I—I'm feeling unwell," Emma stammered. "I thought it best to return home."
Eleanor's sharp eyes searched Emma's face. "Unwell? Or upset?"
Emma opened her mouth to deny it, but before she could, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Beatrice appeared, her cheeks flushed and her expression frantic.
"There you are, Emma!" Beatrice exclaimed, reaching out to grab Emma's hand. "Why did you run off like that?"
Eleanor's gaze darted between the two young women. "What is going on?"
"Nothing," Emma said quickly, trying to pull her hand free. "I was just—"
"It's not nothing," Beatrice interrupted, her voice rising slightly. "You're upset because of what I told you, aren't you?"
Emma's face turned crimson. "Beatrice, please—"
"What did you tell her?" Eleanor asked sharply, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Beatrice faltered, realizing too late that she might have overstepped. "I just... I may have mentioned that Clara—"
"Beatrice!" Emma hissed, her tone pleading.
"—that Clara is likely to be Harrison's future wife," Beatrice finished quickly, avoiding Eleanor's piercing gaze.
Eleanor frowned, her gaze narrowing. "So?
Beatrice hesitated, glancing nervously at Emma. Before father passed, he promised Clara to Harrison. Clara's not just saying it—she knows it's what was agreed upon."
Eleanor's brow furrowed. "violet hasn't mentioned anything about this to me. But why would that bother you, Emma?"
Emma opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her thoughts raced, searching for an explanation that wouldn't reveal too much. Finally, she said, "It doesn't bother me. I just... I didn't expect it."
Eleanor studied her closely, her expression softening. "My dear, you shouldn't let this trouble you. Harrison's future is his own, and Clara's ambitions do not dictate his life. Whatever promises were made, they're not binding if Harrison doesn't wish them to be."
Emma nodded, but her voice remained faint. "Of course. You're right."
Eleanor turned to Beatrice, her tone more gentle. "Beatrice, perhaps it's best not to bring this up again. Clara's claims are no concern of ours."
Beatrice bit her lip but nodded reluctantly. "Yes, of course."
Eleanor gave Emma a reassuring pat on the arm before retreating back to the drawing room, leaving the two young women alone.
As soon as Eleanor was out of sight, Emma turned on Beatrice, her voice sharp but trembling. "Why did you say that in front of her?"
"I didn't mean to," Beatrice said quickly. "It just slipped out. But you can't let this get to you, Emma. Clara doesn't belong with Harrison, and we both know it."
Emma shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't matter. He's promised to her. That's all that matters."
"No, it's not," Beatrice said firmly, moving closer. "Harrison would never marry Clara if his heart wasn't in it. And I know his heart isn't with her."
Emma froze, her breath catching. "Beatrice, please stop."
Beatrice hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. But don't give up on him. Not yet."
Before Emma could respond, the sound of footsteps approaching made both women tense.
"Beatrice?" Harrison's voice called from the hallway.
Beatrice glanced at Emma one last time before stepping out to intercept her brother, leaving Emma alone with her swirling emotions.
Emma sat stiffly in the carriage, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as the horses began their steady trot back to the Hastings estate. Her mind churned, replaying Beatrice's words and the weight of the truth they carried. Clara was promised to Harrison. It was a fact she couldn't ignore, no matter how much she wished otherwise.
The familiar scenery of Mayfair blurred past the window, but Emma saw none of it. All she could think about was how much her heart ached. Harrison was a man of honor. He would fulfill his father's wishes, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness.
And what of her? What place did she have in his life now?
The carriage came to a halt, jolting Emma from her thoughts. She stepped out, her composure barely intact, as a footman greeted her. Inside the estate, the air was quiet. Eleanor, Alfred, and Thomas were still at the Ashbourne mansion. For once, the house felt too large, too empty.
Emma made her way to her chambers, seeking refuge from the storm of emotions raging within her. She barely noticed Gwendolen, her lady's maid, entering the room behind her until the maid's soft voice broke the silence.
"Are you unwell, my lady?" Gwendolen asked, concern lacing her tone as she set down a tray of tea.
Emma hesitated before nodding. "Just tired, Gwendolen . It's been a long day."
But Gwen wasn't convinced. She had served Emma long enough to recognize the weight of her silences. Quietly, she poured a cup of tea and placed it on the small table by the window. "Rest, my lady. Whatever troubles you, the answers will come in time."
Emma managed a faint smile but said nothing. As Gwen left, Emma's gaze drifted out the window, toward the horizon. Answers? The only answer she could see was one where she had to let go of what her heart truly wanted.
At the Ashbourne Mansion
Meanwhile, Eleanor returned to the drawing room, where Alfred and Thomas had joined Violet for tea. The laughter that greeted her was a stark contrast to the unease she felt after her conversation with Emma.
"Where's Emma?" Alfred asked, glancing up from his cup.
"She returned home," Eleanor replied, her voice thoughtful.
"Home? Why?" Thomas asked, frowning.
"She claimed she wasn't feeling well," Eleanor said, sitting down beside Alfred. "But I think there's more to it than that."
Violet arched an elegant brow. "More? What do you mean?"
"I can't quite place it, but something has unsettled her," Eleanor said. "Beatrice mentioned Clara's name, and it seemed to trouble Emma greatly. But I can't imagine why."
Alfred chuckled, oblivious to the undercurrents. "Probably tired of Clara's theatrics. That girl thrives on attention."
Thomas snickered, earning a warning glance from Violet.
"I don't think it's just Clara's behavior," Eleanor said slowly. "Emma has never let such things bother her before. This feels... different."
In another part of the mansion, Harrison cornered Beatrice as she exited the sitting room. His expression was calm, but his eyes held a quiet intensity.
"What did you say to Emma?" he asked, his voice low.
Beatrice stiffened. "I only told her the truth. About Clara."
Harrison's jaw tightened. "You had no right."
"She deserved to know," Beatrice shot back, folding her arms. "Do you think she wouldn't hear it from someone else? Clara's been making sure everyone knows."
"That's exactly why I didn't want Emma involved," Harrison said, his voice rising slightly. "She shouldn't have to deal with this."
"She's already involved, Harrison," Beatrice said, her tone softening. "You care about her, and she cares about you. Don't pretend otherwise."
Harrison looked away, his shoulders tense. "It doesn't matter. father made his wishes clear. I won't go against them."
Beatrice sighed, frustration evident in her expression. "Maybe you should stop thinking about what Father wanted and start thinking about what you want."
Harrison didn't respond, his thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions.
Later that evening, Eleanor returned home to find Emma unusually subdued. During dinner, Emma barely spoke, her usual spark dimmed. Alfred and Thomas, too engrossed in recounting their misadventures at the Ashbourne stables, didn't notice.
But Eleanor did.
After dinner, Eleanor sought Emma out in the library. She found her seated by the fire, a book open in her lap but untouched.
"Emma," Eleanor began gently, sitting beside her. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"
Emma hesitated, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "It's nothing, Eleanor. Truly."
"Don't lie to me, my dear," Eleanor said softly. "I've known you long enough to see when something is weighing on you."
Emma's hands tightened on the book. "It's just... difficult, sometimes, finding my place."
Eleanor frowned. "Your place? Emma, you are part of this family. You've made your place here."
Emma forced a smile, but her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil. "Thank you, Mother. I just need some time."
Eleanor studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. "Take all the time you need. But remember, you're not alone."
As Eleanor left, Emma let out a shaky breath. She wasn't alone, perhaps—but she felt more isolated than ever.