Chapter Six
Emma didn’t sleepall night. She simply stared into the familiar darkness, wondering what to do next. Because Cormac had been the one to win the auction, it had granted her a slight reprieve. But by refusing to marry him, she was doing nothing to help her family’s debts. The guilt settled its invisible weight across her shoulders, making her wonder what to do.
She’d spoken the truth when she’d said that she didn’t trust him. One moment he was at her side, causing all sorts of unexpected feelings—and the next, he disappeared with no word of explanation, only apologies.
It made her wonder why he wanted to marry her at all.
Was there a reason for his absences? She’d noticed pain edging his voice before, and last night it had sounded similar. Yet, he seemed unwilling to tell her the truth. He had simply accepted the blame with no explanation.
A knock sounded at the door, and when she called for the person to enter, a maid said, “Good morning, Miss Bartholomew. Would you like to have breakfast with Mrs. Harding in the dining room? Or would you rather have a tray in your room?”
The thought of spending the day in this room sobered her so she answered, “I’ll go downstairs, if you could help me dress.”
She chose a day dress that was a gentle shade of green, and once she was ready, the maid helped her brush and style her hair. Emma had no idea what was done to it, but she did feel better prepared to face the day and what lay ahead. She was afraid to imagine facing Lord Dunmeath again, but she’d been honest with him. How could she marry a man who was here one day and gone the next?
She walked down the stairs but soon realized that Mrs. Harding had already eaten and departed. Emma picked at her toast and eggs, feeling the restlessness rising within her. Papa was going to be held accountable for his debts, and she had to do something.
Guilt weighed upon her, for her stepmother had tried to help him. The auction, though humiliating, had been Lucy’s effort to solve their problems. But now Emma was unraveling all her efforts by refusing Lord Dunmeath.
She pushed her food aside, needing something to quiet her mind. She counted the steps toward the staircase and then made her way to the music room that connected to the ballroom. There was a pianoforte there, if she remembered correctly. Though it had been weeks since she’d played anything, it was just the sort of distraction she needed.
When she entered the room, she saw a large, blurred shape on the opposite end that turned out to be the pianoforte. She smiled, tracing the edges of the instrument. Then she took a seat, first removing her gloves before she found the familiar keys with her fingers.
Here, at least, no one noticed her blindness. She could play the keys and know that the sounds would rise and fall together in pure music. And so, she closed her eyes and gave in to the moment, playing a simple minuet that she’d learned as a child. It always took a long time for her to learn a song, for she could not read the music. But she could hear it, and over the years she had improved her ability to match what she heard.
As she played, she questioned whether she was being selfish in refusing Lord Dunmeath. He was the only man who had ever offered for her. She doubted she would find anyone else willing to marry her. Why then, did she keep pushing him away?
It was fear, she realized. Fear that if she said yes, she would be forced into an unfamiliar life for which she wasn’t ready. And she didn’t want to one day resent him for that or for his being an unreliable partner. Better to let him go.
Light footsteps entered the music room, and she heard Mrs. Harding say, “I understand that Lord Dunmeath won the auction last night.”
Emma stopped playing and let out a breath. She could hear the mild frustration in the headmistress’s voice. “His secretary did,” she corrected. “Lord Dunmeath didn’t arrive until after the auction was over.” She paused a moment and added, “I’m not going to marry the earl. I refused him.”
“May I ask why?” Mrs. Harding inquired gently. “Has he been cruel to you?”
“Not... exactly. Thoughtless, perhaps.”
The headmistress waited for her to continue, but Emma didn’t know what to say. Somehow telling Mrs. Harding that she couldn’t depend on the earl seemed wrong. And she could already read the matron’s judgment.
Lord Dunmeath wasn’t a cruel man. Forgetful, perhaps—and she sensed that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d let her down. But even more than that, she didn’t want to give herself false hopes that this could be a happy marriage. Even if he tried to become more trustworthy, there were her own faults to consider. She could never imagine becoming a countess.
Which meant that one day, he would come to resenther.And the thought hurt, for she could do nothing to restore her sight. If she dared to wed Lord Dunmeath, one day he would break her heart.
“Many men are thoughtless,” Mrs. Harding said at last. “And yet, hedidoffer to help your father.” The headmistress thought a moment longer and added, “But that isn’t the only reason you refused him, is it?”
Emma closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t do the things other wives can,” she confessed. “I would be expected to run his household, and I don’t know if I can manage that. I could marry a merchant or a knight—but not an earl.”
“You’re afraid,” Mrs. Harding deduced.
Emma nodded. “I would become a burden to him, and that’s not what I want. I’d rather marry someone who leads a quiet life, someone who has no expectations of me.”
She could bring nothing to this marriage. And it was far better to refuse him and remain in the wallflower life she’d always known than to reach for something she didn’t deserve. She would think of another way to help her father.
“Lord Dunmeath is waiting for you in the ballroom,” Mrs. Harding said. “With a marriage license, so I understand. And he told me he has already paid off your father’s debts.”
Emma went icy cold at the revelation. “He did what?”
“It seems he didn’t want to accept your refusal.”
