She couldn’t.
“Isabella,” she managed.
Oliver rolled to his feet, finding his breeches and awkwardly tugging them back on. “That again?” There was disgust in his voice. “How many times must I bring up her selfishness for you to believe it? She never loved me, and while she may love you, let me tell you now, she would not sacrifice herself for you if the positions were reversed.” His eyes were hard now, no sign of gold or green in their brown depths. “You are denying yourself for a sister who does not respect you enough to do the same.”
“And what would you know about my relationship with my sister?”
“I know enough.” He snapped his jaw together. “You know she never once mentioned bringing you with us when we married. Every time we spoke of the future, she mentioned her visions for herself. I assumed we would bring you, given your situation, but she did not once ask me.”
Emily stared at him, stunned. It felt as though he had reached a hand inside her chest, taken hold of her lungs, and squeezed. The pressure was so intense, she couldn’t move.
Nothing suggested he was lying—even now he groaned and strode across the room, dragging his hand through his hair in such visible frustration, she almost pitied him. Almost. The ache in her heart was too great for much else.
“She will have wanted me to accompany you,” she said, her lips numb, tasting the words as she said them and praying she could find truth there. Surely she could find truth there.Isabella loved her. Yes, she could be young and headstrong and impetuous—as were all girls her age—but shelovedher.
“Perhaps,” Oliver said. “But listen to me. If I told her that leaving you behind was my condition for marrying you, I have no doubt in my mind that she would have agreed.” He came back to kneel before her the way he had done more than once, taking her hand in his and smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. Almost a week of no work, and they were slowly beginning to heal. “Do not,” he said quietly, “sacrifice your happiness for her sake.”
“My happiness?” Emily choked on a laugh, but there was no humour in the sound. “How can you be so sure that we will make each other happy? Real life is not as idyllic as you imagine. You think you want me now, but what of tomorrow? What of next week when you encounter a prettier girl? You are only three-and-twenty, and—”
“Do not assume I am incapable of knowing my own mind. Do you think me so fickle?”
“Yes,” she said, ripping her hand from his and also standing. Where were her clothes? “I think you are eager for acceptance and a place in the world, and you think that I can provide that, but it is out of the question.” She snatched her chemise from the floor. “I can’t stay.”
“Where will you go?” He stared at her, something bleak in his eyes.
“To Dalston.”
“Now? In the dark?”
“Yes, in the dark. I was a fool to agree to stay.”
He picked up his shirt with one arm and painstakingly wiggled into it. “Fine. Then allow me to escort you.”
“No.”
“I won’t come inside,” he said impatiently. “I’ll see you to the front door and leave you there, never seeing you again if you wish.” His words were bitter, and she wondered if he hadintended them to be. “But I cannot in good conscience let you make the journey alone.”
“I am perfectly capable of handling things alone,” she said, wrestling with her dress. Her hands shook, and she forced them to steady. This would not break her. If he had not asked for marriage, they could have parted amicably. Now there would be this frustration standing in the way.
Her head pounded. Tiredness, that was all. Once she returned home and found Isabella safe, she could repair any damage her absence had caused, and everything would go back to how it had been.
Isabella would forgive her in time. They would be happy.
“Let me do this one last thing for you,” he said.
“I should never have come here.” Her voice broke, and she pretended it didn’t. “Why did you have to go and ruin everything?”
He gave her a soft, sad smile. “I think you know why.” Finally dressed, if approximately, he came to stand before her, looking every inch the gentleman and nothing like the man she had ravished just minutes earlier. “Wait for me in the taproom,” he said. “I’ll hire us a carriage.”
Then he was gone, and she was at liberty to sit helplessly on the bed, press her hands against her face, and give way to tears.
Oliver could not have proposedmorebadly. There was no way he could have made a worse go of it.
Not that he didn’t think marrying her was an excellent idea, but he could have chosen a better occasion for announcing it to her. Any other time would have been better than the tender,vulnerable, naked moment directly in the aftermath of strictly unwed debauchery.
He scowled as he stomped through the inn, informing the hassled innkeeper that they would not be staying and that he required a carriage with immediate effect. Then he scowled some more when he stepped outside to find it was raining once again. The snow had all but turned to slush. Soon, it would flood. There was already mud everywhere.
And, of course, it was dark. Already.
