Emily didn’t have the energy to reply in kind. All her words had dried into nothing. There was just a hard ball of emotion in her chest, wrapped up so tightly she hardly knew what it was.
Finally, Isabella sniffled and looked at Emily. “Are you happy now?” she demanded in a whisper. “Now you have stolen both my chances of happiness from me?”
The ball of emotion splintered, releasing pity and anger in equal measure. “Is that what you think happened? That Marlbury was a chance of happiness?”
“Iwashappy with him. Besides, I saw you.” Isabella raised an accusatory hand and pointed it at Oliver. “I saw you get into his carriage. How can you argue that you weren’t trying to steal my chance of happiness?”
“Because I thought he was trying to arrange an assignation with you,” Emily snapped. “And I wanted to confront him somewhere private. With this.” She held up the pistol.
“Now that I can confirm,” Oliver said. “She threatened me with it once we reached Gretna Green.”
“I felt so dreadful when I realised Mr Beaumont intended marriage—after my experience with Lord Marlbury, I came to expect the worst.” She softened her voice. “I am sorry you were hurt. And about . . .”
Isabella hugged the cloak tighter around herself. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
They would have to at some point, but now wasn’t the time. Isabella would need time to lick her metaphorical wounds; even if she didn’t love Marlbury, she had still believed he would marry her, and that disappointment would be hard to overcome.
Eynsham House, by the time they arrived, was alive with lights and bustling servants. Emily wrapped an arm around Isabella’s shoulders as she hurried inside, trying to shield her from any prying eyes.
Louisa was there to greet them in the vast hallway, the picture of reliability and calm. Emily felt the last of her jangled nerves ease at the sight. They had done it. Isabella was safe; Marlbury would suffer at least a little for the consequences of his actions, and she had Oliver.
He loved her. He still wanted to marry her even after all this.
Some part of her would always be afraid, she imagined. Both of losing him and of losing herself, but when she had seen Marlbury raise his hand against Oliver, she had known with sickening clarity that she would suffer just as much if she lost him now, when there was nothing but emotion between them, than she would if she was his wife.
If all they would ever have were a few years, she would rather spend them together and brave the rest of her life without him than start now, mourning his loss without any of the joy being with him would bring.
“This is my sister,” Emily said. “Miss Isabella.”
Louisa smiled kindly at her. “I’m Lady Eynsham, Mr Beaumont’s sister-in-law. Welcome to my home.” She glanced at Oliver and tutted. “You do always seem to be in the wars, Oliver. Are you much hurt?”
“Just a scratch,” Oliver said cheerfully. Considering all they had been through, he seemed in remarkably good spirits. “Where’s Henry?”
“Out, but if you wait for him in the library, I’ll make sure Branson sends him to you.”
“Excellent.” Oliver touched Emily’s hand. “I’ll find you when I’m done,” he said, his eyes holding a promise that set her heart on fire. Then he strode away, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Come with me,” Louisa said, beckoning Emily and Isabella upstairs. “I have a room made up for each of you. Miss Isabella, today has probably been a shock. I recommend you eat up and sleep.”
“I will—” Isabella pressed her lips together, but her eyes brimmed with tears. “All my gowns are with Lord Marlbury.”
“Then we will have to find you some new ones,” Louisa said, her pace almost a stride. “That shouldn’t be too much of a trial, I think. We are in London, after all.”
“Then what?” Isabella asked in a small voice.
“My husband has some relations in the country; you may live with them for a year or so until this nonsense has died down and you’ve got some sense in your head.” Louisa paused by a door, glancing over her shoulder at Isabella. “And then, if you can prove that you have enough common sense to warrant it, I will sponsor a Season or two in London so you might have an opportunity to find a real husband.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Henrydidnotarrivehome for almost another hour. After changing and cleaning the cut on his cheek, Oliver sat in the library and plotted how he might approach the subject with his brother.
If he was to marry Emily, he would need to request Henry’s help as he’d said he would do all that time ago. But the prospect of confessing that he had always struggled with the most basic of intellectual abilities—reading and writing—felt pathetic.
But he’d had enough of hiding.
Despite his resolution, when Henry strode in, Oliver’s nerves had been wound so tight that he turned around and blurted, “I’m going to marry her.”
Henry paused in the middle of the room, shock wiping the tiredness from his face. “Is that so?”
