So strange to realise it, but it was neverherstudio, it would always be only his.
Mr Winters’s studio, his house, and his signature at the bottom of every painting.
Emmaline was a ghost in her own home, her only purpose was to support her father, be a good daughter, and play by the rules dictated to her by someone else.
For a brief moment, she had thought there might be a chance for her to take the reigns of her life and make a choice for her happiness, but she had been wrong.
Such a fool. Hope was a dangerous thing indeed.
Now, Emmaline was resigning herself to return to the path that had been laid out for her. Work in her father’s name, lookafter him in his dotage, preserve his legacy and live out the rest of her life as an old maid when he was gone.
Emmaline wanted to cry. But alas, no tears would come. They had all been spent that night she had learned of Benedict’s betrayal.
Honora had come to the house asking to talk, but Emmaline had declined to see her. It was too painful since there could be no relationship between them now. Emmaline had simply sent down a note politely asking for the paintings to be returned to her father’s house.
Another eternal minute passed, and Honora decided she would take herself to the kitchen for a cup of tea.
She walked out of the studio and came to a halt, there was some kind of commotion happening downstairs.
Curious, since nothing unusual ever happened in this house, Emmaline moved towards the noise, coming to a halt in the entrance hall as she observed a veritable army of people carrying vases of flowers in the door and through to the parlour.
She stared in surprise as a variety of roses, lilies, hothouse flowers, posies, sweet wildflowers and everything in between marched before her eyes.
Shocked and alarmed, Emmaline hurried into the parlour in search of her father, blinking in shock as she discovered every available surface, and even some parts of the floor covered in a living blanket of blooms.
Perturbed now, wandering vaguely if her father was smothered under a particularly large arrangement of hothouse flowers, Emmaline waded through the jungle towards the window where she peeked through the curtains looking for the source of the commotion.
A carriage was parked outside, two others behind it, and with a sinking feeling, Emmaline recognised the sigil on the door.
It was the Seton crest. Of course, she should have known. Only the nobility would be so extravagant.
Just at that moment, her father walked into the room, hurrying over when he spied her at the window.
“Lord Seton is here to see you,” he muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose and sniffing in distaste. “Will you see him? I do not know what has happened, but if you are here and not with him, it must have been something unforgivable.”
“Why would you say that?” asked Emmaline in amazement.
Her father had not made a single comment when she arrived home from the Windham residence and locked herself in her room. She had not thought he cared.
Mr Winters looked at his daughter and drew himself up, giving her his most serious look. “You are the best daughter, the most sensible and caring young woman a father could ever wish for. If you have put Seton behind you, there must be a reason. I know no one more loyal than you, my Emmaline.”
Emmaline stood there in disbelief.
It was perhaps the only words of sentiment her father had ever uttered to her since her mother passed all those years ago.
“I see I have surprised you,” Mr Winters said, pursing his lips and slipping his glasses from his nose to clean them awkwardly on his handkerchief. “I know I am not one for words, but I will support you in whatever choice you make.”
“Thank you, Father,” said Emmaline with a small sniff, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his grizzled cheek.
She lifted her chin and straightened her skirts as she determined to see this through.
“I will see him.”
“Very well,” said Mr Winters, and he walked from the room, nodding curtly to someone on the other side of the door.
Benedict walked in, and for a long moment they simply stared at each other, then he placed his hand to his chest and bowed as if she was some elegant lady.
Pffft.Emmaline squashed the urge to roll her eyes.
