“She has nay use for lies,” Isobel said.
“She willnae be coddled or given special treatment.”
“She is to be yer wife. The whole purpose of all of this is to give her special treatment.”
“I see. I suppose we must start preparing for the journey to London.”
“Aye.” Isobel nodded. “The earlier we settle this matter, the better.”
Emma Huntington stood very still in her gown and felt the heaviness of the day settle on her. She recognized it the way she recognized a bruise before it showed.The grey skies did not exactly help either.
Something was about to go seriously wrong.
A maid was fussing over the line of pearls along her sleeve.
“You are lovely,” she said. “He will not know what to say.”
Emma smiled. At least she could still do that. “Thank you.”
The room was too neat; everything looked too ordered. Flowers in small bowls. Gloves folded on a chair. A veil that smelled of starch and roses.
Her breath was trapped in her chest and would not leave. She kept her hands at her sides and watched her reflection in the mirror.
Her bright red hair had been intricately braided and her ivory dress caught the light in the most delicate way and spread it back to all the corners of the room.
An older man in a dark grey coat stepped into the room, and she turned around.
“Father,” she greeted, her voice low.
Lord Repington ran his fingers over his moustache. It was his tell whenever he was trying not to cry, and Emma knew better than to point it out.
“Ye look…” he trailed off, swallowing.
She laughed. “Thank you, Father.”
Lord Repington nodded, the grey in his hair catching the light, before he raised his hands. “Ah, yes. I came to inform you about a slight delay.”
Emma blinked. “Delay?”
“Yes. The carriage will be right below in a moment. A small delay at the corner. A dray and a quarrel. These things happen.”
“Of course,” Emma said.
Lord Huntington stared at her, his eyes glistening slightly. “She would be proud of you, you know?”
The mention of her mother almost undid her. She swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice steady. “I hope she is.”
“I know she is,” he insisted.
Emma gave him a brief nod.
Lord Huntington did not linger after. He walked out of the room, almost in a hurry, so she would not see him cry.
Soon, Emma was left on her own, her heart still pounding like it would explode any moment now.
Another figure slipped into the room.It was her friend, Melody.
Melody’s eyes moved over Emma’s face and then to her hands. She took one and squeezed it. “I brought the handkerchief with the blue thread. For luck.”
