“I am on the arm of a duke, Emily. I shall not be scrutinized like before.”
“Margaret, you need to think clearly. You may be on a duke’s arm, but you are not a duchess yet. You may never be one either, and any damage that you cause while you believe otherwise will affect us. You need to remember that.”
“I am aware.”
“Then do not behave as though you are secure.”
“I am secure.”
“How so? You do not have a proposal, nor a wedding band on your finger.”
“I have his word.”
“And if you believe a man at his word, then you are a fool.”
Margaret felt the sting of that more than she expected. She looked out of the window briefly, gathering herself.
“He is already taking… liberties with you. You may think it is a thrill now, but if he falters, you will not be the only one affected. He is a man, so he can run from the trouble he causes. You can not. We can not.”
“I know. I understand.”
“Do you?”
Silence filled the carriage. The rhythm of the wheels steadied as they approached their household’s entrance.
The carriage came to a stop, and Margaret stepped down first. The air had cooled since the rain. She did not look back at the carriage as she entered the house, but Emily’s words lingered. She had to remember her place.
Margaret paused in the hallway, determined to speak with her sister in private, but Emily did not wait. She moved straight toward the staircase, her back rigid, gloves still damp in her hand.
“Emily,” she called.
There was no answer. Margaret handed her shawl to the maid without looking away from her sister’s retreating figure.
“Emily.”
This time her voice carried. Emily paused halfway up the stairs but did not turn.
“What happened?” Margaret asked.
“Nothing.”
“That is untrue.”
When no answer came once again, Margaret climbed after her. They reached the landing at the same moment, and Emily moved toward her room, but Margaret caught her wrist gently before she could disappear inside.
“Tell me.”
Emily pulled free, not violently, but with purpose.
“Do you honestly wish to know?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Emily turned fully now, composure cracking at the edges.
“They were discussing Papa.”
Margaret stilled.
