She finished pinning her curls to the crown of her head, allowing herself the pleasure of a slightly more elaborate hairstyle than usual. It was softer than her typical knot, lending her face a more youthful appearance. And it was for herself that she styled it, to give herself the confidence she needed.
That, and for Owen, of course.
A smile curved her lips. Let the gossips say what they will. She and Owen were happy.
When she finally finished her toilette, she wished someone had remained behind to look at the back of her hair and inform her if there was anything out of place. But Cook had gone to the big house to help for the evening, and all of the servants were loaned to Buckley Place as well. The only person who had remained behind was Mrs. Bates, and she had walked over with Mrs. Buckley.
Emma twisted, hoping to see the back of her hair, but eventually gave up. She pulled a shawl over her shoulders and drew in a steadying breath. It was time to leave.
She was halfway down the stairs, her long silk gloves dangling from her hands, when a floorboard creaked near the front door that made her feet stop in their tracks. An icy feelingtrickled down her spine. “Mrs. Bates?” she called. “Did you remain behind?”
No reply met her ears.
Houses creaked. It was a common noise. Surely the foreboding feeling caused Emma to imagine worse things awaited her than the reality. It was likely the dogs.
Only…they were all sleeping in the kitchen, were they not? She took another step and heard the floor groan again, the clear sound of a foot on a floorboard.
“Who is there?” she asked. There was nothing in the corridor with which she could defend herself. If she darted into the parlor, she risked closing herself in. If she could make it to the front door?—
Just as Emma decided to hurry outside, a figure stepped from the servants’ corridor, blocking the doorway. Her stomach turned, as she immediately recognized both Simon Yardley and the glint of victory in his eyes.
Her feet skidded to a stop, anxiety running over her skin like hundreds of ants. Her fingers tightened around her long gloves, knuckles turning white. “Good evening, Mr. Yardley. You’ve just missed Mrs. Buckley. I’m afraid she’s already gone to the ball. Shall we walk over together?”
“No, I don’t think so.” His voice held a calmness that caused her alarm. “We won’t be going to the ball tonight.”
His confidence was worrisome. Emma feigned a degree of confusion. “What is it you need?”
His eyes remained fixed on her. “What an interesting question. I need a lot of things, you know. Money, for one. A wife to unlock my mother’s inheritance would be good. There are multiple ways you will be useful to me.”
Emma took a step back, fear driving a stake through her. “I can provide neither of those things.”
“Not the money directly, perhaps. But when my mother died, she left the most absurd direction in her will—something wedid not discover until recently. In order to receive the bulk of my inheritance, I must marry. Strange, is it not? I had been paying you special attention at first merely to keep Owen’s attention free so he might see my sister without being clouded by you, but when I realized I needed a wife, I decided you might help in both quarters. Marriage to you will bring in even more funds than I’d originally imagined.”
“I’m not interested, though I am flattered you would think of me.”
Simon took another step closer. “The thing is, Miss Darling, I am notasking.”
Her gut twisted at the dark look in his eyes. She turned, running for the parlor, aware of his footsteps close behind her. She dropped her gloves as she reached the fire poker and clasped the handle, swinging it around to face him, holding it with both hands.
Simon skidded to a stop, his hands going up. “This does not need to be difficult, Emma. We’ll both benefit from an arrangement.”
She cringed at his use of her given name but swallowed the sour taste it left in her mouth. “There is no reality where I agree to an arrangement with you, Mr. Yardley. Now, please leave.”
Simon lowered his hands. “You do not wish for your life back? To reside in Thornbrook Hall once again? You would be the mistress of your old home and have all of the luxuries that come with it.”
“No, thank you.”
His expression hardened. “Is there something wrong with my house, Emma? With me?”
Clearly, he was addlebrained. But she knew better than to take his bait.
“You cannot mean to imply you arehappyin this situation. You’re hardly better than a servant,” he spat.
Oh, how wrong he was. She used to believe that, but she waswrong as well. Mrs. Buckley had treated her like family, like the daughter she was never able to have, and Emma had been blessed to be in this house for the last nine years. But Simon, of all people, did not deserve to know these precious truths. “You will leave now,” she said through her teeth, waving the iron poker despite her trembling. “Or I will begin to scream.”
A hard expression fell over his eyes. “You think I did not consider that possibility? That I imagined you would walk willingly to my carriage and go off to Gretna Green without any coercion?”
Dread snaked through her. What had Simon planned?
