“No. Not for any of those reasons, but for you, Juliet. Do you suppose I’ll pursue my own happiness at your expense?” Emmeline gripped Juliet’s hand, desperate to make her understand how terrible it was to be caught in the ton’s web without any hope of escape, how like being a helpless fly at the mercy of a spider it was.
How lonely it was.
The thought of her lovely, bright sister humiliated by the ton and sent back to Hambleden Manor with a devastating scandal attached to her name made bile rise in Emmeline’s throat.
Not this time. Not Juliet.
“No, Emmeline.” Tears stood in Juliet’s eyes even as they blazed with defiance. “This is nonsense. I won’t allow you to sacrifice your happiness for me.”
“What happens to you, Juliet, once I seize my happiness? You won’t be able to set foot in London without fearing the ton’s scorn! Every time you walk down a street, you’ll hear them whispering about you behind your back! No. I won’t have it. A marriage between you and Lord Melrose will silence the wagging tongues, and it’s the only thing that will.”
“Am I to have any say in which lady I marry, Emmeline?” Johnathan demanded, his calmness deserting him. “Or have you made the decision for all of us?”
“I can only make the decision for myself, my lord, and so I have. I—I must refuse you, my lord. I can’t become your countess.”
Johnathan was staring at her like a man who was struggling to keep his head above water, only to realize the undertow was going to take him, regardless. “This is madness, Emmeline. You must see that!”
Emmeline tried to smile as she reached out to press her palm to Johnathan’s cheek. “It’s for the best. I’d make a dreadful countess, whereas Juliet was born to—”
Without warning, Johnathan’s hand snaked out, grabbing her wrist. “Do you truly think it’s that simple, Emmeline? That I can exchange one sister for the other, and go on as if I haven’t lost the lady I love?”
“Johnathan—” Emmeline whispered, stricken.
“No.” Johnathan’s eyes were a dark, stormy blue, glittering with anger and despair. “What happens when the ton realizes Lady Christine and Lord Cudworth are lying, that you’re the Lady in Lavender, and not Juliet? Because they will, Emmeline. The truth always finds a way to make itself known.”
Emmeline had no answer for that. She knew only that with every word from his mouth her resistance was crumbling. If she remained in this room, soon enough she’d give him everything he asked for, everything she had.
Gently, she withdrew her wrist from his grasp. “I beg I may be excused, my lady.”
Lady Fosberry hesitated, but then gave a weary nod. “We’ve all had a bit of a shock. I think it’s best if we resume this discussion tomorrow, when cooler heads prevail. Go up to your bedchamber, Emmeline. Lord Melrose, I invite you to call on us tomorrow morning. Perhaps we can persuade Emmeline to see reason then.”
Emmeline said nothing, but by the time Johnathan arrived tomorrow, she’d be gone. As long as she remained here, he’d never reconcile himself to a marriage with Juliet.
Johnathan exhaled in a quick, sharp breath, but after a long look at Emmeline, he took up his hat, and offered them all a stiff bow. “Until tomorrow, then.”
There wouldn’t be a tomorrow. She’d return to Buckinghamshire as soon as the sun rose, and she’d go alone. Lady Fosberry wouldn’t like it—she’d attempt to talk Emmeline out of it—but when she realized it was useless, she’d let her go.
Emmeline waited until she heard the sound of Johnathan’s carriage in the drive, then she dragged herself upstairs, more exhausted than she could ever remember being in her life before.
The Hambleden Glory hadn’t yet bloomed, and she’d never found the damask rose she needed to complete her father’s perfume. Hadn’t that been all that mattered to her, once? Now she was leaving London as empty-handed as she’d arrived.
No, more so, because she was leaving her heart behind.
Chapter
Thirteen
Johnathan had slept very ill last night. Each time he closed his eyes he imagined the ton as they’d been last night at the theater, the avid, greedy expressions on their faces, their mouths spewing one lie after the next.
The first lie had come straight from the lips of Lady Christine and Lord Cudworth—that it had been Juliet Templeton fleeing the library the night of Lady Fosberry’s ball, her violet silk gown askew—but the ton had carried on from there, whispering that Juliet Templeton’s dark hair was just as Cudworth had described it, and that really, it was a wonder they hadn’t guessed it themselves, given her mother’s reputation.
Whispering that Juliet Templeton was the Lady in Lavender.
For a single, suspended pulse of his heart, Johnathan had even believed it himself, but then it had crashed into its next throbbing beat, sending a hot surge of blood into his veins, and his heart had known it for the lie it was.
Only one lady had ever found her way inside those hallowed chambers, and it wasn’t Juliet Templeton.
It was Emmeline. Emmeline, with her gray-blue eyes and soil-streaked pinafores, Emmeline, with that abominable silly lace cap, her rose petals and perfumes, and that mind of hers, as sharp as those wicked thorns on blasted Baronet Hume’s Blush Tea-Scented China roses.
