“Something feels a little wrong, Emmeline,” Rose said as the two of them walked uncertainly into the great drawing room of Ashton House.
“I must admit, I do feel a little uneasy.” Emmeline finally admitted that something was wrong. “Mrs Lennox is ordinarily very much more talkative. Really, I felt like a little-known acquaintance as we made our entrance.” Emmeline was whispering.
“Yes, as did I. Mrs Lennox, I thought, seemed greatly disquieted. Uncomfortable, even.”
“My mouth is a little dry, Rose.”
“Then let us get some fruit punch and find somewhere to sit.” Rose took her sister’s arm again.
As they made their way into the room, Emmeline looked all around her for any sign of Clara. When she did finally set eyes on her, she felt greatly relieved and had been about to make her way over with her sister when something in Clara’s countenance stopped her.
Clara was standing with her mother and father, and the three of them were in seemingly deep conversation with Christopher, no less. Emmeline had smiled to see them all together and had been about to take a step in their direction when Clara had looked at her with an expression she had never seen on her face before. It was a mixture of fear and a certain amount of guilt. But why on earth should Clara look at her so guiltily? And yet, the look was so pronounced that Emmeline knew she had not for one moment imagined it. It was very real, and there was no mistaking it.
“Emmeline?” Rose said quietly.
“Shall we get that fruit punch?” Emmeline felt sick, and yet she did not know why.
“But Clara and Christopher are over there?”
“I know.”
“I wish I knew what was happening.” Rose sounded upset and afraid. “I wish I knew why it was that Clara regarded you so.”
“Then you saw it yourself?” Emmeline said and began to feel as upset as Rose sounded.
“Yes, I did. And I saw Christopher’s look also.”
“I did not see it, and he stands now with his back to me. Really, I almost dare not risk crossing the room for I am not sure of our welcome. But what on earth can I have done wrong? Really, Rose, I do not understand. If it would not cause such embarrassment, I would take your hand and lead you out of here now. I would give anything to be in the carriage and on our way back to Tarlton as we speak.”
“And can we not do that, Emmeline?”
“I fear we cannot. Surely everybody here expects that I would be in the company of Clara and Christopher at this time. For us to leave now would cause all manner of comment.”
“I am not sure I very much care about the comments, Sister. I have the greatest feeling that we should leave and leave now.”
At that moment, the musicians began to play, and all present in the room looked towards the area where the violinist stood. They immediately drew approving glances from all around and, on any other day, Emmeline would have enjoyed how skilfully they played.
However, Emmeline felt too afraid and on edge to be able to relax for long enough to listen. Instead, she looked around the room to see if there was anybody else with whom she and her sister could stand for a while. Even though neither Clara nor Christopher had strictly forbidden her their company, still she knew she could not go up to them. Something was terribly amiss, and she knew it would not be improved by walking across the great drawing room and asking what it was.
She studied Clara and her family out of the corner of her eye and could see that the three of them were still in a deep and determined conversation, despite the music. And what was more, Christopher seemed very much a part of that conversation as if all of them in that group had some secret, a secret which Emmeline would be denied.
As she watched them, Emmeline could not help thinking how things had changed since her father died. All the things she had been afraid to look at for fear that they would grow under her gaze, seemed to be crowding in on the edges of her brain. But surely now was no time to look at them, after all, she was hardly in private.
Of all things, Clara’s determined dismissal of her seemed peculiarly frightening. They had been the closest of friends since they had been girls, and the idea that Clara could turn her back on her for any reason was quite unthinkable. But surely something had been coming these last weeks, something that Emmeline had determinedly ignored. She thought of how Clara had asked her again and again how sure she was that Christopher truly had any intention to marry her. As she tried to swallow her fruit punch, Emmeline wondered why she had not asked her friend about it before.
For her entire courtship with Christopher, Clara had never once questioned her on his intentions. Surely the two women had discussed it and even talked of the future that Emmeline and Christopher would have. And yet, in those last weeks, Emmeline wondered if her friend had not, in fact, been trying to convince her that her courtship was not a serious one. She had even suggested that Emmeline might turn her attention elsewhere in the search for a husband. And if Emmeline had not been as determined to look away from Clara’s curious behaviour as she had been to look away from whatever it was which troubled her when she thought of Christopher, then she might have seen that something was amiss.
“Emmeline, I want to go. Please, let us go now whilst the musicians are playing,” Rose said, and Emmeline thought she could see fear in her sister’s eyes.
“Rose, whatever is the matter?” Emmeline said pointlessly, knowing that whatever it was she felt it as greatly as her sister did.
“I do not like it. I want to go.”
“I am afraid we must stay,” Emmeline said, almost as if she was resigned to her fate. Whatever that fate might be.
Emmeline straightened up, standing taller than she had done in her life. She knew that something was coming, and it would be something unavoidable. Whatever it was, however bad it was, she would weather it with her head held high.
She continued to look around the room, deciding that she would look in the direction of Christopher and Clara no longer. Her eyes fell upon the dark and brooding figure of the Earl of Addison. Hunter Bentley stood entirely apart from everybody else, his black hair and close-cut beard seeming to convey his mood exactly. She did not know the Earl of Addison well, but knew of him and had been introduced before. And yet, despite her lack of true knowledge of the man, she felt at that moment as if they were somehow connected. But why?