Eloisa squeezed her eyes tightly closed. ‘I am so sorry, Emily. I have heard it suggested, but anyone who knows you and loves you like Ido, knows it to be false. And I do not care what foul Mrs Winstone or anyone else says, you are worth ten Frederick Dashworths. You are funny and friendly and dashed beautiful.’
Emily blinked; tears were pricking the back of her eyes, but she was determined they would not fall. With every word she spoke, Eloisa, her dearest, truest friend, was making it worse. She confirmed what Emily already knew; she was not good enough to be the wife of Frederick Dashworth. She may not have lain with him before her marriage, but she had put herself in his way, forcing his hand. If she had not been in the Dashworth garden that day, then he would not have had to marry her.
‘Please, Emily.’ Eloisa took her hands in hers once more. ‘Do not be upset. I cannot bear it. You have made a fabulous marriage and the two of you are going to be so happy, I just know it. I have known that Freddie… oh drat it all to hell.’ Whatever Eloisa had been about to tell her about Freddie was lost in that expletive.
‘What is it?’
‘Thatman is coming and there is nothing I can do about it. I have promised him a dance and I must go through with it, despite the fact that he is utterly despicable.’
Emily had never seen Eloisa so incensed. ‘Which man?’
‘Lord Falcon.’
Before Emily could question Eloisa on why dancing with the lord was so objectional, and, more importantly, ask Eloisa to finish explaining what she had always known about Freddie, Eloisa’s dancing partner arrived.
‘Promise me, you will wait here?’ Eloisa said, while the pleasant-looking lord waited. ‘We still have much to discuss.’ She glared at her partner, but he did not release her from their dance, even though he must have heard Eloisa’s words.
‘I will,’ agreed Emily.
The opening bars to the next dance began and Eloisa tsked in annoyance before allowing herself to be swept away.
Emily’s vow to stay where she was immediately proved impossible. People jostled her from every side, each movement setting off another wave of nauseating perfume until it felt as if her insides were swirling. She was close to abandoning her vow and finding a secluded corner when a voice reached her.
‘I cannot understand why he married her.’ Emily froze. No names had been mentioned, but she was as certain as she could be that these unknown voices were discussing her and Freddie.
‘I agree; she’s such a drab little thing, always hiding in corners, and he is such a handsome man, so clever with his words.’ Yes, definitely Freddie.
‘I hear he has her in the family way.’
‘No!’ The shocked but gleeful gasps burned Emily’s skin and yet she couldn’t force herself away, not even after hearing the horrible words about herself.
‘Indeed. Mrs Winstone says she called on the family this morning and that the countess is already eating for two.’
Emily’s corset was shrinking, moulding to her body, making it hard for her to pull in enough air. One of the voices laughed. ‘Why am I not surprised? A woman who looks almost indistinguishable from a twig can only get a man one of two ways and Frederick Dashworth has no need of a large dowry.’
Both women laughed at that, the noise like discordant church bells. The jarring sound snapped Emily out of her trance-like stance and she pushed away from the dance floor. Her breathing was erratic as she shoved her way towards the ballroom door, heedless this time on whether she trampled on anyone or not.
She had only arrived a few moments earlier, but she was not going to stay. She could not. She’d known that she was not the right matchfor Freddie, that she had taken his freedom from him when she married him, but it seemed like everyone else knew it too. Dizziness added to the nausea and she knew she had to leave, that she could not stay in the ballroom while everyone talked about her, that she had to get home and lie down and probably cry. She wanted Freddie, wanted him to put his arms around her and tell her that everything was all going to be fine, but she also didn’t want to take him away from his friends, to show him that on their very first evening together as a married couple she could not cope without him by her side.
Out of the ballroom, in the slightly less crowded corridor, the nausea swirled in her stomach. A woman she barely recognised shot her a knowing look and Emily knew she had to get away, not just from the ballroom but from the evening. If she was sick, she would only confirm what everyone thought to be true. Even when no baby arrived in eight months, she would always be known as the woman who had trapped Frederick Dashworth into her bed and into a marriage. So she did what any self-respecting woman would do in these circumstances; she fled.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Freddie stood in the hallway outside his wife’s bedroom, his hands behind his back. The door was firmly closed and had been since he’d arrived back from the ball yesterday evening. He had even sunk so low as to try the door, but it had been locked against him and he was not a brute who would force his way into his wife’s room.
The fear he had experienced when he realised she was no longer in the ballroom last night… he shook his head, remembering how his knees had weakened and his heart had crashed around his ribcage. He’d thought someone had taken her from him, but when he’d spoken to a servant, they had informed him that his wife had left a message to say she had returned home, no explanation given. He’d run back to Glanmore House, not bothering to wait for the carriage to be brought round because those few minutes it would have taken would have been a few too many. He’d raced up the stairs, barely even stopping after he’d stumbled to his knees.
Anna, her maid, had met him at his wife’s door. She’d told him that Emily was back but asleep. She had also offered no explanation for Emily’s strange behaviour. He’d waited until Anna had gone before knocking gently on their connecting doors. He couldn’t believe that Emily was in there but not willing to have him sleep beside her. They had not been parted since their wedding day.
There had been no reply.
He’d crawled into his own bed, the sheets cold beneath his skin. Even though it was summer, he’d not been able to get warm, no matter how much he tossed and turned. He must have slept because he’d dreamed of Miss Dunn and locked bedrooms, but by the time the house was stirring he had been lying on his back staring at the ceiling for hours.
She had not emerged from her room to collect Lotte and she had made no appearance at breakfast. He’d managed to choke down a few bites of toast, but from the sympathetic looks Edward and Christopher had shot him when they thought he wasn’t looking, he had not fooled anyone.
‘No joy?’ murmured Edward, coming to stand next to him; they both contemplated the shut door for a moment.
Freddie shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
