Chapter One
“Is it too late to run?” her friend Margaret uttered in a half-whisper, half-laugh.
Emmeline’s breath caught before she could stop it. Her gaze stayed on her reflection as her maid worked through the last strands of her sandy blonde hair, lifting and pinning them with careful hands until the waves were gathered at the back of her head. The sunlight caught on her skin, warming the faint scatter of freckles across her cheeks, and made her honey-brown eyes look softer than usual.
But all she could see was the stillness in her own expression. It was too calm for a woman on her wedding day.
“Margaret,” Emmeline said so quietly it felt almost unnatural, “you promised not to ask me that again.”
“I promised I would not pester you,” Margaret corrected, stepping closer and smoothing a hand over the skirts of the gown. “This is… concern.”
Emmeline’s chin tilted slightly as the maid stepped back, her appearance now perfect. The gown fit her beautifully, the soft fabric hugging her curves before falling in elegant lines to the floor, delicate lace tracing her neckline and sleeves. It was exactly what a duke’s bride ought to wear.
And yet, as she looked at herself, she felt none of the triumph she had once imagined.
“Lady Emmeline,” the maid said gently, “you look lovely.”
Emmeline turned her head to offer the girl a small, polite smile. “Thank you, Anna.”
Margaret straightened, her hands lingering for a moment at Emmeline’s waist before she exhaled sharply. “Anna, would you be so kind as to give us a moment?”
The maid nodded and dipped into a quick curtsy. “Of course, my lady.”
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
“Now,” Margaret said, her voice dropping, “look at me.”
Emmeline did not want to.
There was something reckless in meeting Margaret’s eyes that threatened to undo the fragile steadiness she had spent weeks building.
Still, she turned, her gaze meeting Margaret’s bright green eyes. Margaret’s expression tightened at once.
“You are beautiful,” Margaret said softly, then sighed. “But you are not happy.”
For a moment, Emmeline simply stood there, her hands resting lightly against the fabric of her skirts.
“We have spoken of this,” she said at last, her voice quieter now, though it did not tremble. “Many times.”
“And I am not yet satisfied,” Margaret stepped closer, her tone sharpening. “You are about to marry a man you barely know and do not love. If there is even a part of you that does not wish for this, then you must not?—”
“I must,” Emmeline cut in, more firmly than she intended.
Margaret stilled.
Emmeline felt the crack beneath her composure.She swallowed, forcing her shoulders to remain straight, her chin lifted.
“I cannot humiliate my father,” she continued, slower now, each word chosen with care.
Margaret’s brows drew together. “Your father would rather you be happy than?—”
“I will be,” Emmeline said, and something tightened in her chest as she spoke. “If he is secure, if he no longer has to carry the weight he has borne since my mother?—”
She stopped, and the image of her mother’s soft smile rose before she could push it away. It pressed against Emmeline’s chest so suddenly that her breath faltered.
Margaret’s expression softened, but she did not yield. “You believe your happiness is so easily exchanged, Emmeline? That it may be bartered for comfort?”
Emmeline let out a quiet breath, pushing the memory away.
