Page 39 of A Game of Hearts

“Simple, brother – if Miss Everton and I had been forced into a compromise, and therefore into a marriage, that would have left you unable to be matched with her, and in Lady Anne’s opinion, available for a match with Lady Anne herself. As I look at it now, I realise that this is all about Lady Anne wanting you for her husband, for the higher place in society that marrying you would give her. Miss Everton and I are unimportant to her – whatever happened to us doesn’t worry her at all, so long as it furthers her own desires. None of this is your fault, Nathaniel, although I confess that I would have been happier had you not been so fast to allow yourself to be deceived…”

Nathaniel closed his eyes against a surge of gratitude for his brother’s forgiveness. He didn’t deserve such understanding, yet James offered it freely, already moving past his own hurt to focus on the larger problem.

“The question,” Lady Agatha said firmly, though her eyes held compassion as she regarded Nathaniel’s obvious distress, “is what we intend to do about it. Lady Anne’s scheme must be exposed, and quickly, before the damage to Miss Everton’s reputation - and your own happiness, my Lord - becomes irreparable.”

The pragmatic tone helped steady him. Yes, he had been monumentally stupid, had let his fears override both love and trust, but wallowing in self-recrimination wouldn’t help Emma – or James, for that matter.

“But how?” He looked up, forcing himself to focus. “We can hardly simply announce to the assembled company that she forged notes and arranged a false compromise.”

“No.” James’ expression turned thoughtful, his tactical mind - so often hidden behind his easy manner - clearly at work. “But we might arrange for her to expose herself. This evening, at dinner perhaps?”

“yes – but before that,” Lady Agatha interjected, her voice gentling, “you have a tableau to perform with my niece. I suggest that you find some way to communicate your regret to her, Lord Limnwood. Emma has a generous heart, but it has been sorely tested today.”

The thought of facing Emma across a crowded room, of having to maintain proper polite social distance while his heart ached to beg her forgiveness, seemed an impossible task. Yet he had no choice. His own actions had created this situation - now he must find a way to fix it.

“Whatever it takes,” he said, his voice rough with determination, “I will make this right. With all of you.”

The words emerged as both promise and prayer. He would find a way to earn back Emma’s trust, to prove himself worthy of the love that he had so carelessly damaged. The alternative - losing her because of his own rigid fears - was unthinkable.

“Good.” Lady Agatha rose, and Nathaniel saw in her expression the same strength that he so admired in Emma. “Then let us plan exactly how to ensure that Lady Anne’s schemes rebound upon her own head. I believe that I have an idea...”

Her tone held both wisdom and a hint of steel that gave Nathaniel his first real hope since this nightmare began. Between Lady Agatha’s clever mind, James’ observation skills, and his own determination to make things right, surely they could find a way forward.

If only his heart would stop replaying the sound of Emma’s retreating footsteps, the memory of tears that she had refused to let fall.

*****

Emma’s hands trembled so badly that she could barely manage the door latch. The moment that it clicked shut behind her, her legs gave way. She slid down against the solid wood, her skirts pooling around her as the first sob tore free.

How had everything gone so terribly wrong?

This morning in the woods he had held her as if she were precious, had kissed her with such tenderness she’d dared to hope...

His grey eyes had been so warm, his smile so tender as he’d drawn her close, made her believe that perhaps he was beginning to truly see beyond mere proper behaviour to something deeper between them.

All of those hopes were shattered now.

The first hint of scandal had him believing the worst of her.

She pressed her hands against her mouth, trying to stifle the sounds of her sobbing. Even now, even here alone, the habits of proper behaviour ran deep. But oh, how it hurt. The cold accusation in his eyes, the rigid disapproval in his bearing - he hadn’t even asked for an explanation. Hadn’t trusted her character enough to question Lady Anne’s staged discovery – for it was very, very cleverly staged, she was now certain.

“You fool,” she whispered to herself, the words catching on another sob. “You utter fool, to think that his growing feelings for you might overcome his rigid propriety.”

She should have known better. Hadn’t he shown her from the start exactly who he was? Every moment of warmth had been followed by withdrawal into proper behaviour. Every spark of connection had been carefully guarded against possible observation.

Even their kiss in the garden during the treasure hunt... her fingers brushed her lips at the memory. Even then, his first response to discovery had been denial. She had forgiven that, understanding his wish to protect her reputation. But this...

Fresh tears spilled as she remembered his arctic tone. ‘What precisely should I think?’ The words echoed in her mind, cutting deeper with each repetition. He should have thought that she was worthy of trust. That their feelings for each other meant something more than mere proper form.

The worst part was knowing that they still had to face each other. The tableaux... dear heaven, she would have to play Juliet to his Romeo, to pretend love and trust while her heart lay shattered at his feet. A laugh that was more than half sob escaped her.

How appropriate that they should play those star-crossed lovers. Though in their case, it wasn’t warring families that stood between them, but Nathaniel’s own rigid nature.

She forced herself to rise on shaking legs, moving to her dressing table. The mirror showed her a ghost - pale face, red-rimmed eyes, and tear-stained cheeks. She would have to compose herself somehow, and find a way to face them all with dignity.

But first... first she needed these few moments to mourn what might have been. What she had thought they had.

Her fingers found the note he had sent just that morning, tucked into her dress pocket. ‘I trust you are recovered from this morning’s excitement,’ he had written, his careful phrases somehow conveying so much more than their surface meaning. She crumpled the paper, the physical action doing nothing to ease the tight band of pain around her heart.