Page 40 of A Game of Hearts

“I will not break,” she told her reflection firmly. “I am my father’s daughter. I will show them all that proper behaviour can mask anything. Even this.”

But in the privacy of her own heart, she knew that nothing would ever be the same. Growing affection, love, as she had hoped it to be, it seemed, was not enough to overcome a lifetime of rigid rules and quick judgment. The hardest part was knowing that despite everything, her heart was already so deeply engaged - even now, even knowing that he would always choose propriety over trust, she still yearned for him.

Emma pressed a cool cloth to her eyes, the practical action steadying her slightly. Years of training in proper behaviour provided a framework - she knew exactly what steps to take to make herself presentable again. Each small task could be a barrier between her broken heart and the world’s observation.

A tap at the door made her start.

“Come in, Susan.”

Her maid entered, took one look at her face, and moved immediately to the washstand.

“The water’s quite cold, Miss. Just the thing for... for refreshing oneself before the tableaux.”

Emma felt a rush of gratitude for this tactful pretence that nothing was wrong.

“Thank you. Though I fear I’ve crushed my dress rather badly.”

“Nothing that can’t be put right.” Susan’s deft hands smoothed the silver-grey silk, carefully avoiding any questioning of how it had become so crushed. “Though perhaps... that is, the blue silk might be more suitable for the tableaux? It brings out such a lovely colour in your eyes.”

The blue silk. Which she had chosen this morning specifically because Nathaniel had admired it once.

“No.” Her voice emerged sounding harsh, and rather sharp. “The grey will do very well.”

“Yes, Miss.” Susan’s hands were gentle as she helped Emma repair her hair. “Though if you’ll permit me to say, you look quite pale. Perhaps a touch of rose water...”

“To hide that I’ve been crying?” Emma met her maid’s eyes in the mirror. “No, Susan. Let them see what they will. I have no reason to hide my distress - I am not the one who should feel shame for what happened in the library.” The words made her sound stronger than she felt, but speaking them helped. She had done nothing wrong. If Lord Limnwood chose to believe the worst of her without evidence, that was his shame to bear, not hers. “Besides,” she managed a small smile at Susan’s concerned expression, “a pale complexion will suit Juliet. She was, after all, about to face her own tragedy.”

“Oh Miss.” Susan’s hands stilled on her hair. “Surely it’s not as bad as all that? When this morning...”

“This morning is gone.” Emma squared her shoulders. “We must deal with what is, not what might have been.”

Yet even as she spoke, her fingers traced the crumpled note in her pocket. The evidence of what might have been, of happiness so briefly held before propriety and suspicion tore it away.

“There now.” Susan stepped back, surveying her work. “Your hair at least is perfectly proper again.”

Perfectly proper.

The words echoed with bitter irony.

She had never wanted to be perfectly proper - she had wanted to be loved.

To be trusted.

To be valued for herself, not for her adherence to society’s rules.

What a fool she had been.

“Thank you, Susan.” She rose, smoothing her skirts one final time. “I believe that I can manage now.” But as her maid turned to leave, Emma caught her arm. “Susan... thank you. For not asking. For just... helping.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears that Emma herself could no longer shed.

“That’s what we do, Miss. We help put things right again.”

If only, Emma thought as she waited for Susan to leave, everything could be put right so easily. But some breaks went too deep for simple repair.

She took a deep breath, then another.

She could do this.