Alexander’s calm expression didn’t waver, though he looked at her with unmistakable sadness. “If you take it that way, perhaps it is. But one thing I can promise you, Emma—you will not be marrying the Duke. Not if I have any say in it.”
“Thank you,” Emma said and looked away, unable to bear his gaze. Her throat tightened as she struggled to regain control over her emotions. She couldn’t stand here and listen to lectures—not now, not after everything she’d already endured.
Without a word, she turned and left the room, her steps quickening as she headed toward the door. She knew precisely where she needed to be: at the orphanage, with people who needed her, people she could help without interference or scrutiny.
CHAPTER 10
Emma
Emma’s carriage rolled up the narrow, cobbled street, finally halting before the modest, weatherworn building that housed the orphanage.
A fortnight had passed since the events at the church, and Emma’s life had become a turmoil. Ophelia refused to speak to her, and she had given up her attempts at calling on her.
Emma’s name, which had been reported only by initial at first, had been spread around thetonand a myriad of stories were now attached to it and the reasons for her interference were speciation on.
Some said she secretly loved the duke; others claimed an old rivalry with Ophelia. Others simply dismissed her as someone who was so bitter over her failure to secure a husband she couldnot stand to see another lady happy. No matter the story, she came away as the villain in each one.
Even in her own home she felt like the villain. The servants even looked at her with pity and her lady’s maid Brigitte had been none too helpful for she reported daily how Ophelia was doing – thanks to information gathered from her cousin, Ophelia’s maid. She meant to be helpful but of course, it did not help Emma to hear how miserable Ophelia was and how angry her parents were.
Her siblings had been gracious, especially her sisters, but it was clear they too judged her.
And so, for the past two weeks, the only place she’d found real solace was at the orphanage.
Thus, seeing the large building before her filled her with a sense of calm. To anyone else, it might seem a grim structure, with its cracked stone walls and creaking, iron-barred windows, but to Emma, it was a haven. Inside, the children’s laughter and the warmth of their spirits turned the drafty rooms into a place of genuine light.
Every corner of the orphanage held something of Emma’s presence: the books she’d donated, the shelves stacked with paints and paper, the simple but bright curtains she’d sewn to soften the windows’ austere appearance. She stepped inside, greeted by the familiar smell of soap and the faint sweetness of baked bread. There, in a small corner of the main room, a fewlittle girls sat huddled together, their faces lighting up at her entrance.
“Lady Emma!” they chorused, their hands waving enthusiastically.
She smiled, walking over with a small book tucked under her arm. “I brought a new story for you all,” she said, her voice softening.
The girls gasped and hurriedly found their places on a worn but well-loved rug, staring at her with eager, sparkling eyes. Emma took her usual seat, perched on an old wooden chair, and opened the book she’d prepared. It was a tale she’d written herself—an adaptation of the famousGoody Two-Shoes, but with a twist.
In Emma’s version, the heroine was a spirited, strong-minded girl who defied the expectations set upon her, embracing adventure and courage over conventional propriety. Her young audience listened with rapt attention, laughing at the girl’s daring deeds, gasping at her misfortunes, and cheering as she triumphed over the scorn of those around her. Emma’s own heart lifted as she read; for a brief moment, she felt a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder of why she’d dedicated herself to these children.
Just as she was reaching the story’s hopeful ending, Sister Beatrice, the orphanage’s head nun, appeared in the doorway. Sister Beatrice was a tall woman, dignified and composed, her grey habit pristine, her expression gentle but firm. She waitedpatiently for Emma to finish the story before beckoning her to step aside.
“Lady Emma, might I have a word?” Sister Beatrice’s voice was calm, but there was a heaviness in her tone that Emma couldn’t ignore.
Leaving the children to excitedly discuss the story’s ending, Emma rose and followed Sister Beatrice down a narrow corridor, where the sounds of laughter faded, replaced by the quiet creaks of the old building. They entered a small sitting room, furnished with little more than a well-worn desk and two chairs by the window. The light from outside cast long shadows on the floor, adding a somber note to the space.
Sister Beatrice turned to face her, her hands clasped together. “Lady Emma, you know how dearly we appreciate all you have done for the orphanage,” she began, her voice laced with reluctance.
Emma nodded, sensing that something was wrong. “Of course, Sister. I can’t tell you how much being here means to me.”
The nun’s expression softened with sympathy, but her gaze was steady. “Which is why it pains me to tell you this, but… there have been recent concerns raised by some of our benefactors. Concerns about your presence here.”
Emma blinked, her heart sinking. “Concerns? About me?”
Sister Beatrice took a breath, as if bracing herself. “It is not your character they question, dear, but your… recent association with scandal. You see, the stories in the papers—they speak of you as a ‘wedding crasher,’ a woman who has interfered in the affairs of a duke. Rumors like these, whether grounded or not, have a way of influencing people’s views, especially those of a more traditional mindset.”
Emma felt her stomach drop. She could see where this was heading but couldn’t bring herself to believe it. “But I… I did nothing wrong. I only spoke out of concern for a friend. Surely people will see that.”
Sister Beatrice’s eyes were kind, but her expression remained grave. “Perhaps in time, they will. But right now, the orphanage’s reputation is vulnerable. Our benefactors’ support is essential, and some have already expressed their discomfort with your presence. They fear that your continued involvement might cast a shadow over our work… and, by extension, over the children.”
The words struck Emma like a blow. “The children?” Her voice wavered. “They would let rumors affect their view ofchildrenin need?”
The nun reached out, placing a gentle hand on Emma’s arm. “Unfortunately, yes. People’s views can be… narrow. And while their hearts may still be kind, they often judge situations without fully understanding them. They may cease their donations if they feel the orphanage has become… embroiled in matters unbecoming.”
