Ophelia gave a short, bitter laugh. “I don’t doubt that, but honestly, I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for you. If you hadn’t meddled, if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to ‘protect’ me, I would be the Duchess of Wells right now. I’d have the title, and I’d be free to settle in a cottage somewhere with the man I actually love.” Her voice softened with a note of sadness. “But that’s not my fate, thanks to you.”
Emma felt a stab of guilt that threatened to buckle her knees. She’d thought she was acting in Ophelia’s best interests, but nowshe could see, painfully, how wrong she’d been. Her voice was a whisper. “I thought I was helping…”
Ophelia cut her off. “Helping?” Her eyes flashed with hurt. “Do you even understand the consequences of what you’ve done? And who, may I ask, is making you marry Evan, anyway?” She watched Emma closely, her brows raised as if daring her to keep playing the victim.
Emma swallowed hard. “He is. Evan, the Duke of Wells. He told me himself that he’d ruin my name in front of all of London if I didn’t agree to marry him. And the very next day, the papers were full of scandalous stories about me.” Her voice dropped to a resentful whisper. “Clearly, he planted them.”
Ophelia let out a slow sigh, shaking her head. “Evan’s a hothead; he says whatever comes to mind when he’s angry. But he’s not a monster, Emma. He wouldn’t use the newspapers to trap you into marriage.” She studied Emma’s face with something between disappointment and exasperation. “Have you even spoken to him since the wedding? Since all this started?”
Emma shifted uncomfortably. “No. Not since… that day at the wedding. But why would I need to? The papers speak for themselves.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes, looking as though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Emma, do you really think this is all Evan’s doing? You wrote that letter, remember? You handed it to my father yourself. Of course, my family knows about it—they’ve been talking to anyone who will listen. And now theentire town likely knows.” She gave Emma a withering look. “But here you are, still blaming Evan. You’ve learned nothing.”
Emma felt her cheeks flush, guilt and shame twisting her insides, but before she could respond, Ophelia rose to her feet, her face set with a cold resolve.
“Ophelia, please,” Emma whispered, her voice thick with desperation. “Don’t go. I?—”
Ophelia held up a hand, silencing her. “Maybe this is what you truly deserve, Emma,” she said quietly, though her tone was laced with bitterness. “Maybe you deserve to marry Evan after all.”
She paused, her expression softening for a brief, painful moment as she looked at Emma. “Or maybe you don’t,” she added, almost to herself. “Because for all his faults—the philandering, the recklessness—Evan is a good man underneath it all. In some ways, I almost hope youdon’tmarry him, that you remain as miserable as I am now.”
With that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing softly as she disappeared down the dark path, leaving Emma standing alone in the park, the weight of her own actions crashing down on her as heavily as the night around her.
CHAPTER 12
Emma
The following morning, Emma remained secluded in her chambers, her heart heavy and her thoughts clouded with regret and humiliation. Shadows played across the walls, marking the slow passage of the morning hours, yet she felt as though time had stopped entirely. She could not face the world, nor the consequences of her own actions. Ophelia’s words echoed in her mind again and again and along with them the images they invoked of the future both she and her friend were now facing.
It wasn’t until later that morning when a soft knock sounded at her door. Startled from her dark reverie, she sat up in bed, barely managing to gather herself. To her surprise, her sister Arabella stepped in, her face lined with worry.
“Emma…” Arabella’s voice was gentle as she closed the door behind her. “Alexander sent for me. He’s dreadfully worriedabout you. As am I.” She took a seat on the edge of Emma’s bed, her hand resting gently on her sister’s arm. “And I heard what happened at the orphanage.”
Emma’s face fell further as she leaned her head back against the bed’s headboard. “It is worse than you know, Bella,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s more than the orphanage. I saw Ophelia last night. She...she despises me now.” She took a shuddering breath. “And she has every right to. Everyone was correct, after all. I should never have meddled in matters that weren’t mine to fix.”
Arabella’s eyes softened with sympathy, but she did not interrupt. She listened as Emma poured out the details, sparing nothing—she told her about Ophelia’s arrangement with the Duke of Wells, about Ophelia’s secret love, and how Emma’s interference had shattered everything. It all came spilling out, the twisted knot of her own mistakes unraveling before her sister.
“Ophelia had a future planned with the man she loves, Bella,” Emma whispered, her voice cracking. “And now, because of my actions, she has nothing. I ruined it all for her.”
Arabella absorbed her words, her expression one of pained understanding. “Emma, I’m not going to say, ‘I told you so,’ because that isn’t what you need. But…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I cannot help but wonder what has happened to you. You used to be the sensible one—the cautious, practical Emma, the one who always advised us to step back, to examine before acting.”
Emma looked away, biting her lip. “I don’t know either,” she admitted, the weight of the confession bearing down on her. “I barely recognize myself anymore. Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, it’s as if I’m seeing a stranger staring back. I suppose…” Her voice trailed off, but after a moment, she continued, “Maybe it’s all these changes. You and Hanna—you’re married now, while our father is…gone. I failed to secure a husband before Father’s imprisonment, and now, all those prospects are lost forever. I’m not who I used to be.”
Arabella’s hand tightened around Emma’s, her expression one of tender encouragement. “I understand, truly. But you must believe me, when I say that this shall pass. It feels insurmountable now, but in time, things will settle.”
Emma shook her head, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Every door seems closed to me. Ophelia won’t speak to me, my reputation is in tatters, and the orphanage—the one solace I had—no longer wishes me there.”
Arabella searched her sister’s face, sensing there was more, something deeper troubling her. “Emma,” she said softly, “what do you mean, every door is closed? Surely there are still options. Have you truly considered all of them?”
Emma’s gaze dropped to her lap, her voice barely a whisper. “There is…one option left to me,” she said, almost as if the words themselves were bitter on her tongue. “To marry the Duke of Wells.”
Arabella’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she was silent. “The Duke of Wells?” she repeated. “What on earth are you saying?”
Emma sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples as if trying to relieve the headache building there. “At the wedding… he told me I’d pay for interfering, that he’d ensure I’d suffer for my part in it. And then, suddenly, the newspapers were filled with sordid stories, details I can only imagine he arranged to see published. He made it clear that he meant to ruin me if I did not comply.”
Arabella’s expression softened, though she still looked concerned. “Emma, how can you be certain it was him? Gossip spreads, as you well know, and everyone at the wedding could have witnessed enough to piece things together.” She hesitated, a thoughtful look in her eye. “I’ve heard people talking, Emma. People knew you’d written the letter—Ophelia’s family spoke freely of it.”
“That is what Ophelia said as well,” Emma’s head fell back against the headboard, her eyes closing as she let out a long, frustrated sigh. “It hardly matters if the Duke himself is to blame or not. It’s already happened, and my reputation has suffered irreparably.” She looked away, her face flushed with shame. “The only thing left is to marry him,” she said quietly. “And, perhaps, try to salvage what remains of my name.”
