They stood in tense silence for a moment, until Arabella cleared her throat, her voice breaking the uneasy atmosphere. “Well, Alexander, I’m sure you’ll want to settle in. We’ll let you rest from your travels and see you for dinner tomorrow night.”
As Arabella and Henry left, an uncomfortable silence settled over the entry hall of Hayward House. Emma glanced sideways at her brother, his figure still as solid and unfamiliar as a guest’s, despite the echoes of shared history that filled the house around them. Alexander looked at her, his gaze steady, and then turned to inspect the hall, his eyes lingering over every familiar feature—the elegant staircase, the carefully arranged vases, the wide windows casting evening shadows.
Alexander's voice, quiet and thoughtful, broke the silence. “It’s strange, being back here. Feels both the same and entirely different.” His expression softened as he looked at her. “But tell me about your charity work. Arabella mentioned it, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
Emma hesitated, surprised he had remembered. Her work with the Society for the Promotion of Benevolence had become a defining part of her life in his absence, but Alexander had never shown much interest in such things. Still, his gaze held a sincerity that made her relent, if only a little.
“It’s… fulfilling,” she said cautiously, feeling her pride in it seep through despite herself. “I read to the children, advocate for them.”
He nodded, clearly moved by her words. “That’s wonderful, Emma. Truly.” He paused, considering, then added gently, “But it sounds like you give a lot of yourself there. Isn’t it a little… consuming? I wonder if it leaves you enough time for other pursuits. Surely, you haven’t given up on marriage altogether?”
Emma’s jaw tightened. The compliment had been a mere stepping-stone for him, she realized—just another way to maneuver her toward the path he thought she should be on. She took a sharp breath. “Marriage? Alexander, I don’t want to go to balls or simper before men who would just as soon not see me at all. I have no reason to believe it’s even possible after our father’s actions. And besides,” she said, lifting her chin, “I’m perfectly content with the life I’ve made.”
Alexander frowned, a hint of frustration crossing his face. “I’m not so sure. What Father did was terrible, yes, but it doesn’t define you. You deserve more than tutoring at an orphanage, Emma. And I’ll do what I can to see that your future changes for the better.”
Emma scoffed, the bitterness rising unbidden. “Your promises? What good did they do when you left us here alone, Alexander? I learned long ago not to rely on your assurances.”
A charged silence followed, thick with the old anger she’d fought to bury for years. Alexander’s face tightened, a flicker of regret crossing his features. “Emma, I came back to move on from all that. I understand the hurt I caused—I’m not excusing it. But… the others have forgiven me. Why can’t you?”
She shook her head, her heart hammering, her anger swirling up with a long-buried ache. “I’m not like them,” she replied, her voice low and fierce. “I don’t need you, Alexander. I never have. And I certainly don’t need your charity now.”
But his eyes met hers with a flash of something defiant, a resolute glint she hadn’t seen in him before. “I think you do need me, Emma. You don’t have to admit it, but you need someone to look out for you. Whether you like it or not, that’s my duty. I won’t stand by while you give up on the life you could have. I’m your protector, and that won’t change, even if you hate me for it.”
Emma’s laugh was harsh and hollow. “My protector? Is that what you call disappearing to Ireland for a decade while I grew up fending off gossip and keeping this family intact?” She clenched her fists, every inch of her body screaming to get away from him. “I don’t need your protection, Alexander. Not then, and not now.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned and stormed down the hallway, her pulse racing. She had hoped that time would dull her resentment, but standing here with him, it was as raw and bitter as ever. She wished, with all her heart, that he had never come back.
CHAPTER 2
Emma
The following week, Emma sat in her chamber, drumming her fingers impatiently on the vanity as Brigitte, her French lady’s maid, busied herself with pins and powder. The mirror before her reflected her own dubious expression, and Emma sighed heavily, casting her eyes to the ceiling.
“Oh, mademoiselle,” Brigitte chided with a smile, her lilting accent lending a touch of charm to her words. “You will have a marveilleux time this evening, I am certain. You have already missed several of the season’s best gatherings, and you simply cannot miss this one. Surely not with your dear brother back in town, non?”
Emma glanced at her reflection, pursing her lips. “I could find countless ways to occupy my evening far better than at Almack’s,” she said dryly. “In truth, I’d much rather stay hereand continue my writing. I’ve just finished a new tale for the children at the orphanage—a little adventure, inspired by Goody Two-Shoes, but with a heroine who is a touch more… defiant.” She allowed herself a small smile. “I thought it would amuse the girls, perhaps even inspire them.”
Brigitte nodded thoughtfully, though a flicker of disappointment crossed her face. “I am certain that the children would adore it, mademoiselle, but it would be wise not to cross your brother. Le marquis has been telling everyone how excited he is to make his return to Almack’s, with you as his honored sister by his side. To refuse him would be…”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. It would be unthinkable.” She sighed, casting another long look in the mirror. Ever since Alexander had insisted on accompanying her and acting as her chaperone for the season, she had lost whatever faint enthusiasm she might have had for the event. But then again, her sisters Arabella and Hanna would be there, and they had spoken of little else for weeks, eager to see their family united in the eyes of society. Emma knew, reluctantly, that she couldn’t abandon them.
“Very well, Brigitte,” she relented, squaring her shoulders. “Continue with my hair and rouge, though there’s no need to fuss. I have no intention of dazzling anyone tonight.” Her voice held a determined edge, as if daring the evening to defy her intentions.
Brigitte gave her an indulgent smile, her nimble hands working swiftly through Emma’s hair. “Perhaps you may dazzle en dépitde vou,” she murmured softly. “And who knows? You may find yourself pleasantly surprised. It is Almack’s, after all. There is always the chance of encountering someone… unexpected.”
“Before my father’s arrest, that was all I wanted,” Emma admitted, her tone suddenly wistful. “A good man to whom I could entrust my heart, my future. But now… well, none of it matters to me anymore.” She glanced up, half-expecting Brigitte to offer the usual platitudes about fortunes changing and love conquering all.
Instead, Brigitte’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “It is indeed a shame you are so reluctant, for I should have thought you would be eager to see Lady Ophelia again.”
Emma froze, her heart leaping at the name. “Ophelia?” she repeated, hardly daring to believe her ears. “Ophelia is… back?”
Brigitte nodded. “Oui, mademoiselle. I spoke to Jeanne—Lady Ophelia’s maid who is, as it happens, my cousin—just yesterday. She told me that Lady Ophelia and her family returned only yesterday from Italy. They have been away a long while, non?”
Emma’s eyes lit up, her initial reluctance vanishing in an instant. “Good heavens, I cannot believe it. Ophelia, after all these years?” She clasped her hands together, the excitement bubbling in her voice. Memories flooded back—her years as a girl, those quiet afternoons when she’d played with dolls, wander the gardens and share secrets with her closest friend. For a time, Ophelia had been the one person in whom Emma had confided, her first true friend.
Emma smiled, her gaze drifting as she recalled those days. Arabella and Hanna had always been inseparable, their shared experiences binding them together in a way Emma had never quite understood. It had been Ophelia who had filled that gap, a sister in spirit if not in blood. But when they’d turned twelve, Ophelia’s parents had forbidden the friendship, citing the tarnished reputation of Emma’s father, who was in his cups more often than not by then.
They had managed to meet secretly for a time, at mutual friends’ gatherings or in Hyde Park, where lenient governesses would permit them brief moments of companionship. And yet, shortly before Emma’s fifteenth birthday, Ophelia had delivered the heart-wrenching news that her family would soon be leaving England.
