Emma’s heart leapt into her throat.A pair?What could he mean by that? Her mind raced. What could they be talking about that involved her? And why hadn’t Evan mentioned it?
Hatfield’s voice came again, more pointed this time. “You’ve got to try again. Please, speak to her. She will listen to you. Seeing the both of you together told me that.”
The both of them together – was he talking about her? He had just seen them together. Hadn’t he? What did he want Evan to talk to her about that was so urgent? It seemed…Odd. Or was he talking about someone else? However, Evan’s next words managed to calm her somewhat.
Evan sighed. “I will say things have much improved between us. I will see what I can do. I will find a good opportunity to raise the matter, that I can promise you.”
Emma stepped back. So it was her they had been talking about. It was rather peculiar that Hatfield had come all this way to request Evan speak to Emma. Could it be he wanted his position back? Whatever it was, Emma knew all she could do now was wait for Evan to approach her for she could not let him know she’d been eavesdropping – it would be a horrible breach of trust on her part. And that was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Now when their relationship had just grown so much stronger.
CHAPTER 35
Emma
Emma stepped lightly along the winding paths of Vauxhall Gardens, the lanterns casting pools of soft light that painted the evening in a fantastical glow. The hum of distant laughter, the strains of music wafting from a nearby pavilion, and the faint scent of blossoms in the warm air might have enchanted her on any other day. But tonight, her heart felt heavy, a quiet unease lingering like the fog along the Thames.
Evan had been a paragon of devotion this past month—charming, supportive, and thoughtful. He had even become a generous patron of the orphanage, as he’d promised. Yet, Emma’s mind wandered again and again to that overheard conversation between him and Mr. Hatfield. Why hadn’t Evan told her what it was about? She had given him several opportunities, asking subtle questions about Mr. Hatfield’s visit, but his responses had been vague. Was it her imagination, or did he deliberately avoid the topic?
Her reverie broke as she spotted Ophelia seated on a wrought-iron bench near the Chinese theater. The delicate lines of Ophelia’s posture—her head bowed, her hands wringing nervously—told Emma everything she needed to know before a single word was spoken. She quickened her pace and sank onto the bench beside her friend.
“Ophelia?” Emma began gently, laying a hand on her friend’s arm. “What’s wrong?”
Ophelia turned toward her, her pale face streaked with tears. Her blue eyes, usually so bright with curiosity, brimmed with despair. “Oh, Emma,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s my parents. They’ve settled on a husband for me.”
Emma’s heart dropped. She knew this was coming—Ophelia’s parents had been pushing for a suitable match for months—but hearing it still felt like a blow. “Who?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“The Duke of Stearns,” Ophelia said bitterly. Her voice cracked as she continued, “He’s fifteen years older than me, Emma. A widower with a child! And worse, he lives in Northumberland. They’re sending me away from everything I know, everything I care about.”
Emma’s brows knit in sympathy. “Northumberland? That’s so far… and you don’t even like him. What are they thinking?”
“They’re thinking about his title, his fortune, and his ability to elevate our family’s standing,” Ophelia spat. “Not my happiness.Not that I matter in their eyes. And I’m to leave immediately after the wedding.” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll never see Massimo again.”
Emma’s stomach churned at the mention of Massimo, hearing the anguish in her friend’s voice made the reality painfully clear. “You… you still love him, don’t you?” She’d hoped that the months that had passed since her departure from Italy might have healed Ophelia’s heart but it appeared not to be the case.
“Yes,” Ophelia admitted, her voice trembling. “I do. I want nothing but to be with him, but my parents are aghast. To them, he’s nothing. Only titles matter, nothing else.”
Emma pressed her lips together, anger bubbling beneath her calm exterior. “They’re wrong,” she said firmly. “If he makes you happy, that should matter more than anything. Have you considered the nunnery again? Perhaps you could run away from there as you had thought about.”
Ophelia’s tears fell freely now, her hands clutching Emma’s as though she were a lifeline. “Emma, please. You have to help me. I can’t marry the Duke. I can’t. I’ll wither away in that cold, lonely castle with people I don’t love. I’ve spoken to my grandmother about joining the nunnery, but it’s impossible. I could have escaped from there, but my parents will not allow it. It is marriage for them, nothing else.” She paused, her breath hitching. “I have no choice but to run away.”
The words hung in the air, stark and shocking against the idyllic backdrop of the gardens. Emma stared at her friend, her heartpounding. “Run away? Ophelia, that’s… that’s a monumental decision. Where would you go? How would you survive?”
“I will make my way to Italy, to Massimo. Alas, I do not know how. I have nothing of value as my parents took everything after the wedding to Evan fell apart,” Ophelia admitted, her voice breaking. “But I can’t stay. I’d rather face uncertainty than a lifetime of misery. Please, Emma. You’re the only person I can trust. Will you help me?”
Emma hesitated, her mind racing. How could she promise to help with something so drastic? And yet, how could she refuse? She thought of Ophelia trapped in a marriage devoid of love, her vibrant spirit extinguished by duty and isolation. The image was unbearable. Even more so because Emma knew she’d played a big part in making it so.
“I’ll help you,” Emma said softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her chest. “I don’t know how yet, but I’ll think of something. And I’ll talk to Evan—maybe he can offer some advice or assistance. We can help you with funds, that I can promise.”
Ophelia’s face crumpled with relief as she threw her arms around Emma. “Thank you,” she sobbed. “Thank you, Emma. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Emma held her friend tightly, her mind already spinning with possibilities. She could speak to Evan, yes, but would he understand? Would he see the urgency of the situation, or wouldhe dismiss it as youthful folly? And what if helping Ophelia put Evan in a difficult position?
For a brief moment, doubt crept in. Was she doing the right thing? She thought of Mr. Hatfield’s cryptic words, the way Evan had evaded her questions. A shadow of uncertainty loomed over her happiness, a reminder that even the most charming exteriors could hide secrets.
But this wasn’t about her or Evan. This was about Ophelia.
As they sat together, Emma stroked her friend’s arm, whispering reassurances while her mind churned. She had to help her friend, but how?
The challenges were immense, but Emma refused to give in to despair. She would find a way, no matter the cost. Here's the expanded version of your scene, now extended to capture more depth, emotions, and detail.