Brigitte reached out, squeezing her hand gently. “It’s not. But… thank you. For caring.”
Emma turned to her, a faint smile playing at her lips. “I’ll always care, Brigitte. And I’ll always fight for what’s right.”
With that, they stepped out of the carriage and into the house, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air like an unspoken promise.
CHAPTER 36
Emma
After Brigitte had left, Emma took a few moments to take a deep breath and settle herself. Suddenly, the conversation between Evan and Mr. Hatfield appeared far away.
When she finally exited, she vowed to speak to Evan, to find a way to help Ophelia – and maybe Brigitte as well.
As she entered, Mrs. Havisham smiled at her. “Your Grace, there you are. His Grace has been waiting for you.”
“He has?” she asked and dipped her head to the side.
“He asked that you join him on the terrace when you arrive for dinner.”
Emma frowned. They had dined together each night the last few weeks but never on the terrace – and now? It was getting rather chilly outside. Still, she did not want to disappoint him and a part of her felt a rise of curiosity in her chest.
As she stepped out, the terrace glowed in the dim light of the evening, the flicker of candles set against the dusky blue of the oncoming night. The scent of evening—crisp leaves mingling with the faint smokiness of distant hearth fires—wafted through the air, carrying with it a chill that whispered of the approaching winter. Emma hesitated at the doorway, the grandeur of the scene before her catching her breath.
The table was set with meticulous care, adorned with fine china trimmed in gold and a centerpiece of creamy white roses nestled in dark green foliage. Two braziers stood beside the chairs set up for them. Draped over the back of her chair was a luxurious coat of golden velvet, its shimmer catching the light. It seemed to glow, almost like an offering.
Evan turned from the table as if sensing her presence, his dark hair windswept, his features softened by the candlelight. He smiled, a warm, genuine curve of his lips that stirred a pang in her chest. For a moment, Emma allowed herself to forget the nagging doubts and letters locked away in her room.
“Emma,” he said, his voice carrying a rich timbre that seemed to resonate in the quiet. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”
She stepped forward, her feet clacking against the stone, and returned his smile. “And miss this? You’ve outdone yourself. I was not certain what to expect when Mrs. Havisham told me.”
Evan approached her, picking up the coat as he did. “I wanted to surprise you. I think we will be warm enough out here with the braziers – and of course I have another surprise.” He lifted the coat and held it out to her. “I noticed you did not have a warm coat for the coming winter. May I?”
The fabric enveloped her as she slid her arms into the sleeves, the lining soft and warm against her skin. “It’s exquisite,” she murmured, running her fingers over the fine embroidery near the cuffs. “Thank you, Evan.”
For a moment, his hands lingered lightly on her shoulders before he stepped back, studying her as though searching for some confirmation of her happiness. Emma smiled, though the weight of her thoughts pressed against her ribs like a cage. “It’s lovely,” she added, her voice softer now.
“I’m glad you think so,” he said, leading her to the table.
As they sat, the first course was brought out—a tureen of white soup, steam rising in delicate curls. Its aroma filled the terrace: rich cream laced with the sweetness of onions, the nuttiness of almonds, and a hint of warming spices. Beside it, a loaf of fresh bread sat on a cutting board, its crust golden and crackling.
Evan took the knife, slicing into the loaf with deliberate precision. The crust cracked audibly, giving way to the soft, airyinterior. The sound was unexpectedly soothing, a domestic sort of harmony that made Emma feel, for a fleeting moment, as though this was what true contentment looked like.
“You’ve truly thought of everything,” she said, accepting a slice of the bread and dipping it into her soup. The flavors blossomed on her tongue—velvety, comforting, perfect. “It’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Evan replied, watching her with a quiet intensity. “I wanted to do something special before it gets too cold to do so.”
His words, spoken with such care, made her pulse quicken. Was he truly as happy as he seemed? Did he carry secrets in his heart, just as she did? Emma curled her fingers around the stem of her spoon, trying to focus on the warmth of the soup instead of the turmoil swirling inside her.
The sunset painted the horizon in hues of burnt orange and deep violet, a breathtaking tableau that seemed almost too perfect. Evan reached across the table, taking her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, the gesture intimate and grounding.
“I’m truly happy that we’re here together,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “This… this feels right, doesn’t it?”
Emma looked into his eyes, and for a moment, all her doubts seemed to fade. “It does,” she whispered, curling her hand around his. But even as she smiled, but even as she spoke, the many questions that remained unanswered bothered her. She still had not asked him about who Rose was, or found out why hehadn’t posed Mr. Hatfield’s question to her. But it was Ophelia who was at the forefront of her mind. She cleared her throat.
“I wanted to tell you that I saw Ophelia this afternoon, she is rather upset.”
He looked up, spoon still in hand. “What has happened? I know she is facing difficulty due to everything that has occurred, but I’d hoped her father would have found a way to smooth the scandal by now and allow her peace.”
