“How can you be certain?” Emma challenged. “She has been out of the country for years, she would not know what the Duke of Wells is like. And she needs to. I must tell her. I wish she had told me she was returning. I wish I had seen the wedding invitation and … I wish she had called on me. I must see her before the wedding..”
Alexander, seated across from them with an expression both exasperated and curious, interjected, “Emma, I don’t understand this sudden obsession with Ophelia?”
Emma’s cheeks flushed with frustration. “It’s not an obsession, Alexander. I’m concerned. Ophelia is to be married to a man who doesn’t love her, who has no intention of being faithful. He views her as a convenient arrangement, nothing more. She deserves better.” Her tone grew more impassioned, her gaze darting between her sisters. “I have to speak with her before it’s too late. Once she’s married, she’ll be bound to a man who?—”
“Emma,” Alexander interrupted, his voice low and firm, “you’ve barely seen Ophelia in years. How can you be so certain she’s not content with this arrangement?”
“I know because she told me, Alexander,” Emma replied, a flash of anger lighting her eyes. “In her last letter, she was… radiant. She was in love, truly in love. There was a gentleman in Italy she’d written about, someone she wanted to marry.” Emma took a steadying breath, memories of Ophelia’s words filling her with fresh dread. “But this Duke, this stranger—he doesn’t care for her in the least. He made that abundantly clear. If Ophelia knew the kind of man she was marrying, I’m certain she’d think twice.”
Alexander leaned back, looking to Arabella and Hanna for support, as if expecting them to rally to his side. “I think you’re projecting your own ideals onto Ophelia. Not every marriage is built on romantic notions. Arabella and Hanna have done quite well for themselves, and neither match was without its challenges.”
Emma raised her brows, looking at her sisters. Arabella’s expression softened, though a hint of sadness passed over her face.
“Yes, Alexander,” Arabella said slowly, “we are happy now, but… it wasn’t so simple. Our marriages weren’t easy in the beginning, and there were times I wondered if they would ever be.” She glanced at Hanna, who nodded in agreement. “And we can’t presume that Ophelia’s situation will mirror ours.”
Emma nodded firmly. “Exactly. We don’t know what kind of marriage Ophelia will find herself in, but I know one thing: the Duke of Wells has no intention of changing his ways. I told you already, I saw him myself last week at Hyde Park, fawning over some young woman as if he were the very epitome of a rake. And yet he’ll stand before the altar in a few minutes, swearing fidelity to a woman he doesn’t love.”
A silence fell over the carriage as her words hung heavy in the air. Finally, Alexander sighed. “Emma, I believe the decision has already been made. Ophelia’s father wouldn’t have consented to this marriage if he didn’t believe it was the best arrangement for her. And now that it’s set, there’s no point in interfering.”
Emma’s gaze flashed with indignation. “I’m not interfering. I’m protecting my friend. I can’t simply stand by and watch her throw her life away.”
Arabella reached over, placing a gentle hand on her sister’s arm. “Emma,” she said softly, “perhaps… perhaps this is something you should let go. If Ophelia wanted you to be part of herdecision, she would have reached out. The truth is… you two haven’t been close in years. So much so that you didn’t even know she was in England until the day before her wedding.”
Emma swallowed, the sharp sting of that truth piercing deeper than she’d expected. “That isn’t my fault,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I tried. It was Father. He and his beloved whiskey robbed me of my friendship with Ophelia, but she stayed true. We wrote to one another all this time, even if it wasn’t often. She is a true friend, and I won’t stand for this. She would have written to me if she’d known … She’d have … She invited me after all. That must mean…” Emma shook her head. Even if Ophelia had purposely avoided her, she would still want to warn her – for old times' sake. Wouldn’t she?
Emma’s shoulders drooped, her initial fervor fading as she absorbed her sisters’ words. They were right; she and Ophelia hadn’t been close for years. The idea of bursting in and disrupting her friend’s wedding plans suddenly seemed brash, even foolish. But deep down, her worry lingered. The man Ophelia was about to marry… Emma couldn’t shake the memory of his mocking smile, his casual dismissal of her friend.
The carriage jolted as it turned onto the narrow lane that led to the church. Emma gazed out the window, watching as the early morning light cast long shadows over the rows of carriages already lined up outside the chapel.
“We’re here,” Alexander announced, glancing at her with a concerned frown. “Emma, please. Whatever you’re feeling… setit aside. This is a joyous day for Ophelia. She deserves our support, not our doubts.”
Emma forced a smile, nodding as the footman opened the door. But as she stepped out onto the cobblestone street, her mind was still racing, filled with half-formed thoughts of Ophelia, the Duke, and that mysterious woman named Rose.
As she took her sisters’ arms and they walked up the steps of the chapel, Emma’s eyes scanned the crowd. She spotted Ophelia’s family standing to one side, her father looking pleased as he shook hands with a line of well-wishers. But Ophelia herself was nowhere to be seen.
And neither, it seemed, was the Duke.
However, her eyes rested on someone else. Someone she hadn’t expected to see again in her life.
“Is that Sir Richard?” she murmured, brows drawing together in confusion. She gestured discreetly to a man near the chapel’s steps, with gray-streaked hair and a permanent scowl etched into his face. “He hasn’t been seen in decent society in ages, not since…” Emma trailed off, remembering the ugly rumors that had ostracized him—the scandal involving his own daughter, Helene, whom he had used as a pawn in a blackmail scheme against his own nephew, Henry. No one had so much as extended him an invitation in years.
Her sister Arabella glanced over her shoulder, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “That’s hardly the sort of guest oneexpects at a wedding,” she whispered. “I do hope Harry does not see him for it would cause quite the scene.”
Emma nodded, still scanning the crowd. There, standing apart and looking dour, was Lord Hancock, who had been blacklisted from nearly every gathering in town after his affair with a married woman had become the talk of London. And a little further off, a certain gentleman she remembered from Almack’s just last week—the one who had made such a scene with a patroness over a disagreement that he’d been promptly asked to leave.
“What is Lord Braverman thinking?” Emma muttered to herself, her confusion growing with each face she recognized among the dubious congregation. It was obvious he had extended the invitations without any knowledge of who was in or out of favor in theton, and if he was so ill-informed of London’s intricacies, he would be just as oblivious to the Duke of Wells’s dubious reputation.
With a barely perceptible movement, she slipped her hand into her reticule and traced the edges of a letter she’d hastily penned the night before. She’d debated whether to do anything at all but had ultimately decided that she couldn’t simply stand by and watch her dear friend marry a man who seemed unworthy. The letter contained everything she’d overheard, the details that Lord Braverman needed to know before he handed over his daughter to a scoundrel. All she needed was an opportunity to pass it to him.
Her plan had been to talk to Ophelia first, in hopes that she might speak to her father and stop the wedding, but since Emma hadn’t been able to locate her, she’d decided to take matters into her own hand.
“Lord Howe,” Lord Braverman greeted Alexander with a respectful nod. “We are honored by your attendance.” His voice was stiff, but polite, his manner formal as he glanced at Alexander’s sisters.
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Alexander replied smoothly. “Thank you for inviting us. We’re all very pleased to be here for such a joyous occasion.”
“We were thrilled to hear of your daughter’s happy event,” added Hanna, smiling politely.
Lady Braverman’s gaze flickered over Arabella and Hanna, lingering on each with a look of mild approval. “I hear you both are recently married to distinguished gentlemen. Very well done indeed. A credit to your family.” She cast a quick glance at Alexander, lips curving in satisfaction. “And you—a marquess now, with no inheritance to do it. Quite an achievement. Preferable to the title Earl of Worcester, I am sure.” Her eyes landed on Emma last, and her smile dimmed. “I do hope that same fortune finds you in time, Lady Emma.”
