Across from her, her mother regained enough of her composure to shut her mouth, and immediately reached into her sleeve for a handkerchief, which she pressed to her suddenly trembling lips. Herfather, by contrast, displayed no emotion whatsoever, barring a certain lowering of the brow that never boded well.
It struck Emily suddenly that her parents had aged in the past few years. Her mother was still a handsome woman, but her blond hair had lost some of its luster, and she was beginning to look careworn, lines bracketing her mouth and a crease permanently visible between her eyes. Her father, too, showed a considerable amount of gray in his hair and whiskers, his eyes less bright than they had once been. The sight caused Emily a small pang of grief.
Before she could linger on maudlin thoughts, however, her mother spoke. She reached a trembling hand out to grip her husband’s arm as she did so, despite the fact that, in Emily’s experience, her parents liked to spend as little time in each other’s company as possible.
“How could you?” she asked, lowering her handkerchief long enough to get the words out before pressing it to her mouth again, as though overcome by emotion. “What are we to do, if Mr. Cartham should…” She trailed off, her eyes skittering to Julian before landing squarely on her daughter once more, obviously hesitant to sink to discussing something so vulgar as money before someone outside the family.
Julian cleared his throat, then glanced down quickly at Emily before speaking, clearly reading permission in her gaze.
“Your daughter was very concerned with any impact our marriage might have on your own well-being, my lady, so I was able to reassure her that I am perfectly capable of paying Lord Rowanbridge’s debts, whatever they might be. You may consider it a wedding gift to Emily.”
His voice was not terribly warm, but Emily could tell he was trying his best not to allow any distaste to show in his tone.
“It’s not merely a matter of blunt,” her father said, speaking for the first time. “Mr. Cartham—” He broke off, glancing between his wife and daughter. “Perhaps you and I might speak privately, Belfry? Away from the ladies? There’s no cause to trouble them with these sorts of matters.”
“Papa,” Emily said, trying to curb her frustration, “if Mama is already aware of the details, which I think she must be, then I do not see why you cannot speak freely before me—not when I have arranged such a neat solution to our financial troubles.” She kept her tone mild; of course it would be too much to expect that maybe, just maybe, her parents might be grateful.
“Emily, this topic is not suitable for your ears,” her father said sharply.
Her mother, meanwhile, sniffled conspicuously.
“To think I should live to hear my daughter discuss such matters!” she complained.
Emily bit back a sigh, feeling suddenly, uncharacteristically impatient.
“But this is ridiculous,” she said. “I understand that my marriage has come as something of a shock to you, but you must see that it will put you in a better position than you were before.”
“If you are concerned, Rowanbridge, about any… other leverage Cartham might possess,” Julian said to her father, his tone even and deadly serious, “I think you should know that Cartham and I have several mutual acquaintances, and I’ve a bit of knowledge of him, myself.”
“I don’t know what you are implying, Belfry,” the marquess said stiffly, “but—”
“I’m not implying anything,” Julian interrupted. “Merely suggesting that if you have at some point involved yourself in some sordidbusiness matters with Cartham that you’d prefer remain a secret, I can assure you that I’ve ways to ensure Cartham’s silence.”
Emily’s father and husband exchanged a long look, and Emily positively wished to scream in frustration at the fact that they would not speak openly before her. Instead of screaming, however, she simply said in her most cheerful tones, “Well, there you have it, Papa, Mama. All will be well!”
“But at what cost?” wailed her mother. “To think that my daughter, the daughter of a marquess, of a title dating back ten generations, should marry—”
“The son of a marquess?” Emily interrupted. “Whose title is also, I believe, quite ancient?”
“Whoowns a theater,” her mother said in a dramatic whisper, as if Julian were not standing five feet away.
“And how, precisely, is that worse than my marrying a man who owns a gaming house?” Emily demanded. “A man I could scarcely bear to spend ten minutes in conversation with?”
She realized, with a feeling of faint astonishment, that this was the first time she’d ever admitted this to her parents. She had felt so keenly, for so long, the burden of Mr. Cartham’s company, and yet she had never voiced her distress to her parents. What would have been the point? Complaining would only have served to convince them that she was mulish, ungrateful, and unreasonable.
“Don’t be hysterical, Emily,” her mother said, nearly making Emily laugh in incredulity—she’d never been hysterical in her life. “Mr. Cartham was just a temporary suitor. We would never have dreamed of allowing you to settle for him.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw her father, who looked furtive, and Emily realized: her mother had never fully understoodhow dire their situation was. She didn’t know if her father had refused to tell her, or if her mother had refused to listen, but somehow, the marchioness had convinced herself that she was still going to make a spectacular match for her dowry-less daughter, who’d spent years surrounded by scandal.
“I apologize, my lady, if you feel that your daughter issettling,” Julian said, casting a glance in her mother’s direction and speaking as though the last word were something distasteful. “But I can assure you that I’m more than capable of seeing to your husband’s debts—and any other difficulties that might arise—as well as of providing for your daughter.” Julian’s voice was cold and firm, almost unrecognizable to Emily’s ears, and all at once she thought she understood why he had managed to turn his theater into such a successful business operation, despite his aristocratic upbringing. No one would want to argue with that voice.
“AsifI should ever be concerned with anything so vulgar!” the marchioness said, adopting the tones of the grievously insulted, and Emily, all at once, had had quite enough.
“Wouldn’t you, Mama?” she asked coolly, and—so quickly that she half wondered if she’d imagined it—she felt Julian’s hand tighten briefly on her shoulder in a comforting squeeze. “When Papa’s debts have dictated my behavior foryearsnow? When perfectly eligible gentlemen have been scared away because we mustn’t offend Mr. Cartham, the holder of those debts?” She rose from her seat, feeling somehow that this degree of indignation could not be borne while seated. “And was I ever consulted about any of this? Of course not. I was merely expected to behave exactly as you dictated, be the meek, obedient daughter you demanded—”
“You were expected to be a lady,” her mother said sharply. “And behave as a lady should.”
“Of course,” Emily said, nodding. “And I was expected to be so perfect a lady that my reputation could emerge unscathed from close association with an unsavory character like Mr. Cartham. Do youknowhow difficult that was? How exhausting? To have to bethatperfect, every day, for years?”
