Page 6 of To Have & To Hold

“He is considerably older,” Emilia said gently, even though she knew the words would fall on deaf ears. “Perhaps Louisa would prefer—”

“Louisa would prefer to be with someone who will value her worth,” Lady Moorfield interrupted coolly.

Lord Moorfield leaned back in his chair. “This is how Society functions, Emilia. Matches are made for mutual benefit.” At last, he lifted his eyes to her, the weight of his gaze making it harder to hold herself upright. “You, of all people, should understand that.”

“Yes, uncle,” she said softly, absorbing the delicately placed blow with a forced smile.

Louisa glanced between them, a smile playing at her lips. “Papa tells me Lord Whitcombe is not the only gentleman he is in communication with. I could receive multiple proposals before my debut.”

Emilia summoned a smile for herbenefit.

“If the rumors regarding the duke’s presence in London are true, there is even a chance I could become a duchess,” Lousia continued with a dreamy sigh.

Emilia kept her thoughts carefully contained. She knew that being desired came at a cost, and that admiration when purchased could fade just as quickly as it was bestowed. But she had already said too much. Questions only proved to sour her uncle's mood further, and alternate opinions were rarely tolerated.

“Emilia,” her aunt said suddenly. “You have experienced more Seasons on the marriage mart than most. Perhaps you might offer your cousin advice.”

Emilia swallowed, her stomach turning sour. She forced another smile. “I am not certain I have much to offer.”

“That has always been the issue,” her uncle said dryly, his attention already returned to his book. It was nothing Emilia had not heard before, but it didn’t lessen the sting.

Louisa laughed, blissfully unaware. “Emilia does not enjoy Society. She prefers to cling to the corners of a room like faded wallpaper.”

“Nevertheless,” Lord Moorfield continued, “You will attend a select number of prominent functions this Season. Your absence has been noted, and I have a reputation to maintain.”

Emilia nodded in agreement, and the conversation continued on without her. Peace came at a cost, and if the price was invisibility, she would pay it gladly.

∞∞∞

Louisa’s wails echoed through the halls. Emilia tried to focus on the feel of the keys beneath her fingers and the haunting melody floating from the piano forte, but every piercing cry cut through the air, drowning out each and every note.

The Beckley ball was in a few hours. Louisa should be having her hair curled and pinned, but instead she stormed into the parlor in a blur of petticoats, throwing herself onto the chair nearest Emilia’s piano stool in tears.

“This is all your fault!” She sobbed, wiping her face with the silk handkerchief bunched in her hands.

Emilia turned from her instrument. “I know you truly believe that,” she said. “But I am not sure how I am responsible for you falling ill.”

The previous day, Louisa had come down with a cold, which had only worsened with time. Her face was flushed withfever, and the sound of her cough could be heard from the servants' quarters. Her attendance at the ball was entirely out of the question, and she had not been handling that reality with much grace.

“If you had not insisted I go to town, in the rain, I would not have gotten sick.”

Emilia closed her eyes briefly, schooling her expression before responding. “The trip to town was for the final fitting of your ball gown; I could not have gone myself, and we took the carriage. You were hardly wet.”

Louisa turned on the chair away from Emilia, her arms crossed over her chest in protest. Emilia knew that Louisa truly believed she was somehow entirely to blame for her falling ill, and there was nothing Emilia would be able to say to convince her otherwise.

“I am sorry you are ill, Louisa,” Emilia said softly. She saw the tension in her cousin’s shoulders ease slightly. “But perhaps it is for the best.”

She held her breath, waiting to see if she would be met with resistance before pushing a little further. “I have heard many things about Lord Whitcombe, and I truly do not believe he would have made you a good match.”

Louisa slowly turned around to face Emilia again, her eyes softening slightly. “Why not?”

Before Emilia could respond, a shadow darkened the doorway.

“Emilia,” Lord Moorfield’s calm voice set her nerves on edge. “You should be upstairs getting ready for the ball.”

Louisa gasped, and Emilia slowly rose from the bench.

“The Beckley ball was not on the list of engagements that required my attendance,” she answered carefully. “I did not intend to go this evening.”