Page 75 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
"I apologize," she said, her voice now dangerously calm. "I am overstepping. It is your house and your schedule, and if you say you have business, then you have business. I wish you the best of luck with your meetings and your... shipping dispute."
She stood to her feet, intending to leave the room before she lost her nerve. She could feel the prickle of tears behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Her chair scraped softly against the floor as she moved, but before she could get any further, Theodore stepped out, cutting off her path and stopping her in her tracks.
The silence between them was jagged and heavy. Emily kept her eyes fixed on the silver buttons of his coat, refusing to look up, until his voice broke the quiet.
"Emily," he whispered.
She finally lifted her gaze, and her breath hitched. Theodore’s eyes searched hers with a raw, turbulent intensity that made her heart hammer against her ribs.
"Do you hate me?" Theodore asked.
The question was so small, so stripped of his usual armor, that it seemed to vibrate in the air between them. Emily looked at him in genuine shock.
"Do you want me to?" she asked back, her voice barely a breath.
Theodore didn't flinch. He stepped closer, looming over her until she was forced to tilt her head back. She didn't wait for him to make another move. She stepped around him, her skirts whispering against his boots.
She walked into the corridor, and she did not look back.
She told herself it was for the best. Distance was the only sensible, practical thing left for two people whose arrangement had suddenly developed a pulse. They had moved into territory neither had planned for, and time away in London would provide the necessary oxygen. It would give them room to breathe and room to think. By the time the carriage wheels rattled back up the drive, things would be clearer. The edges would be blunted, the fever would have broken, and they would both remember exactly where the lines were drawn.
She told herself all of that.
She believed approximately none of it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Oh, I have heard the talk of London, Euphemia,” Emily said. “Your sisters’ beauty is said to be the talk of every ballroom. It must be quite something to have such a trio in one family.”
The arrival of Euphemia at Cavendish House was a mercy Emily hadn't known she needed. For two weeks, the house had felt less like a home and more like a gigantic prison. There was a dull, persistent ache in Emily’s chest, like the sensation of having been stretched too thin, like a cord pulled just past its breaking point. It wasn't a sharp pain, but a heavy, pervasive cold that made the grand rooms feel drafty and the silence of the hallways feel like a physical weight.
She had not realized how glad she was that Euphemia came until she heard Peggy announce her and felt something in her chest loosen. She had been managing. She was good at managing. She had been managing the estate, Frederick, and the household, and she had been doing all of it with her chin up.
But she was tired.
Not the tiredness of too little sleep, though that was also present. But the tiredness of carrying something heavy and not being able to set it down because setting it down would require acknowledging what it was, and she was not ready to do that. There was a space in the house that had not been there before Theodore left. It was not just the physical space. Something less definable than that. A quality to the mornings that was different. A particular silence at the breakfast table that she had been eating around for fourteen days.
“Oh, I appreciate the compliment.” Euphemia smiled, though the expression didn't quite reach her eyes. "We are nothing alike, my sisters and I. Not in looks, not in temperament, and certainly not in the way we move through a room. We are three entirely different creatures."
"That is remarkable," Emily noted and giggled. "Given you were raised in the same home."
"That is precisely why," Euphemia replied softly. "Lady Byron never tried to make us the same. She let us be who we were. My sisters and I are really nothing alike.”
"I would very much like to meet them both," Emily said.
"I think they would like you very much," Euphemia said, nodding. She went quiet then, her gaze dropping to her lap. "I just wanted us all to be happy. That was the whole of it."
Emily reached across and took her hand. She recognized that look, the exhaustion of trying to hold a world together while your own heart felt like it was drifting out to sea.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Peggy appeared in the doorway, looking slightly flustered. "I beg pardon, Your Grace, but there is a visitor downstairs. An older gentleman is asking to see you."
Euphemia stood immediately, smoothing her skirts. "Well, I should take my leave. The ride back to Mayfair is a long one. I’d best get going and leave you to your guest." She squeezed Emily’s hand. "I am glad I came. I liked talking with you today."
"We will see each other again soon," Emily promised, walking her toward the door. "When I visit London, we shall do all the fun things we spoke of."
Euphemia gave a small, hopeful nod, her smile lingering at the corners of her mouth. "We’ll see, Emily. I should like that very much."
Emily watched her go. Then she turned to Peggy, who was still standing by the doorway. “You said a man, Peggy?”
