Splendid (22 page)

Something about Belle's wheedling tone struck an emotional chord in Emma, and she felt a hot tear spill down her cheek. “I'm not sure I want to talk right now.”

Belle took one look at Emma's stricken expression, dropped her book, and then, with her characteristic presence of mind, thought to quickly slam the bedroom door shut. “Oh my God, Emma. What happened? Did he—? Did you—?”

Emma sniffled and wiped away a tear.

“
Did he ravish you?
”

“I hate that word,” Emma bit out. “Have I ever told you that I hate that word?”

“Did he?”

“No, he didn't. What kind of a woman do you think I am?”

“A woman in love, I suppose. I hear men can be awfully persuasive when you're in love.”

“Well, I'm not in love,” Emma returned defiantly.

“Aren't you?”

I don't know
, Emma's mind cried out. She didn't say anything.

“I can see that you are at least thinking about it,” Belle continued. “That's a start, I suppose. I don't really have to tell you how happy we would all be if the two of you did decide to get married.”

“Believe me, I've sensed your feelings.”

“Well, you can't really blame us. We do so love having you here in England. Especially me,” Belle said gravely. “It's hard when your best friend is an ocean away.”

Belle's last remark sent Emma over the edge, and she exploded into tears, hiccuping loudly as she soaked the pillowcase.

“Oh dear.” Belle quickly moved back to the bed and began to stroke her cousin's hair from her face. Emma wasn't the crying sort of female, so Belle knew that something serious had occurred. “I'm sorry,” she crooned. “I didn't mean to put any pressure on you. We all know that it has to be your decision in the end.”

Emma didn't respond, but the tears continued to squeeze out of her eyes. She laid on her side, taking deep breaths as her tears rolled over her nose and dripped onto the pillow.

“You might feel better if you talk about it,” Belle commented. “Why don't you come over to the dressing table, and I'll comb out your hair. It looks as if the wind whipped a few tangles into it.”

Emma rose and moved slowly across the room, ungraciously rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. She plopped herself down in the plush chair that accompanied the dressing table and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She looked awful. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her nose was red, and her hair was strewn every which way. She took a deep breath to regain her equilibrium and
silently marveled at the society women who even knew how to
cry
with style. A single tear or two, a delicate sniffle—nothing like the heart-wrenching sobs that racked Emma, leaving her feeling like a wrung-out, pathetic mess.

She turned to Belle with another loud sniffle. “Do you know something? I used to be someone else.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Belle picked up a comb.

“I mean—and correct me if I'm wrong—I used to have something of a reputation as an exceptional female. I don't mean to boast, but I did.”

Belle nodded, trying to hide a smile.

“I didn't simper,” Emma continued with a little more enthusiasm. “Or make stupid conversation. I had a quick wit. People used to comment on it.” She looked up to Belle for reassurance.

Belle continued her sympathetic nods but was obviously finding it more difficult to contain her smile. She began to pull the comb gently through Emma's hair.

“And I had confidence in myself, too.”

“Don't you now?”

Emma sighed, slumping in the chair. “I don't know. I used to feel decisive about my actions. Now I never know what to do. I'm constantly confused, and when I do finally make a decision about something, I regret it later.”

“Do you think that all this confusion might have something to do with Ashbourne?”

“Of course it has something to do with Alex! It has everything to do with him. He's turned my entire life upside down.”

“But you aren't in love with him,” Belle stated quietly.

Emma clamped her mouth shut.

Belle tried a different tactic. “How do you feel when you're with him?”

“It's completely crazy. One moment we're joking like old friends, and the next I've got a lump in my throat the size of an extremely large egg, and I feel like I'm an awkward twelve-year-old.”

“You don't know what to say?” Belle guessed.

“It's not that I don't know what to say. I feel as if I've forgotten how to speak!”

“Hmmm.” Belle continued to work the tangles out of her cousin's hair. “It sounds quite fascinating. I've never felt that way around a man before.” She paused thoughtfully. “Although I am looking forward to rereading
Romeo and Juliet
when I finally get to the
R'
s.”

Emma grimaced. “Please recall that they met with a rather unfortunate demise. I'd rather you didn't draw comparisons.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

It may have been Emma's overexerted emotions, but she didn't think Belle sounded terribly contrite.

“There we go,” Belle said matter-of-factly. “All done with the left side.” She began combing the back of Emma's hair. “Why don't you tell me about this afternoon? Something must have happened to have put you in such a state.”

Despite herself, Emma felt her cheeks grow warm. “Oh, nothing really. We just went for a ride. The countryside here is lovely.”

Belle pulled the comb through Emma's hair with a vicious yank.

“Ow!” Emma howled. “What are you doing? I'll be bald by the time you're through.”

“You were saying something about this afternoon?” Belle prodded in a sweet voice.

“Give me that comb!” Emma snapped. Belle lodged the offending weapon in her bright hair
and gave it a little tug, symbolizing the torture that was yet to come. “Oh, all right,” Emma gave in. “We stopped for a picnic.”

“And?”

“And we had a perfectly marvelous time. We traded stories about when we were children.”

“And?”

“And he kissed me! Are you satisfied?”

“He must have done more than kiss you,” Belle surmised. “You've kissed Alex before, and you never started crying like this.”

“Well, maybe he did a little more than kiss me.” Emma really wished she weren't sitting right in front of a mirror, where she was forced to watch her skin color slowly redden until it matched her hair.

“But he didn't ravish you?” Belle looked almost upset.

“Belle, are you
disappointed
that I made it through the afternoon with my virtue intact?”

“No, of course not,” Belle replied quickly. “Although I must admit, I'm a bit curious about ‘the act' and all that, and I cannot get Mother to tell me anything about it.”

“Well, you won't get any more details from me. I'm just as innocent as you are.”

“Not
quite
as innocent, I imagine. I may be naive, but even I know that there is quite a bit between a kiss and ‘the act'.”

To say that words failed Emma would be a gross understatement.

“Isn't there?” Belle persisted.

“Uh, well, yes,” Emma spluttered. “Yes, there is.”

Belle plodded on. “Would it be fair to say that you did something somewhere between kissing and ‘the act'?”

“Would you stop calling it ‘the act'?!” Emma burst out. “You make it sound so sordid.”

“Would you rather I call it something else?”

“I'd
rather
you didn't call it anything.” Emma's eyes narrowed dangerously. “This is getting extremely personal.”

Belle would not be deterred. “Did you?”

“You do realize that you have no shame?”

“None whatsoever,” Belle said blithely, giving the comb an impertinent tug.

Emma winced, groaned, and barely suppressed the urge to curse. “Oh, all right,” she huffed. At this rate, Belle would have all of her hair pulled out by supper. “Yes,” she groaned. “Yes, yes, yes! Are you satisfied?”

Belle stopped combing immediately and sank down into the chair opposite Emma. “Oh my,” she breathed.

“Could you possibly stop staring at me as if I've suddenly been ruined?”

Belle blinked. “What? Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that—oh my.”

“For heaven's sake, Belle. I wish you wouldn't go on and on about this. It's a trivial matter.”
Oh, really?
she asked herself.
Then why were you sobbing your heart out a few minutes ago?
Emma quickly stifled her inner voice. Maybe she had overreacted a little. After all, it wasn't as if she had gotten herself (perish the word) ravished. And, she admitted with a rueful smile, it wasn't as if she hadn't enjoyed herself.

Belle was also weighing the matter carefully in her ever-pragmatic mind. This was big news, indeed. She had privately decided that a wedding between her cousin and the Duke of Ashbourne was imminent. A slight indiscretion before the actual nuptials could be easily overlooked. Still, that didn't mean
that Belle wasn't intensely curious about the incident. “Just tell me one thing, Emma,” she implored. “What was it like?”

“Oh, Belle,” Emma sighed, giving up all attempts at offended maidenly virtue. “It was splendid.”

Chapter 13

F
or all of Emma's determination to put her feminine embarrassment behind her, she still turned into a stammering fool the minute she laid eyes on Alex again.

The evening had started out innocently enough. After Belle had managed to pry all of the details about the picnic she could get out of Emma, the pair had decided to dress for the evening meal. Belle, however, was considerably more interested in choosing Emma's attire than her own, insisting that she wear a deep violet gown that set off her unusual eyes.

“It's the same color you wore when you made your debut,” Belle explained. “And Alex was
so
taken with you.”

“I doubt he'll remember the color of my gown,” was all that Emma replied. Nevertheless, she allowed herself to be talked into the violet silk, hoping that the bold color might bolster her courage. Belle settled on a gown of pale peach silk, which complimented her soft pink and white complexion. When they were done dressing, Emma sacrificed herself on the altar of the hairstylist, and she allowed Meg to fuss with her tresses without the slightest complaint. After Belle's less-than-tender ministrations, Meg seemed a veritable goddess.

As Emma sat there, watching in the mirror as Meg pulled the hairbrush through her bright locks, she had ample time to consider her situation.

Did she love Alex? Belle seemed to think so. But how could she love him when that meant abandoning her lifelong dream of running Dunster Shipping? Part of Emma wanted to throw caution into the wind and grab whatever happiness she could find with Alex. But she knew that if she let herself love him a little, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from loving him wholeheartedly, with every pore of her being. And she was terrified at the prospect of losing herself completely in that love.

As she had told Belle not even a half an hour earlier, she
changed
around him. One tender gaze from him seemed to banish all rational thought, and she had to struggle just to stammer incoherent phrases. If she married Alex, she could certainly forget about ever speaking in complete sentences.

Which brought her to another sensitive point. He might not even ask her to marry him. Alex had a formidable stubborn streak, and Emma couldn't imagine him caving in to familial pressure and asking for her hand unless he was good and ready. And what if he did ask her? Would she say yes? Emma caught her lower lip between her teeth as she pondered her situation. Maybe. Probably. She let out a deep sigh. Definitely. How could she help herself? Dunster Shipping would have to survive without her because she didn't think she could survive without Alex.

But marriage to him was not a guarantee of happiness. Few marriages among the
ton
were based upon love, and Emma knew that a love match had never been one of Alex's highest goals. It was highly possible that he might reach a decision to ask her to marry him based solely on affection
and lust. She could well imagine him sitting in his study with his feet propped up on his desk, considering his situation and deciding to marry her just because nothing better was likely to come along.

What would her life be like if she were married to a man who didn't love her? Would it be enough just to be near him or would she lose a little bit of her soul day by day until she was nothing more than a brittle shell? But God help her, she didn't know if she had any alternative because she was beginning to realize that the possibility of happiness apart from Alex was very slim, indeed. She supposed that any small piece of him would be better than nothing because it was true—she loved him. She loved him desperately and she was terrified that she might not be able to find a way to make him love her back.

Suddenly, facing him at dinner seemed a most frightening prospect.

She was fairly successful finding excuses to remain upstairs. There was a loose thread on her gown that needed mending, and she was convinced that she had developed new freckles while she had been out of doors. Meg was immediately dispatched to borrow a little powder from Aunt Caroline. She had just about managed to develop a blistering headache when Belle finally lost all patience and physically pushed her through the door and down the stairs.

By the time Emma and Bell arrived, Alex was already in the drawing room, leaning against a windowsill and absently swirling a glass of whiskey. As Emma walked through the doorway, he gave her a quizzical look, scanning her features intently. Emma did her best to appear blasé, but she had a sinking feeling that she failed miserably. “Good evening, your grace,” she blurted out
suddenly, painfully aware that she sounded like a bleating sheep. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard her cousin emit a small groan.