Emma let out a sharp gasp as the carriage tumbled over a bump in the road. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed her mother’s wrist for stability.
“My goodness!” Priscilla called out, looking over at her daughter with wide eyes. “I expected the roads to be a little more…” She paused, her mouth pressing into a thin line. She widened her eyes and shrugged. “Taken care of? Is there no money this far out of London?”
Emma smiled sheepishly and released her mother from her grasp before looking out the window. Light evening air breezed by her cheeks, sending the soft coils of brown hair that hung from the sides of her updo grazing her face. “Mama,” she said. “We will arrive within no time. I am certain of it.” She was not certain at all, but Priscilla would complain either way. Lying might at least keep her complaints at bay for now.
“You know the Lindens live out here,” she huffed. “They have more than enough money to do something about this! Or the Barringtons! The Hart—”
“Mama,” Emma stopped her. “You know the roads are terrible after a rotten winter. We mustn’t hold it against them. I am sure they will be repaired once we stop experiencing frosts.”
Emma’s mother huffed and leaned against her husband, complaining about her nerves.
“Liar, liar,” Harriet whispered, wagging her finger. She sat across from Emma, back proudly straightened. She was only two years younger than Emma, but their age gap had always felt so much larger. Harriet wasn’t incapable of things; she just sought out more of Emma’s advice and attention than one might expect.
“Shh!” Emma widened her eyes. Harriet smiled back with that small, barely-there tilt of her lips that so often suggested that she didn’t regret a thing.
“You look like you can hardly breathe,” she said, eyes studying the rigidness of Emma’s face. Emma had often heard that she had a tendency to look angry or even bored when she was simply neutral. Never though, might someone accuse Emma Hale of being shakable. She rarely faltered and regarded the unknown with dignity.
“Me?” Emma asked incredulously, her eyebrows tilting up.
Harriet laughed. “I hoped I might catch my bravest sister in a moment of apprehension.”
Emma wordlessly shook her head and looked back out the window, biting the inside of her cheek. She was not apprehensive about the outcome of their journey in the slightest. However, she was hopeful that, despite the circumstances, she might find some comfort for herself. “The Duke of Radford has an impressive station and a kind family, as Papa has promised. I have no worries.”
“Yes,” their father, Robert, mumbled from his seat in the carriage. His arm was around his wife’s shoulders, rubbing at the knot in her neck that she so relentlessly complained of.
“Very well-bred sort of family…” He paused. “Now that the late Duke has passed, that is.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Lucy, the youngest daughter, chimed in, tilting her head inquisitively at her father.
Emma’s lips tightened in a grimace, and she looked back out the window. The last thing she desired was a conversation about the agreement the families had come to. Emma was lucky that she had an impressive dowry. However, money was hardly the best incentive to marry for someone with even the smallest of romantic notions. Emma hadn’t all the hope of a newly debuted young woman, but somewhere in her heart, she still dreamed that some genuine affection would blossom between her and her betrothed. She didn’t know much about the Duke of Radford, but she had heard that he was polite, well-spoken, and handsome. And that was far more than most women could look forward to. “He means,” Emma began with a deep breath. “That the Duke of Radford has set his sights on the financial benefits of marriage. His father was a…how might you call that, papa?”
Robert coughed. “Erm—”
“Well, dear? Be honest with the girls!” Priscilla commanded. She looked at her daughters. “The man was a compulsive gambler.”
Harriet frowned, looking at Emma with uncertainty. “Do you not worry that His Grace may follow in the footsteps of his father? Cannot some men be…” She frowned, eyes darting between her parents for reassurance. “Predisposed to the sins of the father?”
Robert narrowed his thick eyebrows. “You have that little faith in your Papa?”
“Well, no, I just worry for Emma,” Harriet said. “You know how important this is.”
Emma shrugged. “Worry not, father.” She took a deep breath. “I am sure this week will prove equitable for both of our families.”
Robert nodded, smiling as if a point had been made.
Emma had stayed up late the past few evenings imagining what the Duke might be like. She would have been lying if she had not wished for him to be humorous, warm, protective, and empathetic. If he could match her outgoing and inquisitive nature, then she was sure they could make a decent match. And, of course, she wished him to be tragically handsome, but that was much to ask for.
As the evening wore on, the sun dipped low against the rolling fields of the countryside, casting a shimmer of golden light through the windows of the carriage. Priscilla slept, head tilted back, snoring, while her husband sat, studying a book with his glasses propped up on the tip of his nose.
Emma leaned her head against the door of the carriage and eyed her younger sister. Harriet sat with her hands folded on her lap. Her finger rubbed back and forth over the side of her hand. She tried too often to drown out the nervousness and all the fidgety energy that overwhelmed her, but Harriet wasn’t nearly as tough as she liked to suggest with her words.
“Was Lord Northwick disappointed to hear of your absence?” Emma asked her sister quietly.
Harriet looked up, a blush coloring her cheeks as if her sister had accidentally read her mind. “He was,” she said. “But thrilled to hear the reason. I am sure he will enjoy a week left to his own devices. I am tempted to spend every minute with him.”
“Of course.” Emma smiled. Something about that felt like a rock in the pit of Emma’s chest. It was as if her fate was sealed at that very moment. She risked a quick look over at her father, but he was fully absorbed in his reading.
Lucy made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “You and the viscount are appalling,” she said. “I would never dare to make such a sap out of myself.”
“Be quiet!” Harriet reached out and smacked her sister on the arm. The two of them began to tussle lightly, arms lightly slapping the other and blocking blows.
“Girls!” their father called out from behind his book. “Let me finish my chapter, please.” His voice was disinterested and monotone.
“Let father read!” Harriet whispered harshly. Lucy mocked her with some well-timed ugly faces.
“I’m sure the viscount would have already married you if father would let him,” Lucy whispered sharply. She rolled her eyes. “He is impossibly, stupidly, madly in love with you. Sickening.”
Even though it was an insult, Harriet touched her reddening cheeks and smiled longingly out the window. “Father will let me. Once Emma is engaged to the Duke, then I will be engaged as well.”
“Perhaps one day you’ll understand,” Emma explained gently to Lucy. “The ways of the heart are alien to those of us who have never experienced them.”
Lucy did bring up what was at the forefront of everyone’s mind. Perhaps the happiest ending of all would have been a break in tradition, but Robert was not fond of deviating from the norm. Harriet was perfectly ready to be married. She was in love, she was loved, she was willing, and she was ready, but in Robert’s mind, one thing standing in her way: Emma.
If Harriet was to be married, then her eldest sister was to be married first. Robert had been very clear on his expectations. When the opportunity to marry presented itself, Emma eagerly jumped at the situation because it meant that much to Harriet. Emma knew, as well as any older sibling did, that happily-ever-afters were not made for everyone. Harriet would get hers, but Emma did not anticipate the same luck for herself.
“I promise,” Emma whispered. “You will return home with good news for the viscount.”
Harriet glanced up hesitantly. “How can you be so sure?”
“Shh,” she cooed, smiling at her younger sister. “Trust me, and I will do the worrying for you.” With a soft smile, Emma rested her head against the door of the carriage and closed her eyes. Despite her confidence, Emma would be lying if she said she didn’t feel tremendous anxiety creeping over her head like a looming storm cloud. Ignoring the feeling that luck was not on her side was impossible.
One thing she was sure of. She would undoubtedly marry the Duke of Radford. But that was where her control of the situation stopped. If this union was to be a happy one, then she could only hope that he, too, had her best interest in mind.
