Emmeline had thought the church service would be very much harder than it had actually turned out to be. The moment she had walked into the church and followed Hunter to his family pew with her mother and sister in tow, her eyes had flown to where Christopher Lennox stood, facing front, rigid and clearly nervous.
From what she could see of the back of him, he was dressed very smartly and handsomely indeed. His cream breeches were immaculate and very pale in colour. His tailcoat was dark but not black, rather it was a very deep gray. Although she could not see his face, Emmeline already knew that the colour would suit him perfectly. With his red-brown hair, pale skin, and pale blue eyes, she knew that he would look very handsome indeed if she could see his face.
The church she had been in week in week out for her entire life looked prettier than she had ever seen it. There were flowers everywhere, in great vases and on stands. Flowers were tied neatly to the end of each pew with tiny bunches of little white carnations and pink roses.
As she sat regarding the beautiful flowers, closing her eyes to pick up the delicate fragrance, she felt sadness wash over her. This ought to have been her wedding day, not Clara Lovett’s. These flowers should have been hers, and these well-wishers here to see her married to her first love.
Emmeline could hardly imagine that just weeks before, she had assumed that all of this would be hers. This day was hers, this celebration hers, this life hers.
But it was not hers anymore; it was a life that had been ripped away from her without a word, without the smallest attempt at an apology for it. She had been treated very cruelly, and with such contempt that the feeling threatened to overwhelm her, and she almost rose to her feet and walked smartly from the church. It was not that she was devastated, however, or even suddenly unable to cope. It was that she was angry, suddenly furious with Christopher and Clara and their casual treatment of her feelings.
They had each secured her friendship easily, and she had given it most willingly. That they thought they did not even owe her an explanation, that they could simply brush her away from their lives with a cowardly and cruel act of public humiliation, fanned the flames of her anger.
Well, she would not rise from her seat and scurry out of the church. She would not mourn the loss of a man who had no more bravery in his heart than a field mouse. But neither would she celebrate this wedding and wish them well, for it was true to say that she did not. Such treachery, such cruelty, did not deserve reward.
At that moment, the moment she had resolved to stay, music began to play, and heads turned to watch Clara Lovett walk down the aisle on her father’s arm.
As all the church turned to look at Clara, Emmeline kept her eyes front for a moment, watching as the man she loved turned to look over his shoulder at his approaching bride. However, he did not immediately look at his bride but straight into the eyes of the only person in the church who was looking at him; Emmeline.
To see her there, to come eye to eye with her over a few short yards, seemed to have brought Christopher Lennox up short. He stared at her as if unable to look away, and Emmeline, for her part, was equally drawn. However, she had not been drawn in the way she would have expected. She was not drawn out of love or sadness or the deepest of despair to look into the eyes of the man she had loved dearly, but instead, she was drawn to look out of pure and unadulterated curiosity.
Above all things, curiosity had not been what she had expected from herself on that day, not for a moment. And it was not a curiosity which had any self-interest whatsoever, for it was almost an idle curiosity, the sort of regard one might give to a situation which is of interest, but not personal interest. At that moment, Emmeline felt unexpectedly liberated.
What she saw in Christopher’s eyes was something altogether different. There was, of course, the guilt and even a little shame, things which she had expected to see. But there was something else as well, and it was a look that she recognized, a look which gave her a sudden jolt. She had certainly seen it before, and she instantly knew where.
Emmeline had seen the same look in the eyes of Felicity Burton, the Duchess of Galcross. It was sadness and, worst of all, of definite regret. In fact, it was a regret that looked so deep that Emmeline could hardly continue to regard him. She could not imagine that she could look into those eyes a moment longer and remain unaffected.
It was not, she realized, that she would suffer any similar regrets herself. In fact, as she looked at him, as handsome as he was, Christopher Lennox had become insubstantial in some way. Inasmuch as she had felt lessened in the eyes of society by his actions, to regard him at that moment and to recognize that he was trapped and fearful of the life which was heading towards him at speed along the church aisle, Christopher Lennox had become lessened in her eyes. And, right then, she truly was free. She no longer felt herself to be on display, a curiosity for everybody else to study as the wedding took place. Emmeline had ascended a little as if she was hovering far above it all, a person unaffected in any way.
Realizing that they must break that curious enchantment, Emmeline smiled at him. It was neither a warm smile nor an angry one. It was not designed in any way to entreat him or repel him. It was simply a smile, one that she might have given to any acquaintance who had looked her way. And the look on his face told her that he had recognized that, that he had felt whatever old bond had still lain between them suddenly shattered, broken into pieces, never to be restored. He looked lost, bereft, and Emmeline almost pitied him.
Finally, she turned her attention to the young woman who was walking down the aisle towards her new life. The young woman with bright blonde hair and a round, rather large face and eyes. Pretty, but not beautiful, her wedding gown was perfect, as was her hair and the look of contentment on her face.
It was in seeing Clara Lovett that Emmeline felt her greatest source of sadness. Clara had not looked around to see where it was her old friend sat, nor did she give any indication that she cared for a single moment how Emmeline Fitzgerald might be coping. What Emmeline saw, what she knew she had seen, was a selfish sort of satisfaction, the satisfaction of a woman who was getting what she wanted at any cost.
She had never thought, in so many years, that Clara Lovett could have been such a woman. To discover that she was, to see it again that day in the church, upset Emmeline greatly.
By the time they had reached Ashton House, and Hunter Bentley was enquiring after her well-being, Emmeline could hardly explain to him what it was that had laid her so low and made her quiet. All she could do was reassure him that she would manage very well and, in the end, she did just that.
Chapter 17
Hunter had to admit that he much preferred a good old-fashioned game of poker, a game where a little money changed hands, to a very sober afternoon of bridge.