The remainder of their journey to the church had been made in awkward silence, and Emmeline had found it a curious relief when the carriage drew up, and they began to make their way to the graveside.
The moment they arrived to stand with the myriad of other mourners, Emmeline’s eyes flew to the Duchess of Galcross. Felicity Burton was, without a doubt, the most strikingly beautiful widow that Emmeline had ever seen.
She wore a well-fitting gown of deepest black over which she wore a matching lace shawl and black veil. The lace of the veil was thin and her pale, flawless skin could easily be seen through it. Her bright blue eyes, like rich cornflowers, stood out startlingly against the darkness of her mourning apparel.
As Emmeline stood at Hunter Bentley’s side, she felt like an impostor. She felt like a fool whose presence was simply being tolerated by all around her. And it was a feeling which deepened in its intensity when she looked up to find Felicity Burton staring at her coldly.
When Emmeline looked up, making it very clear that she had seen the woman’s stare, Felicity did not look away. She maintained her gaze, and Emmeline felt diminished beneath it. In the end, she could do no more than look down towards the coffin that contained the body of the Duke of Galcross. In her heart, she knew she could not even look to Hunter for comfort this time for she felt sure he did not have it to give.
As much as they had supported each other through their private tragedies and heartbreak, this was a situation that neither one of them had been prepared for. Emmeline felt like one of three pieces left on a chess board and knew herself to be the weakest piece. She would very soon be taken by the Queen, discarded amongst all the other pieces who had succumbed before her. And all that would be left on the board would be the King and the Queen, two people who still loved each other and wanted the game to be back on its original terms.
Emmeline felt the awful sensations of the dreadful night at Ashton House sweep over her again. Although this time nobody was looking at her for her reaction, there was nothing known amongst the mourners, still, she felt it keenly. In some respects, it was worse because she felt all the helplessness of that night and, at the same time, she thought perhaps a little more hurt. Could it be possible that she had come to think more of the Earl of Addison than she had of Christopher Lennox, the man who had been her first love? Was it even possible that she had never truly loved Christopher in the first place, but merely been impressed by him and, having nothing else to compare it to, believed that she loved him?
Emmeline could hardly bear to think of it anymore but could find no way of pushing the same ideas, repeated over and over, from her mind. In the end, all she could do was concentrate hard on the reverend’s words, hoping to feel something for the man who was about to be buried, rather than for herself and the hurt that was undoubtedly coming her way.
At the end of the funeral, as was customary, the Earl of Addison and his small party made their way to the widow to give her their condolences. Hunter seemed to hang back for a moment as if he was not sure what to say.
“Hunter, how very kind of you to come.” Felicity was the first to speak, and she spoke directly to Hunter, determinedly ignoring Emmeline.
“Not at all, Felicity,” he said, his voice low. “How could I not come? After all, I must pass you my deepest condolences for your sad loss.”
“Indeed, and I thank you for it.” Suddenly, Felicity turned those bright blue eyes upon Emmeline and her mother.
She looked at them as if they were, indeed, truly interlopers, almost as if she had caught poachers on her property. Her eyes, which had regarded Hunter so fondly, had changed altogether, and the coldness Emmeline had perceived earlier had returned in an instant.
“My deepest condolences,” Emmeline said, not knowing what else to say.
Felicity did not respond at all but continued to stare at Emmeline as if she wished her in the grave alongside the old Duke of Galcross. In the end, Emmeline could do no more but incline her head graciously and turn to leave, grasping her mother’s hand as the two of them walked back towards the carriage.
As they went, Emmeline heard Felicity speak again.
“If I might have a moment of your time, Hunter, I should be most grateful.” Felicity’s voice had taken on a forlorn quality, and Emmeline could not help thinking it nothing more than a piece of theatre.
The woman had remained dry-eyed throughout her husband’s funeral ceremony and, if her complexion was to say anything on the subject at all, being so free from the blotches and redness of grief, it was clear that the loss of her husband was not as deep as perhaps it ought to have been. But of course, Hunter was a good man, a kind man, the sort of man who rescued a woman who was virtually a stranger to him from pain and humiliation. If he could do that for Emmeline, he was unlikely to remain unaffected by any plea his former love might make to him.
When they reached the carriage, the driver, seeing that his master was nowhere in sight, hurriedly jumped down and helped the ladies back inside.
“Do not worry, my dear. All will be well,” Constance whispered the moment the driver had closed the door, leaving them alone.
“Mama, I cannot think that it shall be,” Emmeline said hoarsely. Her throat ached with emotion, and she knew that she had more than a passing regard for the Earl of Addison.
In truth, Emmeline realized with a dreadful sort of force that she loved Hunter Bentley. She did not love him as she thought she had loved Christopher Lennox, for it was quite different. She did not love him for what he represented, not even his role as a saviour. Emmeline loved Hunter Bentley for the man he was. She loved the clever man who read the same books that she did and saw things in them that she did not. She loved the man who sat intently listening to her own observations, the things that he had not seen, without pride or ego, just interest.
As she looked out of the carriage window to where Hunter and Felicity stood alone in deep conversation, Emmeline realized just how foolish she had been. She had not escaped love, not in the end. All she had done was put herself in its treacherous path, lying beneath the wheels of its carriage. She knew that she loved Hunter Bentley truly, as she would never love another man as long as she lived.
Chapter 19
Hunter had spent many days in confusion, trying to order his thoughts and separate the individual elements which had conspired to see him so upended. By the third day of it all, he was pleased when Algernon appeared without warning in his drawing room, having somehow bypassed the old butler altogether.