Page 25 of The Earl's Christmas Deal
Emilia’s resolve to try to get along with them was fading more quickly by the second. She knew nothing of their mother, save that she had seemingly failed to instil any civility or kindness in her children. In her mind, their father must be just as bad.
“Perhaps we should ask Papa to cancel Christmas,” Caroline was saying, her face twisted into a sneer. “We would be evicted from our townhouse with such a monstrosity.”
Emilia lowered her wreath to her lap and was mortified to find her lip trembling. Charlotte’s comforting hand came over her own and lifted the wreath away from her for a few minutes as she attempted to improve it.
Emilia took the time to compose herself, and when she looked back, Charlotte had transformed it, somehow allowing the ribbon to make all of the disorder look deliberate.
“Your skill is nothing short of magical,” Emilia said in a low voice, and Charlotte laughed, holding it up rather pointedly.
“Yours is far more unique than the others,” Charlotte said loudly. “I do grow so tired of these uniform wreaths that all look the same at this time of year.”
Emilia frowned at her but then glanced at Sophia Easton’s table. All of the sisters had made identical, perfect-looking wreaths, as though they had been purchased from a florist. Emilia hid her smile, glancing gratefully at her friend.
***
Across the house in the saloon, all of the men had congregated to play cards.
Adam was losing every hand and finding himself growing more and more frustrated as things progressed.
“You seem distracted,” Lionel murmured, as Adam groaned as he lost another hand. On the other side of the room, Frederick appeared to be winning everything, and Adam’s gutclenched at the likelihood that his wayward cousin would be ableto pay his vowels if he were called up.
“Bentley?”
Adam knew he was being horribly rude to his faithful friend, but he could not shake the distraction. In his mind’s eye, two women’s faces were entwined together, both Lady Emilia’s and Anastasia’s. He could not reconcile the twoor drag them apart, and in the background was his mother’s stoic form, all confusion at his indecision and betrayal of them all.
He felt as though he were not honouring Anastasia’s memory with his feelings toward Emilia, yet the alternative was unthinkable—that she might set her cap at another and be lost to him forever seemed even worse, somehow.
A sense of loathing and jealousy toward the duke washed over him, leaving Adam feeling like a stranger in his own skin. The whole thing was driving him to distraction, and he could not evenseethe cards in his hand anymore, let alone play them.
Lionel frowned at his cousin. Adam was glaring at the table with such a furious expression that their game partners were giving him strange looks, and Lionel nudged him pointedly with his foot, but it did no good.
“Bentley,” he hissed, and finally, Adam turned back to him.
“Yes,” he said curtly. “My apologies. Is it my turn?”
The other two men at their table excused themselves, clearly growing tired of playing against two men who were so distracted. Lionel raised his eyebrows at Adam.
“What troubles you? Care to confide?”
“There is nothing to confide,” Adam snapped, casting his cards onto the table. With a heavy sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his face and rose abruptly, walking away and out of the room altogether.
Lionel watched him with a sad hopelessness in his heart. He laid his own cards down and looked out of the large window beside him where the snow had begun to fall again. The curtain pulls had been tied with pieces of holly, and the bright red berries looked very cheerful against the scene.
He smiled to himself, a sense of contentment and satisfaction rolling through him that surprised him. It was strange to acknowledge that his cousin appeared to be in the most miserable state of his life when Lionel felt as though he were the happiest he had ever been.
His hand moved to his pocket, sliding inside and gripping the book Miss Fairfax had given him. Without anyone else to play cards just at that moment, Lionel drew out the book, sitting beside the window, reading the words of John Keats against a backdrop of virgin snow and utterly content with the world.
CHAPTER TEN
As the afternoon arrived, the guests gathered for tea.
Emilia entered with Charlotte only to be confronted by the duke’s daughters assembled in a line as though they had planned it in advance.
They all looked her over in their usual manner, and Emilia felt Charlotte’s hand tighten on her arm. They were standing just beyond the door, and it would be rude for her not to address them. She knew she could expect only a rebuke in return, but nevertheless, she had been brought up to be a polite young lady.
“Good afternoon,” Emilia said to Sophia.
“Oh, good afternoon, Lady Emilia,” she said in an ingratiating tone. “Your mother has truly outdone herself with this room. Caroline and I were just remarking upon it.”
