Page 62 of Emma & Edmund

She had been a fool to ignore Mr. Tate's behavior on the balcony, and it was his fault Heidi now had to clean the dirt stains from the silk and cotton of her clothes. Emma's words, her objections, her thoughts didn't matter to him, not even once.

Before she knew it, any bud of affection for the 'perfect gentleman' had died on the vine.

Distantly, Emma noted to ensure her father heard of Heidi's dedication. The woman deserved a raise for how well she kept up with the Thompson exploits.

She was lucky to not catch a cold that day. Meeting her eyes in the mirror, her skin never looked clearer, hardly needing the brush of creme rouge Heidi was delicately applying to her cheeks.

The gorgeous cerulean gown, Edmund's gift, lay across the bed, next to Margaret's own crisp white affair. The belle had been disappointed in the disastrous outing with William, although luckily not enough so to blame Emma for it.

She had performed significantly worse than hoped for, failing to even attract lengthy conversations with any eligible men let alone netting proposals.

And Margaret insisted she hadn't yet fully ruined her chance with the young Mr. Tate.

It shouldn't matter that her lip curled at the thought of marrying such a spineless, useless man. She should tell herself that any man of merit would lose their nerve when desperately lost, that he wasn't trained for it the way Edmund had taught himself. That it was no one's fault but her own for allowing them to sway her into leading them astray in the first place.

Despite her heart’s objection, William was still her only option. Hatred of the man be damned; he was still her best chance at the life she dreamed of.

This final ball would be her final opportunity to return to London with a proposal.

It was hard to focus on home, though, when her gut twisted with the thought as tightly as the hot curling iron on her temple. Emma didn't want to dwell on the reason for it, didn't want to delve into the complicated emotions attached to leaving Belmont. To leaving Edmund.

If only he was a man in the true sense, rather than just in manners and poise. There was no reason to deny the comfort, the ease that came to them naturally. The trust she anointed him with was proven with her body, and he her with his life.

But there was no point living in 'what ifs'. There is only what is.

Edmund couldn't even meet her father, let alone propose. And so, it was best not to even think of the possibility.

"Oh, hurry up, Emma! We all need to get ready." Grace had been staring, which steadily turned into a glare, at her back for nearly the last half hour.

"Perfection takes time, my dear Grace," Emma retorted, her voice breaking over her words. Emma hadn't spoken much in the last few days, preferring to simply blend into the crowd and not think too hard. "And fortheball of the year, extra time is necessary."

"Then you were perfect the moment you awoke." Margaret had finished with the vanity first, also having been the first to begin her readying routine, and was merely waiting out the hour before putting on her gown. Had she donned it now, they all would suffer from the care that must be displayed near it.

"You heard the girl," Grace continued with such flow it was admirable, "you're done. Get up."

"She's just about complete, Miss," Heidi said with rehearsed platitude, having grown used to the dynamics of their little community bedroom. "Only a moment more now."

True to her word, Heidi had Emma out of the chair not even a minute later, which was almost immediately claimed by Grace.

"Are you excited?" Margaret nudged her the moment Emma sat on the edge of the bed beside her.

"Hm?" Emma's thoughts were far away from that moment, hardly returning enough to answer just that much.

Luckily, Margaret also didn't seem too invested in her response. At least, not enough to continue without it. "I heard a certain Mr. Tate go on and on about how well a certain outing went at breakfast today. Said the woods were just lovely, and the company couldn't be more so."

The laugh came before Emma could stop it, absolutely stunned that anyone could have described that foray as anything positive. It was nothing but a frustrating mess, spare for Edmund’s rescue.

Irritation covered her friend's face at the first sign of guffaw. "You need to pull through Emma," she snapped, not caring if others in the room heard her. "Do not take this lightly. That man is primed for marriage and can vision you at the altar with him. I just know it. All you need to do is finish this evening on a strong note. If you do, a proposal will be on your father's desk before we reach London."

Days before, the speech would have filled her with motivation. Instead, dread flooded her stomach, straining her smile. It disgusted her that he thought everything went well.

No, she stopped herself, she should be leaning into Margaret's demands. Just let it happen, be amicable, and be rewarded with the opportunity to live life in the arms of luxury, both material and social.

Emma truly tried her best to keep that mindset as she was dressed and finished, as she left her room with her friends, even as she snagged her first frosty glass of champagne. She was surrounded by beautiful people, clad in a beautiful gown, and had the chance of a beautiful life before her.

She had a goal, and she needed to achieve the goal at any cost.

"Well sister, don't you look-Oh God!" Jonathan approached with a bounce in his step, so purely in his element, until he caught sight of her face. "Calm your eyes, Emma. The severity of them could melt stone."

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