Emma wore pale yellow, a modest day dress with long sleeves and a high collar. Her blonde hair was arranged simply, pulled back to expose the vulnerable curve of her neck. She looked exactly like what she was, someone trying very hard to appear unbothered. You don't have to do this, Margaret whispered as they approached the gathering. We can claim a headache. Leave right now. No, Emma said quietly. I need to be here. Why? To torture yourself. Because he'll be here. But Emma didn't say that aloud.
Lady Beatrice stood at the center of the garden like a queen holding court. She wore deep burgundy silk, the color striking against her dark hair. Diamonds glinted at her ears and throat. Too much jewelry for an afternoon party, but clearly meant to make a statement. I am wealthy. I am powerful. I am untouchable. Charles stood beside her, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He wore a charcoal gray suit, his posture rigid with barely contained tension. His eyes swept the arriving guests with mechanical precision until they landed on Emma.
His expression didn't change, didn't flicker, but Emma saw it anyway. The way his shoulders straightened slightly. The way his jaw tightened. The way his hands clasped behind his back curled into fists. I'm here, his eyes said. And I wish I wasn't. Miss Ashford, Beatrice's voice carried across the garden, bright and false. How delightful that you could join us. Every head turned. Every conversation paused. Emma felt the weight of dozens of eyes assessing, judging, waiting to see how she'd respond.
She walked forward slowly, keeping her spine straight. Margaret followed like a shadow. Lady Beatrice, Emma said, curtsying with exact propriety. Thank you for the invitation. Your gardens are lovely. Aren't they? My father spared no expense. Beatrice's smile was all teeth. Though I suppose they must seem rather grand compared to what you're accustomed to. The insult landed softly, wrapped in courtesy. You're poor. You're beneath us.
Emma met her gaze steadily. I spent 18 years in France, Lady Beatrice. I've seen Versailles. Your gardens are lovely, but they're not quite that grand. A few nearby guests hid smiles behind teacups. Beatrice's eyes narrowed. How fortunate for you, she said coolly, to have traveled so extensively. Though I suppose exile does provide certain opportunities. Exile? The word hung in the air like an accusation. Emma felt the shift in the crowd, the way people leaned away slightly as if scandal were contagious.
It does, Emma agreed quietly. It teaches resilience. And the difference between courtesy and kindness. Beatrice's smile turned brittle. How philosophical. Charles, darling, don't you think Miss Ashford is philosophical? Charles had been silent throughout the exchange, his expression carved from stone. Now he looked at Emma and something flickered in his eyes. I think Miss Ashford speaks honestly, he said quietly. It's a rare quality.
Beatrice's hand tightened on his arm. Oh, I adore honesty. Don't you, Miss Ashford? Then let me be honest with you. I know the two of you have history. Some childhood acquaintance from many years ago. But surely you understand that the past is simply that, past. Charles has moved forward with his life, as should you. The message was crystal clear. He's mine. Accept it and leave.
Emma's chest tightened. She wanted to look away, to retreat, to prove Beatrice right about her weakness. But Charlotte's words echoed in her mind. You're braver than you think. Of course, Emma said evenly. We all move forward. It's the only direction available. Quite right. Beatrice's smile returned, victorious. Now Charles and I were just about to take a turn around the fountain. Do join us, Miss Ashford. I'd love to hear more about your time in France.
It was a trap. Emma could see it clearly. Beatrice wanted her close. Wanted to parade Charles in front of her like a trophy. Wanted to watch Emma squirm. I'd be delighted, Emma lied. They walked together, Beatrice on Charles's arm, Emma trailing slightly behind with Margaret. Other guests followed at a discreet distance, their curiosity barely concealed.