Silence, heavy and painful. I have 6 weeks, Charles said finally. 6 weeks before the engagement is announced. Before it becomes irrevocable. Then use them. Be selfish. For once, be selfish. And then what? Abandon my responsibilities? Let the estate crumble? Betray everyone who depends on me? Or maybe, just maybe, find a different solution. One that doesn't require you to sacrifice your entire life.
There is no other solution. Because you haven't looked for one. Because you've already resigned yourself to martyrdom. That's not fair. No. What's not fair is watching you slowly die inside while pretending it's noble. Thornhill's voice turned sharp. You want to honor your father's memory? Then don't repeat his mistakes. He married for duty and was miserable every day of his life. He took that misery out on you, on your mother, on everyone around him. Is that what you want? To become him?
No. The word was barely a whisper. Then fight. Fight for something that matters. Fight for her. I can't. You mean you won't? Their footsteps faded, the conversation ending as they walked away. Emma stood frozen, Charlotte beside her, both of them processing what they'd heard.
Well, Charlotte said finally. That was illuminating. Emma couldn't speak. Her throat was too tight, her chest too full of emotions she couldn't name. Charles was in love with her. She'd known it on some level, had felt it in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her face, the way his voice cracked when he said her name. But hearing it confirmed, hearing him admit it to someone else, made it real in a way that terrified her. Because if he loved her, truly loved her, then walking away in 6 weeks would destroy him, and she wasn't sure she could live with that on her conscience.
We should go back, Charlotte said gently, before they notice we're missing. Emma nodded numbly, letting Charlotte guide her back toward the main gathering. But her mind was spinning, racing through possibilities and impossibilities. Find a different solution. Was there one? Could there be? Or was Thornhill's advice just beautiful optimism, the kind that crumbled under the weight of reality?
They rounded the hedge and nearly collided with Charles. He stood alone on the path, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his expression haggard. When he saw Emma, something cracked in his carefully constructed facade. Emma, he breathed. Charlotte looked between them, reading the moment with perfect clarity. I'll just go find some refreshments. Take your time. She disappeared, leaving them alone.
Emma and Charles stared at each other, the winter garden quiet around them. A breeze stirred the bare branches overhead, sending shadows dancing across his face. Did you? Charles stopped, swallowing hard. Did you hear? Emma nodded. All of it? Yes. He closed his eyes, his jaw working. Then you know. That you love me. Yes. I know. I'm sorry. Don't apologize for that. Apologize for a thousand things, but not that.
Charles opened his eyes and they were raw with pain. It doesn't change anything. I know. In 5 weeks, I'll marry her and you'll, I know, Charles. I know. Then why do I feel like I'm losing something I never had the right to claim? Emma stepped closer. Close enough to see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. Close enough to feel the heat of him in the winter air. Because feelings don't care about rights, she said softly. They just exist. Messy and inconvenient and utterly beyond our control.
I wish I could give you what you deserve. A proper courtship. A future. My name. I wish that too. But wishing doesn't make it possible. Charles's hand lifted, hovering near her face. Not touching, but close enough that Emma could feel the warmth of his palm. Can I? His voice broke. Can I have one thing? Just one moment that's real.