Page 44 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
She took a deep breath. She was trying to defy those words, trying to silence them. Did she really believe it? She was not sure.
It would have been easy for Andrew to arrange for the accident to happen when he was out of the house. As Miss Randell had suggested, a servant could have been paid to push the dowager countess down the stairs. But who on the staff would betray the countess? It was not as though the servants were motivated by money only, or they would not be working there.
She took a deep breath, feeling confused and frightened. The dowager countess herself had said that Andrew had nothing to do with her husband’s death. She loved her grandson devotedly, so she would not want to believe it and would seek another explanation. But she could just as easily be right.
“Perhaps she just fell,” Emmeline reminded herself aloud. That was, after all, the easiest explanation. The house was rickety in places, and it was quite easy to imagine there being a loose floorboard on the stairs up to the gallery.
Perhaps I should go and see for myself,she thought.That would be the best place to begin.
She was sitting on her bed, and she sank back on the cushions, her mind swirling with confusion, exhaustion, and a deep, gnawing sense of dread. She shut her eyes and after a few moments, she drifted off to sleep.
She woke with a jolt. Someone was knocking at the door. Her first thought was fear and she sat up, her head pounding with a headache from daytime sleep.
“Who is it?” she demanded, hastily tucking a stray curl out of her eyes. It was darker in the room, the late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the west-facing window. She blinked confusedly—she must have slept for at least three hours.
“It’s Miss Fullman,” her maid replied. “Sorry to disturb. Miss Randell wished me to check on you, my lady.” Miss Fullman’s face showed disapproval.
Emmeline smiled reassuringly. “I’m all right,” she told her gently. “I just fell asleep. I must have missed luncheon,” she added ruefully. Her stomach was empty and churned painfully at the thought of food.
“Yes, my lady. It’s almost four of the clock. Would you like me to bring you something on a tray?”
“Please,” Emmeline said swiftly. She did not wish to see the cousins yet—not while she was still so confused and while her head still ached.
“Yes, at once, my lady. Tea and pastries? Or something from luncheon?” she asked.
“Tea and pastries. Please,” Emmeline breathed gratefully. The tea would clear her head and the thought of pastries made her stomach groan with appreciation.
She tidied her appearance while Miss Fullman withdrew to fetch the tea, and when she appeared again, ten minutes later, Emmeline had fixed her hair, tucking it into a simple bun as she used to when she sneaked into the house from an afternoon ride. Her mother sometimes chided her, but Papa had always smiled.
“Here we are, my lady,” Miss Fullman said warmly. “Shall I put it here?” she asked, gesturing to the desk in the corner.
“Yes. Thank you.”
When she had the room to herself, she sat and sipped the tea and ate the pastries, her mind racing over the implications of the morning. Oddly, despite the dire whispering of Miss Randell, the thing she was focusing on again and again was not Lady Rilendale’s fall, but her own morning ride with Andrew. She could not shake the memory of his strong hands on her waist, or the intensity in his gaze as it lingered on hers.
She heard him call her “dear”, recalling the memory over and over again. She blushed and her heart filled with warmth.
Mayhap he was a murderer, she reminded herself. But she could not quite believe it. Not when he was so beautiful, so kind.
“Maybe you’re being foolish,” she told herself aloud. Amelia had been terrified of him, and her terror had not wavered, after all.
She sighed and poured another cup of tea and drank it, then stood.
She would go and check on Lady Rilendale again.
The afternoon passed silently. Dinner was brief and Andrew did not join the guests. Emmeline gave up trying to keep up lively conversation and they ate in tense silence. As soon as possible, she excused herself and retired to her chamber to rest.
“Goodnight, my lady,” Miss Fullman murmured after she had combed Emmeline’s long hair and helped her to change into her nightgown.
“Goodnight,” Emmeline called, snuggling into the warm bed. She had left the candles and lamps burning and she reached for a book to read, planning to read for an hour or two and then try and sleep.
Sleep did not come. It might have been the pastries and tea, the tension at dinner or her fresh worries and fears for Andrew. She read thebook from cover to cover—it was a short novel, one of the playful, overly romantic ones she and Amelia used to read and giggle over. She tossed and rolled over and then slipped silently out of bed.
Reaching for her nightgown, she shrugged it on and slipped her feet into silk slippers, then headed downstairs. It was dark in the hallway, and she guessed it was ten o’clock, or thereabouts. She tiptoed down the stairs, grateful that someone had left lamps in the entranceway so that the faint glow made it possible to see the stairs.
She headed past the dining room, going to the library. She had explored it once, briefly, with the countess, and she knew there were a few novels in there. She needed something else to read, something to take her mind off her fears.
She opened the door and tiptoed in. To her surprise, there was a lamp still burning and a fire still flickered in the grate at the end of the room. She turned to the door, then her entire body went rigid with fear as she heard a footstep on the boards by the shelves in the corner.
A cry rose to her lips, and she turned to flee, but the sound of a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks—surprised, yet gentle.
“Emmeline?” Andrew said. “What are you doing here?”
