Page 19 of Emma & Edmund

Her thoughts bounced from left to right, up to down, until the sun broke over the horizon, filling the room with a warm glow. It would be hours before the other girls would begin their day and Emma would usually be right along with them, but even resting under the duvet felt like torture.

Giving up the fight for sleep, Emma forced herself to watch the ever-elongating shadows, lest she linger on her dream.

Of how freeing her unabashed dancing was.

Of how safe it felt to be held so close, so securely.

Of the power that pulsed through her at their kiss.

Fingers came from beneath the sheets to press against her lips. The tingle was dulling, but the memory of the pleasant pressure would be hard to forget.

Remembering herself, Emma snatched her hand from her face. She could not allow this to distract her. She had a job to do, after all.

She forced her determination to bolster as it finally came an appropriate time to throw off her covers, greeting Heidi with possibly too much enthusiasm. The Day of Renewed Vigor, as Emma had come to dub it during the many hours of insomnia, called for a yellow dress, and the perfect cream gloves. Her astute maid had caught onto the extra effort nearly from the moment she entered the room, taking extra care of her hair, securing it with the little opal pins that Emma loved so much.

"Well don't you look lovely this morning," Jonathan greeted her as she descended the stairs with Margaret, sipping his morning tea. "Impressing anyone in particular?"

"Oh, hush. My head only just fully healed; I must make up for the lost time." Her rumbling stomach pulled them to the dining room, where steaming platters and overflowing bowls lined the buffet, already dotted with their peers.

"Darling sister," he started exaggeratedly, drawing the attention of others filling their plates, "if you knew how impossible it was to find a conversation not centered around you."

"Perhaps we should all go missing, if only for the chance to be the subject of a whole week." Victoria Tate slid up the buffet, plucking an egg sandwich from the tray. "Although, I am certain that has never been an obstacle for you, Lady Margaret."

"I would appreciate it," Margaret, yawning, saddled beside her friend, "if we didn't relish in my abandonment."

As the belle blinked the sleep from her eyes, Emma swallowed her guilt, knowing it was likely her restlessness that was to blame.

"Abandonment?" Miss Tate exclaimed.

"Of course! How dare she go die in the woods," Margaret moaned, taking Emma by the arm, "and leave me all alone in this dreadful place. At least have the decency to do it when I'm back in the city."

Under the cover of the good-natured laughs, with their food in hand, Margaret dragged Emma from the room, shooting an annoyed look over her shoulder.

"For as quickly as she was running her lips, you would think she would have the decency to not show her face in front of you."

"What are you talking about?" Emma asked, popping a berry into her mouth. The two wandered from the ballroom, where chairs and tables had been arranged for group dining, to a private corner of the adjoining gallery. Only when she was certain that no one would overhear did Margaret continue.

"She spent the entirety of your disappearance trying to spread the ridiculous rumor that you had run off with alocal. No one believed it, of course.”

"What a silly thing to say!" She chose not to acknowledge how close the rumor was to truth, although it could hardly have been considered 'running off'.

"Everyone thought so, but that didn't stop her from practically clinging to Mr. Tate during the entirety of your absence."

Emma hummed, far more concerned about how little she cared than about the news itself. While the ham quiche proved to be a delicious distraction from the strange fact, the same wasn't true for Margaret.

"Doesn't that bother you? Just three nights ago, you were claiming to be his future bride. She could be saying horrible things to him without pause."

"While ideal, William is far from the only option here." Margaret gasped, Emma mirroring her shock. She did not mean the words, did not want to say them, so where in the world did they come from? Mr. Tate wasthechoice.

"Emma," Margaret leaned in, taking Emma's hand with a serious spark in her eyes, "you need to focus. Take advantage of being the main subject, but don't brush aside a man like Mr. Tate. You'll regret it."

"I'm not brushing anybody aside-"

"Perfect. So, once we're done with breakfast, we will find Mr. Tate. There is supposed to be dancing tonight - in honor of your safe return, I heard from Lady Charlotte - and we must have him promise you the first dance."

Opening her mouth to retort, Emma realized that there was nothing she could say. Margaret was right, and she would be a fool to behave otherwise. Whatever acts of flightiness that suddenly befell her must be shaken off, lest she lose everything. A yellow dress and opal pins can only do so much, after all.

It didn't matter her gut turned at the thought of dancing with William Tate.

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