Page 5 of Emma & Edmund

"By the end of the month, he'll wish he never saw them to begin with." Mr. Anthony skillfully pretended not to hear anything at all. He only extended a hand, to which the ladies deposited the letters.

"No others will be joining your party, correct?" Mr. Anthony asked after briefly reviewing the notes.

"We're never going to make it out of the foyer at this rate," Jonathan bemoaned, an embarrassed flush overcoming Emma.

"Will you excuse us for just a moment?" With a bright, perhaps too bright, smile, Emma all but dragged her brother into a corner, as far away from others as she could manage, where the footmen organizing luggage darted away upon their arrival.

Not quite out of sight, as much as Emma wanted to grab her brother by the collar, she settled for a threatening pointed finger.

"Listen to me Jonathan Thompson, you will not ruin this for me. I do not care how much you drink or gamble or whatever you do when Father isn't around, but remember you have a job to do. You will look the part of a perfect chaperone and you will act the part of a perfect chaperone. Stop antagonizing everybody!"

"And if I don't?"

"Oh, darling brother, I don't think Father knows about Mary at the pool hall. Yet."

The words barely left her lips before Jonathan clamped both hands over her mouth, an angry fire in his eyes. "Do not talk about that!"

"Why?" Emma pulled his palm from her face, unafraid of his display. "Shouldn't he know he has a grandchild on the way?"

Jonathan looked like he wanted nothing more than to strike his sister across the face. His hands clenched into tight fists at his side, his jaw cracked loudly, and nostrils flared. Like the gentleman he was bred to be, though, whatever violent fantasies he had were kept within.

"I'll be on my best behavior."

"Thank you-"

"Ifyou give me grandmother's ring."

"Excuse me?" Emma's hand slapped against her chest, mouth hanging open in aghast.

"Grandmother's ring. You get your engagement; I get the ring." The lovely ruby piece, safe in her jewelry box at home, was a treasured family heirloom. One Emma had planned to take to the grave.

"You are not planning to propose to that poor girl, are you? Please, don't ruin her life any further than you already have."

"My business is my own. Do we have a deal?"

Emma studied her brother for a moment longer, not wanting to give in but knowing full well a bet was the only way to make him agree. And so, Emma offered her hand. "We have a deal."

With only a light touch of his fingers to her palm as confirmation, Jonathan clapped his hands together. "There we have it! Let us find my dear baby sister a husband!"

???

The night dragged on, with more guests joining until the halls were nearly bursting. The punch bowl had long since been drained, and many had retreated to drawing and billiard rooms, Jonathan included.

It wasn't as if Emma watched every one of William's moves. She danced, she played, and she even sang a song when a chorus started in a tucked away sitting room, but as she sipped her sweating glass of champagne, her eyes kept managing to find him in a room.

Yet, somehow, even if he flashed her a smile or granted her a wave, he did not approach.

"He's just teasing you," Margaret whispered at one point. "I daresay he was even waiting for you to notice him before darting off just now. Be patient, he will come when you least expect it."

"He's lucky he's handsome," Emma grumbled, feeling far more snubbed than teased.

Before long, the starting notes of the final song rang out from the ballroom. The last Emma saw William Tate, he had been dragged into a smoke-filled study.

There were still many dancers holding out until the end, but the ballroom had significantly cleared, with many finding quieter rooms and conversations. Others found themselves milling in and out of the gallery, loosely discussing the displayed art pieces before moving on.

Finding refuge among the oil paintings, Emma watched the groups from a bench in the corner, sitting below a grand portrait of the late Earl Lockhart and his lady. It was far from the only depiction of the couple, with a representation found in nearly every gathering space Emma had been in yet.

From the delicate brush strokes to the soft, dreamy colors, pure love poured out of their painted gaze. Emma could only hope she would feel the need to show the world her own love in such a permanent, vibrant way.

---