Page 55 of Emma & Edmund

"What in the world are you doing!" Emma screamed, gathering the duvet around her. "Get out!"

"You can't possibly still be in bed," he huffed. "The girls said they haven't seen you."

"I only just returned from the physician." The lie rolled off Emma's tongue easily, the throbbing between her legs seizing the moment she heard her brother's voice.

Plopping down in the chair beside the bed, Jonathan threw his crossed feet up on the mattress, patting his jacket down for his cigarette case.

"Why are you even here?" Emma grumbled into the pillow.

"Came to check on my dear baby sister, of course."

"Please tell me the truth. For once."

"I am!" He sat up straight, looking her in the eye. "I understand I haven't been the model brother and even worse chaperone. Who am I to guide you when I do the same thing - if not worse?"

"You are supposed to ensure Idon'tdo horrible things. Who should know better than you?"

A rare look of regret passed through Jonathan's eyes.

"Do you truly find me horrible?"

The question gave Emma pause. It was true her brother was a philanderer, a gambler, and a drunk. He was an awful chaperone and an even worse father-to-be. And yet, looking at her brother as she was now, Emma couldn't find it within herself to call him horrible. Now more than ever, she felt she actually understood him.

Some things just felt too good to deny oneself, once the pleasure was unveiled.

"Jonathan, I don't find you horrible. Flighty and irresponsible, no doubt. But not horrible."

Patting his jacket down once more, he gave a deep sign in response.

"All right, all right, enough flattery. What do you want?"

"Why in the world would I want something from you? We've already well established your unreliability."

"Yet here you are. In bed well past teatime. Not feverish nor ill in any way. If this is not a call for attention, I'm not sure what is. And here I am to answer the call."

The command for him to leave coated her tongue but died there. As much as her brother constantly annoyed her, she didn't want him to leave just yet.

"Jonathan, if you could, would you take back what unfolded with Mary? Would you prefer it never happened at all?"

For the first time in their shared memory, Jonathan sobered.

Looking upon her with stony eyes before casting them across the room, his lips set into a thin line, as if searching for something to anchor his gaze on.

Checking his jacket one more time before turning back to her, a veneer of humor plastered over his face.

"You've been asking a lot of questions of that nature lately. 'What if, Jonathan? What would you do, Jonathan?' Call me a psychic or a genius, but I have a sneaking suspicion those questions aren't necessarily for me."

With a hearty huff, Emma hauled herself up, planting her spine against the headboard. "What in heavens are you talking about? A question directed at you is a question for you, idiot."

"I'll put it more simply for you, then. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing of note at all." Her answer came with no hesitation.

The laugh Jonathan released bounced off the walls. She wouldn't be surprised if the first floor heard it, how loudly it echoed in her ears.

"I mean no presumption," he said around a chuckle, flicking a tear from his eye as it rolled in its socket, not convinced at all. "You're my baby sister. You can always come to me when you've messed things up beyond repair. After all, who would know better about transgressions than I?"

"Who said I have transgressed?"

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