Page 23 of Emma & Edmund

"What?" Emma couldn't quite believe her ears.

"Allow me one hour, two at the most. Rejoin the party, enjoy yourself, and I'll come for you when everything is ready. We will meet him together."

Emma could have clapped with glee, only barely managing to hold it in as triumph flowed through her. "The fortune teller could be gone in two hours, let alone whenever we would get back."

Anthony's ever-neutral expression turned just the slightest bit smug. "Leave that to me."

Chapter 6

The next quarter and an hour drug on as the longest in Emma's memory. She found herself in one of the drawing rooms, where Sophia Hawthorn was entertaining a crowd with her lively piano playing. Every now and again, a song would break out, but otherwise, the room was by far the calmest she could find.

The ballroom was nearly bursting, and she didn't have it in her to see if William Tate had decided to show his face. After a bit of inquiry, she learned Jonathan had resigned to the billiards room since he had arrived, and Margaret was, of course, stealing the whole night.

Everyone seemed to forget the party had been called for her, but Emma couldn't find it in herself to care.

Instead, all of her attention was focused on the corners of the room, knowing Anthony could appear at any time. The punch she was sipping barely tasted like anything, and whatever conversation she engaged in was quickly forgotten.

Not even a full three-quarters of an hour passed before Emma was well over waiting, barely reigning in a hefty sigh, listening to the clock tick just that much louder as if to mock her.

"Emma!"

Startled out of her impatient silence enough to jolt, Emma had only just regained herself before Margaret was in front of her, all skirts and smiles. "There you are, I have been looking everywhere for you."

"I'm sorry," Emma offered weakly, "I didn't feel much like dancing..."

"Listen to me," Margaret sat beside her friend, flicking her fan to grant them a modicum of privacy, "don't be too hurt, it was all a misunderstanding. William is ill, I heard it myself. Nearly bedridden, according to Cousin Danny. And he should know, their rooms are right next to each other."

"Oh, I hope he's all right."

"He'll make the mend. I wanted to tell you so you didn't have to keep cooped up in here anymore. Barely anyone has even acknowledged that he didn't come, and those who did all know the truth now. This wasn't a mark against you at all, so stop acting like it."

Perhaps, sometime in the future, Emma would sit and think about how right her friend was. How this news should have lightened her heart, should have made her throw her current plans for the evening to the side and rejoin the party, retaking her rightful place as a rising debutante. She should be unperturbed in the first place and sought out a first dance elsewhere.

None of the realities of how she should act stopped the loud, drowning voice in her head that she needed to get to Edmund, that she needed to speak with him.

"Are you listening to me?" Her friend's cutting tone pulled Emma's attention fully, only to be greeted by a red-cheeked Margaret. "What's wrong with you?"

It would have been impossible to miss the clear horror in Margaret's tone, and the almost warning lilt to them.

"I'm not sure," Emma answered seriously, bringing her eyes to Margaret's. "I'm not feeling quite myself. Perhaps I hit my head harder than I thought."

A dainty sigh slipped past the other's lips, brow loose and sympathetic. "Why didn't you say anything? You should be resting," she took the cup from Emma's fingers, passing it off to the ornately carved side table beside their sofa, "not partying."

"Miss Thompson."

Emma could have cried when, finally, Anthony appeared at her side.

"Excuse me," Margaret held up a hand to ward off the man, "we are having a private conversation. If you could-"

"Yes, Mr. Anthony?" Emma hadn't even heard Margaret speak, muted by the anticipatory buzzing in her ears.

"The arrangement has been prepared."

"What arrangement?" Margaret's narrowed eyes darted between the help and her friend, rightly sensing she had been left out.

"Another visit from the doctor, Lady Ingham," Anthony supplied before Emma could even pretend to think up an excuse. "With Miss Thompson's continued exhaustion, Mr. Thompson thought it best that she be seen again."

"Did you know about this, Emma?"

---