Page 30 of Emma & Edmund

"The lord is in his private study." This time, Emma did not jump at Anthony's unexpected voice, just over her shoulder. Instead, she turned to him with blazing eyes, with a tone right on their heels.

"Take me there."

When Anthony led her to a room she had just determined was empty, Emma could have screamed in frustration.

"Mr. Anthony," Emma began as they entered the darkened, book-lined room, "I assure you, I have already..."

Whatever she had planned to say evaporated on her tongue when, with apparent ease, Anthony wrapped his hands around a particularly thick frame of a gorgeous, massive portrait of Belmont Manor and pulled it from the wall as easily as one would any other door of the house.

Beyond, a staircase ascended into a pool of bright light.

"How...when...?"

"Privacy has always been an utmost concern of the Lockhart family."

Hardly managing a nod, Emma's attention snapped back to the illuminated stairwell when footsteps stomped to it.

"Miss Emma!" Ducking under the low ceiling of the threshold, the beaming face of Edmund Lockhart appeared above.

"What in the heavens are you doing here? What if someone saw you?" Emma wanted to scream at the being at the top of the staircase, ignoring the way her wildly beating heart calmed upon viewing him.

"It is my home," he retorted, his pleasant expression faltering, "and work needs to be done, even during a party."

Guilt wrapped Emma's heart, looking upon his crestfallen face. Of course, he would be excited to walk his halls once again.

"It's already past midnight," Emma mumbled, grasping the round rail to join him.

With a sigh, releasing the weight off her chest, Emma offered her hand as a greeting upon reaching the top. She chose not to acknowledge the way her gut filled with warmth when he burst into a fresh smile, wrapping his huge fingers around hers and chastely bringing his lips the silk of her glove.

It was a gesture so familiar, so practiced, but at the same time so other, particularly when a tusk brushed against her pinky finger. Although strange, Emma didn't pull away.

"Well then," Emma began, "are there many hidden rooms in this house?"

"Unfortunately not, my father only felt it appropriate to keep his personal study tucked away," Edmund spoke over his shoulder as he led the way. "Normally, I prefer the more accessible desks. However, given the circumstances..."

The landing spread into what was nearly an identically furnished office to the one below, spare the tree line beyond the window raising a story. The roaring fire coupled with brightly burning lamps scattered across the rooms illuminated the large Turkish rug supporting an expansive desk littered with papers and books, receipts and logs. Rows and rows of carefully kept documents made up the majority of the bookshelf dominating the far wall.

Distantly, a click of a closing door - or painting, as it were - sounded from the bottom of the stairs. Despite his previous objections, Anthony did not follow her.

"How often have you come here?" Emma wondered aloud, seating herself on the edge of the sofa across from the fire.

"Wondering how much you can scold me?" The offense had disappeared from his tone, replaced by a tease.

"Of course not," she countered immediately, "More so, I am wondering just why I was dragged into the woods just a few hours ago if it was as simple as knowing which piece of art to peek behind."

"While it would seem simple, it is a bit more dangerous for me to venture here during the height of the festivities."

"For now, anyway."

While she was nearly bursting with her withheld news, their comfortable banter was too pleasant to deny. The pleasure only heightened when Edmund's face brightened, immediately capturing the meaning of her words.

"You spoke to the woman then? What did she say?"

"Well," Emma looked away from his wide, pleading eyes, suddenly worried that what she was bringing him wouldn't be enough, "she flatly refused to speak to me. However," she quickly went on, her heart aching as his face fell, "she does have information. But asks for you to meet her at the tavern in town."

His normally warm expression turned to stone, his reaction impossible to read. Sinking into the desk chair, creaking under his weight, Edmund rested his chin in his hands, elbows propped on the wood. Her father struck the same pose often, especially when deliberating.

"Tell me exactly what she said."

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