Page 65 of Emma & Edmund

"-feeling well enough-"

"How good of you to finally join us!"

"Emma dearest-

"Miss Thompson, how do you-"

"-tell us how you know-"

"-how you met-"

A chorus of voices and questions blared like a horn. It took no time at all for Edmund to be pulled from her, thrown into the mix of curiosity and presumption that made up the ballroom, studies, and halls.

Emma herself was surrounded by those who couldn't get to Edmund, a natural outcome when one reenters a party on the arm of the elusive host.

"All right, all right," a call came over the questions surrounding her, Margaret forcing her way to Emma’s side. "Let the poor girl breathe. She does have a head injury, after all."

"Why, of course!" A booming voice dominated. Charlotte Eastwood had firmly planted herself at Edmund's side, arm weaved tightly through his and fan fluttering as quick as a heartbeat over her boisterous bosom. "I would love to dance with you."

Emma desperately stamped down a bitter bile that came up her throat at the sight of Edmund laughing along with Lady Charlotte's show. Ignoring the fact that an inhuman being apparently couldn't be conceived by anyone but her, she was the one who deserved Edmund's first dance.

Damn it all, he even promised it to her!

No, no, she scolded herself, whatever mysticism had befallen the home didn't negate the politeness that determined Countess Eastwood would naturally be the first, having been playing hostess on Edmund's behalf for weeks now.

Besides, the much larger matter was how no one seemed to notice that the current center of attention was a green, huge, and tusked man of the forest.

"So," Margaret recaptured her attention with a cupped whisper in her ear, "you'll tell me the story, yes?"

"Story?"

"Oh, come now," she admonished, pulling Emma out of the ballroom as the others’ eyes seemed to refuse to leave Edmund and the countess dance number, "you go to the balcony with Mr. Tate, who comes back to introduce our long-lost host withyouon his arm. To call me curious would be an understatement."

Not for the first time, Emma considered telling her dear friend the truth. As she was settled on a couch she very much didn't want to be on in a parlor she didn't care to be entertaining in, the strange feeling of betrayal had the entire recollection at the tip of her tongue.

"Do you know him?"

"Yes." Without meaning to, Emma responded.

"And how well?"

The stilt in her words was unmistakable, even as she sipped so elegantly at her champagne. Emma's mouth went dry, knowing what the truth would have to entail, and just how to modulate it was beyond her comprehension. It was safe to say she could tell everything from finding a monster in the woods to finding him between her legs.

"I ran into him," she started, hoping to not sound as dazed as she felt, "on a walk...in town..."

"When in the world did you go to town?”

"I just...I...."

"Emma, enough lies. Now, why don't you tell me how you know Lord Lockhart?" Margaret could cut through any deception Emma could give, especially if it were so thin as she had given.

"I met him after my accident." Again, the words slipped through her before she could vet them.

"How? When?"

"I..."

"Miss Thompson." Followed by a tray bearing server, Anthony breezed across the space with focused intensity. Although Margaret might not notice, Emma could see how firmly set his jaw was - even more than normal. She couldn't blame him, for as wildly nervous as her heart was beating, she could only imagine his thoughts on his master's sudden appearance.

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