Choosing Her Earl at Last (Preview)

Chapter One

“It has been my experience that change is seldom desirable,” Marchioness Emmeline Livingston, nee Frampton, informed her lady’s maid stiffly as their carriage bounced along the cobblestone streets of London, winding its way toward the Frampton family’s town house.

The bitterness in her own voice made her grimace as she scanned the hordes of people running to and fro about their daily business. She turned whisky amber eyes toward her companion in apology for her sharpness of tone.

Whisps of auburn hair fluttered across her cheeks with the breeze through the windows, soft as a butterfly’s wings upon her skin.

Sarah gave her mistress a sympathetic look. Her gentle dove gray eyes held compassion, but also wisdom beyond her thirty-five years. “Change is a constant in life, my lady. It is best to come to terms with it early in life so as to save oneself from a continual state of fear.” She gave Emmeline a reassuring smile. “Returning to London for the Season will be good for you if you leave your heart open to the enriching possibilities that change can bring.”

Emmeline had hidden away from society as a whole during her first six months of mourning for the death of her husband, Norman Livingston, the Marquess of Worthington. She did not miss him. Theirs had been a cold marriage without issue, and the estate had been passed on to Norman’s younger brother, Harry. It was customary for a wife to mourn her husband for the span of a year.

At six months, one could forego the wearing of solid black for the half-mourning grays and muted shades of purple. Emmeline had opted for a lavender dress with soft gray trim. It was elegant, understated, and went beautifully with her natural coloring. 

She eyed her lady’s maid thoughtfully across the confines of the carriage. “You may be right, but it has not served me well in the past.”

“I know, my lady, and sorry I am for it.” Sadness flickered across Sarah’s face. She had traveled with Emmeline from the Frampton family home in England to her husband’s Scottish estate upon their marriage. She had been privy to everything that had occurred within Emmeline’s life. They had no secrets from one another. When the news had come that Norman had died in a fire during one of his many trips abroad, mistress and servant had breathed a synchronous sigh of relief that it was finally over.

Now, as Emmeline contemplated the crush of humanity that was London and the ton, she for a brief moment wished that she were back in Scotland. 

None of that now, she silently chastised herself. I will face whatever may come with courage and dignity. I only pray that my family does not attempt to wed me off once more upon the conclusion of my mourning period. 

She lifted her chin in defiance. Never again would she allow herself to be bartered to the highest bidder. She had been young and naïve when her family had arranged her marriage to Norman. She had been in love with another man, but she had not been given a say in the matter. While her family gained immensely from her marriage to a Marquess, she had lived to regret their decision more with every passing day. 

“Freedom from an unwanted marriage is a positive change, is it not?” Sarah pointedly reminded her.

Emmeline inclined her head in agreement. “True,” she conceded. “As long as it is not immediately followed by another unwanted marriage.”

Sarah’s eyes told Emmeline that she knew she was right, and she did not argue. “You are young yet and could still marry and bear children, my lady. We both know that your family will not waste time in procuring another match for you. My advice is to enjoy the next six months of freedom that your widowhood allows. Let the troubles of tomorrow remain in the future. Today has enough concerns of its own.”

Emmeline sighed, turning her amber gaze back to the swarm of humanity rushing by her carriage window. “At least I will get to see my sister again. It has been too long, and I miss her radiant smile.”

As if on cue, the carriage turned the final corner and came to a stop in front of the Frampton family townhouse. 

“Emmeline!” Her sister, Rebecca, came running down the stairs to greet them, her thick blonde curls bouncing golden in the sun. Her emerald-green eyes sparkled with joy as she flung her arms around Emmeline’s waist and embraced her exuberantly, the moment that Emmeline’s feet touched the ground. She had barely descended from the carriage and was nearly toppled over back into it with the force of her sister’s excitement.

“Rebecca,” Emmeline greeted with a smile. She laughed delightedly as she returned her sister’s embrace. “It is wonderful to see you. You look well and happy.”

Rebecca leaned back and examined her sister’s face. “You look as lovely as ever, but there is a sadness to you that befits a woman of more advanced years. Your sorrow has aged you.”

Emmeline had never been able to hide anything from Rebecca. Her younger sister had an uncanny, intuitive nature that had a way of seeing all the way to a person’s soul. “I am in mourning,” Emmeline reminded her gently, brushing aside the truth of her feelings for a more acceptable excuse.

Rebecca cocked her head to the side, her eyes meeting Emmeline’s. “While the rest of society might believe that your husband’s death is the cause of your sorrow, I do not. I saw how the two of you were together, and there was no love lost between you.”

Movement from the corner of her eye drew Emmeline’s attention toward the Frampton threshold. Silent and rigid as a statue in a black dress stood their mother, Theodocia. 

“Mother,” Emmeline greeted with a nod.

“Emmeline,” her mother’s cold clipped tone fell on her ears like icicles on a cold winter’s day. Her eyes passed over Emmeline’s half-mourning garb with disapproval but said nothing more. It was her nature to be prim and proper at all times; such manners having been drilled into her since birth. Exuberance of affection was beyond her. Having greeted her daughter, Theodocia turned and reentered the house as silently as she had appeared.

“I see that she has remained in black,” Emmeline observed, stung by her mother’s reproachful gaze.

Rebecca nodded. “Mother has been a wraith since Father’s passing,” Rebecca murmured, watching her mother’s retreating back with concern.

“She has never been one for displays of emotion,” Emmeline reminded her.

“This is true,” Rebecca agreed, “But she is hurting and mourning Father in her own way, nevertheless. The house is not the same without him, and neither is she.”

Emmeline nodded in understanding. Their father had been a powerful force in all of their lives. While she was still bitter over her arranged marriage to the marquess, she loved her parents and mourned her father’s loss as well. “When you come out this Season, it should bring her some joy,” Emmeline offered in an attempt to provide some comfort to her sister’s worries. 

The sparkle returned to Rebecca’s eyes. “I am so happy that you are here. How long do you plan to stay?” she asked as she pulled Emmeline into the house and through to the dining room, where a light luncheon had been laid out for her arrival, leaving Sarah in charge of the servants to wrestle the bags from the carriage.

“You know that I am home to stay, Rebecca,” Emmeline reminded her, uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. “My husband’s younger brother, Harry, inherited the estate and title as we had no children. Harry graciously allowed me to remain at the estate during my time of full mourning, but it was time that I returned to England as the new marquess wished to procure a wife of his own.”

“As is proper,” Theodocia replied as she glided past the girls to take her seat at the table. “Providing an heir is imperative. It is a wife’s most sacred and solemn duty to provide her husband with a son to inherit his title and estates.” 

The tone in her voice left no doubt as to her feelings pertaining to Emmeline’s lack of children. Emmeline bit her tongue so as not to point out that Theodocia had not provided her husband with a living son either. The Frampton women had been fortunate in that their father’s estate had gone to a kindhearted cousin who allowed them to remain in their London townhouse, while he lived at the country estate.

“Did you ever discover what caused the fire that killed your husband?” Rebecca asked, her usual curiosity of mind coming to the fore.

Theodocia shot her youngest daughter with a warning look. “It is not appropriate for a young lady to discuss such matters,” she chastised, sparing Emmeline a concerned glance. Her tired green eyes held shadows that spoke of a lifetime of duty and pained propriety. 

Emmeline inclined her head in reassurance to her mother that she was not upset by the question. “No, there has been no further news on the matter.” Out of respect for her mother, Emmeline left it at that and did not elaborate, much to her sister’s disappointment. 

“Most fires are accidents, such as a candle left burning too close to drapery, or a spark from a fireplace landing on dry kindling,” Rebecca went on, oblivious to or not caring about the distress she was causing their mother. “But some fires are set intentionally, arson, I do believe it is called,” Rebecca mused. “The Woolery Mill caught fire just last week when a worker foolishly lit a pipe. The poor workers barely escaped with their lives. The mill owner nearly beat the man to death for what happened when he discovered the truth of it, and his family nearly starved while they awaited his recovery so that he could go back to work. If the workers were given better working conditions and regular breaks for such things as smoking or eating, they would not be forced to do such things. The conditions of these mills are truly deplorable, as are the laborers’ living conditions.”

“Rebecca!” Theodocia reprimanded once more, her brows arched in shock, but her eyes held icy disapproval. “Wherever have you been learning such things?”

“I pay attention.” Rebecca shrugged, lowering her eyes to her plate, but not before Emmeline caught a glimpse of rebellious fire within their green depths.

“Perhaps you should be paying less attention to public rabble, and more attention to finding a husband this Season,” Theodocia firmly advised.

Rebecca stabbed a piece of fruit with her fork, but she did not eat it. A heavy weighted silence fell upon the room, as each woman tentatively picked at the food on their plate. 

Emmeline risked a questioning glance at Rebecca, but was ignored. Where did she learn such information? Proper young ladies, such as the ones our mother has raised, know not to speak of such things as labor disputes and poverty-stricken living conditions. Rebecca spoke with such authority as if she had seen these conditions with her own eyes. Our mother would not even allow us to tend to the poor as our Christian duty might require.

She always sent the maids to do any charity work we were called to do. While Emmeline had done what she could for the tenants under her care as the marchioness of her husband’s estate and gained some knowledge in the doing, Rebecca had never been allowed anywhere near the parts of London that she had so passionately spoken of.

“There is a caller at the door for you, mistress,” the family butler intoned as he came to stand just to the side and behind Theodocia.

Nodding, Theodocia arose from the table. “I will receive them in the blue drawing room.” With a warning look to her daughters that they were to behave in her absence, she left the room.

“Where did you gain such knowledge?” Emmeline asked once their mother was out of earshot. “I cannot imagine that you simply heard it from a passerby. Did one of the servants speak with you on the matter?” If so, their mother would be certain to fire them immediately.

Rebecca lifted her head, defiance shining from her eyes. “Ignoring the world is a mistake,” she informed her sister, not actually answering her question. “One must simply open one’s eyes to see the truth.”

“I have always admired your spirit, dear sister. Be certain that it is not your ruin,” Emmeline advised, as she watched the fire of passion flare once more in her sister’s eyes. “Be certain that it is not the ruin of us all.”

Chapter Two

“It is high time that you find a wife,” Colin Barrington informed his cousin bluntly. “And this coming Season is as good a time as any to find a lovely young lady to bear you an heir.”

Michael Egerton, the Earl of Ravenshollow, stopped swirling the brandy in his glass and turned pain-filled hazel eyes toward his cousin. The two men had agreed to meet at their favorite London gentleman’s club for luncheon and a good snifter of brandy. Had Michael known that this would be the topic of conversation, he would have declined the invitation. 

“My time basking in the light of a beautiful maiden’s love has long passed,” he retorted, his hazel eyes conveying that this particular subject was off limits. “I have no desire to relive such agony again.” He absently fingered the hard, round circle of a ring hidden in his waistcoat pocket, where it had been since the day his dreams came crashing down around him.

Michael’s mind slipped back to the memory of the day that he had planned to propose to the love of his life. He had been given his grandmother’s ring and had gone into town to greet his love’s family as they returned from their trip to Scotland. He had planned to ask her father’s permission, then invite the family to dine with Michael and his parents.

Upon his arrival, he had stopped by the church to speak with the minister, only to discover a notice had been posted of the banns for the very same woman’s engagement to another man. Crushed and crestfallen, Michael had sought out the minister for answers, only to discover that the marriage had already taken place. He was too late.

“You are starting to gain a reputation, Cousin. It is being said that you are a ghost of the man you once were.” Colin’s words filtered through the fog of memory, bringing Michael back to the present. “I cannot say that I disagree with the gossips on this one. You remain in your country estate, spending most of your days painting landscapes. You have not attended a London Season in years. The talk around town is that you have become an eccentric recluse, who forfeits his duties to his tenants in lieu of selfish pursuits.”

Michael’s temper flared inside his chest. He had never shirked his duties a day in his life. “You will not hear such talk from my tenants,” he pointed out, his hazel eyes piercing Colin’s through the fog of pipe and cigar smoke that seemed to permeate every aspect of the room.

“Perhaps not,” Colin conceded, “but it is long past time that you rejoined society.”

“I have no need of society, nor do I care a fig for its gossips,” Michael ground out, barely keeping his anger below the surface.

“Good God, man! Will you allow the spurning of one woman to derail the entire family line? It is your duty as the eldest grandson of our dearly departed grandparents to produce an heir. They may not have been able to produce a son by God’s providence, but they made certain that their daughters married well and had children of their own to pass their much beloved title and estate to. Will you deprive them of their final wish that you marry and produce so many offspring that our family line might never be placed in jeopardy again? No woman is worth such devotion. To surrender yourself to another man’s wife is foolish and destructive.”

Michael, unable to bear another moment of such unbridled ridicule, stood up and set his glass down hard on the table beside him. “If you are so concerned for our family’s lack of heirs, why do you not wed and produce an army of offspring?”

Colin’s eyes widened at Michael’s burst of anger, but he wisely chose not to argue further on the matter. “To that end, I would value your assistance this Season in choosing a wife,” his tone turning quiet and humble.

Michael’s anger eased seeing the uncertainty in Colin’s eyes, and he sat back down. “I did not realize that you were in the market for a wife.”

Colin nodded slowly. “It has been on my mind of late. I see my parents’ happy marriage, and I find that I long to experience the same. I have had my time abroad. I enjoyed my grand tour of Europe immensely, but it is time for me to settle and secure my future. That being said, I do not wish to settle for anything less than a loving union.”

“I see.” Michael nodded in understanding. He had once felt the same. “Most marriages are business arrangements,” he gently reminded him. “Both of our parents, yours and mine, marrying for love is the rarity, not the norm.”

“I know that well enough, but I am not in need of funds. I am in need of companionship in the truest sense of the word.”

Michael smiled at Colin’s romantic heart. “How do you wish for me to be of assistance?”

“You are an excellent judge of character and reputation among men. Your instincts in business are unparalleled. I would like for you to employ your gifts to my benefit, but for the fairer sex.” Colin’s hazel eyes held his with such earnestness that Michael could not deny him.

“I may be able to judge a man’s character, but women are an entirely different animal altogether,” Michael informed him. “My own experience with the fairer sex has shown me to be inept in the field of love. Are you certain that you wish to trust me with the future of your own heart?”

Colin nodded firmly. “I trust that your experience will be invaluable.”

“As you say.” Sighing, Michael leaned back in his chair, picking up his glass of brandy. He raised his glass in a quiet toast. “To the future bridegroom.”

Colin’s face split into an exuberant grin. “So, you will join me this Season?”

“How can I say no to my favorite cousin?”

Colin laughed. “I am your only cousin,” he pointed out, but raised his glass in reply. “To finding love!” Both men downed their glasses.

“Barrington,” a familiar voice interrupted the cousins’ conversation. Michael and Colin turned to find one of Colin’s school friends approaching. “Ravenshollow, by Jove. It is good to see you out and about, my friend.” The man extended his hand to shake both of the cousins’ hands.

“Richard Everett, Esquire,” Colin arose with a grin and warmly shook his friend’s hand. “Good to see you. Would you care to join us for a snifter of brandy?”

Everett nodded. “I would indeed.” He took a seat between the cousins, and Colin motioned for the club’s butler to bring them another glass. “Have you heard about the most recent gossip?” Everett asked excitably.

Michael stiffened, given the gossip that Colin had just informed him of. “What might that be?” he asked cautiously.

“There has been a rash of art thefts across the country,” Everett informed them.

Michael’s brows rose in question. “Art thefts?”

“Indeed.” Everrett nodded in confirmation. “Some of the most notable pieces in all of England have gone missing from the landed gentry to the most noble houses in the land.” Everett’s gaze fell on Michael’s face. “Say, have you inventoried your own collection of late?”

Michael shook his head. “I have not.”

“I would if I were you, Ravenshollow. Your collection is one of the best I have seen. Such a collection would be a true temptation for a greedy art thief.”

Michael nodded in agreement, concern for his own precious pieces filling his mind, momentarily replacing his previous ire. “I thank you for the warning. I will indeed inventory my collection.”

Everett nodded. “If you discover that anything is missing, the magistrate at Bow Street is mounting an investigation with the aid of his Runners. I recommend that you report anything amiss to him.”

“I will,” Michael agreed. “What more can you tell me of the thefts? Does the magistrate have any notion as to who the thief or thieves might be?”

Everett shook his head. “He believes that the thief is hiding somewhere in London, given that the bulk of the thefts have occurred there, but he is not dismissing other possibilities, as there have been thefts elsewhere throughout the country as well.” The men discussed the matter for a few moments more, then Everett changed the subject to other bits and pieces of news that he had been made privy to around London. “Have you heard that the Marquess of Worthington’s widow has returned for the Season? She has not been seen in society since their wedding, remaining secluded in Scotland for all these years since. She may be more of a recluse than you yourself, Ravenshollow,” Everett chuckled in amusement at his own jest. “It has created quite the stir about town.”

Michael had just been about to take another drink of his brandy when he stopped midway. He went stone still, his heart hammering in his chest. “Widow?”

“Had you not heard?” Everett asked him, surprised. “Norman Livingston, the Marquess of Worthington, perished in a fire while traveling abroad about six months ago. His younger brother, Harry, has inherited the title and estate as the couple had not yet produced an heir. Once it was evident that the marchioness was not with child, she was returned to the care of her family. She has only just arrived in London from what I was able to gather.”

Michael exchanged a look with Colin. Colin tried to be silently reassuring, but Michael’s heart felt as if it might explode from his chest, it beat with such ferocity. The woman who had spurned his love was now unwed and back in London. Anger and pain warred with the tiniest glimmer of hope, a hope that he swiftly snuffed out. She chose money and position over love.

She is not the woman that I once believed her to be. I will not allow anyone an opportunity to cause me such pain ever again. It mattered not to him that most of society married for wealth and position. He had held her to a different standard, and she had shattered his heart. There would be no rekindling of romance as far as he was concerned. Never again, his mind whispered in self-preservation.

Chapter Three

The day after Emmeline’s arrival, Rebecca had already dragged her out of the house and out into the city’s most fashionable district.

“You need new things if you are to properly attend the Season’s events with me,” Rebecca had argued, and Emmeline had reluctantly agreed. 

The sisters had spent the late morning going from shop to shop, placing orders to be delivered to their townhouse. Turning down another street, the girls saw a familiar sign up ahead. “I heard that there was to be a new collection of art being sold today,” Rebecca informed her sister, her eyes begged Emmeline to attend with her. The girls had spent many an hour in just such places with their father, Horace Frampton, a noted antiquarian and businessman of good reputation.

Emmeline smiled; Rebecca’s excitement was contagious. Taking her sister’s smile as an affirmation of attendance, she grabbed her arm, and the girls hurried excitedly toward the auction house’s front entrance. They entered to find a sizable crowd of people, the air humming with the low drone of a myriad conversations and palpable excitement. Emmeline’s body thrilled with the nostalgia of it all. “I have missed this,” she murmured, squeezing her sister’s hand in a moment of familial memory.

Rebecca squeezed Emmeline’s hand in return, giving her a soft smile of understanding. “I am glad that you have returned home where you belong.”

Emmeline returned Rebecca’s smile. In truth, she did not know where she belonged anymore, but in this moment, that did not matter. In this moment, she was with her much-beloved sister, doing something that they loved. “Let us find a seat before the auction begins.”

The sisters weaved their way through the crowd until they found a couple of empty chairs toward the back of the room. They were fortunate to find seating at all, given the size of the crowd that had already taken their places in anticipation of what was to be on offer. When the auctioneer took his place at the podium, he hammered his gavel to call the room to order, and the drone of conversations faded to an anticipatory silence.

The first handful of items were interesting but did not cry out to Emmeline to be taken home with her. About midway through the auction, a cloth-covered rectangle was carried to the front of the room. The auctioneer smiled at someone toward the front of the crowd, then addressed the room at large.

The cloth was removed, and Emmeline’s heart skipped a beat. Beneath the cloth was the sketch of a most beautiful feminine portrait. A woman was portrayed in soft, sweeping lines against an aged parchment. “Here we have a rare opportunity indeed,” the auctioneer announced. “This unfinished portrait is believed to be none other than one of Leonardo da Vinci’s beautifully mysterious ladies.” A renewed hush fell over the crowd.

Emmeline could not tear her eyes away from the subtle beauty of the woman. The yellowed aging of the parchment did nothing to detract from its beauty but added to the mysterious air of the woman portrayed. 

“I must have it,” she breathed.

The woman’s expression was a mix of nostalgic sorrow and secret strength. It spoke to her heart as nothing before ever had. When the auctioneer called for the first bid, her hand flew almost by instinct alone up into the air. Her heart raced in excited trepidation as others began to bid as well. As the bids went higher, slowly but surely, people began to fall out of the competition until only Emmeline and one other person toward the front of the room remained.

Emmeline strained to see who was still bidding against her, but was unable to make out more than the back of a man’s head. Her father had left her some money with the intention of it being for just such artistic pursuits, and she had not touched it until now, and yet the price was rapidly climbing toward her limit.

At just the moment when she thought that she might lose, the man bidding against her in the front row turned around in search of his competitor. Emmeline’s breath caught in her throat as she recognized the piercing hazel eyes of Michael Egerton, the Earl of Ravenshollow.

The auctioneer looked from the earl to Emmeline, then back and forth, confusion and uncertainty on his face as he attempted to get the earl to bid once more without success. Emmeline had no notion as to how long they sat there staring at each other before Michael turned back around and shook his head. 

“Sold!” cried the auctioneer, slamming his gavel down upon the podium.

The auction continued on until every last piece was sold, but Emmeline saw none of it, lost in her own thoughts and memories of the man she had loved her entire life. 

It had broken her heart when her parents had married her off to a complete stranger for his title and social standing, instead of to the boy she loved next door. To make matters worse, her husband had never allowed her to return to England, preferring to keep her at his summer estate, far away in Scotland, even though he had an English estate in Leicestershire that would have made more sense for a lady of her standing.

The last time that she had seen Michael was the day that she had left for Scotland with her parents on holiday; by the end of their trip, Emmeline had been married. She had never even been allowed to say goodbye.

When the auction ended, Emmeline went to pay for her purchase and arrange for its delivery to her family’s townhouse. As she and Rebecca exited the auction house, she saw Michael walking ahead of them toward a carriage. Emmeline grabbed Rebecca’s arm and hurried after him. “Michael,” she called after him tentatively.

Michael stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around to face her. Emmeline’s heart stuttered in her chest at the cold, reserved look in his eyes. Every other aspect looked the same as the last time that she had seen him. He was older, less light and free in his expression, but mostly the same. The way he looked at her, devoid of love, was the main difference in his countenance, and it was more than her heart could bear. 

“My lady,” he greeted somberly, inclining his head in the proper respect due a marchioness. “My condolences for your loss.”

Emmeline was not certain whether he meant the loss of her husband or her father, but she supposed that it did not matter. She inclined her head in acceptance of his sympathies. “Is that why you surrendered the Da Vinci? I have never known you to back down from a work of art that you truly desired.”

“It was in respect to your late father,” Michael acknowledged. His eyes swept over her half-mourning attire. “He was a good man. He is missed.”

Emmeline nodded in acceptance of the compliment to her late father’s memory. “I am pleased to hear that it was not out of pity.”

“Never,” he affirmed. In truth, his eyes held no pity at all, only a cold anger.

“How are you? How have you been? It has been some time since we last spoke.” She offered him a tentative smile in an effort to thaw the ice between them.

“I am perfectly adequate. I thank you for your inquiry, my lady.”

Anger flared in Emmeline’s chest at the distance between them, but she knew that it was not his fault. 

He has every right to be angry. We loved one another, planned to spend the rest of our lives together, and then I was gone and wed to another. He has no way of knowing the truth of the matter, that it was all against my will. Emmeline’s heart ached for what might have been.

“If you will pardon me, my lady, I must bid you ado. I have pressing estate business to attend to. The auction was but a brief respite. Alas, I must return empty-handed.” Michael bowed and turned to leave.

In spite of herself, Emmeline could not stop the next words that left her mouth. “It is not like you to surrender so easily.” 

They both knew that she meant more than the artwork.

“I learned long ago when it is time to concede that which I desire,” Michael retorted without turning back around and stepped into his carriage, commanding his driver to go.

Rebecca stood by Emmeline with a look of utter consternation. “Well, that was rude,” Rebecca huffed. “I remember Michael being more charming than that. He did not even acknowledge my presence. In point of fact, he only had eyes for you, angry as they were. What happened between the two of you? You used to be so close when we were children.”

Emmeline shook her head. “I do not wish to discuss the matter.”

Rebecca studied her sister’s face, sudden realization dawning as her eyes grew wide in understanding. “There was love betwixt the two of you. What happened?”

“Father and Mother married me off to the highest bidder,” Emmeline bit out bitterly, and turned to walk back toward the family townhouse.

Rececca hurried to catch up with her, but did not press her for details, allowing Emmeline the solace of silence. 

Michael has every right to behave coldly toward me, but that does not remove the sting of his indifference. Emmeline felt irrationally angry and more than a little hurt, feelings that she knew she had no right to have, and yet they persisted.

I should have written to him, explained everything, but I was a coward and too broken-hearted to explain how I had done my duty and betrayed our love. How can one find the words to express such pain? Emmeline shook her head. There are no words. He had not written to her either. Their love had died on the vine before it had ever had a chance to come to fruition. Worst of all, she missed their friendship the most.

Rebecca reached out a reassuring hand and gave her sister’s balled-up fist a gentle squeeze. Emmeline relaxed her fingers and accepted the loving gesture of comfort. She gave Rebecca an apologetic look. 

“Forgive me for my sour mood. I have ruined our outing with my melancholic turn of thought.”

Rebecca shook her head. “Do not give it another thought. I may not truly know or understand everything that you have endured, but I am here to listen whenever you wish to unburden your heart.”

Emmeline smiled at her beautiful sister. “However was I so fortunate as to have a sister such as you in my life?”

Rebecca blushed prettily, accepting the compliment with good grace. “No more fortunate than I to have you, dear sister.”

Spirits lifted somewhat by Rebecca’s loving support, Emmeline walked arm in arm with her sister back home. To her delight, the auction house had already delivered the Da Vinci piece. Emmeline carried the framed sketch up to her bedroom and closed the door. She untied the twine and folded back the wrapping protecting the artwork. Once again, the sorrowful strength of the woman captured within robbed her of breath. It was a feeling that she understood all too well.

It was as if Da Vinci had peered into her very soul and brought the pain within to life for all the world to gaze upon. A single tear slipped from Emmeline’s lashes, splashing down her cheek to fall unbidden onto the portrait’s gilded frame.

This woman knew what it was to have lost love and somehow survive the pain. Emmeline traced the line of the woman’s curls as they fell in waves down the parchment, her eyes held captive by the downward turn of the eyes, the full curve of her lips. Sighing, Emmeline brushed the errant tear from the frame and turned to find a place to hang the artwork.

As she moved toward a blank space on the bedroom wall, she passed the mirror hanging over the room’s fireplace. In her reflection, she found the same haunted expression in her own eyes as that of Da Vinci’s muse. She turned her gaze away from the discomfiting sight and back down to the portrait in her hands.

The words of William Shakespeare floated through her mind. “Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but love.”

Emmeline shook her head, forcing back the tears. She did not allow herself to be broken by the cold indifference of her husband. She would not be broken by this either. “Love is a devil, indeed,” she murmured, straitening her shoulders.

A knock sounded on her door. 

“Emmeline, it is time to dress for the ball,” Rebecca’s voice called through the wooden portal. “Come and see the new dresses that have just arrived.”

Emmeline smiled at her sister’s enthusiasm as she laid Da Vinci’s portrait down on her side table. “Coming,” she called back. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and opened the door, stepping over the threshold with the determination to let go of the past and step boldly into an unknown future.