Nor had she been angry with Ariadne. At least not for long once she’d learned that the accident had not been an accident at all, but rather a way to give Emma an opportunity to speak with Nick. Mercedes was only sorry she hadn’t been able to make his acquaintance. But with the baroness present, she readily agreed an introduction would have been impossible.
Yet for all Ariadne’s scheming and Mercedes’s forgiveness, Emma and Nick’s time together had changed nothing. Worse, she now found herself alternating between the wild hope that he might decide to seek her out again and the growing fear that he would not.
Forget him, she told herself over and over again until the phrase rang like a dirge inside her head. But how could she forget when he was the one who held her heart?
On Monday, Emma rose from her bed and looked out the window into a sky filled with somber silvery gray clouds. She studied their color and found herself comparing the various shades to Nick’s penetrating eyes. The sky came in a distant second, she decided, no more than a poor copy of the original. Realizing that she was woolgathering about him for the millionth time, she pushed such thoughts away and went to ring for her maid.
After taking a warm bath and having her hair arranged in an elegant knot, she donned a day dress of pale lilac satin and a pair of matching slippers. She dismissed her maid, then stood quietly for a moment and prepared to face the day, wondering if Ariadne and Mercedes had arranged another outing to the city. She would much rather stay at home and curl up with a book in front of the fire, but they would fuss, worrying that she was moping again.
Which, of course, she would be.
Oh well, she thought, at least all the activity keeps Rupert from complaining.
Forcing one of her carefully practiced smiles onto her face, she left the room.
She strolled along the wide corridors with their pale gold silk-lined walls, old masters paintings, and the ornate furnishings acquired by the home’s owners over the past three centuries. But she paid little attention to the lovely decorations, her thoughts distant and distracted as she made her way to the breakfast room.
In spite of the gloomy weather, the chamber proved warm and pleasant, the homey scents of porridge, smoked meats, eggs, and toast greeting her as she entered. After a quietly murmured “Good morning” to Ariadne and Mercedes, who were already seated at the table, she slid into a seat.
Sigrid, she knew, must still be asleep since she never rose before noon, if she could help it. As for Rupert, she’d learned last night that he was scheduled to be away on some sort of official business from which he wasn’t expected to return until evening.
Emma accepted a cup of tea from a footman, then added a bit of milk and a spoonful of sugar. Closing her eyes, she took a first, refreshing sip.
“Pardon me, Your Highness,” another servant said, “but this just arrived for you.”
Emma’s eyes flashed open and she gazed at the silver salver, her pulse speeding faster.
Could it finally be a letter from Nick?
But her spirits sank as she took in the thick vellum and the heavy red wax seal that bore a vaguely familiar imperial crest.
After the servant withdrew, she laid aside the letter and reached for a nearby dish of blackberry preserves. Calmly, she spread a dollop onto a slice of buttered toast.
“Are you not going to open it?” Mercedes inquired from her place across the table.
“Later. Once I’ve finished breakfast,” Emma replied indifferently. She bit into her toast, concentrating on the sweet flavor of the berries rather than the bitter tang of her disappointment.
Stupid, stupid girl, she silently chided, as she forced herself to swallow past the lump in her throat. She drank some tea, then made herself eat a forkful of coddled eggs that felt like paste inside her mouth.
“Well, if you aren’t going to look, I am,” Ariadne declared. She reached out and snatched up the letter. With a clean knife, she slit open the seal and unfolded the missive. “Oh, it is from King Otto,” she said with a disappointment that mirrored Emma’s.
Emma sipped her tea again.
“What does he say?” Mercedes asked after a long moment’s silence.
“I suppose I should let you read this after all, Emma,” Ariadne said.
“No. No, go ahead,” Emma said, knowing the message was certain to bring her another step closer to the prisonlike reality of her fate.
“Very well,” her friend agreed. “Let me see. He sends greetings and felicitations, hopes this finds you well… blah, blah, blah. He plans to arrive in England by Thursday next but will not be coming to London. His party will travel directly to the country estate where we are all to spend Christmas.”