Chapter 15: He's mine

When Emma receives the royal invitation, the atmosphere in the Hastings household shifts instantly. The butler hands her the sealed envelope, the royal crest gleaming against the fine parchment. Emma stares at it, her stomach tightening. She hasn't yet opened it, but the weight of its significance already presses on her.

Eleanor and Alfred exchange a wary glance from across the room. Eleanor's usual elegance falters for a moment as her hands tighten on her teacup. "It seems they've summoned you, Emma," she says carefully, her tone devoid of the enthusiasm one might expect for such an honor. Alfred clears his throat, setting aside his book. "It's... no surprise, given your rejection of Prince Adrian," he murmurs, his expression unreadable.

Emma breaks the seal and reads the contents aloud. The Queen herself has invited her for an audience. The room falls silent. Eleanor rises slowly, her steps deliberate, and approaches Emma. "You must tread carefully, my dear," she says, her voice firm but lined with unease. "This invitation isn't about celebration. They'll want answers, perhaps even submission." Alfred nods, his brow furrowed. "You've drawn their attention, Emma. That is both a privilege and a burden."

Emma's chest tightens. The words "privilege" and "burden" echo in her mind as the family retreats to their separate corners to prepare.

Arriving at the palace, Emma is greeted with the cold splendor of Buckingham's vast halls. The butlers and maids guide her with clockwork precision through the grand corridors, their footsteps barely audible on the marble floors. The grandeur is overwhelming, but Emma straightens her back, determined not to falter.

The Queen awaits her in the drawing room, her regal presence commanding the space. King George sits to her side, his frail form a stark contrast to the sharp authority radiating from his wife. Emma curtsies deeply, feeling the weight of their gaze. The Queen speaks first, her voice as sharp as a blade. "Miss Hastings," she begins, deliberately using Emma's adopted name, "you've made quite an impression."

King George offers a faint smile, his hand trembling slightly as he lifts his teacup. Emma notices but doesn't comment, keeping her focus on the Queen. "Your Grace," Emma replies, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling beneath.

Before the conversation can deepen, Adrian enters the room. His presence changes the air entirely. He is calm, composed, and almost casual, a stark contrast to the tension Emma feels. He greets the Queen and King with perfect decorum before turning to Emma. "Miss Hastings," he says, his voice smooth. "Allow me to show you the palace."

Emma hesitates, glancing at the Queen, who gives a small nod. "Very well," she murmurs, following Adrian out.

As they walk through the grand halls, Adrian points out various paintings and artifacts, but his tone is light, almost detached. Emma struggles to keep up with his mood. Finally, she stops and turns to him. "You're not going to ask, are you?" she blurts.

Adrian looks at her, his brow slightly raised. "Ask what?"

"About my rejection," she says, her voice firm. "I'm sorry I rejected your proposal, Adrian. But I… I love someone else."

Adrian's expression doesn't change. He simply smiles faintly, turning his gaze to a nearby window. "You owe me no apology, Emma. Your heart is your own." His response is so measured, so controlled, that it leaves her feeling more unsettled than relieved.

He continues the tour as if the moment hadn't happened. Emma follows in silence, her mind spinning.

Later, as Emma waits for her carriage, she overhears two courtiers whispering in a nearby alcove. "The Great Wall of Benin," one says, his voice hushed but urgent. "It's finished. They're rising in strength, and soon—"

Before she can catch more, a footman appears to announce her carriage. The moment is lost, and Emma can't shake the feeling that whatever she just heard is deeply significant.

On the ride home, the words echo in her mind: The Great Wall of Benin. Rising in strength. She stares out the window, her thoughts racing. What is happening in her homeland? What does it mean for her here in England?

When she arrives at the Hastings estate, Eleanor meets her at the door, her face pale. "Emma," she says, her voice trembling slightly. "Harrison… he's to marry Clara. The wedding is in less than a month."

The world seems to tilt as Emma absorbs the news. The weight of her feelings, her heritage, and her uncertain future presses down on her, leaving her standing in silence as Eleanor watches with worried eyes.

Eleanor's words echoed in Emma's ears as she stood frozen in the drawing room, the weight of the news pressing against her chest. "Harrison is to marry Clara in less than a week." The sentence replayed in her mind, each repetition sending her further into disarray.

"I don't understand," Emma murmured, her voice barely audible. She clutched the edge of the table for support. "Why? How? He confessed his love... we—"

Eleanor, seated with her usual poise, regarded Emma with a mixture of pity and restraint. "Life doesn't always make sense, Emma. Sometimes, duty outweighs love."

"No," Emma whispered, shaking her head as tears welled in her eyes. "I cannot take this. I have to speak to him. I need answers."

Before Eleanor could protest, Emma stormed out, her small frame trembling. She didn't bother with a cloak or bonnet as she rushed to the Ashbourne mansion. Her thoughts were a chaotic swirl of heartbreak, confusion, and desperation.

The Ashbourne mansion loomed ahead, its grandeur now feeling cold and foreboding. Emma's hands shook as she knocked on the heavy oak doors. A servant hesitated before opening them, recognizing her instantly.

"Lady Emma," the servant stammered. "Is the Viscount expecting—"

"No, but I must see him," Emma interrupted, her voice trembling but firm.

She was led to the library, where Harrison stood by the window, his back to the door. His broad shoulders were tense, and his head was bowed slightly, as though the weight of the world rested on him.

"Harrison," Emma called softly.

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, their eyes met, and Emma saw a flicker of pain in his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a wall of detachment.

"Emma," he said, his voice steady but distant.

"What is happening?" she demanded, stepping closer. "Why would you agree to marry Clara? After everything we shared, after what you said... why would you change your mind like this?"

Harrison looked away, his jaw tightening. "Emma, please don't do this."

"No!" she cried, her voice breaking. "You owe me an explanation. Why are you doing this? You confessed your love to me, and now you—"

"Emma, stop!" Harrison's voice rose, and the sharpness of it stunned her into silence. He took a deep breath, his hands clenching at his sides. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I love you. Please, just leave."

His words struck her like a physical blow. Her vision blurred with tears, and her chest ached as if it might collapse under the weight of her heartbreak. "You don't mean that," she whispered.

Harrison turned away, his shoulders stiff. "Go, Emma. Please."

Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled out of the room, her heart shattered. She barely noticed her surroundings until she almost collided with Clara and Lady waybrigde in the hallway.

"Well, well," Clara said with a triumphant smirk. "I told you so. You'll never be with Harrison. You'll never be enough for him."

Emma stopped, her grief transforming into fury. Her hands balled into fists at her sides as she turned to face Clara.

"And you think you are enough?" Emma shot back, her voice trembling with rage. "You're nothing but a desperate woman clinging to a man who doesn't love you. Are you jealous of me because you know he'll never look at you the way he looked at me?"

Clara's smug expression faltered, but Lady waybrigde stepped forward, her face tight with disapproval. "That is quite enough, Lady Emma. You've caused enough trouble here."

Emma's chest heaved as she fought back another wave of tears. She turned and fled, the weight of Clara's words following her like a shadow.

Outside, in the cool evening air, she leaned against the side of the carriage, trying to steady her breathing. She didn't notice Violet, the Viscountess Ashbourne, approaching until a gentle hand touched her shoulder.

"Emma," Violet said softly, drawing her aside. "I need to tell you something."

Emma looked up, her tear-streaked face filled with confusion. "Why is this happening? Why is he marrying her?"

Violet hesitated, glancing around to ensure they were alone. "This... this was not Harrison's choice."

"What do you mean?" Emma asked, her voice hoarse.

"There were dealings," Violet explained, her voice low and urgent. "When Edmund was alive, he made some poor decisions... financial ones. Clara's family discovered the truth and threatened to expose us. They would ruin the Ashbourne name, destroy everything Harrison has worked to rebuild. They gave him an ultimatum—marry Clara, or watch our family's reputation crumble."

Emma's knees buckled, and she gripped the side of the carriage for support. "So he's sacrificing his happiness... for you?"

Violet nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. "He doesn't want to do this, Emma. But he feels he has no choice."

Emma's heart ached even more, the weight of the truth crushing her. She had thought Harrison's rejection was out of apathy, but now she saw the love and pain hidden behind his silence.