Page 52 of Lady Like

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Emily asks.

They are sitting on a bench in Regent’s Park, far from the riding grounds, both of them staring forward at the burbling fountain at the end of the path.

The sky overhead is brilliant and cloudless, but, in spite of the day’s warmth, Emily wants to press herself into Harry’s side, tuck her head into her shoulder and never again raise it.

Around them, children play, chased by nannies.

Women stroll with parasols and men tip hats to them. The world moves on, oblivious.

Harry runs her hands through her hair, leaving a trail of curls standing up straight.

“I couldn’t very well tell you at first, or you’d know I was after Rochester too.

And when I came to find you at Almack’s, I didn’t want to seem as though I was making an excuse; what mattered was that I hadn’t told you the truth.

And these past few days, I didn’t want it to matter. It doesn’t matter!”

“Of course it matters,” Emily says. “It’s terribly selfish for the prince to put you in such a position.

Of all people, he should understand how conformity can be a prison.

” She presses her index fingers to the bridge of her nose.

A part of her wishes she was crying, as though such an ordinary reaction might make the whole situation less absurd, but her eyes are dry.

“Perhaps he will be a great king—perhaps he already is, he’s been regent for years.

But everything I’ve ever heard of him mostly discusses his taste for excess and decadence. ”

“You read the gossip columns about Prinny?” Harry asks with a small smile.

“Sometimes, but it’s well-known back home, as he’s often in Brighton with his degenerate friends.

Thomas met him once.” Emily pushes a strand of loose hair from her eyes.

“He spoke of it all the time. They all did—all those laborers on Tweed’s turnpike.

The day the prince regent visited their building site when his carriage broke an axle, and he shared a meal with them.

Thomas gave me a ring he claims he stole from the prince that day, but I never believed that’s where he got it. It was so small and tarnished.”

“God, your Thomas really was a scoundrel.”

“The other men were so amused that the prince thought it was a gesture of his own great humility to dine with the common people, when really he was having a meal with criminals.”

“Criminals?” Harry repeats.

“Tweed staffs his building sites with criminals,” Emily says. “He bribes prisons to release them to him, works them half to death, and refuses their wages. They cannot take him to court or they’ll be discovered to be escaped convicts and rearrested.”

“Was Thomas a criminal?” Harry asks.

Emily nods. “A pickpocket in his youth, who looked older than he was so he was imprisoned with grown men. The others on Tweed’s sites were so much worse. Thieves and arsonists and molesters of women.”

“Emily,” Harry says, “you cannot marry this man.”

“I know,” Emily says.

“I can find some other way to scrape together enough money to bail Collin out of prison,” Harry says. “I’ll sell everything I own to keep you from him.”

“Hal,” Emily says, but Harry presses on.

“Run away with me.” She seizes Emily’s hand between both of hers and clutches them to her chest. “Let’s go. Right now.”

“Where?”

“Wherever you want. Away from Robert Tweed and your horrible little hamlet and my brother and Prinny and all the meddling twats of London society. We can live somewhere no one will ever find us. We will change our names—Rosalind and Celia, like in As You Like It . I always thought they had a bit of a thing. We’ll take the name of Sappho and live off our wits. ”

“What are you asking me?” Emily says. “To be your wife? Your lover? Your companion?”

“To stay,” Harry says quietly. “I’m asking you to stay.”

“I would,” Emily replies. “You know I would. The same way I know you cannot sacrifice so much for me. Your whole future would be secure if you took your father’s offer. You’ll be able to do anything you want.”

“Well.” Harry offers her a sad smile. “Not anything.”

The idea of fleeing together thrills Emily, certainly, but under any scrutiny, it will collapse like a cream-filled choux.

“What about Collin?” she asks.

“Sod Collin,” Harry says. “He got himself into this mess. He can get himself out.”

But Emily had watched Harry check the rack beside the door each morning for Collin’s jacket and make too much food at every meal like a third guest might join them.

She cannot ask that Collin be the price Harry pays for their happiness.

Much as Emily feels about her parents, she knows that often the only thing more difficult than standing by your family is abandoning them.

“You can’t do that,” Emily says quietly.

Harry releases a heavy breath. “No I cannot, dammit.”

They sit in silence. A flock of birds in a nearby tree takes flight, and the shadows on the path ripple as the branch bounces with their weight. If only, Emily thinks, life could be distilled so simply that happiness and duty were always perfectly aligned .

Harry sits up so suddenly Emily jumps in surprise. “ You marry Collin!”

“What?” Emily laughs, so absurd is the notion. “To what end?”

“To rid yourself of Robert Tweed. To marry suitably. Collin will be some sort of landed gentry if we can get him out of this mess without Prinny finding out.”

“And you think Collin will be amenable to this?”

“Once he hears what I’m doing to free him from the Marshalsea, he’d be an absolute clodpole to refuse.”

“So you mean to extort your brother into marrying me?” Emily leans back on the bench. “How romantic.”

“Don’t think of it like that. This way, you and I can be…”

“Related by marriage?” Emily offers.

“No! I mean, yes. But not…we could be…”

Emily looks over at Harry. Her face is alight with hope, but Emily cannot muster the same. “Lovers?”

“Does the name for it matter? It’s all we’d ever be, whether or not we married other people.

Collin’s a bang-up cove. A bit judgmental and a prude and will make you go to bed before nine, and, it would seem, has a bit of a criminal history.

But he won’t be cruel to you. You can take him home to your parents and they’ll adore his boring suits and dry anecdotes.

And if you and I decide to go our separate ways, no matter—Collin and I can easily fall out again. ”

“And then I’ll be stuck married to a man I…” Emily can’t think of a word to adequately express it. Even like feels too strong. “Don’t hate?”

“It’s better than the alternative, isn’t it? I know it’s not…ideal. But what is? Even if there was no Tweed or prince or my brother or anything, this is as far as we could ever travel. We can be lovers, we can be partners, but I’ll never be someone you wed in a church.”

When Emily doesn’t reply right away, Harry lights up again, this time with another idea.

“Or I marry Rochester and you refuse Tweed because you’ll come live with us in our estate as our…

” She trips on the next word, clears her throat, then says, “our friend. My friend. And if you decide you want to leave—tomorrow or a year from now or decades in the future—I’ll give you an allowance.

I’ll buy you a home, whatever you need to be free and independent. ”

Emily swallows. The whole thing makes her feel vaguely ill.

“What about my parents? I have to marry or they’ll never recover their reputation.

They may even lose their claim to their own land due to a broken contract with Tweed.

And you can’t marry Rochester after what he’s done to your brother.

You cannot think his abuse would stop there. He’ll always take advantage of you.”

“So then we return to you marrying Collin,” Harry says. “It’s the only solution.”

And Emily knows she’s right. The possible futures a woman of her age and station can hope for are already so limited, yet here are ways to circumvent them all and live on her own terms. Emily should be thrilled.

But instead, she feels the same emptiness she had upon seeing Alexander at the Derby.

She can’t even muster joy as a pretense.

An arranged marriage with Collin Lockhart would be nothing like one to Tweed, but it is still a pale version of the same shade.

Before she came to London, she thought all she wanted was anyone but Robert Tweed.

But now she knows what it’s like to stand on her own two feet, to reach for what she wants and claim her desire.

And now she wants more than not Robert Tweed.

She wants a life with someone she loves.

She wants to be unfettered and belong to herself.

Never again does she want to define herself by a Robert Tweed or Collin Lockhart or Thomas Kelly.

Now that she has lived in London as free as she has felt since she was seventeen, she cannot imagine going back.

It has taken all her courage to turn her back to the sun, but now that she has, she finds everything else is illuminated.

But she does not know how to say any of this to Harry, whose eyes shine with hope. Harry, who has kissed the inside of Emily’s wrist and untied the sash of her dressing gown and rubbed the arches of her feet and looks at her like she is a work of art.

“Emily,” Harry says, and Emily snaps, sharper than she means to, “Give me time to think.”

“We don’t have time—”

“Give me at least a moment!”

Harry presses her hands to her forehead, then says, “I have to go see Collin.”

“Of course.” Emily’s shoulders sink. “Of course, you must go to him.”

“And I’m going to ask him to marry you in exchange for getting him out of prison.” She looks sideways at Emily. “You don’t like that. I can see it in your mouth.”

“I need to think it over, that’s all. You’ve caught me by surprise.”

“What is there to consider?” Harry asks. “This saves you from marrying Tweed.”

“By offering me a different coerced marriage, or the life of a kept woman.”

“That’s not—” Harry breaks off, pressing a thumb hard to her lips before she speaks again. “They’re not the same as marrying Tweed.”

“They’re not,” Emily agrees, though they aren’t that different either. She’s simply substituting one jailer for another. One man for another. It’s the difference between a locked door and a bolted one. “But you must give me time to think it over.”

Harry purses her lips. “I’ll have to speak to the prince about lending me money before I make arrangements at the Marshalsea—and pray to God that he never connects the need to Collin.”

“How long do you think that will take?” Emily asks.

“No more than a week, I should hope.”

“Then I’ll see you at the end of it all.”

“What?”

“I need time.”

“No, please.” Harry grabs Emily’s arm, as though holding her in place. “Come home with me at least.”

“Harry.”

“I know, I know.” Harry’s grip loosens, and she raises her hands in surrender. “Five days? Will that be enough?” Her throat pulses as she swallows hard, and Emily knows Harry wishes it were minutes instead.

“Five days,” Emily says. “I’ll come to you with my answer, no matter what it is, in five days.”

Neither of them move. They sit side by side, staring down the path, before they turn to each other at the same moment. And Emily is overwhelmed by how full she feels when she looks at Harry. Like she might spill over and flood the city. This beautiful woman who could have anyone has chosen her.

“Whatever your answer is,” Harry says, “I want you to know, the time I have spent with you has been the greatest joy of my life.”

“Mine as well.”

“I wish it could last forever.”

“I don’t think joy has to,” Emily says, and touches her fingers to the back of Harry’s hand. “I don’t think it can. That’s why it matters.”

“I love you,” Harry says.

And Emily smiles. “And I you.”