Page 59 of Lady Like

Emily follows Harry up the stairs of the mysterious manor house to which Harry has brought them without question, like she is being led through a dream.

Perhaps as a result of the sleepless night, the tense, pent-up energy of waiting to face Tweed, or a combination of both, but it is only when Harry opens the front door without knocking that it occurs to Emily where she has been brought.

“This is the house,” she says.

Harry nods. “Longley Manor.”

“ Your house?”

“No,” Harry says, “but we won’t be prosecuted for trespassing. Come see.”

She tugs Emily’s hand, gently leading her inside.

An involuntary gasp escapes Emily’s lips as she stares up at the high ceilings, the windows—coated in grime, yes, but the sunlight still finds its way through.

“It’s beautiful! But. Oh dear.” She stops, staring up at the murals on the ceiling with her nose wrinkled.

“Those wicked-looking cherubs will have to go.”

Harry nods. “It would be first on the list.”

“And the gardens!” Emily drags Harry through the foyer and into what must be the dining room, for a long table shape is covered by a drape.

The chandeliers above are furred with dust, and large windows look out across a veranda.

Beyond that, the grounds, overgrown and unkempt but blooming with wild clover and rampion.

“Obviously I’d add a hedge maze,” Harry says, resting her chin on Emily’s shoulder as they look out. “In which my guests can have clandestine meetings with their lovers.”

“And all this light!” Emily leads Harry to the opposite end of the room, which opens into a large ballroom, this too paneled with windows that look out across the grounds. The door to the garden is open, letting in an aroma of damp soil and wildflowers.

The wainscoting of the ballroom is cracked and the paint is faded, but the size alone is so grand it steals her breath.

Emily’s hand falls from Harry’s as she twirls into the center of the room beneath the brass chandelier, caked in years of old wax.

She wants to throw a ball in here. She wants to walk toe to toe and see how many steps it takes her to cross it.

She turns to where Harry is leaning in the doorway, watching her with a smile on her face that reminds Emily of afternoon sunlight, the exact hour before sunset that makes the whole world glow. “How will you decorate it?” she asks.

“Paper hangings,” Harry says, sweeping a hand through the air. “And portraiture. A whole mess of them there.” She indicates the opposite wall, the first guests would see when they walked in.

“Portraits of who?” Emily asks.

Harry points to each imagined frame in turn. “Me. You. Havoc. Then a series of me and you and Havoc, dressed in Renaissance attire, acting out tableaus from Shakespeare. And we’ll put a grand piano here. No—two pianos! And a bunch of tasteless vases. Perhaps a costume closet.”

“What exactly is this room being used for?” Emily asks.

“Whatever we’d like.” Harry grabs Emily by the hand and spins her.

“We could even put a big bed in here. Or a very small sofa. And every night Havoc will sit upon the giant bed and I’ll take up on the very small sofa.

” She leans against the wall where the small sofa will be and slides down, and Emily joins her.

“And every night, I shall take you upon my lap.” She puts her hands on Emily’s waist, and Emily obligingly straddles Harry, kneeling over her with her face above Harry’s.

“And every night I will tell you that you, Miss Emily Sergeant, are the love of my goddamn life.”

“Dear me,” Emily says. “What will your husband think of that?” She had meant it to sound light, but it strikes her heart with the strength of a blacksmith’s hammer, and suddenly she finds she’s crying.

She claps a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs, but the sound leaks out between her fingers.

“Don’t.” Harry takes Emily in her arms, kisses her cheek. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” She scrubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I’m crying because I’m exhausted and I’m emotional and I love you and I miss you and…” She grips a fistful of Harry’s coat. “I love you. I already said that, but once more. For good measure.”

“You needn’t miss me,” Harry says. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you, now that Tweed is gone.”

“But it will never be the same as it was.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe there are better things ahead.”

Emily scoffs. “Husbands?”

“The best thing,” Harry says, and reaches out to press her hand against Emily’s before lacing their fingers together, “is that there will never be a version of me that did not know you. From now on, every day that passes, I will be the Harry that has been known and loved by Emily Sergeant. Whether we part now or are together until the day we die. There will never be a year I don’t mark your birthday or think of you when I see dandelions or remember the way you take your tea.

And I like myself better, now that I’ve loved you. ”

Emily settles onto the floor beside Harry, tipping her head onto Harry’s shoulder. “You have such a soft heart.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

They sit in silence for a while. Emily stares up at a beam overhead.

It looks soft and rotted, and she notices a starling has nested in one of the growing cracks.

“The house really is quite dilapidated,” she says.

“Prinny should give it to you without conditions, considering the work it will take to restore it.”

“He really should, shouldn’t he,” Harry says. Then, raising her head from where it’s tipped against Emily’s, she calls across the room, “Did you hear that, Father? Miss Sergeant thinks you should give me the house without condition, on account of it being a pit.”

“Does she?” calls a voice from the veranda. Emily looks up as, through the door open to the garden, the prince regent appears, a stick in one hand and Havoc on his heels, leaping with joy as he waits for it to be thrown.

“This dog,” the prince says, holding the stick over his head, “is comparably sized to my horse.”

Oh God, the prince regent. Here, in Harry’s house. His house, she corrects herself.

And— Christ on toast!— he has just walked in on her and Harry cuddled up on the floor together in a way that is distinctly sapphic.

Harry, however, seems unconcerned. She climbs to her feet, then holds out a hand to Emily, who is so stunned she has forgotten how her body works.

Harry has to practically lift her up before she remembers how to find her footing.

“Miss Emily Sergeant,” Harry says, “may I introduce you to my father, George, shortly to be coronated king of England?”

The prince inclines his head. “How do you do.”

“And, my dear father, this is Miss Emily Sergeant, who needs no introduction as I’ve gone on at length to you about her many fine qualities.” Emily wants to step on Harry’s foot. How obvious could Harry be, particularly after the prince had seen them snuggled up like kittens on the floor together?

“It’s very good to meet you, Miss Sergeant,” the prince says. “I have, indeed, heard so much about you.”

Emily tries to bow, but Harry holds her upright. “No need,” she says.

“I don’t think that’s your decision, Miss Lockhart.

” The prince gets a running start back onto the veranda, then flings the stick as far as possible into the yard.

Havoc bounds after it, leaping into the overgrown garden, where he is immediately swallowed by the foliage.

The prince rubs his shoulder, then returns to them with a smile.

“But she’s right—no need for formalities here. ”

Emily doesn’t know what to say. She can’t look him in the eye. She feels the need to curtsy so badly she is beginning to go boneless in Harry’s arms.

“And,” the prince says. “I believe we have someone in common, much to both our detriment. A Mr. Robert Tweed.”

Emily looks up. She can feel her heart in the back of her throat. “I do know him, Your Majesty. We were—are—engaged to be married.”

“Oh, I think were is the correct tense,” the prince says. “ Considering the trouble he’s now in, I cannot imagine he would be considered a suitable match for a fine lady such as yourself any longer.”

“Your Majesty,” Emily says, “if I may ask…How are you acquainted with Mr. Tweed?”

Out in the garden, Havoc lets out a delighted bark.

The prince glances over his shoulder, then says, “Several years ago I was robbed when I stopped at one of his building sites. A ring of great sentiment was taken from me. It was never recovered.” He hooks his hands in the pockets of his coat, head bowed.

“He insisted it was not taken and I must have lost it somewhere else, and refused to let his men be searched. He was a very unpleasant man and unsympathetic to my loss. I have always remembered that.”

“Could you not have forced him to submit?” Harry asks.

“I had him investigated,” the prince replies.

“Evidence was found that he was not paying his workers, but no one would stand against him as a defendant so the case was dropped. But now that he has solicited an illegal duel against Harry, we were able to arrest him. And he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, Miss Sergeant, I assure you.”

He smiles at her, and before Emily can consider the ramifications of her statement, she says, “Your ring.”

The prince raises an eyebrow. “What of it?”

“It was a silver band.”

“Indeed,” he replies. “How did you…”

But Emily is already pulling the chain from beneath her shirt, looping it from around her neck, and holding it out to him.

“I knew a builder on his site,” she says.

“He gave it to me, as a token. He said he stole it from the prince, who stopped to luncheon with them, but I admit I did not believe him. It’s so small for a man. ”