Chapter 18

When Emma awoke, her first thought was that she’d slept, amazingly a deep dreamless sleep. Her second was that she was alone in the bed, but not alone in the room. She sensed his presence before she located him sitting in a chair by the window, the lamp nearby providing him with sufficient light to read the journal in his lap. Although only his profile was visible to her, she could detect the deep furrow in his brow as he absorbed her sister’s account of her life and time in London. With his elbow perched on the arm of the chair, providing support, he held his chin, his forefinger stroking just below his lower lip, a lip she had an urgent desire to nibble upon.

Beyond the window the dark of night still hovered. The storm was dying down, the rain a softer patter, the wind a quieter moan.

Emma studied James as he read. He’d drawn on his trousers. Pity that. She’d never considered herself a woman who would prefer a man in all his naked glory, but James was indeed a fine specimen. He made her feel tiny, yet strong. She had power over him. He desired her. She couldn’t stop the small smile from forming. He could distinguish her from Eleanor. No one else had ever been able to tell the three sisters apart. She supposed it was odd to take such delight in his ability, but it made her feel special. Their entire life all three sisters had struggled to be seen as individuals. People thought they should wear the same clothes, should strive to be identical, but they each possessed their little quirks, their small differences, and in some cases large ones. Eleanor was headstrong, quick to anger, quick to act. Emma analyzed far too much. Elisabeth had been far too adventuresome. It was the reason their father had decided she would be the first to brave London. What a catastrophe that had been.

Yet it had put into place a series of events through which she’d met James. If not for the fact that it had cost Elisabeth her life, she might have been grateful. Guiltily, a small part of her was glad for James-but the price had been so dear.

As though suddenly aware of her thoughts, he set the journal aside, rose to his feet and strode toward the bed, shucking his trousers as he neared, revealing all of his masculine glory. The smile he bestowed upon her as he slid into bed beside her caused her heart to trip over itself.

“I thought you’d never wake up,” he growled, before taking her in his arms and making her ever so thankful she had.


June 15, 1851

Tonight Cousin Gertrude escorted me to my first ball. I’m not quite certain how she is related to us, but I daresay Father could have given me as grand an introduction into society as she did. I don’t wish to besmirch her efforts, but I swear she knows not a soul of any importance. How she enticed Lady Chesney into inviting us is beyond me. But invitations were extended and we accepted. I spent the first hour sitting with Cousin while gents eyed me from a distance-not quite sure what to make of me, I’m certain.

Finally, well into the second hour, our hostess introduced Mr. Samuel Bentley and he asked for the honor of a dance. He was not the sort to turn heads, but many heads did turn as he led me onto the dance floor. He was the fourth son of a viscount, desperate enough for funds to ask straightaway what sort of dowry my father was bestowing upon me. He laughed at the amount, then apologized for his rudeness. He assured me that I would have a time of it securing a husband.

I did not doubt his words as I spent another hour becoming further acquainted with my chair. To my shame, I even cursed Father for sending me to London. I was ill prepared for flirtation or exuding confidence. I was the country lass stumbling about in a strange place of unencumbered sophistication and confidence.

I begged of Cousin to allow us to leave, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I suspected she was enthralled with the gaiety, that it was as new to her as it was to me.

And then he approached. I’d never seen a man so handsome, a man so charming. The Marquess of Rockberry. He led me into a waltz, and the most boring night of my life suddenly became the most memorable-in the blink of an eye.


June 17, 1851

I can hardly properly hold my pen in order to write legibly. My fingers, my whole person, are trembling with such excitement. Lord Rockberry called on me today. He brought me a dozen roses and a tin of chocolates. Cousin was astounded by his generosity. She assures me he is one of the most respected lords in London and that he is in a position to select his wife without consideration of her dowry. I could not be happier nor have greater hope that I shall make a good match and be able to provide the means for my sisters to have their own Season and secure their own happiness.


June 21, 1851

Lord Rockberry again called on me. He took me for a ride in his open carriage. Cousin accompanied us. Once we arrived at Regent Park, we disembarked so that we might walk with a little privacy and speak without Cousin hearing every word. Lord Rockberry is seeking a wife with an adventuresome spirit and believes I might suit. He teasingly told me that he wishes to test his theory. Without Cousin knowing we made plans to meet at midnight tomorrow. I am breathless with anticipation.


July 1, 1851

Lord Rockberry called. I told Cousin to inform him that I’ve taken ill.


July 5, 1851

Lord Rockberry called again. I am still abed.


July 10, 1851

I have asked Cousin to make arrangements so I might return home.


July 15, 1851

I am home.


July 20, 1851

I can see the concern in my sisters’ eyes, especially Emma’s. She has always been the most sensitive. I have failed my family. I do not know how much longer I can live with the shame of what transpired during that night of “adventure” with Lord Rockberry.


August 5, 1851

I have no will to eat.


August 8, 1851

I have no will to breathe.


August 20, 1851

I walked to the edge of the cliffs today. How easy it would be to simply step into nothingness. But it would break their hearts and so I must continue on.


September 1, 1851

The cliffs are calling to me again. I do not know how much longer I can resist the peace they offer. But I know I cannot depart this earth without writing of the “adventure,” as Lord Rockberry so blithely referred to it. Perhaps in so doing, I will find the peace I seek.

At midnight I slipped out of the residence with Cousin none the wiser. In the alleyway Lord Rockberry kissed me quickly and handed me up into his carriage. Excitement thrummed through me. He whispered words to make me feel beautiful, desired. He explained that he was a disciple of Eros, the god of sexual desire. He was a member of a secret society which initiates women into the art of love. He told me it involved a beautiful ritual during which he would claim me as his. He seduced me with his words, his kisses. In the carriage he plied me with wine. I suspect now that it was laced with something that served to disorient me. I did not feel myself. And I certainly did not act myself.

We arrived at a residence. Inside, two ladies took me away and began to prepare me. They removed their clothes and mine. Beautiful silver filigree circled their necks. They draped the softest silk over me and explained what was required of me. I wanted to protest but my mouth seemed unable to form coherent words. My will was no longer my own.

They led me into a dark room where the only light came from flickering candles. Pillows were piled everywhere. There were other naked ladies wearing the same silver at their throats. Men in red cloaks wavered in and out of my vision as the two ladies escorted me to Lord Rockberry. I heard humming, a chant.

The ladies removed my silk. I stood before him exposed. I knew I should have covered myself in shame, but I was beyond caring. The world faded in and out. He bade me to kneel before him. When I did, he placed the silver around my neck and told me I was now a sister of carnality. He lay me upon a mound of pillows and took me.

There were cheers and laughter echoing around me even as I tried to push him away. The pain was indescribable, the intimacy barbaric. The room exploded into madness, chaos, as others-men and women-had their way with me. I remember so little except the agony and humiliation. I thought I’d awaken to discover it had all been a dream. But the nightmare was real. And even though I’ve returned home, I seem unable to escape it.


September 7, 1851

Forgive me.

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