Artemis (previously The Lady Lockhart)

Chapter Sixteen

Happy Friday everyone! I'm back in my home country for a couple days before I fly again... This time I'll only be gone a week though. Please forgive me for the potential late update next week. I'll try my best to be punctual.

Enjoy the chapter! It's a bit of a turning point in the story, and I had a great time writing it. As it turns out, family is family.

(Just a heads up: we're inching towards the ending of Artemis.)

THE CARRIAGE RIDE BACK TO WELLINGTON HOUSE WAS A SILENT ONE. Emmeline had tears in her eyes the whole time as she thought of what was to become of her when she married Prince Alexander, and what was to become of her relationship with the handsome Captain who had quite captured her affections. It must have been too dark for Emmett to notice, for he said nothing of it. Emmeline longed for him to say something, but she had never been the kind of woman to beg for attention from others. To her, it was most unbecoming and most unladylike, for Miss Paltrow had taught her that ladies never expressed grief so openly unless the occasion called for it. She was not about to becoming a simpering chit. Besides, her relationship with Emmett was far less than stellar at that moment, and so she simply stayed mute and tried to keep her breathing steady and light until they finally arrived at the gates of her father's property.

Once the carriage had ground to a stop, William left the party without a word, presumably walking towards his chambers. Quite used to his rudeness, no one of the remaining three commented on his abrupt departure.

"Well, I truly am exhausted," Emmett sighed. "I will retire now. Goodnight."

"Yes – goodnight, my dear," Bethany responded. "What theatrics the prince put up! I am quite drained myself. Goodnight, everyone."

Willing her voice not to waver, she said, as clearly as she could, "Goodnight."

Bethany and Emmett vanished from her vicinity. Bathed in semi-darkness and alone at last, Emmeline exhaled deeply and closed her eyes, allowing a tear to escape her eyelid and streak down her powdered cheek. Then, hastily daubing it away with her embroidered handkerchief, she took a calming breath and started most determinedly for her room, where Penelope had said she would be waiting.

"Emmeline."

Her father's voice stopped her short in her tracks, and she turned, albeit reluctantly, to see him standing behind her with a glowing lamp in his hand. The orange luminescence that touched his face in the otherwise shadowed area made him look gentler than she had ever seen him. His eyes, for the first time in Emmeline's life, did not display a lack of love, but betrayed the hurt buried deep in the greying man's soul, the heartbreak that surfaced now at the sight of his daughter in tears.

    "Yes, Father?" Determined to salvage whatever dignity she had left, Emmeline straightened and furiously blinked back all remaining tears in her eyes.

    "Come," he said, his voice uncharacteristically kind, "sit with me in the library, my dear. I need to speak with you."

Emmeline was puzzled, exhausted, and wanted to be left alone to grieve the loss of her own life, but complied without a word of complaint, instead trailing silently behind her father as he walked to the single room his house he had some degree of fondness for. The library was well-lit by the crystal chandelier it boasted, and William snuffed the flame of his lamp. He seated himself in his armchair near the hearth in the heart of the room and gestured for his daughter to sit opposite him. With a short curtsy, she obeyed.

"Emmeline," he sighed, "you must know...I am very sorry."

"Why do you apologise?" she asked, bewildered. Her father had never apologised to her nor her brother in the entirety of their lives; what motivated him to do so now? Was it too late to offer any apology for the death of her mother? Why would he only seek her forgiveness now when she was already an adult about to be married? What had prompted his sudden sentiment of guilt? Was it her marriage?