"Who was who?" He asked back puzzled. "The woman you took to bed here in our marital home. The maid?" She waited on every word he was to say. "I will have all staff replaced; you need not worry about who the woman was my lady." She stood still wreathing, trying to breath, trying as hard as she could to focus and yet all she saw was pain, even when Devyn walked over to the chair by the fireplace. All she saw was brutal pain that tore her heart in piece by piece. He was willing to protect the identity of the woman he had slept with than expose her. "If that be all my lord," She turned for the door.
"My mother has invited us home. We shall be journeying as early as down. I expect you will be ready before then?"
"Very well."
Emilia walked the small distance to her room and felt exhausted, drained beyond recognition and she knew sleep was the very last thing on her mind no matter how hard she would try. She allowed the tears run down her cheeks and the cold sobs rack her body.
Papa,
I haven't heard from you, and I do not know whom to turn to other than you. I feel I am a burden to my husband and even the people underneath me, underappreciated, but worst of all papa I feel so very much insecure. Where will I go to if things take a turn for the worse while still with my husband?
Who will be willing to accept me into their homes without fear that my ill reputation will not soil them?
Please papa reply me soon, at least reassure me that if things take a turn for the worse, your doors to my childhood home are open and welcoming.
Emilia.
Emilia sat by the window in her cold room and even though the snow painted the ground a marvellous colour of white, it was a sight that brought sadness to her heart. She had been up even before the last servant went to bed and at a certain point, she had stopped caring about how terrible she looked. Her room was still a huge mess and granted a new chamber maid had walked into wake her up.
There was a knock on her door a second time and she turned to watch a figure with brown locks walk into the room. "I shan't be eating thank you." She ignored the figure and turned back out to the window. If she paid enough attention, she could her the whining of the horses being pulled to the front doors protesting at riding in the cold. Even they cursed at being out so early in the morning. "My lady."
"And I said I will not be eating." There was a moment of awkward silence and Emilia felt the uncomfortable feeling down her gut, her stomach ached, and she couldn't help the judgmental pinches that itched her skin.
"What do you want?" It was a strain to hear herself talk, and worse she knew it would grow to be an even bigger strain. "I-" But even the figure was unsure of what she wanted. She cleared her throat and then came a third knock on her door, but for some unknown reason, Emilia was eager to hear what her servant had to say.
"My lady, the coach is ready, and his lordship awaits your presence." She nodded. "Tell Callam to prepare me a separate coach, I shan't be ridding with his lordship." The woman curtsied and closed the door behind her. "If you have nothing of importance to tell me-" "I fear my lady I hoard a secret that might crush you, and I fear I might have been the curse of your failing marriage." At that Emilia laughed a bitter sweet laugh, one that came from the depth of her soul, accompanied by pain and anguish of the tears she had cried blaming herself over and over again. And if a woman who wasn't she took the blame, then what was she to do.
"Don't be ridiculous."
She picked up her coat and it was then she saw the small glance of fair skin. Her mood changed and her mouth soured. "I care not to know." Realization hit her hard in her face. "So long as I never get the chance of seeing your face, I am fine dying with the thoughts that you my dear betrayed me."
"But-"
She raised her hand up. "Lord Seymour had a choice, thrice, and if he decided to take you Lily to his pleasure then it isn't a matter of mine, I should be concerned with." Heavens help her she wasn't going to stand there in her room and hear tale about how her chamber maid went to bed with her husband. The same chamber maid she had once cried to about her failed marriage. The same maid that had told her seduction to be something that could catch her lord's attraction, and poor her, she had miserably, blindly followed and look where it got her, an aching core and dampness between her legs, a hunger she knew only Devyn could fulfil. An aching heart and even worse, a dying marriage.
She picked up her scarf with as much pride as she could eager to get away, eager to have the small compartment of her carriage all to herself and yet dreading her mother in law. Without another word, she was out of her chamber, feeling the invisible judgmental stares bite her back.
She climbed down the stairs and the first pair of eyes to acknowledge her were those of Devyn's and even he looked as pained as she did, with dark bugs underneath his eyes. "My Lady." "Callam." She greeted the man. He extended his hand to help her into the carriage, but he was halted by another hand that held him to stop.
"Emilia." Devyn's voice cracked as it was as if he was holding back the tears she was about to cry. She ignored him and without aid chambered the carriage and settled herself in the furthest seat. She heard Devyn's voice vibrate against the outer walls of the coach, though unclear as to what they were talking about. There was a slight jack and the horses whined forward trotting along the cable stones. She pulled off her shoes and tucked her feet underneath the large mass of her dress eager to get at least a few minutes before shut eye, but alas that request was one not granted as she could hear the slow trots of a horse and rider just by her window and if she looked out, she could tell that Devyn was just a worried for her as she was. But then again why should she care about what he thought or how he felt. He was after all in the wrong and she had tried, for one she remained faithful and had never imagined herself in the arms of another man, other than him. And even he hurt her she still wanted to hold him. To fall asleep next to his body and feel his warmth on her.
She still wanted him.
She sighed and pulled the scrawl around her body but even that failed to give her the warmth she wanted. Half a day's journey she remembered the words. At least she had things to keep her company, a new book, and a potted plant, one she could talk to even if it couldnt speak back.
Dearest Emilia,
My heart is troubled and my head, oh heavens it aches with a splitting headache.
And for the sake of it all, added;
Surely, you aren't going to die alone? Why even with a husband of great figure and two previously failed miserable attempts at finding yourself a husband, you are without friends to send letters to.
The carriage hit a bump and she was jerked awake from her restless slumber. A great pull told hold of her leg and she took a moment of silence to acknowledge the lacing pain and didn't even bother stopping the little cry for help that escaped her lips. The carriage door was pulled open and in Devyn walked, cuddling her to his chest as she fought internally with the biting pain of her leg being torn apart. She took in deep breathes of his sweaty manly scent and for some reason that helped clamed her nervous senses down. His warm garlic breath fanned her face and his heart beat just a few inches from where her hand rested.
"Which leg?" He whispered even though the pain had already gone down. "My left." He raised the numerous layers of her skirts up and reached under. His cold hands sent a shock and an instant awakening signal down her body.
"My lady?" The voice of her new maid called out but then excused herself immediately after. Devyn's hand felt about her lower leg for a swell and when he found none, he let out a breath. "You can go back to sleep now; we still have a long way to go." She didn't know that she was sweating until he cleaned a dab of salty water on her forehead. His voice clamed her down and she found herself resting her head against the carriage as sleep took hold of her.
Emilia awoke with a nervous sigh as they approached the great walls of the Seymour manor. Surrounded by the elite London and a judgmental ton, the Seymours lived in the very heart of Borrough's high society town in London where the nights never dulled with balls and hosting, and gossip was the tea accompanying a full bite of scone every evening. A murmuring town were everyone hid a dreadful secret and yet bickered at being better than the others.
The carriage took a turn for the left and judging from the curious stares the carriages got, the town's folk were unaware of an arrival coming their way, but in the least she was thankful that Devyn wasn't riding by her windows side out in the public, that on its own would have caused more ruckus than it ought to.
They were welcomed by the splendor of décor that adorned the house and she immediately stopped breathing in awe at the marvellous wonderland that was the family's front garden, even she couldn't help a feeling of guilt compared to what she kept at home. Most of her flowers either died or were attacked by pests. And even worse some of the hands picked from her garden taking all the hard yearned sweat she had planted.
The carriage came to a stop at a fountain that had a shoveled path of green luscious grass leading to the front door of the main house. Benches sat surrendered by well sculpted angels dancing while some played the harp. The golden black gate closed behind them and the fence was one well kept with perfectly grown winter roses.
She got out the carriage taking care of her leg and felt perplexed when Devyn chose to stand by her side. Something he had never done especially whenever they attended any social gathering, which if she thought more on was barely a handful of times.
A group of servants stood at the stairs leading down to the carriage and all she could see was either loyalty written on their faces, or genuine tiresomeness of being over worked. Whatever the cause might have been they stood tall and awaited the woman of the house.
And Emilia had lived a life of lavish and she knew the wonders of being a daughter to a most affluent aristocratic, but she doubted she reached the shoes of the Seymours.
"Why, when I received your letter, I was in utter shock seeing as you have forgotten your dearest mother." And yet she didn't embrace her son but rather looked him up and down with a frown at the small blemishes on his body. Her judgmental stare watched him and he seemed less fazed to care.
"And I see you have brought,..?"
"Lady Emilia Seymour, mother. You would have known that had you attended the wedding."