Early April, 1816.
Putting Grace to bed was a lot easier with the promise of her father's return in the morning. Grace had laid her head down on her pillow even before completely finishing her cup of milk and hurried Emma out of the room so she could fall asleep faster. Emma had smiled about it all the way down to the kitchen.
She found herself still smiling whilst pouring out a glass of water.
Out of the kitchen window she saw a carriage drive onto the property. Emma moved the curtain slightly, watching the carriage as it pulled up before the house. Her smile grew wider as she saw Mr Jones step out of it.
She left the kitchen, stepping out in the hallway just as the door opened.
"Has she gone to bed yet?" He questioned, hastily setting his suit- and briefcase by the door, taking off his coat quickly before handing it to her.
"Only a moment ago, she is very likely still awake," Emma answered, accepting the coat. He nodded quickly and stepped onto the staircase, taking two steps at a time. Emma smiled, shaking her head towards herself.
She brought the coat to his office to hang it by the door whereupon she waited in his office for his return. Emma looked around herself trying to find a reason for her staying in his office. All she saw were the two personal letters that had arrived for him whilst he was gone. She picked them up, but realised quickly that letters were not a reason that would make sense; they could wait until tomorrow.
Sighing in defeat, Emma laid the letters back down. Her hand lingered on the letters, her fingertips brushing over the wax seal. Why was she looking for an excuse to talk to him? Could she not simply ask how he was, would it be too forward of her to not wait until tomorrow? Then again, she had never been too bothered to contain her forwardness, why start now?
Emma flinched as the door opened, her hand swept the letters of his desk as she turned around.
"Oh," He mumbled upon strolling into his office, frowning at her as she kneeled down to pick up the letters. "Can I help you?"
"I have your mail," Emma said bluntly as she stood back up again, holding the letters up for him to see. Truthfully, she was not quite certain if she wanted to hit herself in the head, run, or was more hoping for a giant hole to open in the floor that would swallow her whole. His tired eyes watched her with amusement, a grin playing on his lips as walked past her and set his briefcase down on the desk.
"Is it important?" He asked, opening his briefcase. "Do we have to do this now?"
"No, Milord, I just..." Emma trailed off, what was she supposed to say? I just wanted to ask you how you have been doing? I just wanted a reason to talk to you? At her silence, he looked up at her and was met with her pensive frown.
Mr Jones smiled kindly and gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. "Very well, perhaps you can read them to me whilst I unpack?"
"Oh - uh... Of course," Emma replied almost shyly and took a seat. Ruby said she had often read his mail to him, but Emma found mail a rather personal thing and perhaps he would not be willing to share everything with him yet. "I have a letter from Lady Belle French?"
Mr Jones did not look up and merely gave a soft hum in response as he sorted out some documents that came from his briefcase.
"Killian," Emma started the letter. It was written in a steady and controlled handwriting, almost like it belonged to someone who had spent time at court. "Ruby tells me you are slowly becoming your old self again. I would like to remind you of my last words to you, and tell you that this offer still stands. I do miss you. Belle."
A barely-there smile had curled around his lips while he pulled out some paperwork from his suitcase and laid it out on his desk. Between the papers a letter that was sealed off with his personal wax seal.
"What are her last words?" Emma asked curiously, her eyes lingering on the letter on his desk. When he noticed her stare he picked up the letter and laid it in the drawer of his desk.
He met her look with an apologetic smile. "Her exact last words were: once you stop being a self–centred asshole you may come visit me again. For now, I'd like you to leave."
Emma coughed in her hand to hide her grin. His expression revealed he did not fall for it, she gave him an apologetic smile in return.
"Yes," Mr Jones spoke the word almost like a sigh. "But I do not blame her. I was quite in shambles back then."
Emma nodded, turning the other letter in her hand to see who sent the letter. "I also have a letter from a Mr W. Avery. Shall I read this one to you as well?"
"Avery?" Mr Jones looked up with a frown, extending his hand. Emma didn't know what to make of his look, his frown almost looked like a displeased scowl.
"Anything else?" He questioned, holding the letter over the burning candle to loosen the seal.
"No, Milord," Emma answered, rising up from her chair. "How was your trip?
"It went rather well. But I can tell you about it at a later time," Emma nodded, curtsying and turning away from him. "Oh, Miss Emma, are you heading to the library?"
"Yes, Milord."
He rummaged through his briefcase and picked out a book, it did not look very new; in fact, it looked like it had been very well-loved over the years.
"It was a gift. They told me to pick out any book I wanted." He smiled and shook his head slightly before handing the book to her. Emma looked at the book, her fingers traced over the spine as she read the title, not recognising the title as something she read. Though it was clearly read many times, the book was well taken care of; the binding had been mended and the pages were only slightly yellowed. She opened it slightly, the first lines almost immediately dragging her into the story. "Have you read it before?"
"No, I have not." She glanced up at him, he returned her look with a gentle smile.
"Good," He stated, gesturing to the door. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Milord." Emma curtsied once more, hugging the book to her chest as she walked out, and made her way to the library.
Whilst sitting in the chair, curled up before the fire, it was easy to lose herself in the book, 'twas a story about far off lands, pirates and princesses, and love.
It was easy to lose track of time, devouring page after page after page.
It was easy to let her eyes slip closed and drift into a slumber.
"Miss Emma?" His voice gently awoke her.
She jolted awake at the touch of his hand on her shoulder, it made him pull his hand back quickly.
"The book will be here still once you wake up," Mr Jones spoke softly.
Emma nodded, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "What time is it?"
"Nearly two, I believe."
"Oh no." Emma rose from her chair, looking around her a little lost as to what to do first. The fire needed putting out, the book needed a place on the shelves, the blanket needed folding. Mr Jones extended his hand to her. "I will do it, go to bed," He said. "Oh, Miss Emma?" He spoke up before she was out the door.
"Yes, milord?"
"Uh... A friend – colleague of mine..." He struggled for words, but she silently let him work it all out. It was quite endearing. "His daughter is a ballet dancer. The reason Grace wanted to do ballet. Their company just had shows all across the grand cities of Europe and in two days they are back for their final show here, in London. He invited Grace and I to the show and afterwards there is a small affair to celebrate the end of their tour, I may not always be able to keep an eye onto Grace, I wondered if perhaps you would like to come with?"
"I would love to. Oh – but I am afraid I do not have anything proper to wear."
"Neither does Grace," Mr Jones said. "Tomorrow both of you shall take the carriage into the city."
Emma tilted her head and arched her eyebrow, her smile an unbelieving one. "You would pay for my dress, Milord?"
"Anything for Grace's happiness," He said, bowing his head slightly to bid her goodnight. "Sleep well."
"And you," Emma answered.
After helping into Grace the blue gown she had picked out yesterday and tying her hair in the requested bun, Grace decided she did not need help putting on her shoes, and Emma was left to stare around the room.
Grace's room looked out on the path between the trees that connected the mansion with the street. Before the house stood an unknown carriage, next to it two unknown drivers, conversing with each other. Emma hid as one of them caught sight of her – though she wasn't certain why.
Grace had her tongue out of her mouth as she sat on the floor of her room, finally having tied the laces of the first shoe. Emma smiled and shook her head, her smile faltering as her eyes landed upon herself in the mirror of Grace's room.
Ruby and Mary Margaret had taken upon themselves the impossible task of making her look like she would actually belong amongst the people she would be spending the evening with.
Mary Margaret had shared with her the trick of the burnt cork to darken the lashes. Her usually pale cheeks had received a light dusting of rouge, which had been gifted to Mary Margaret – she would not say who was the person to gift it to her, but it was clear that it had been David. And Ruby leant her the soft shade of red lip pomade that she often wore.
While Ruby had applied the makeup, Mary Margaret braided Emma's hair, pinning it back behind her head. Some untameable strands quickly sprung free quickly which had resulted in an impatient sigh from Mary Margaret.
Emma had laughed and told her that it was fine, in fact, she preferred it that way. Maybe she would receive some looks, but she liked the way the small locks of hair framed her face.
The coins Lord Jones had given her would purchase multiple gowns, she doubted she had ever held that much coin in her life – or would ever hold again. She had stared at him, eyes wide. And all he said was that she could pick any gown she liked.
From the moment she saw she gown in the shop she knew that it was the one. She had never owned a silk gown before, or a dress that beautiful, for that matter.
Ruby had tightened her corset to the point where she could barely breathe, then tugged the fabric at the front down a little. When Emma had scolded her, Ruby only flashed her a grin and said, "We want all eyes on you tonight." In that moment Emma's mind could conjure up a million objections, but Ruby wouldn't have any of it, instead she tied the bow tightly below her breast.
Emma watched herself in the mirror, her fingers brushing over the deep red silk, the sleeves that covered her arm until her elbow, then over the black waistband underneath her breast. Emma turned sideways, looking over her shoulder. The thick waistband was tied behind her back in a big bow, and her dress was just a bit longer in the back.
She could not help but smile. Even if she would never be one, in this dress she felt almost like a proper lady.
"You look so beautiful, Emma." Grace stood behind her, looking at her through the mirror.
Emma smiled and turned around, reaching out to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear. "So do you. Look at you, a true Princess."
"Then you must be a Queen," Grace replied and took hold of her hand. They walked side by side down the corridor until they stood at the top of the curved staircase. Looking down, her eyes met Killian's. She was not quite sure for which reason, but his lips parted slowly, eyes blinking rapidly before composing himself back again and breaking eye contact. That is when she noticed the man by his side. He looked older than Mr Jones, in his late thirties perhaps, though his face was relatively youthful, his caramel coloured hair had streaks of grey in it. His eyes were dark and they did not seem very kind, but his friendly smile made up for that.
Grace tugged at her hand, making Emma lean closer. "Did you see the way he looked at you?" Grace whispered in her ear. "He thinks you are beautiful."
"Or he thinks I am not covered enough and he will feel disgraced to be seen with me."
Grace shook her head and walked down the stairs with Emma by her side. Mr Jones gave them a small, unreadable smile.
Emma made a curtsy. "Milords."
"Milady," The unknown man said, bowing deeply.
Emma flushed red, looking at Mr Jones in a brief moment of panic, then back to the man. "I am not a lady, Milord," She quickly countered, barely making it through the sentence without stammering.
The man flashed her a grin. "Ah, but tonight you are. Please, call me William." Emma nodded politely – she would not be calling him that, of that she was certain. He looked at her as if he was expecting something from her but Mr Jones was quicker in figuring out what it was.
"William, this is Miss Emma, my daughter's nanny. Miss Emma, this is Mr William Avery, my friend."
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Milord," Emma replied, noting the way Mr Jones introduced him as his friend and not his colleague, as he had done two days ago. Mr Avery gave a quick bow of his head.
"What do you think of our dresses, father?" Grace asked when no further words were spoken.
"You look beautiful," He replied. The short answer seemed to satisfy his daughter, but left Emma with more questions.
"Will Eleanor be there tonight?" Grace asked, directing the question to Mr Avery.
"Of course," Mr Avery answered. "From her correspondence, I know that she is looking forward to seeing you again."
Grace smiled contentedly. "And have you brought Shadow?"
"Naturally, shall we go say hello?" Grace nodded excitedly, following him outside.
"Milord?" Emma asked Mr Jones' attention before he could follow them.
"Yes, Miss Emma?" He turned around to face her again. Behind him the front door shut closed with a soft thud – too soft for such a heavy door, it probably did not close properly, not that it mattered. He arched an eyebrow as she remained silent, her attention with unimportant things.
She could feel a blush creep onto her cheeks, though there was nothing special in his eyes, there was no love or admiration, the way he looked at her now was a far cry from the way he looked at a person a few months ago. Just by the way his eyes locked eyes with hers and never looked away – even if she did, fidgeting underneath his intense gaze – she knew she had his endless attention. It caught her off guard every time, and even though she fought it every time, her body betrayed her; her cheeks flushing, her heart beating in her throat, her head spinning.
"I am –" She finally started, barely mustering a low whisper. Emma cleared her throat, speaking a little louder this time, "I am uncertain of what to make of your reaction, so I would like to ask... Is my gown all right?"
The light shake of his head was an amused one. "Of course it is."
"Are you certain? Because –"
Mr Jones raised his hand, gently silencing her. "The gown is beautiful, Miss Emma, fear not. It suits you. Now, shall we go, lest my daughter convinces me to buy yet another horse."
Apparently, Shadow was a stunning black Friesian. A gentle horse, nudging his nose against Grace, asking for more attention when she was briefly distracted by Emma and Mr Jones. Grace gave him a large, hopeful smile, but Lord Jones was quick to shake his head firmly.
Emma stared up at the carriage, it was a white one, low and without a roof. It was different from the black carriage they owned.
"I thought, best bring my open carriage with this beautiful weather," Lord Avery explained to no one in particular. "Shall we? We would not want to be late."
"Thank you, milord," Emma mumbled as Lord Avery extended his hand to help her out of the carriage.
She came to stand next to Grace who had been staring at the building from the moment the carriage pulled to a halt. Multiple storeys, tall windows with marble windowsills, a grand entrance door, made out of posh wood. It was a remarkable building indeed, it appeared as though only the most prestigious events were allowed to be held in it. It drew people from all over the country, many of them had clearly had more coin than Emma would ever make in her life, and she quickly felt out of place.
She felt a presence behind her, turning around revealed Mr Avery standing with one hand in his coat pocket, another pointing at the building. "Stunning, wouldn't you say?"
"Very, milord," Emma replied, accepting his arm as he offered it to her and walked with him, Grace and Mr Jones following behind them, towards their booth.
Whilst the ballet itself was spectacular, the dancing incredible, the music breathtaking, it was not what had her attention.
No, what had her attention was the conversation that happened on her left. Lord Avery's voice was a loud whisper, he clearly misjudged the loudness of the orchestra, or his voice. Whichever the case, Emma was able to hear every word that came from his mouth.
"Jones, have you considered taking a new wife?"
Mr Jones' reply was a soft one, but it came just as the music silenced. "No."
"And what of the women in your service?" Lord Avery questioned softly. "Has one of them tumbled in your bed yet?" Emma could not quite hear Mr Jones' answer, but she did hear the exasperated sigh falling from his lips.
Emma looked at Grace, she had taken her chair and dragged it closer to the balustrade, her arms folded underneath her chin, glistening eyes filled with admiration never leaving the scene below.
When a serving girl lifted the curtain that shielded their booth from the hallway, politely asking whether they would like some more refreshments, Emma rose to her feet, excusing herself with a small curtsy. Grace did not even look up at her, which made her feel a little better about leaving her behind.
"A lady should not wander the hallways alone," Lord William spoke up, handing the serving girl some coin for the beverages.
"Good thing I am not a lady, then, Milord," Emma answered with a smile, stepping behind the curtain into the hallway. The serving girl smiled and nodded politely at Emma as she stepped past her, then walked over to the next booth, leaving Emma to stand alone in the dimly lit hallway.
Even if the hall smelled of smoke, beer and ale, smoke, and oranges, Emma found it more liberating and easier to breathe than in the booth.
"Where did you find her?" Mr Avery's voice sounded, muffled by the curtain.
"Excuse me?" Mr Jones huffed. Emma could easily imagine his raised eyebrow.
"Emma," Mr Avery explained. "Good Heavens, she is quite a find."
Emma had not meant to eavesdrop on their conversation, in truth, she had been running away from it. But even she could not walk away from a conversation that was clearly about her.
"Yes, she is good with Grace," Lord Jones replied though his voice was quite flat. It was evident, even to Emma, that he had no interest in pursuing this conversation.
"Not what I meant and you know it." Mr Avery's voice sounded as though he was grinning. "She is quite something."
"What is your point?" Mr Jones bit sharply.
"She's just very beautiful." The innocence in Mr Avery's words was unashamedly feigned.
"I suppose," Lord Jones replied softly.
"Killian, I will never understand you. You have a beautiful woman right there in your household, right there ready for you to bed her and you just refuse to do it."
"Grace," Mr Jones said suddenly. A silence. "Grace?" He spoke again, a little louder this time.
"Yes, father?" Grace replied, sounding as if startled.
"Go fetch Miss Emma," Mr Jones ordered. Another silence.
"Oh – Where is Emma?"
"I do not know," Mr Jones replied, "Out in the hallway, just fetch her."
"But I –"
"Grace!"
"Yes, father," Grace obeyed softly, the curtain moved and Grace stepped from behind it, Emma was quick to bring her finger to her lips, making sure Grace did not betray her hiding spot. Grace nodded, standing next to her, hiding in the shadows.
"She is my daughter's nanny," Mr Jones spoke every word clearly.
"She is a servant, Jones. Surely she's used to it. Or perhaps she is not," Mr Avery's honey-like voice sent an unpleasant chill over her back. "Perhaps I shall find out soon."
Guilt overcame Emma that she would rather continue to listen to this conversation instead of taking Grace away from it like her father's intention was. But Grace reached for Emma's hand, nodding at her as if to assure her that she would be all right.
Suddenly a chair was shoved back, a harsh, abrupt sound of a chair scraping over the flooring. When Mr Jones spoke next, his voice was brought to a low, threatening whisper. "You will do no such thing. You will not come near her, you will not look at her, you will not even think about her."
"What is it with you? Have you grown feelings for her? A servant?"
"What I feel for her has nothing to do with the fact that I won't bed a servant."
"So you do feel something for her."
Emma's heart beat in her throat, whatever Mr Jones' reply was, she did not want to hear it. She stepped out behind the curtains, Grace's hand still in hers. Both men looked up, but this time Emma had a difficult time believing the genuineness of Lord Avery's smile.
"I found Emma," Grace said and sat back down again, anyone seeing her could never guess she had just been standing behind the curtains.
Mr Jones gave his daughter a nod and turned back to face Lord Avery. "It does not matter. I should not, and I most certainly will not act upon these feelings. This conversation is over, as it should have been a while ago," He then decided.
"Very well," Lord William nodded, though Emma kept her gaze firmly ahead of her, she felt his eyes upon her.
After the performance, they rode the carriage to a new location, this one even more prestigious than the previous and she realised that Mr Jones had joked when he told her it was a small gathering.
It was almost a small castle, its driveway lit with a thousand candles, hundreds of carriages pulled up to the castle and ladies and gentlemen of higher classes than Mr Jones stepped out of them.
If she had felt out of place during the ballet performance, she certainly felt like she did not belong here.
Refusing Mr Avery's help Emma managed to get out of the carriage less than gracefully, much to Mr Jones amusement. Though, with the smug grin and the wobble of his eyebrows he flashed Mr Avery, Emma was not quite certain whether he was amused by her clumsy way of getting out of the carriage, or by the way she had denied Mr Avery's help.
Grace's hand slipped into Emma's as they walked inside the castle. Never had Emma attended such a large social gathering, it was almost scary how many people fit into the multiple ballrooms and dining halls. Though the musicians were playing music, not a lot of people were dancing.
"Father!" A young girl came rushing through the crowd. Emma recognised her as Eleanor, for Grace had pointed at her multiple times throughout the performance. Seeing her up close, Emma noticed she was younger than she expected, sixteen at most. Her blonde hair was still in a tight bun, though her ballet ensemble had been traded for a flowing, soft pink dress.
Eleanor wrapped her arms around her father's neck, "I have missed you so much, father."
"And I you, my darling." He smiled at her – though this time his smile was one filled with genuine adoration. "You remember Killian," Mr Avery spoke, as they broke apart.
"Of course," Eleanor said coyly, curtsying before him. Unwarranted jealousy overcame Emma as she watched the two of them exchange pleasantries. Mr Jones treated her with kindness, but he did not return her enticing behaviour – not that Miss Eleanor seemed to notice.
When Eleanor turned her attention to Grace at last, Emma dared not look at Lord Jones. She closed her eyes and took a breath. The feelings of she had quickly recognised as jealousy overtook her by surprise. She did not know why she felt this way or when she started feeling this way.
"This is my new nanny, Emma," Grace said with a wide smile.
"What a pleasure it is to meet you," She said politely and curtsied. Emma returned her curtsy with a shy smile. Shyness over the idea that Emma was jealous of a young girl with a childhood infatuation, while the girl was nothing but kind to her.
Grace took Eleanor's hand in hers and walked ahead to the dining room. "Miss Charlotte has gotten married, did you know?"
"Truly? And how are you liking your new nanny?"
Grace looked over her shoulder at Emma and smiled at her. "She is incredible."
Emma smiled at the floor, walking closely behind them.
With Eleanor, Grace had no attention for Emma, the two of them spoke animatedly. Though Eleanor had just performed a dancing routine of two hours, her energy was a close match to Grace's. They both spoke fast – and as with Grace, Emma had no idea what Eleanor spoke of.
"You get used to it," Mr Avery said, suddenly standing next to her.
"May we dance, father?" Grace asked after, not looking at him, instead looking at the dancing couples in the ballroom. Eleanor looked almost hopefully at Mr Jones, possibly hoping he would ask her to dance with him. But Mr Jones ignored her look, or perhaps he simply had not seen the way she looked at him.
"Go ahead," He waved them away with a grin. Emma excused herself and followed the young girls and placed herself in a spot where she could keep an eye on them.
She watched them dance for what seemed for hours, a bored man near her had made a habit of announcing the time every half hour to his wife. His wife, on the other hand, seemed to more and more entertained with each thirty minutes that passed.
While watching Grace dance endlessly with Eleanor was quite entertaining – as well as endearing; neither one of them knew the steps to any of the dances, and while sometimes they tried to imitate other dancers, they often just made steps up as they went along –, it did not compare to the humorous situation that unfolded behind her every half hour. The more bored the man got, the more slurred his wife's words got, and the more she did not care.
A few moments after the man had announced it was ten in the evening, she saw Mr Avery and Mr Jones walk towards her through the crowd.
"Miss Emma –" Mr Avery started.
"May I have the next dance?" Lord Jones interrupted him.
"Um," Emma parted her lips, then shook off her confusion with a shake of her head. "Yes. Oh – I apologise, milord, was there anything you wanted to ask?" She faced the other man, tilting her head slightly.
"No, nothing," Lord Avery answered sharply, gesturing to Mr Jones and leaving them alone, disappearing back in the crowd.
Mr Jones stood by her side while waiting for the next song to start. "How is my daughter?"
"Very well, milord, I do not believe she is tired yet," Emma laughed.
"No, I imagine she is not." He laughed softly. "Her – Her mother could dance for hours on end as well," Mr Jones scratched behind his ear and cleared his throat. Emma looked up at him with a gentle smile. "How are you enjoying yourself, Miss Emma?"
"Quite well, thank you," Emma answered. Mr Jones held out his hand as the music faded into a new song, she took it and let him guide her towards where Grace and Eleanor were dancing. Grace's hair fell over her shoulders in wild bouncy curls, the ribbon that had held her hair together tied around her wrist.
Emma curtsied all the women did, and Mr Jones bowed down in response, just as all men did. He flashed a grin at Grace, who stood next to him, imitating the way he moved as well as she could, and Grace smiled widely in return. They looked so proud of each other.
Mr Jones then locked eyes with Emma, his eyes held her captive throughout their dance, as well as their second.
Emma tried not to read into it, but she knew well enough that when a gentleman shared a second dance with a lady he was doing so because he wanted the lady to know he was interested in her.
"Thank you for doing me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Emma," He spoke gently upon finishing their second dance. His hand held onto hers a bit longer than was proper but released it when Grace came to stand next to them, hiding a yawn behind her hand.
Emma nodded wordlessly, not because it was common etiquette, but because he'd stolen the words from her mouth. There was something in his eyes that took away her breath and left her staring at him with parted lips and nothing useful to say.
"Shall we go home, darling?" He asked Grace, "It is well past your bedtime, is it not?"
Grace's words of protest were interrupted by another yawn, forcing her to admit that she was tired.
The carriage ride home was silent, Eleanor had fallen asleep with her head against her father's shoulder. Mr Avery had not said a single word since they had stepped into the carriage. Grace had fallen asleep with her head on Emma's lap and her feet onto her father's lap. Emma gently stroked through her tangled curls, as she stared at the scenery they passed. Whilst the open carriage was nice enough during the day, the cold night air made her shiver. Mr Jones shrugged off his coat – careful to not disturb Grace – and draped it over her shoulders.
"Thank you, milord," Emma muttered softly, tugging it a bit tighter around herself. It instantly warmed her up and the sweet scent that came with it was certainly pleasant as well.
Mr Jones awoke his daughter once the carriage pulled to a halt before the mansion.
"Must I go to bed now, father?" Grace mumbled tiredly, rubbing at her eyes with the palms of her hands. Mr Jones chuckled as he stepped out of the carriage and turned around to help his daughter out of the carriage as well.
"Goodnight, darling," He kissed Grace's forehead and pulled her into a hug.
"Goodnight, Lady Emma," Mr Avery spoke finally, taking her hand in his to press a gentle kiss against her knuckles.
"Goodnight, milord," Emma answered politely, curtsying before turning around to go inside with Grace. When they walked up the stairs Emma noticed the huge grin on Grace's face, "what?"
"Nothing," She replied faux–innocently, followed by a giggle.
"Is it because Lord Avery kissed my hand?"
Grace sighed and rolled her eyes. "Because you danced with father, Emma! Twice!" Emma shook her head, perhaps it was indeed odd, that he danced only with her and wanted to leave as soon as his two dances with her were up. She didn't know his reasons, but, until Grace brought it up, she did not want to question them either.
He was her employer and that was as far as their relationship would ever go.
In another life, this could have been her reality; dancing with a handsome man for no other reason than him wanting to marry her. And being allowed to feel like a princess, dancing with her prince at a ball.
Perhaps even dancing with him in justified hopes of the night ending with a marriage proposal.
But that was not her. She was just a servant, he was the man she worked for – and for an unknown reason he chose to dance with her.
And it had been a magical dream. Though, however unfortunately, she was waking up.
In silence, Emma opened the door to Grace's bedroom and helped her out of her gown.
"Are you angry, Emma?"
"Why would I be angry, sweetheart?" Emma asked, taking a nightdress from her wardrobe and handing it to her.
"For what I said, you suddenly fell silent. I did not mean to hurt you."
"You did not, Gracie," Emma answered, taking Grace's brush from the drawer and brushing out her tangled curls. "It is simply that, whichever reasons your father had to dance with me, they matter not, for I am nothing more than a servant. Men like him don't fall in love with women like me."
"Have you fallen in love with him?" Grace asked softly. There was no giggling, not teasing, just a genuine question.
"No," Emma replied. It was not a lie, but perhaps not completely the truth either. Whichever feelings she may or may not have, they did not matter. She needed to remember her position.
"I think he is falling in love with you," Grace suddenly said after a long moment of silence.
Emma tried so hard to ignore the sudden flutter of her heart, tried to ignore her words, pretend she didn't hear them, but failed immensely, her curiosity fought her common sense and won, "What makes you say that?"
"It is in his eyes. He did not like you much in the beginning," Grace laughed softly, letting Emma tuck her in bed. "But the way he looks at you is much softer now. He even listens to you sometimes, not even Ruby can tell him what to do the way you do."
"I don't tell him what to do," Emma protested.
"Of course you do not." Grace giggled.
Emma shook her head, hiding a smile. "Goodnight, my love."
"Goodnight, I love you."
"And I you," Emma pressed a kiss on her forehead and blew out the candle on her nightstand.
Upon softly closing the door behind her, she noticed Mr Jones in the hallway. Emma couldn't quite read him, the somewhat confused look he had was a far cry from the soft look Grace described, and she wondered if perhaps it was just childlike imagination that made Grace say the things she said. Which, in truth, was much more probable.
"Milord," Emma whispered, "She is not yet asleep –"
He shook his head, gesturing for her to follow him. "Did she tell you she loves you?" He asked once they were standing atop the grand staircase.
"Yes, milord."
"Is it the first time she has done that?"
"No, milord."
Lord Jones frowned, his fingers tracing the pattern of the wooden banisters.
"You said you loved her too, is that true?"
"Of course," Emma answered, rather offended. His frown grew. "Milord," She quickly added. Mr Jones sighed, a small smile on his lips, as if he could not stop it even if he wanted to.
"Good," He turned his back to her and started walking down the stairs.
"Goodnight," Emma mumbled after him.
"Night," He replied, barely audible.
Emma stared at him until he was out of the foyer, not once looking back. Throughout their dance he had not kept his eyes off her, and now he could not even look at her.
Was it the bliss of the party that made all of it happen? Would he now return to his cold self? Why did he seem so surprised to find that his daughter liked her enough to say 'I love you' before she went to bed?
Emma brushed her hand over the fabric of her gown, not quite yet ready to say the night goodbye – the night, nor her dress.
She went to the library, to pick up the book he had brought from his trip two days ago, before going to the grand salon. The grand salon was pleasantly warm, even if the windows were still opened and a cool breeze slipped past the curtains. Emma laid the book on the chaise before the fire and made way to close the windows. They creaked softly as she pushed their heavy weight closed, and made a mental note to tell the appropriate person to take a look at it.
Upon closing the final one, she hesitated, staring outside to the countless amount of stars. The beauty of it all never failed to amaze her. She remembered the sleepless nights in the orphanage, sitting by the window of her shared room and staring at the night sky until she could no longer keep her eyes open.
A falling star shot across the sky, and any other day she would have scolded herself for closing her eyes and making a wish, but she had hope that perhaps the magic of the night was not over yet. When she closed her eyes, she had not been certain of what to wish for. Though her heart was quick to tell her what she wanted and for once, it was easy to listen.
In the morning she would berate herself for all this foolishness, but not tonight.
"I wish..." She started with a whisper, feeling her heart race in her chest, thrilled that she finally gave in. Yet her mind screamed at her, Emma was certain that if her mind were a person standing next to her, it would take the form of one of the orphanage workers, yelling things like 'you foolish child!'
Still, the beating of her heart sounded louder. "I wish –"
"Miss Emma?" Mr Jones' voice broke through her thoughts, leaving her unable to finish her wish.
She turned around, seeing him stand in the doorway, a cup of tea in his hand. Much softer features than earlier on the staircase. He had switched his proper outfit for something more comfortable. A grey waistcoat over a white shirt, with light beige trousers, socks but no shoes.
Perhaps her wish had already been granted.
"What are you doing?"
"Closing the windows, Milord," Emma replied, her heart was still racing, it translated in shaking hands and a nervous voice. "I wanted to read."
Killian nodded once, placing his cup atop the piano and walked over to the fireplace to add another log to it. Emma pushed the last window closed, taking one last glance at the starry night sky before closing the curtains.
"Where did you learn how to dance, Miss Emma?" Mr Jones asked while walking back over to the piano.
"I never did," Emma replied, tossing off her shoes to the side and taking a seat on the chaise.
Killian arched an impressed eyebrow, "Well, then you must be a natural."
It was hard to figure out, but Emma believed he did just pay her a compliment. Was she supposed to thank him? Was it even truly a compliment? She had never once heard him say something positive directly about her.
Emma considered replying long enough for the time between his words and her answer to be more embarrassing than to say thank you for a compliment that was not a compliment and decided to remain silent.
She opened her book and started reading, a tale about a princess and a pirate.
The reason of his staying in the room did not quite become clear to her until she heard the first notes on the piano.
A gentle background music, not distracting at all.
At first.
One glance became a second, a second became a third, a third became a stare.
He had his eyes closed, his hands hidden from her sight, but she saw certain movements. She also saw he was not playing with any partitions. He was playing what he felt, and it conveyed. She felt many things at once, sadness and anger, but also hope.
Emma closed her book, devoting her full attention to watching him play, watching him move as though he moved through water, a relatively calm expression.
Behind him the library door opened carefully, Ruby peeking through it. She flashed Emma a smile but remained at her position by the door. Though Killian sat with his back to her, Ruby smiled as if he could see her.
And then Emma saw it in her eyes, the same feeling his music gave her.
Hope.
And all Emma wanted to do was cry.
Killian stopped playing and the door behind him closed again, as if Ruby had never even been here. Emma quickly wiped away her tears and looked away from him, intently staring at the fire.
"Are you all right?" His voice sounded closer, but she could not look at him, not when her tears were still drying on her cheeks.
"I am fine, are you?" She retorted harshly
His chuckle sounded more like a scoff. "I am not the one who's crying."
She snapped her head up at him, he sat in the chaise across her, leaning forward, his elbow leaning on his legs, cup of tea still in his hands. "You do not cry, you play piano instead. I apologise that we do not show our emotions the same way."
Mr Jones smiled, his head slightly tilted, "Are you angry Miss Emma?"
"Yes, you made me cry, and here I was having such a good night," She was not truly angry of course, especially not when he looked at her the way he did now.
"Glad to hear you had a nice night."
"Did you not?"
"Not until I danced with you," He admitted and leant back in the sofa, sipping from his tea. "The company left much to be desired."
"I thought it went well," Emma offered, still pretending that she had not heard the words Mr Avery had spoken about her.
He smiled in reply, "And I'm glad you thought so." He downed the last bit of the tea and stretched out his legs. "Perhaps it is time to go to bed."
"Perhaps."
"Not tired then? Did we not dance enough?"
"I merely wanted to get lost in this book so I could stay in this gown for much longer," Emma laughed but got up as well.
"It is a pretty gown," Mr Jones replied. Surely, it was a compliment. But for the gown, not her. And then, "It suits you."
Definitely a compliment for her.
"Thank you, Milord," She whispered, a blush colouring her cheeks. She watched him kneel by the fire to put it out, leaving nothing but smouldering embers.
They walked out of the Grand Salon side by side until they once again reached the staircase.
"Goodnight, again," Emma smiled.
"Goodnight," He murmured and extended his hand. She took it without a second thought; it was simply that it was the proper etiquette. When a gentleman offers you his hand you take it. She did not realise what had happened until her palm slipped into his and he brought his mouth to her hand, brushing a soft kiss against her knuckles – his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary.
Her lips parted, letting a short, inaudible gasp escape from them.
He gently released her hand and took a small courteous bow before stepping away from her.
Her eyes followed him as he walked through the dimly lit hallway, he seemed to hesitate before his door, his hand on the doorknob, but then entered his room anyway, closing the door with a soft thud.
With shaking legs she walked down the staircase, making way for the kitchen to get a glass of water.
"Somebody looks smitten," Ruby's voice made Emma flinch so badly she dropped the glass.
"Oh, Gods above, I am so sorry," Emma fell to her knees and frantically started picking up the pieces.
"It is but a glass, Emma. Do not worry, we've got plenty," Ruby knelt down next to her and helped her with the larger pieces. "But tell me about that blush that is colouring your pretty cheeks oh so pink," She teased.
"There is not much to tell," Emma lied. There were so many things to say, so many things to ask.
"You do not fool me," Ruby smirked, "Go on, tell me. I will not share, I promise."
"It was nothing. He merely kissed my hand," Emma blurted out in a whisper. The pieces Ruby had been holding collided with the ground once more.
"Truly?"
"Yes, just now atop the staircase," Emma whispered, not trusting her voice to speak up louder. Even so, Ruby was loud enough for the both of them.
"I knew this would happen," She said matter-of-factly, taking a brush to swipe the floor for the smallest pieces.
"Truly? Do share, for I am completely baffled by this turn of events."
"It is the little things, Emma" Ruby smiled. "I am certain you are aware of this, but he has not played the piano since before Grace was born. Hearing him play again, it is good, he is finally healing, and I am certain it has to do with you."
"That is foolish, Ruby. This is not a fairytale, this is not a story, this is real life. Things like that do not happen."
"But it is happening. It is your own story."
"I am afraid it will not have the happy ending we would hope for when reading such a story..." Emma sighed, taking a second glass and filling it with water.
"And why is that?"
"Because, Ruby, he is about fifty classes above me. I am nothing, I have nothing. I saw the way women looked at him today. He could choose any woman he wants. Why in the world would he pick me over any woman with riches, titles, and lands to her name?" Ruby opened her mouth but Emma held up her hand. "I do not wish to talk about this anymore, lest my heart gets foolish ideas. Please," she pleaded, her voice cracking.
"Of course," Ruby gave her a sympathetic look, offering her a hug – an offer Emma gladly took. It was one of the first times she found herself in the safety of someone's hug and it was slightly overwhelming. For the second time that night, tears came to her eyes, only this time she let them flow.
"It is going to be all right," Ruby promised.
"How can you know?" Emma sobbed.
"Have faith."
Notes:
As always, thank you so much for your kind reviews and comments, I am so grateful for each and every one of you!
