A/N: thanks to LittleHogwartsGirl, Polyarny, Nimbus Llewelyn and Anna Scathach for reviewing the previous chapter.
In case you're wondering: no, I haven't yet read Tongues of Serpents. I might not get my copy before September. :( But I've read a few reviews that said it was a little slow, however, I was glad to hear that Emily was shaping up to be a strong character. *wriggles eyebrows*
Now, on with this fanfic, that is very AU now. ;)
Chapter 10
Guilt
The early morning sun shone mercilessly through the window, coaxing Laurence back from dreamland to reality. As soon as he opened his eyes, he regretted it, for the strong light gave him such a headache as though a pair of Regal Coppers were step dancing on his skull. Wincing, he looked away from the source of the tormenting light, only to regret that too, as this time his eyes fell upon the peacefully slumbering form of Emily Roland. Right next to him. Under the same covers. In the same bed.
His heart missed a beat and for a long moment he forgot to breathe; he just stared at her, wide-eyed. Probably he was just imagining it all…
He looked away, forcing himself to turn his face back towards the sunlight. The act of craning his neck gave him a doubled headache, but a headache of such magnitude was at least confirmation that he was awake. Which meant that finding himself in bed with Emily was not a dream – perhaps only a nightmare. A living nightmare.
Swallowing hard, Laurence glanced back at her, his mind desperately searching for the memories of the events that had led here. Slowly and gently, not to shake the mattress too much, he rose to his elbow and looked around, hoping that the surroundings might trigger something and prove that it was all just a misunderstanding. But as he moved, the covers slipped a little lower and he was forced to realise that despite it being January, he was not wearing a thing. He had a horrible suspicion that Emily was not either, but he did not feel brave enough to lift her side of the covers to make certain. Besides, their surroundings presented just enough proof for him to be sure that she was just as naked as him: all around the bed various articles of clothing were lying on the floor – here a rumpled shirt, there a slightly torn coat, and hanging askew on the back of a chair, female underwear.
At the sight of the havoc they had apparently wreaked on the room, somewhere at the back of his mind Laurence heard echoes of memories. The ripping sound as his coat was torn off him, the husky female chuckle as he nearly fell upon kicking off his boots, the plaintive squeak of the bedsprings as they both tumbled into the sheets, a shocked yelp issuing from Emily's mouth as he had roughly taken her, followed by gasps and moans from both of them…
"O God…" he muttered, hiding his face in his palms. "What have we done?"
In a matter of seconds his headache was joined by nausea, and he was sure it had not only come from his hangover, but also from the thought that he had committed the greatest sin in his whole life: he had bedded his own sister.
He chanced a glance towards her, and his heart quenched. She slept so peacefully, a tiny smile on her lips made her the most angelic vision he had ever seen, but he was cruelly reminded that the previous night she had behaved like anything but an angel. His memories were still hazy and he had no doubt that they would never be fully clear as the alcohol and the drugs had managed to steal a great portion of them, but the flashes of memory he retained were passionate, rude and dirty. Not like he had imagined the first night with a beloved woman would be like.
He tried to reason with himself that it was all the fault of the spiked wine, but he knew he would only be lying to himself if he accepted his own reasoning. He had wanted this for a long, long time, and so had she, only they had pushed their needs for each other to the back of their minds, knowing their lust to be a hideous sin; and the spiked wine had only been an agent of breaking down the walls of their inhibitions. It was mostly their fault, not that of the alcohol or the 'Chinese powder'…
Laurence had only once before felt this horrible in his entire life: upon realising that his treason had resulted in the near annihilation of his beloved homeland. But it still had been different – he had betrayed his country thinking it was the lesser of two evils. His conscience had been more or less clear then. Now, it was not. He felt dirty – sullied by a love that should have been pure and innocent. Emily deserved to be loved by him as a sister and only be touched by John Granby, no one else…
At this, as if a lightning had struck him, Laurence realised that he had done exactly what he had so detested in his father: he had cheated on the woman to whom he had vowed fidelity. True, he was not yet married to Nancy, but engagement in his eyes was nearly as binding as marriage.
After this, he no longer had a right to think ill of his father. He was not a tad better. No, he was worse, much worse; after all, Lord Allendale had merely cheated on his wife with a pretty stranger. He had cheated on his fiancée with his own little sister. And could there be a sin greater than incest?
Tearing his eyes from Emily's contently smiling visage, Laurence pulled the covers off himself and slid off the bed, trying to do it as carefully as possible, so as not to wake her. He knew he could not face her now. Not yet, not like this.
He was probably the biggest coward on Earth if he left the room with her still asleep, but he could not imagine what he would tell her or hear from her if he did not leave now. He needed some time to come to terms with it all… to get fully sober, and to spend some time alone. He needed to think, but currently he was not sure if he could think clearly at all.
Hastily but with shaking limbs, Laurence donned his clothes, and seeing Emily sleep on peacefully, he began gathering her clothes too, and folding them, laid them one by one on the chair. He had wreaked just enough havoc in both Emily's heart and his own; he did not want to leave the room looking like it had been exposed to the divine wind.
Finally he bent to adjust the bedcovers, and that was when he spotted the brownish claret stain of dried blood on the sheets. His heart sank. Apparently Granby had not touched her yet. He had been her first, and he had been anything but careful; alcohol and passion had clouded his mind too much to be a gentleman.
"Forgive me, Emily," he muttered, heading for the door – practically fleeing now – and stepping outside. As he closed it behind him, he felt his knees buckle, and for a moment he had to lean against the door to gather enough strength to walk on. "O Lord," he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, "forgive me. Forgive us…" But he knew that any prayer was in vain. He had crossed the line, irrevocably. For him, there was no salvation.
oOo
The soft click of the closing door roused Emily from her sleep. She opened her eyes, squinted in the blinding sunshine, and immediately knew that something was amiss. The first unpleasantness was the headache combined with nausea. She had not felt this bad since her mother had given her her first cigar at the age of ten. Back then she had thought her mother had been absolutely cool to not forbid her something like this, even show her how to light the cigar and suck it properly, but years later she realised it had been merely a means of scaring her off smoking. And it had been a successful attempt on her mother's part, for Emily's first experience with the cigar had been a nightmare. It had made her think her head was about to split along with her lungs, and all her breakfast had come back, leaving her with an upset stomach for the rest of the day.
In retrospect, her first – and so far last – cigar had not been that awful at all. The nausea and the headache were about the same now, but instead of in her lungs, she felt pain quite a bit lower this time.
She sat up, only to regret it, for at this movement not only the room began dancing around her, but the soreness she had felt 'lower', increased tenfold. "What the hell…?" she muttered, but just as soon as she had uttered these words, she remembered. Someone had spiked their drinks the previous night, exactly like at Gong Su's wedding... She had been aware of that as soon as she had begun hallucinating, but it had been too late to do anything other than surrender to the effects of the mysterious Chinese powder. And then Laurence had come along, trying to get her back to her room, and...
Frozen, she stared at the neatly folded dress she had worn the previous night lying on the chair and her shoes right beneath it. Her room had never been this tidy.
Emily felt violated. Everything in here bore the touch of Laurence's hands: her dress, her shoes, her pieces of furniture, and most importantly: she, herself.
Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried to blink them back in vain – they quickly found their way down her cheeks.
She felt silly for crying. After all, she had wanted him. She had wanted him for years, even after she had learned about them being siblings… and still, this was not how she had wanted it to happen. Not drunk, not drugged… she had wanted it to be done out of their free will, from both their free will, not only hers!
Emily was sure he would never have taken her with a clear mind, not without the spiked wine. Realising what they had done must have been the dirtiest, most horrible thing in his eyes. And that is why he had left. He had not wanted to talk to her, to even lay his eyes on her again… he was surely disgusted by her now, but she… she did not feel anything of the sort. She only felt longing, a desperate need for him, and would have willingly accepted him into her body again, even despite the aches she was experiencing. Yes, she did feel violated, but not by Laurence, but by the wine and the drugs that had robbed him of his free will and turned their first ever lovemaking into something abominable. Not that it had been unpleasant – as far as she could remember, she had cried out with pleasure several times –, but still, it had been just rough, mindless sex. No romance, no gentleness, no soft kisses. And now nothing remained of if but soreness and pangs of remorse.
What Emily felt most guilty about was not even the fact that she had made love to – no, had sex with – her brother, but the fact that she did not feel guilty enough – neither about the incest itself, nor about having been unfaithful to John. Sometimes the lack of guilt could result in another sort of guilt, she realised.
Pulling up her legs, bending her chin on them and squeezing her eyes shut, Emily wept on, not caring for the fact that it was winter, that her room was cold and she was as naked as the day she had been born.
Suddenly, her eyes flew open in horror. "Good Lord above," she breathed, realising what time of the month it was for her. "No… please, just not that…"
oOo
As if he had not had his fair share of shocking experiences for one morning, as he entered his own room, Laurence was faced with none other than Nancy Collins sitting on his bed, looking tired but too upset to let herself fall asleep. The scene strangely reminded him of another, half a year earlier, when Emily had waited for him to return to his room, looking just as tired and upset as Nancy did now. But at least Emily's face back then had not radiated disgust like Nancy's did now.
"At last," she said with a cutting edge to her voice. "I thought you'd never wake up in little Miss Roland's arms…"
Laurence felt all the blood run out of his face. "Na… Nancy… how do you…?"
"Easy," she rose from the bed, her features as rigid as though they had been a mask carved of ice, but in her eyes he saw fire. "When I returned to the dining hall and saw you were missing, I asked Catherine where you had gone, and she said that you had escorted a very drunk Emily Roland to her room because her fiancé could not. How gallant of you, I thought, and decided to surprise you by following you and meeting you halfway on the corridor as you returned from her room. I thought you might perhaps wish for a few private moments with me, to tell each other our New Year's wishes, or something… How damn foolishly sentimental of me, isn't it?" She let out a bitter little laugh. "And guess what? I did not meet you on my way to her room, and as I reached there, I heard quite unmistakable noises from inside." She made a very unladylike snort. "I have to give it to her, Emily Roland has a spectacular vocabulary, but I never thought you did too."
Laurence felt completely annihilated. "Nancy, I… we… we were drunk. And drugged. I know this is no excuse for what happened…"
"You are right. This is no excuse," she said icily. "Perhaps I would accept it as an excuse, had you been willing to bed me at least once, but no, you had said you wanted to be a gentleman! A fucking gentleman, Laurence!" she stabbed her index finger at his chest, and he realised she had not called him William, although she had not addressed him otherwise since the proposal. "I was obviously not pretty enough for you, but I accepted that you only wanted to shag me once we were married, because I thought you had at least an ounce of honour! But no, you went and shagged Emilywithout a second thought! I know she's much prettier than I could ever hope to be, but still, damn you, Laurence!" Now there were tears brimming her eyes, and he wanted to say something, anything, but his vocal cords failed him miserably.
"Had you been truly honourable," she carried on vehemently, "I would have accepted the fact that the only part you desired of me was my womb to carry your child. Yes, I would have accepted it, hoping you might learn to love me later, but now…" he voice trailed off, "I have no hopes anymore. You have abused my trust, and not only mine, but Captain Granby's as well, and I thought he was your best friend."
Laurence swallowed hard. All her remarks had struck home like well-aimed daggers, but this last one had twisted the imaginary dagger in his heart. "But you will not… you surely will not…?"
"Tell him?" she offered. "No. It would only break his heart. I do not want their engagement to fall apart either. Yes," she paused for a moment, seeing Laurence's cheeks turn even paler, "I'm through with you, blond prince, but I'm going to be tactful and wait a few days before I tell others the engagement is over. I don't want anyone to make the connection between you kissing Emily senseless at the party and me breaking up with you. If anyone asks me, I shall tell them I realised it would not work between us. Tactful enough?"
He gulped and did not reply.
"Well, I think it is very tactful. Loads more tactful than what you deserve, and loads more tactful than you were when you cheated on me! You are free now, you don't have to put up with an ugly duckling like me and pretend you like me when you surely never did! Go, fuck the Rolands as that's what you apparently always did!" With that she pulled the engagement ring off her finger, pushed it into Laurence's hand and marched for the door. She halted in the doorframe and looked back at him over her shoulder. "I almost forgot. Happy New Year!"
With that, she banged the door shut behind her.
For several minutes Laurence stood at the middle of the room, gazing at the door through which his only chance for a decent family life had just escaped. He felt the whole world had collapsed around him, and he was standing on a heap of ruins, his heart brimming with guilt over the destruction he himself had brought about.
Staying in Britain was a very wrong decision, he saw that now. In the selfish hopes of starting a new life, a perhaps happier life than he deserved, he had destroyed everyone else's he cared for. Emily's, Jane's, Nancy's, John's… maybe only Temeraire was an exception.
Laurence bit into his lower lip and blinked back a tear. He had no right to cry, not for himself, at least. He could only pity others he had ruined, but not himself. He deserved no compassion, none at all, therefore he knew he could not show to the world how wretched he felt. But could he keep it from Temeraire as well? He was not sure of that. The thought of Temeraire, however, kindled a tiny spark of hope in his heart. Even if he had to shut himself off from every romantic or friendly relationship in the future so as not to hurt the ones he loved even more, Temeraire's love and devotion would always be his. He was not completely alone.
He washed his face and exchanged his torn coat for a decent one, then headed down to his dragon. He badly needed some comfort, and he would not allow anyone else to try to give it to him. Only Temeraire.
oOo
Emily had barely finished dressing when there was a knock on the door. She shuddered, fearing it to be Laurence. She was not yet ready to face him. Perhaps she would never be ready for that.
Her eyes quickly scanned the room to make sure there were no telltale signs of what had taken place here the previous night, and seeing that nothing could reveal that something was wrong, perhaps only the shakiness of her voice, she called, "Enter!"
It was Granby who stood in the doorframe, looking pale, probably a bit nauseous, and very, very tired.
Emily's heart sank into her stomach. What if he had somehow found out? What if he had come to break up their engagement and to call her a whore – which title she felt she truly deserved?
"Jo… John…" she muttered, forcing herself not to shake too badly as he entered and closed the door behind him.
"Emily…" he heaved an almighty sigh and stepped even closer. "Oh, Emily, I am so sorry… can you forgive me?"
"What?" her eyebrows shot up. "What should I forgive you?"
He ran a hand across his already unruly dark locks. "I acted like a complete idiot last night. I was jealous when I had absolutely no reason to… and I got drunk and wasn't there when you needed me… I am so very ashamed, Emily! Apparently some people of my crew took me to my bed, but I don't even remember that! I have never knocked myself out like I did last night, and for that, there is no excuse." He cast his eyes down, looking like a lost and guilty little boy.
Emily's heart quenched thinking that it was him apologising to her when it should be her asking for his forgiveness, as she had sinned against him much, much more terribly than he had against her. And just to think he regarded his jealousy of last night unfounded and foolish… Emily felt like dying of shame on the spot.
"Are you… not saying anything?" he asked shyly, apparently thinking that she was not replying because she could not forgive him. But the truth was that she could not forgive herself. Although a few minutes ago she had not felt as guilty as she was supposed to, now, after having listened to her fiancé's apology, she did.
Emily lifted her head to look him in the eye, and for a fleeting second she felt like telling him everything and beseech him not to hate her, but she found she had no courage for that. John Granby was her only hope for an honest life, a life without further sin, and she could not let him get repelled by what she had done and leave her. Because she was almost completely sure he would leave her if she confessed the truth. Perhaps he would forgive her, but he would not want to marry her anymore, and she badly needed him as a husband and possibly… as a father to a child she might have conceived last night.
At this idea, she shuddered again. How could she convince Granby that a child conceived on New Year's Eve was his, when they would not sleep together till the second half of April, till their wedding night? And just to think what kind of an ill, retarded offspring she might have from her own brother…
Emily felt like retreating into a corner, curling into a ball and crying. But she could not afford such luxury. And maybe she did not even deserve it, she did not deserve the relief that crying would offer. She had to suffer without showing anyone that she did. This was her punishment.
"John, let's get married! As soon as possible!" she blurted out, throwing her arms around him and burying her face into his shoulder. She could not face him, she could no longer look him in the eye and pretend she was hugging him out of love… She was doing it out of desperation. And she detested herself for it. She had never thought she would sink so low… to deceive an honest man and use him for her own vile ends… But could love, true love, ever be considered 'vile ends'?
Granby pulled back a bit, joy glinting in his eyes. "Oh, Emily, dearest! You aren't mad at me!" He passionately pressed his lips to hers, and they felt like those of a stranger; she enjoyed their touch even less than ever before. She felt downright grateful when the kiss ended. But she could not let him suspect that.
Running a finger down the side of his face and up again, she wondered if she would ever enjoy his kisses, if she would ever crave his touch… but she already knew the answer. She would never desire anyone else but Laurence.
As her fingers lingered on his brow, she knitted her eyebrows. "John, you are burning up. Are you sick?"
"It's nothing," he shook his head. "It must be due to last night's drinking…"
Emily was not in the least sure he was right, but she did not want to argue. "So, are you fine with a wedding held earlier?"
"How much earlier?"
"I wouldn't mind marrying you right tomorrow," she smiled, knowing that her smile must be awfully forced.
"But dearest, this requires quite a bit of arrangement… besides, I want my mother and siblings to be there. It cannot be sooner than the end of February."
Her mind reeled. The end of February! That means almost two months! She would need to lie to John that 'their' child was two months early when it was born, she calculated in thought, feeling even more miserable than before upon realising that she could call herself 'calculating' in both senses of the word. Emily had never been the calculating type, she had loathed people who were like that, and now she was no better than them. This single night with Laurence had corrupted her, both in body and soul, forced her to fabricate lies and live the rest of her life in shame, despising herself…
For the second time that morning she felt like telling John everything, but something still held her back, and she realised she was not only keeping her secret for herself. No, she was doing it mostly not for herself, but for Laurence whose honour had been tainted just enough – she knew his reputation could not take another blow, and if this ever came to light, he would be a dead man in everyone's eyes –, and she also did it for the child they might have created the previous night. If by a strange mercy of God it was not retarded, it had to have a chance to grow up in an honest family, and only Granby as its father could provide that.
Emily's lips tucked into a bitter smile. Had she just thought 'mercy of God'? What mercy? Had God truly been merciful, He would not have let her fall in love with her own brother! No, God was merciless, she decided. And thus she would never gain absolution. Her sin was too great and too hideous for that.
"Fine," she replied, "the end of February, then." She knew it would be risky to try to make Granby believe that the child was his – if there was a child at all –, but she still had a much better chance if they got married in two months' time, than if they waited till April.
"Great," Granby grinned. "Oh, Emily, I am so happy everything turned out all right, after all! I swear I will never get blind drunk again!" He once again pulled her into a hug, and she felt his body tremble.
"John, you are shivering. You are ill, please, go and see the covert physician!"
"It's nothing, really," he waved in dismissal. "Let us go and have breakfast, shall we?"
Emily swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. She was not sure she would be able to eat anything, not to mention that she might meet Laurence in the dining hall.
"Right," she forced herself to smile. "Let's go."
Slipping her arm into Granby's and clinging to him as though she expected his closeness to protect her from the cruelty of the world, she walked down to the dining hall, where, to her utter relief, there was no sign of her brother at all. She hoped it would remain like that: that he would keep clear of her path in the future, or if he would not, then she definitely would keep clear of his.
Her heart ached at the thought of having to be cold and unfriendly towards him, but there was no other way. Even if she still craved him in body and soul, her common sense overruled all emotion. She belonged to John Granby now, and William Laurence could not exist for her any more.
oOo
When Laurence approached Temeraire that morning, he found him in Iskierka's new pavilion – Temeraire's old one – but with Iskierka nowhere in sight. Even more curious was the fact that Temeraire was fast asleep while he was always wide awake by eight in the morning, especially on days of duty.
The man gently patted the dragon's foreleg, and Temeraire stirred. "Oh, good morning, Laurence! And Happy New Year!"
There was some inexplicable joy radiating from Temeraire's dark blue eyes and he looked overall smug for some reason.
"Happy New Year to you too, my dear," Laurence forced a smile on his face. "Did you sleep well?"
"Oh, I… did not sleep much," Temeraire said, with some shyness in his voice that was in sharp contrast with the smugness on his features. As his captain arched an eyebrow at him, he must have felt encouraged to continue, for he leaned closer to Laurence and lowered his voice as much as a Celestial could. "Laurence, imagine… Iskierka and I mated last night!"
"Did you?" Laurence swallowed hard.
"Yes! And she let me instigate it, and it was so very wonderful, Laurence! It was romantic… and gentle… have you ever imagined Iskierka could be gentle? Well, I have not, but she can, and she was! Laurence… I think I am in love!"
The captain's jaw dropped. "Well… that is… excellent, my dear, but… is it not a bit… sudden? Last time you talked about her, you said she was horribly annoying…"
"Well, she was, but deep down I think I always fancied her," Temeraire said delightedly. "And guess what? She said she is almost completely certain I have given her an egg! That is why she left, to have breakfast early, a double breakfast, because a mother-to-be has to eat for two! I went back to sleep a bit because I only need one cow, but she insisted she needed two. I only hope she will not get fat… Speaking of which, why are you not having breakfast yourself? Is it not breakfast time for the aviators too?"
Laurence did not reply at once – he stood frozen, but not from the cold and the snow he had sunk in knee-high, but from the horrible realisation that last night not only Temeraire and Iskierka might have produced an egg, but he and Emily too.
"Laurence, are you all right?"
The captain shuddered and looked up, Temeraire's earlier question finally reaching his mind. "Oh, yes. I was not hungry, so I skipped breakfast. I thought we could go for a flight before patrol begins. What do you think?"
"Well…" Temeraire fidgeted, looking slightly uncomfortable, "I must admit I am a little tired now. As I said, we did not sleep much last night… What about a flight tomorrow morning? I will try to rest a bit after today's patrol and sleep through the night. Besides, I would like to be here when Iskierka returns from breakfast… I hope you do not mind."
"No," Laurence sent his dragon a sad smile. "I am glad for you, Temeraire. I hope you two are going to be very happy."
The dragon cocked his head, raising his ruff and examining his captain with a curious and worried expression. "Laurence, what happened? You look troubled."
"I… it is nothing, my dear," the man said, finding that he could not reveal his secret, no matter how much he had wished to. He had longed to share it with Temeraire and no one else, to receive some comfort, some consolation, but now, having heard about his dragon's romantic escapades, he realised he could not say a word about what had happened between Emily and himself. It would only ruin Temeraire's mood, besides, compared to his sinful affair, Temeraire and Iskierka's relationship seemed pure and holy, even if dragon mating habits were usually considered 'animalistic' by most people. Animalistic or not, it was no sin for the dragons, but having sex with your half-sister definitely was for a human.
"It is not nothing, Laurence," Temeraire shook his head. "Something is bothering you, I can see it. What is it? Can I help somehow?"
"Oh, my dear," Laurence sighed, pressing himself to the dragon's muzzle. How he longed to tell Temeraire the truth! But he could not. For the first time in his life he felt he could not be sincere with Temeraire. And it hurt. He knew, however, that the dragon was still waiting for a reply, and he could not bring himself to lie to Temeraire. He had to tell the truth – or at least, part of it. "Nancy broke up with me," he said. "There will be no wedding… and no future captain for you. I am sorry, my dear."
The dragon's eyes widened. "But Laurence… why? Does she no longer love you?"
"She just… realised it was not going to work between us," Laurence hung his head. "She… she realised I loved Emily."
"Oh," Temeraire breathed. "I am so very sorry, Laurence. And not even for my future captain who might never be, but for you, you alone." He gently nudged the man with his muzzle. "Pray do not be sad, dear Laurence. You might find another girl who loves you and whom you can love too."
The captain shook his head with a wistful smile. "I fear I am not that optimistic, my dear. I will never love anyone as much as I love Emily. Never."
oOo
The first day of the new year went by and Laurence did not see Emily for a single second – not after patrol, not even during dinner, and he could not decide if he should feel relieved or concerned instead. He was afraid of meeting her, talking to her, but he knew that they would eventually have to talk about what had happened between them. Laurence especially dreaded one particular question he needed to ask in connection with the calendar and her cycle.
He did not see Granby at dinner either, and drew the conclusion that he and Emily were very likely spending some private time together, or perhaps they were just avoiding his company. The latter would have meant, however, that Emily had told her fiancé the truth, which necessarily would have resulted in the loss of a good friend. Then again, knowing Granby and his fiery temper, he would probably have come barging through Laurence's door and breaking his nose if he were truly aware of having been cuckolded.
As if Laurence had not had enough to worry about, by the evening it had turned out that his first lieutenant, Allen, who had missed the New Year's Eve party due to some mild cold, had something much more serious than just a mild cold: he had scarlet fever. The illness was mostly contracted by children, but if caught by adults, it tended to have much more dire consequences than in the case of a child. The covert's physician immediately forbade everyone who had not yet had scarlet fever to enter Allen's room. He also sought out Laurence as Sipho's captain and Demane's current captain, Berkley, to tell them to keep the boys as far from Allen as possible, as their African immune systems had developed differently than those of the Europeans and should they contract the illness, they would very likely react to it worse than anyone else.
The following day Emily appeared for breakfast, but only briefly, and when she spotted Laurence, she looked away, pretending his presence had not affected her in any way. Granby did not turn up for breakfast, nor for lunch or dinner, and by the evening the news had caught Laurence's ears: his best friend had scarlet fever too. There were apparently three of the youngsters in the covert suffering from the same illness, but the doctor was not overly concerned about them – children usually got over it within a week or two – but he did look concerned about the adults.
"Emily," Laurence caught up with the girl that evening after dinner.
"Yes?" she doubled back on the corridor. The iciness of her voice froze him inside. "What do you want?"
"Emily... I... you... er, how is John doing?"
"Not well. But why haven't you visited him? Have you not had scarlet fever yet?"
"No, I had it when I was five," Laurence admitted reluctantly. "I am protected against it... but are you too?"
"Yes, I had it too, so I am not afraid of visiting him. But apparently you are," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Laurence cast his eyes down, as if examining his boots. "Yes. I must admit... I am. Does he know...?"
"No. I did not have the heart to tell him. But I expect Nancy knows."
"How do you know she does?" he looked up from his boots.
"She isn't wearing her engagement ring anymore."
Laurence frowned. "So... she hasn't started spreading the news yet that we broke up?"
Emily shrugged. "I haven't heard a thing of it yet. And if you do not mind, I am going to visit my fiancé now."
With that she turned on her heels and left, not giving him a chance to ask what was truly worrying him, or even to express how utterly sorry he was, about everything.
o
The 3rd of January found Temeraire in a foul mood, and Laurence could easily guess why: Iskierka was so very worried about her captain's health that she became practically insufferable, and Temeraire was having a very hard time trying to console her. But at least he tried.
Laurence knew well that he should try to offer some friendly – and only friendly – comfort to Emily who was apparently very worried about her fiancé's condition, but he did not feel brave enough to approach her again, not after that short and cold conversation they had had the previous day.
Days went by, and Laurence still did not screw up the courage to talk to Emily, and Iskierka got more and more unbearable, upsetting even the tolerant Temeraire. She refused to go patrolling under Emily's command, then again, Emily herself barely left Granby's bedside, so she could not have commanded Iskierka anyway.
On the 6th January Jane returned from her quick visit to London and the first thing she did was to invite Laurence to her office to tell him about her achievements in the capital. "It went surprisingly well," she said cheerfully, motioning him to sit down. "Your father was quite civil and Wilberforce is a dear, he promised to help me to get a chance to talk before the Lords. I cannot wait to see the faces of those stiff-necked nobles as I address them, wearing my admiral uniform!" she let out a throaty laugh. "Honestly, I would not mind if it got to be common knowledge that females are present in the Corps, it's high time for this male chauvinist society to learn that we, women can fight just like men and that we deserve equal treatment!"
Laurence nodded, and although he agreed with Jane, he did not want to mention that most people very likely would not. He was surprised how far he had come in only eleven years: when he had first spotted Catherine Harcourt by the table at Loch Laggan and found out she was a woman, he had been shocked. He had been equally shocked when 'Roland' had turned out to be Emily's family name, not her Christian one. And now he could not help but agree that women, or at least aviators who indeed fought for their home country, should be granted the same rights as men.
"I am glad it went well," he said, trying to smile a bit, "and I am glad my father treated you civilly. Did he still not appear to… recognise you?"
"No," Jane shook her head, "but I no longer care. Either he is a brilliant actor or he has completely forgotten that night. I wouldn't blame him for forgetting, it was nearly twenty-two years ago, after all... We talked a bit about you, by the way. He seems to have accepted your engagement to Nancy."
"Well, that…" Laurence cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in the chair before her desk. "It is... well... over."
"Over?" Jane's eyebrows jumped high. "Can't you do anything without screwing it up, Laurence? I have had such high hopes for this match!"
He felt his cheeks burn. 'Screwing up' was not the perfect term for it, but she had got the 'screwing' part just right.
"Sorry, that was perhaps a bit unfair of me," Jane sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Of course you have done lots of things well... mostly in duty, but you tend to screw up things in your private life." She carried on in a much more business-like tone, "Honestly, what have I missed this time?"
"Not much, as the others only found out about the break-up yesterday, and Nancy did not tell them much," Laurence shrugged, "only that she realised it was not working between us."
"Not working?" she snorted. "Are you sure it was not because of that kiss under the mistletoe?"
Laurence stared at his hands folded in his lap. "Only partly. But you are right… it led her to realise that I could never feel for her like I do… for Emily."
"Oh, your poor fellow," Jane breathed, her eyes radiating true compassion. "Love is bitch. I am so fortunate it never crossed my path!"
"Yes, Jane. I think you are indeed fortunate," he nodded. "Well, if you do not mind, I would like to withdraw and rest a bit now. It is getting late."
"Rest? I was hoping you would be up for some exercise in bed," she said with a lopsided smile, "now that you are free again…" When he did not reply just stared at her with a confused expression, she heaved a sigh. "A little too early to suggest something like that, eh? Sorry, Laurence. Perhaps later."
"No, Jane," he shook his head. He was not sure if he could touch another woman after Emily, ever again. "I fear I am not capable of that. Not anymore. Please, do not get me wrong, I appreciate you in every respect, your friendship means a lot to me, but… I am not going to cross that line again."
"Right," she exhaled. "I think I can accept that. You are too precious a friend to lose over something as petty and pathetic as sex. Go and rest, dear fellow, I am sure you need it, you look quite wretched."
"Thanks," he presented her with a slightly sarcastic smile. "By the way, you might not have heard yet, as you have just returned… Besides Allen and the three youngsters, Granby has scarlet fever too. I think Emily might need some maternal support in these hard times."
"Christ, not that too!" Jane threw up her hands in defeat. "All right. I shall see what I can do for her. And now, off to bed with you!"
oOo
Emily spent most of her time by Granby's bedside, reading out loud to him, talking to him about any silly little thing she could think of, or just changing the wet towels on his forehead. She occasionally visited Iskierka to report to her about their captain's condition, but spending time with the annoyed and annoying Kazilik was not enjoyable in the least, so she always hurried back to her fiancé as soon as she could.
As she watched Granby toss and turn and moan in fever, oblivious to his surroundings, Emily tried to reason with herself that she was devoting all her attention to him out of love, but deep down she knew she was only trying to deceive herself: she was doing it out of guilt.
The door creaked and her mother entered. "Emily," she said, "you should get some sleep. He will not get any better if you get ill too."
"Why would I get ill?" the girl asked, her voice tired and hollow. "I had scarlet fever once, I cannot get it again."
"You know that is now what I meant," Jane stepped to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You are making yourself ill by not resting and barely eating..."
"How do you know I'm not resting and not eating? You've just returned from London, right? How did things go there, by the way?"
"Emily, pray do not try to change the subject," Jane said with a gentle chiding in her voice. "But for your information, everything went well in London, and I shall tell you about it in detail once you have rested. As for your other question, I asked a nurse I met outside. She said you hadn't left Granby's bedside for days. You are killing yourself in the process, and I'm not letting you do that."
"I'm not killing myself, and John needs me!" Emily snapped, but she was so very tired that the would-be-snappish reply came out of her throat quiet and timid. She knew she was fighting a losing battle against her mother, against her own will, but most importantly, against her conscience. In the past five days she had tried everything to help her fiancé, hoping it would offer a means for her to repent, but she found it was not helping at all. She watched as the only man who could possibly save her from a life of sin was withering away, and she felt completely powerless.
"What happened to you, Emily?" her mother asked, and her grip on the girl's shoulder tightened slightly.
"What do you mean?" Emily muttered absent-mindedly. "I am only worried about John."
Jane Roland shook her head. "I know you too well, Daughter. There is something else. Does it have anything to do with Laurence?"
The blood froze in Emily's veins. "No," she said quickly. "I have nothing to do with him. I may not have anything to do with him! You know that!"
"Yes. I do," her mother said, "but you still sound oddly hysterical when you talk about him..."
Emily swallowed hard. "Mother, please... drop it. There is nothing about Laurence." How she hated having to lie to her own mother! But she could not be honest. Jane Roland was very open-minded, but this not even she would overlook. Fornication was one thing. Fornication with your brother was another.
There was a knock on the door, and the physician entered. "Admiral Roland, Lieutenant Roland, can you please make room for me so that I can check up on the patient?"
Emily rose from the bedside, still not meeting her mother's eyes, although she felt Jane's searching glance upon herself. Her mother was a very perceptive woman. Was she suspecting something?
God, Emily prayed, let her not suspect it!
oOo
After a healthy dose of wine Laurence finally felt encouraged enough to approach Emily. He was sure the wine he had just consumed was not spiked, as it did not dim his senses, only made him a little bolder than usual.
He had heard that all the wine from the New Year's Eve party had been poured away and the culprits – Dunne and Hackley – had been caught. Their current captain, Captain St. Germain, had immediately demoted them from lieutenants to ensigns, and Laurence did not like to imagine the dressing-down they were about to receive from Jane. Or perhaps quite the contrary: he would have liked to be a little fly on the wall of Jane's office and listen in…
He shook his head in disgust. He knew it was only the wine working in him, giving him such ridiculous ideas. He also knew he should not be feeling content by Dunne and Hackley's punishment, not even if those two deserved to be demoted for endangering people's health in such a stupidly careless fashion. Although Laurence mostly blamed himself for having slept with Emily, he could not help blaming his one-time officers as well. Dunne and Hackley had given him just enough trouble in Istanbul, and apparently they had not learned from their mistakes. And yet, Laurence could not help thinking that those two were not nearly as great sinners as he himself was.
Taking one more swig of wine, Laurence left his room, and headed for Emily's. He was not nearly drunk enough for anything inappropriate to happen between them, but he felt he was tipsy enough to voice his feelings without inhibitions. And he was sure that was what he needed now: complete honesty.
As soon as he turned into the corridor where her room was, he spotted her approaching from the other end of the corridor, and he drew the conclusion that she had been visiting Granby again.
She too spotted him from a distance and halted for a moment, hesitant, then drew herself up, put her chin out, and marched towards him – or only towards her room? – with deliberate, manly steps. Laurence admitted that he found this kind of defiance highly alluring. Then he immediately chastised himself. He must not think of her as alluring! It is forbidden!
In half a minute she reached her door and gave him a blank stare. "Laurence. What are you doing here?" Her voice was wavering, and he had the impression that she was fighting an inner battle with her emotions.
"Are you not calling me William anymore?" he ventured.
"William was my lover and my brother," she said in a low voice. "You are neither any longer. I don't want to have anything to do with you." With that she turned away and marched into her room, but before she could slam the door shut, Laurence found himself pushing against it, not letting her close it in his face.
"Who gave you permission to barge into my room like that?" she snapped as soon as he closed the door behind him. "Only because we spent one goddamn night together, you are not entitled to enter here whenever you please!"
"Emily, that's not what I…" he stepped closer.
"For your information, you reek of alcohol," she made a disgusted grimace and took a step backwards. "I'm not having drunkards in my room, not anymore!"
"Emily, please, just listen to me, then I shall go…"
"Go right now! I don't want you here! Get out of my room, and out of my life! Leave me the hell alone, Laurence!" she stomped her foot, and the so far contained emotions broke their dam, flooding out in the form of tears.
Laurence knew that it would only worsen things if he left now, so he did the only thing he found sensible: he crossed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. For several seconds she fought him, trying to break free, but he was much stronger and held her tightly although careful not to hurt her. After a minute she gave up the struggle and surrendered to his brotherly hug, sobbing into his shoulder and shaking from head to toe.
"Shhh… it's okay," he muttered into her hair.
"Okay?" she whimpered, her face still buried into his shoulder. "No, Will… nothing is okay, and never will be! Never!"
"Emily… pray calm down," he lifted her chin to force her to look at him. "There is nothing that cannot get better somehow. I am sure it will be okay for you. You will marry John and forget me, like it was always supposed to be."
"If only," she grunted and pulled out of his embrace. "I nearly managed to convince him to get married sooner, but…"
"Sooner?" he blinked.
"Yes," she looked away with a grimace and wiped her tears. "For your information, our timing was very, very bad, and it might have consequences. God save us if it does…"
Laurence hung his head. She had answered his question before he could have asked it.
As if capable of reading his thoughts, Emily suddenly looked up, her eyes boring deeply into his. "You have no idea how much I hated myself when I asked John to hurry up with the wedding…"
"I can imagine…"
"No, you can't!" she snapped. "I had to lie to him because of you! But hell, I did not want my child to be born out of wedlock!"
"So… there is a chance…?"
"Quite a big chance, yes," she replied darkly.
"O Christ, no," Laurence muttered.
"Too late to whine," Emily snarled. "Only time will tell if it happened or not."
"I understand," he nodded dejectedly. "You said… you nearly convinced John to get married earlier? Did he refuse?"
"No," she shook her head and sniffed. "He agreed, only… that will never happen now."
"Why not?"
Fresh tears ran down Emily's cheeks as she said, "John is dying."
o
A/N: grace me with some reviews, please! *puppy eyes*