Dual

Two

The dance with the Marquess William Aldridge had rendered Emma speechless. And her disarrayed state of mind had remained such for the next couple of weeks as well. The Hawthorne family had returned to their estate and back to their own lives.
As usual, Lord and lady Hawthorne were ever so busy with thinking about prospective suitors, or more like  bidders to sell Emma to. But none of this could faze Emma. She was lost in her own world these days. The days of the ball kept replaying in her head every single moment.

Emma wished to forget all about it and busied herself in various miniscule task but the thoughts of Lord William, or more like the ridiculous question he asked kept haunting her throughout day and night. It was already the third night when she could not sleep even a wink.

"Why did you throw wine on me?" Why? That word rang in her head like an unstoppable bell. Memories of the dance flooded into her head again.

When Lord Marquess had asked her the question, she had been so shocked that she felt someone threw ice cold water on her. She had stammered incoherent words and managed to deny his claims nevertheless,
"Uh, huh... ummm My lord, with all due respect, you... y-you must be mistaken. You probably had a drink too many Sir to be imagining such a preposterous thing."

"Oh no, lady Emma. That was by no means preposterous. But preposterous were my dreams which soon followed the events of yesterday night."

On his words Emma had blushed a bit, clearly understanding just what he meant by that. But she convinced herself that by no means was he talking about her. He must've mistaken her for someone else.

The Marquess had continued to explore this topic further much to Emma's dismay,

"I would've thought of the events as a mere hallucination. But I'm afraid the stain on my shirt is still there, though a little less red but ever so intact. So that being an imagination is out of the question lady Emma", he had replied, emphasizing on her name which had rolled out ever so perfectly from his tongue.

"Then you must have mistaken me for someone else Sir for I cannot remember a single moment when I could've poured wine on anyone, let alone you," she had said, almost too confidently as if she was covering up some crime which in her eyes she didn't even commit.

"I had considered that possibility as well, but the memory of the young woman with auburn curls and stark emerald eyes are still so vivid that they cannot be mistaken. I'm not someone who forgets beauty when I see it my lady, trust my words," the marquess stated looking deeply into her emerald eyes which were still widened with surprise.

Emma had felt like digging a hole and hiding away right that moment. But as if he could read her mind, Marquess' grip on her waist had tightened as he kept talking,

"I didn't mean to offend you really. It is but a mere shirt and my intentions are only to get acquainted with the woman I thought was very brave, Emma," he whispered softly with great care, so much that her name almost felt as though it belonged there.

But with his inquisition a foreboding sense of fear also kicked in. And just as the dance had come to an end, she took the opportunity to run away, "My lord, the dance has come to an end," she whispered.

"Why don't we dance another round miss?"

"I'm afraid I'm too tired already. Please excuse me. Have a good night."

And then Emma had run to the farthest corner of the room, almost hopped on her way in a very unladylike manner as opposed to her education. She could see lady Lydia and Aurelia having drinks and decided to join them. They were of her age so this was a good chance to avoid the Marquess. That was only the beginning of running away as she had spent the rest of her days in the bath avoiding the Marquess as well. She did notice the marquess search for her in the ballroom many times, but she had managed to avoid his eyes at all cost.

And here she was, so many days later, standing in front of the mirror at midnight in her own home the Hawthorne manor. While everyone slept soundly, she was as awake as ever looking at her reflection as a means to understand what his words had meant. But the sense of fear had never really left.

She felt like she needed a bit of a drink, perhaps to erase these thoughts. So, she tiptoed towards the kitchen, knowing that somewhere there, the footman Max must've hidden a bottle of alcohol.
The house was dark so she had to slowly walk to the kitchen, making sure to not make even the slightest bit of sound. The candle could only illuminate so much, and the surrounding darkness almost gave her familiar home a menacing vibe.

She felt as though she had achieved a great achievement when she managed to reach the kitchen but the feeling only lasted so long. She heard a thud sound and realized that she had toppled over a silver jar from the table. She slowly picked it and put it back on the table hoping that no one would realize her entry into the kitchen.

She searched the cabinets with great care and finally found what she had been searching for in one of them behind some rusty and unused utensils. Max sure knew how to hide his stuff. But before she could open it and take a sip, a voice stopped her.

"What are you doing here my lady? Are you perhaps having a drink?

"Martha?!" Shock registered on Emma's face as she saw the old woman at the door and tried to explain what she had been doing in the kitchen,

"I was simply here to find something to eat Martha."

"You should've ringed for the cook then my lady. Why would you possibly bother to come all the way here. And I can clearly see you drink my lady."

"Of course, not Martha. I just found it here. That is all."

"Then please give the bottle to me and I shall find whoever it was that had hidden his drink in the kitchen."

Emma gave the bottle to Martha a bit reluctantly but what Martha said had shocked her more than the Marquess had.
"I was mistaken to think you would drink alcohol at midnight. You should be more careful my lady. It seems you've been drinking a bit too much as you even ruined your favorite ball gown with wine."
Shock registered Emma's face as she couldn't believe it.

"What do you mean Martha? What wine stains? Which gown?"
"Perhaps you didn't notice my lady? There were wine stains on the lower part of your gown, the yellow one."

Realization hit her that Martha was talking about the gown she had worn on the first day of the ball. But she didn't spill wine on herself, and neither did anyone else. The absurd suspicion of throwing wine on the marquess crossed her head for a second. But how could that ever be possible?

Emma went back to her room and tried to forget these thoughts within the warmth of her blanket. Yet sleep never came that night as the Marquess's words kept playing in her head as usual.