Elope With My Heart

March 13th, 1811.

1 month until the Duke of Devonshire's Easter Ball.

Emmett

The honorable Mr. Emmett Brackley was chewing his bite of roast quail for far longer than was even plausibly necessary and could feel the scrutiny of his sister in-law intensify. His tactic for avoiding the uncomfortable conversation about his romantic life, or lack thereof, was failing.

Emmett looked at the head of the table to his only potential ally, his father the Viscount Brackley. The older man cleared his throat and looked away. The coward Emmett thought to himself. Emmett finally and regretfully swallowed.

“You’re being quite childish, Emmett” his mother chided. "You cannot avoid the topic of marriage forever. I think Isolde's idea of you joining them for the London season is lovely." The Viscountess Emma Brackley was a tall woman nearing her sixth decade with a long, proud nose that had always made her more handsome than beautiful. She was reserved and slow to anger, but this only made her more formidable when one of her sons did manage to spark her ire. Emmett knew he couldn’t stall much longer.

“I’m sorry m-mother.” Emmett said, feeling his lips tighten against his will on the last word. He forged ahead. “D-d-despite the picture of m-mari­tal bliss Reggie and Isolde present, I have n-no plans of entering the marriage mart this season.”

Isolde frowned and gave an openly concerned glance to Reggie, Emmett's younger brother. Despite only being married for two years, Isolde had taken up all of Reggie's concerns, and therefore his family's as a result.

“We just want you to be happy, brother.” Reggie said.

While Emmett knew his family loved him, this topic, which seemed to be coming up more and more frequently as the years marched on, made him want to slam his head against the wall.

“Who says I’m not happy?!” The words came out fast and hot.

Emmett looked at the resigned faces of his parents, Reggie, and Isolde. Even his father had the gall to look sad.

“You turn 8 and 20 this year. Emmett. Surely the thrills of bachelorhood are wearing off?” The Viscountess probed.

“There are p---plenty of bachelors a-a-a decade my senior, Mama.”

The Viscount finally spoke. “And I’m sure their mothers harangue them too. Reggie, did you get a chance to look at Mr. Temple’s horses in town?”

With that, the rest of the evening turned to lighter conver­sation. Reggie and his father were both mad for horses and Mr. Temple had tempted Reggie with a friesian gelding. At this rate, they’ll need to expand Langmore’s stables again before the year is out, Emmett chuckled inwardly. He was a first-rate rider, unavoidable with a man like the Viscount as a father, but did not share the same obsession. When the time came for Emmett to inherit his father’s myriad of holdings, he fully intended to leave the successful and time consuming horse breeding operation in Reggie’s capable hands.

The family retired directly to the drawing room after dinner, the men hardly ever taking their port separately. Before Reggie had married Isolde, the Viscountess was the only woman at dinner and thus the gendered separation made little sense. Emmett supposed a more formal family would have re-instated the separation now that Isolde lived at Langmore part of the year, but the shocking truth was that both his parents’ and brother’s marriage had been love matches and unity was preferred.

“Cassino or whist?” Reggie asked the room, shuffling the cards.

“I w-will play a game o----of cassino and then I’ll be c-c-content to read and watch.” Emmett said, settling into a comfortable seat at the game table. The room was modestly decorated--the viscountess did not like fripperies--but each piece was made with luxurious craftsmanship. The game table was octagonal with beautifully swirling inlaid flowers and vines.

“A single game? You must play a rubber or it isn’t even worth our while.” His father exclaimed.

“B-because you know I’ll beat you?” Emmett taunted with a smirk. His father might know a lot about horses, but Emmett knew he had the upper hand at cards.

The Viscount sputtered. “Why, I’ll show you a thing or two, my boy.” His tone was of mock anger and he smiled while wagging a finger at Emmett.

“Deal, Reggie.” The Viscountess lowered herself gracefully into the fourth chair. “Before my dear husband gives himself an apoplexy.”

The game went how Emmett thought it would. He and the Viscountess made one team while Reggie and the Viscount composed the other. Too many years spent betting on horse races made his father and brother overly optimistic of a comeback. Emmett and the Viscountess methodically cleared the cards from the center of the table round after round.

Isolde winced from her chair behind her husband’s as the third game was lost. The nanny had brought in Jasper, their one year old son, and she stage-whispered to the babe “Papa is getting trounced.”

“Don’t emasculate me in front of my son, Isolde.” Reggie called over his shoulder. Isolde only laughed and bounced Jasper on her knee.

Emmett felt a twinge of…something in his chest watching their easy exchange. He set down his cards and stood from the table.

“I have some fas-fas-fascinating reading awaiting me. C-care for my seat, Isolde?” Emmett asked.

Isolde accepted, keeping Jasper on her lap and letting him put his chubby fingers on the cards.

Emmett walked to the far side of the room and sat by the fireplace, his book exactly where he left it the night before. He put his feet up on the ottoman and started reading, the chatter and laughter from his family fading into the background.

The next day, a knock on the door to the study pulled Emmett’s attention out of a new volume by Laplace. Stone, their butler, stood patiently by the door as Emmett found a bookmark and set the book on the small table next to his wing chair.

“The Viscount requests you in his study at your earliest convenience.” Stone said in his characteristic even tone.

“Thank you, Stone. I will be there imminently.”

Emmett sighed and pushed his hair back from his face. He kept his wavy auburn hair short on the sides and longer on top. He had a habit of running his hands through it when he was nervous and declined the pomade his valet George offered to stick it back with, disliking the residue it left on his fingers. It led to a cyclical problem of needing to push his hair from his eyes. He supposed he ought to be grateful for the veritable mane he had. He caught the envious glances from his friends with thinning and receding pates.

He stood and straightened his waistcoat, noticing a buzz of unease in his hands. Even though he had no reason to be nervous, it was unusual for his father to summon him. The family broke their fast as well as dined together whenever in residence at Langmore House. And as heir apparent, Emmett met with his father and his steward almost weekly. Whatever his father wished to discuss, it was out of the ordinary.

Emmett knew he disappointed his mother by living in his house in Oxford for half of the year, but talking theories and attending lectures with his academic friends was where he felt most himself. His time at Langmore was pleasant, but six months a year of family was more than enough.

Emmett and Reggie had an egalitarian upbringing. Two years apart in age, he and Reggie had been inseparable. Their father taught them both how to ride, shoot, and play chess himself. Reggie was better at everything ex­cept chess. Especially talking. Emmett had stammered for as long as he could remember. His parents ignored it at first, then when he was six they consulted a doctor and he declared that Emmett would never be able to form complex thoughts. The viscountess had protested “But he can read! And is such a clever little boy.” The doctor had laid a placating hand on her elbow and said “It is per­fectly natural for a mother to be in denial in a situation such as this.” His mother had knelt down and looked at him with an intensity that was seared into his memory. “You are a kind and smart boy, Emmett. Do not let them make you believe otherwise.”

Emmett knew he wasn’t a simpleton as that quack suggested. But he also knew from a young age that people would find fault with him. He begged his parents to let him wait to go to Eton until Reggie could join him, or better yet to not make him go at all. Even all these years later Emmett felt a heaviness in his stomach when he thought of his school boy days. It was a long two years of alternating silence and thrashings before Reggie joined him.

Emmett came back to earth when the burled face of a door nearly touched his nose. He gave his head a slight shake and knocked.

“Enter.”

Emmett closed the door behind him and sunk into his customary chair across from his father’s desk. The older man stroked the day old whiskers sprouting from his cheeks. It startled Emmett that he hadn’t noticed that the viscount’s hair was entirely white and that the skin of his familiar face looked... looser now. Why hadn’t I no­ticed that before?

“I have decided that you should join Reggie and Isolde in London for at least part of the season.” The Viscount’s tone was like steel.

“I have things t-t-” Emmett felt his lungs tighten as he got stuck on the word. The viscount waited. “t-to attend to in Oxford,” Emmett finished.

“You’ve been using that excuse for far too long, my boy.”

“I-It’s still true.” Emmett countered.

“When was the last time you went to a social gathering?”

“I attend m-many m-m-meetings in Oxford. I do have friends, father.”

“Fine. Then when was the last time you socialized with someone you haven’t known since you were twelve?”

Emmett briefly considered telling his father that he met his friend Gustav, a mathematics student, when he was 20. Given that that was the better part of a decade ago he didn’t think it would help his argument.

“Have-have you considered that it’s p-p-” Emmett closed his eyes and gripped the arms of his chair, “p-p-painful for me to talk to new people?”

Emmett opened his eyes and met his father’s gaze. There seemed to be a sheen in the man’s brown eyes. Pity? Emmett thought, Or age?

“I cannot ever fully understand, Emmett. But I feel that I must encourage you to go. Strongly if necessary. You will be a peer of the realm one day. I do not wish you to be a hermit of your own making.”

Emmett didn’t know what to say to that. He suspected nothing he could say would change the Viscount’s mind

The Viscount con­tinued “Perhaps if you viewed it scientifically. You could merely observe.”

Emmett nodded. Observing might be tolerable.

“You s-s-said only p-part of the season.” If this was to be a necessary evil, hopefully it could be brief.

“It needn’t be as tedious as you’re making it." His father scolded. "But if you require a deadline: from Easter until the end of May.”

“That’s n-nearly six w-w-weeks!” Emmett exclaimed.

“Some matchmaking mamas make their daughters par­ade about starting in January.” The look in the Vis­count’s eyes told Emmett he’d better shut his trap.

“Anything else?” Emmett asked in a still-clipped tone.

“No. You may go.”

Emmett was up and out like a shot. What is it about fathers that make one feel like a child again? Emmett wondered.

Perhaps it’s because you’re acting like one, a small voice in his head piped up. He told it to bugger off.