“Did he?”

“No, he didn’t. What kind of a woman do you think I am?”

“A woman in love, I suppose. I hear men can be awfully persuasive when you’re in love.”

“Well, I’m not in love,” Emma returned defiantly.

“Aren’t you?”

I don’t know, Emma’s mind cried out. She didn’t say anything.

“I can see that you are at least thinking about it,” Belle continued. “That’s a start, I suppose. I don’t really have to tell you how happy we would all be if the two of you did decide to get married.”

“Believe me, I’ve sensed your feelings.”

“Well, you can’t really blame us. We do so love having you here in England. Especially me,” Belle said gravely. “It’s hard when your best friend is an ocean away.”

Belle’s last remark sent Emma over the edge, and she exploded into tears, hiccuping loudly as she soaked the pillowcase.

“Oh dear.” Belle quickly moved back to the bed and began to stroke her cousin’s hair from her face. Emma wasn’t the crying sort of female, so Belle knew that something serious had occurred. “I’m sorry,” she crooned. “I didn’t mean to put any pressure on you. We all know that it has to be your decision in the end.”

Emma didn’t respond, but the tears continued to squeeze out of her eyes. She laid on her side, taking deep breaths as her tears rolled over her nose and dripped onto the pillow.

“You might feel better if you talk about it,” Belle commented. “Why don’t you come over to the dressing table, and I’ll comb out your hair. It looks as if the wind whipped a few tangles into it.”

Emma rose and moved slowly across the room, ungraciously rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. She plopped herself down in the plush chair that accompanied the dressing table and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She looked awful. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her nose was red, and her hair was strewn every which way. She took a deep breath to regain her equilibrium and silently marveled at the society women who even knew how to cry with style. A single tear or two, a delicate sniffle—nothing like the heart-wrenching sobs that racked Emma, leaving her feeling like a wrung-out, pathetic mess.

She turned to Belle with another loud sniffle. “Do you know something? I used to be someone else.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Belle picked up a comb.

“I mean—and correct me if I’m wrong—I used to have something of a reputation as an exceptional female. I don’t mean to boast, but I did.”

Belle nodded, trying to hide a smile.

“I didn’t simper,” Emma continued with a little more enthusiasm. “Or make stupid conversation. I had a quick wit. People used to comment on it.” She looked up to Belle for reassurance.

Belle continued her sympathetic nods but was obviously finding it more difficult to contain her smile. She began to pull the comb gently through Emma’s hair.

“And I had confidence in myself, too.”

“Don’t you now?”

Emma sighed, slumping in the chair. “I don’t know. I used to feel decisive about my actions. Now I never know what to do. I’m constantly confused, and when I do finally make a decision about something, I regret it later.”

“Do you think that all this confusion might have something to do with Ashbourne?”

“Of course it has something to do with Alex! It has everything to do with him. He’s turned my entire life upside down.”

“But you aren’t in love with him,” Belle stated quietly.

Emma clamped her mouth shut.

Belle tried a different tactic. “How do you feel when you’re with him?”

“It’s completely crazy. One moment we’re joking like old friends, and the next I’ve got a lump in my throat the size of an extremely large egg, and I feel like I’m an awkward twelve-year-old.”

“You don’t know what to say?” Belle guessed.

“It’s not that I don’t know what to say. I feel as if I’ve forgotten how to speak!”

“Hmmm.” Belle continued to work the tangles out of her cousin’s hair. “It sounds quite fascinating. I’ve never felt that way around a man before.” She paused thoughtfully. “Although I am looking forward to rereading Romeo and Juliet when I finally get to the R’s.”

Emma grimaced. “Please recall that they met with a rather unfortunate demise. I’d rather you didn’t draw comparisons.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

It may have been Emma’s overexerted emotions, but she didn’t think Belle sounded terribly contrite.

“There we go,” Belle said matter-of-factly. “All done with the left side.” She began combing the back of Emma’s hair. “Why don’t you tell me about this afternoon? Something must have happened to have put you in such a state.”

Despite herself, Emma felt her cheeks grow warm. “Oh, nothing really. We just went for a ride. The countryside here is lovely.”

Belle pulled the comb through Emma’s hair with a vicious yank.

“Ow!” Emma howled. “What are you doing? I’ll be bald by the time you’re through.”

“You were saying something about this afternoon?” Belle prodded in a sweet voice.

“Give me that comb!” Emma snapped. Belle lodged the offending weapon in her bright hair and gave it a little tug, symbolizing the torture that was yet to come. “Oh, all right,” Emma gave in. “We stopped for a picnic.”