Apollo

Chapter Eight

When I fell down you'd be there holding me up. Spread your wings as you go; when God takes you back He'll say "Hallelujah, you're home."

EMMETT LOCKHART'S FOOTSTEPS ECHOED THE HEAVINESS OF HIS HEART as he trudged through the hallway towards his sister's study. He could hear them ricocheting in the empty hallway, along with the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He had never felt so anxious on his way to meet his sister – she had, in fact, always calmed him when he was most nervous. Her eyes were adoring and kind, her smile the most genuine he had ever seen, and her embrace was always able to quiet the storms that raged in his oft-troubled soul. She was his oasis, a safe, quiet harbour he always came back to after voyaging the turbulent seas. She was the one person whom he had always loved, and who had always loved him. They had had each other since birth, each serving as a constant pillar of support for the other, a source of motivation, a reason to live and to live well...

    But this time was different. He was not here to seek her consolation. He needed this meeting to go well. He swallowed the lump in his throat, each step becoming harder to take as he neared the study.

    Perhaps, somewhere in the back of his mind, he already knew that his words would cut her heart.

    A passing maid bowed to him but the weight on his mind meant that he did not see her, green eyes fixed on the narrow path in front of him.

    Emmeline, I'm sorry, he rehearsed inwardly for the fifty-first time that day. I would never hurt you on purpose, but I have to marry her. I cannot explain it to you...it is just something that must be done. Please, for me...apologise to Lady Victoria. She will not have me otherwise. Clenching and unclenching his fists once, he inhaled deeply to steady his erratic heartbeat and his rocking gut.

    Finally, he arrived at the door which had come to be familiar to him. Closing his eyes, he took another shaky calming breath. He raised his fist and hesitated for brief moment before rapping on the hardwood.

    "Come in." Her voice was loud and clear, but it held none of her usual cheer.

    Emmett pushed the door open. She lifted her gaze from the book before her, and stiffened immediately as their eyes met. Ramrod straight, she closed the collection of poems slowly, slid it to one side of the table, and spoke.

    "How can I help you, Earl Portsmouth?"

    "Emmeline, I'm sorry," he said. "I would never hurt you on purpose, but I have to marry her. I—"

    "You are not sorry," she interrupted, her voice steady and quiet but sharp as a blade plunging into his soul. "If you were, you would not be saying such preposterous things. You are your own person with your own life that you have every right to make as happy as you can – you do not have to marry her, Emmett. She does not own your soul, and...and neither do I."

    Just because I am unhappy does not mean you have to be as well, she meant to say. Her brother, however, heard something very different.

    "If you do not own my soul, you should respect my right to make my own choices. I know you think you are doing what is best for me, Emmeline, but I am able to choose my own bride."

    Her eyebrows furrowed, and she felt her throat start to close. His obstinacy broke her heart.

    Still she managed a response. "Do you, really?"

    She closed her eyes briefly and, trembling, sucked in a breath of air. Then her green eyes were dry and cold, and she said with all the curtness of an offended lady, "If you have no other business here, Earl Portsmouth, you are excused."