The Illusion of Deception
Working at the Royal Academy of Music, Emmeline had never cared for anything but music. It had been her life since childhoodher mother and her melodies. At twenty-eight, she remained unmarried, having once courted a fellow musician, but their paths had divergedtoo difficult, perhaps, when both were talented and lost in their own worlds.
Yet for the past three months, she had been seeing William, a solicitor. They had met by chance in a café near the academy. She hadnt wanted to go homenot since burying her mother. The house was too quiet, too empty.
“Excuse me, miss,” William had said, stirring his tea as he approached. “You look rather downcast. Might I join you? My names William.”
She was beautiful, yet distant. Intriguing.
“Emmeline,” she had replied softly, offering a faint smile.
From then on, they had seen each other often. William had even begun staying over and had proposed, but she had hesitated.
“I cant give you an answer yet, William. Ive only just lost my mother.”
Her mother had raised her alone. Her fathers name and whereabouts had never been spoken ofEmmeline had never asked, sensing it was a painful subject. And now, with her mother gone, the weight of grief pressed upon her. She wondered, idly, if she ought to seek out her father.
“I dont even know if I should,” she confessed to William. “What if he doesnt want to see me?”
Emmeline had lived shielded from practical mattersher mother had handled everything while she immersed herself in music. Even so, her mother had warned her:
“Emmie, you ought to learn how things are managed. What will you do when Im gone? Youre so removed from the world; it wont be easy for you.”
“But you manage everything so well, Mother. Why should I bother?” she had laughed.
Yet life was cruel and unpredictable. Her mother had fallen ill suddenly, fading before the doctors could do anything.
“She didnt complain,” Emmeline had wept.
“Perhaps she was sparing you,” the doctor had said. “But the body always gives signs. Someone should have noticed.”
William was a sharp young man. The first time he stepped into Emmelines flat, he had been taken abackexpensive paintings lined the walls, though she paid them no mind. She had grown up with them, but to William, they spoke of wealth.
In the evenings, Emmeline would play the piano, preparing for concerts, while William listenedor pretended to. He had long since realized there was much to gain here. He rifled through her mothers documents and letters, learning of an aunt, Beatrice, who lived in the countryside. And so, he pressed for marriage, knowing Emmeline was the sole heir.
It vexed him that she still refused. She hardly knew him, and something in her heart whispered doubts. Yet he persisted, waiting, insisting. He knew she dreamed of finding her father.
One evening, William arrived with news.
“We have guests tonight. Lets fetch champagne and something for supper.”
“Guests? Who?”
“Ive found your father.”
“William, truly? Is he here in London? I always imagined he lived abroad.”
“Yes, he lives right here.”
Half an hour after they returned home, the doorbell rang. William answered, and Emmeline saw a tall, dark-haired man.
“My daughter,” he rushed to embrace her. “Let me look at you. Youre beautiful. Robert Pembrokethats my name.”
Emmelines middle name was, indeed, Roberta. They spoke late into the night.
“Your mother and I parted ways, but she never told me she was expecting.”
Seizing the moment, William interjected:
“Mr. Pembroke, since fate has reunited you, might I ask for your daughters hand?”
Emmeline, still dazed, faltered.
“If William loves you, Ive no objection,” her father smiled. “You have my blessing. Ill expect a wedding invitation.”
From then on, Robert became a frequent visitor. Yet he revealed little about his past with Emmelines mother, claiming their time together had been brief.
She sent an invitation to Aunt Beatrice and her husband. They arrived early, eager to help with the wedding preparations in place of Emmelines late mother.
One evening, the doorbell rang.
“Goodness, what a journey!” Beatrice exclaimed. “The trains were dreadful.”
They met William, who excused himself that night so Emmeline could speak with her family.
“Aunt Beatrice, Ive found my fatheror rather, William did.”
“Whats his name?”
“Robert Pembroke. My middle name is Roberta.”
Beatrice exchanged a troubled glance with her husband.
“Emmie, theres something wrong,” she said gravely.
“What do you mean?”
“Your father wasnt Robert. His name was EdwardEdward Whitmore. Your mother invented the middle name. She didnt want you to know the truth. Your real father is Edward Whitmore, the dean of your conservatoire.”
“Edward Whitmore? Butthats my old music tutor! Then who is Robert?”
“Thats what we must ask William. Why this charade? And tell me, have you claimed your inheritance yet?”
“No, I must visit the solicitor soonbut what does it matter? Just the flat and”
“Oh, Emmie, you sweet fool! Your mother was far from poor. Those paintings alone are worth a fortune. Our parents left us equally, and with no children of our own, youre our heir too.”
Emmeline, who had never concerned herself with such matters, suddenly understood Williams haste.
“Aunt Beatrice, does Edwardmy fatherknow about me?”
“No. His mother arranged a match for him, splitting him from your mother. When they quarreled, your mother didnt yet know she was carrying you. By the time she learned, Edward had married anothera lie, orchestrated by his mother. He loved your mother, but when he saw her with a child, he assumed she had moved on. She never corrected him. But Robert? Thats a mystery we must solve.”
“Edward Whitmore handed me my diploma,” Emmeline murmured. “He never guessed I was his daughter.”
That evening, William returned to a cold surprise. Emmeline had cancelled the wedding, his belongings packed. Under Beatrices stern gaze, he offered no defense. He knew he had been caught.
Oddly, Emmeline felt only relief. Something about William had always unsettled her. Robert vanished without another word.
The next evening, Beatrice greeted her with a smile.
“We have a guest tonight.”
“Who now?”
“Youll see.”
The doorbell chimed. Beatrice returned, arm in arm with Edward Whitmore.
“My God,” he breathed. “You look just like me. Forgive me, my dearI never knew.”
They spoke long into the night. Emmeline learned of her half-brother, a soldier stationed abroad.
“Only you followed in my footsteps,” Edward said proudly. “You have the gift. My son never cared for music.”
“And I wondered where it came from!” she laughed.
With time, Emmeline grew close to her father. They visited her mothers grave together. He introduced her to his wife, Margaret, a kind woman, and later, to her brother when he came home on leave.
A year later, Emmeline married George, the son of Edwards oldest friend. He had fallen for her at first sight. A professor of economics, steady and reliable, he won Beatrices approval at once.
At the wedding, surrounded by family, Emmeline knew she had found her place at last.
