For the Love of Emma

by Lucy Gordon

“I’ll be here—”

  “Living here. Night and day.”

  “Are you offering me another job as a child minder?”

  “No, I’m asking you to marry me,” he said simply.

  She stared in outrage. “That has to be the unfunniest joke of all time.”

  “Joke? Do you think I’d make a joke about this?”

  “Then if it’s not a joke—”

  “I told you, Emma wants a mother. She’s never known what it was like to have one, and I want to give her this before she dies. She’s set her heart on you.”

  “But—” She pressed her hands to her head as if to hold her whirling thoughts in check.

  “Is there someone else?” he demanded. “A boyfriend, fiancé, lover—whatever?”

  “No, there’s no one else.”

  “So there’s nothing to stop you pretending to be my wife for a few months. That’s all it would be, a pretense. I won’t ask anything of you for myself. When it’s over you can have a divorce with any settlement you like. You need never work again. Or if you want to work, you can come into the company and with your brains you’ll rise to the top. All I ask is that you give Emma a few months, so that she doesn’t die without ever knowing what it is to have a mother.”

  “I can’t take this in,” she said desperately.

  “Emma’s had everything that money could buy, but I know now that she’s never had the things that really matter.” He took a shuddering breath. “I don’t want her to lose out on this, as well. Please, Briony. Please.”

  His voice was desperate. His eyes looked as she’d seen them once before, anguished and defenseless, and she was filled with a sense of danger. To marry him, to live close to him for months, when her heart was coming painfully alive to him. To do this, knowing that in the end she must leave him. It would be madness.

  Then she thought of the child upstairs, putting on a smiling face for her father, being stronger and braver than any child should have to be, asking only this one thing from all the many things life had denied her.

  “All right,” she said steadily to Carlyle. “I’ll marry you, for her sake.”

  She didn’t know what sort of reaction to expect from him, but when it came it took her by surprise. Instead of words, he raised her hand and laid it against his lips. It wasn’t a flirtatious gesture, but one of reverence.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  The touch of his lips unnerved her, reminding her how hard this marriage was going to be in some ways. She disengaged her hand, not looking at him.

  “By the way,” he said, “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “What?”

  “You said there was something you had to explain, about why you didn’t want to be with Emma. Was it important?”

  “No,” she said. “It wasn’t important at all.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BRIONY left the firm the next day and began spending her time with Emma. It was four days before they felt the child was strong enough for the excitement of being told the news. During that time Carlyle booked the register office for three weeks ahead.

  Emma turned to Briony more and more. She liked nothing better than to have her read her to sleep, and often she would doze off holding her hand. It was clear that whatever Carlyle decided, Emma had already made her choice.

  Once Emma found her studying the picture by her bed. “That was my Mummy,” she confided. “She died when I was a baby.”

  The picture showed a young woman with a delicate, ethereal beauty. A man could hardly help falling in love with her, thought Briony. “She was really enchanting,” she said with an unconscious little sigh.

  “Enchanting,” Emma repeated. She reached for a notebook and pencil by the bed, and looked up expectantly. Briony spelled “enchanting” and Emma wrote it down, frowning as she concentrated.

  “I like new words,” she said. “They’re fun.”

  “What a good idea. Your own private dictionary.”

  “Dictionary,” said Emma at once.

  Briony spelled this, too. While Emma wrote, she studied the picture, envying Helen Brackman her grace and charm.

  “Daddy says she was prettier than anyone in the world,” Emma said.

  “Yes, she was. And you’re so like her.”

  Emma was pleased. “Yes, Daddy says so, too. He’s always telling me how much I look like her.”

  And losing Emma would be like losing his wife all over again, Briony thought. She caught Emma watching her, and smiled quickly.

  One evening, as she and Carlyle were tucking Emma into bed, she asked casually, “We’ve had good times together these last few days, haven’t we?”

  Emma nodded. “I wish you could stay forever,” she said wistfully.

  “Would you really like me to do that?” Briony asked, relieved that Emma had prepared the way.

  “Oo-oh, yes.”

  “All right, then. I will.”

  “We’re going to get married,” Carlyle said from the other side of the bed.

  Emma looked from one to the other as if in disbelief. Then joy flooded her face and she jumped up in bed to throw her arms around Briony’s neck. “Really? Really?”

  “Yes, really,” she laughed, trying to keep from strangling.

  “Hey, what about me?” Carlyle asked with a grin. “Don’t I get a hug?”

  Emma put her arms around him. “Is it really true?” she begged.

  “Really true,” Briony confirmed, touched by the child’s joy. It felt so good to be wanted.

  “When did it happen?” Emma asked. “I mean, when did you ask Briony?”

  “A few days ago,” Carlyle said. “We were waiting for the right moment to tell you.”

  “But where did you propose? Was it in the office, or here, or—it was at the funfair, wasn’t it?”

  “Sort of,” Carlyle said lamely.

  “Oh, please tell me about it.”

  “We can’t,” Briony said, coming to his rescue. “Things like that have to stay a secret.”

  Emma seemed to understand this because she sat back, apparently satisfied. But the next moment she caught them off guard again, seizing Briony’s left hand, which was conspicuously bare. “Daddy hasn’t bought you a ring yet,” she said in tones of disappointment.

  “That’s going to come next,” Carlyle said hastily.

  “When we’ve got time,” Briony put in. “I wanted to spend these past few days with you so that we could get to know each other.”

  “You will get married soon, won’t you?” Emma asked eagerly.

  “Very soon,” Carlyle promised her. “In fact, before the end of this month.”

  “And can I be a bridesmaid?”

  “But, darling—” Briony began awkwardly.

  “Your chief bridesmaid, with a pink satin dress?” Emma went on ecstatically. “And you’ll have a huge bouquet of white roses, and when you get to the altar you’ll hand it to me to look after for you. Oh, do say yes.”

  Briony looked at Carlyle, nonplussed. Neither of them had anticipated this situation, but he was equal to it. “Of course you can,” he said. “Whatever you like.”

  “No, Briony has to say so,” Emma told her father severely. “She’s the bride.”

  “I think your idea sounds absolutely wonderful,” she said warmly.

  “Can I help you choose your wedding dress?”

  “As soon as you’re well enough to get up, we’ll go to the hire shop.”

  “Hire?” Emma looked scandalized. “Aren’t you going to buy one?”

  “There’s no need. I’ll only wear it once—”

  “But don’t you want to keep it for years and years, and look at it when you grow old?” Emma asked anxiously.

  It was clear that her vision of a perfect wedding included this epilogue. Briony was briefly nonplussed, but Carlyle said, “Of course we’ll buy it to keep, and you’ll help Briony choose it. That’s much better.”

  He kissed his daughter and left the room w
ith Briony. Downstairs they faced each other awkwardly. “I never dreamed of anything like this,” he admitted. “I thought if I gave her a mother everything would be all right. But she’s set her heart on something more.”

  “She wants to feel herself as part of a family,” Briony said, “doing what families do.”

  “It’s not going to be the quiet ceremony we planned. Can you endure a big church wedding, with all the frills?”

  “If it’s what makes Emma happy.” Briony gave a faint smile. “I’ll have to take my directions from her. Let’s just hope she doesn’t want to buy up the whole shop.”

  He shrugged. “What does it matter if she does? Get whatever she wants. Find a good wedding organizer to plan everything and tell them to send the bills to me. I’ll give you my credit card so that you can buy an engagement ring. What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Don’t you realize it’s not so simple anymore? Emma’s got very fixed ideas about how things should happen.”

  “And how does she want this to happen?”

  “I think you should ask Emma’s advice about the ring and, if possible, take it. That will please her more than anything.”

  “Take her advice,” he repeated as if memorizing a lesson.

  “Make a conspiracy of it. Just you and her.”

  “Right. Yes. That’s good.”

  She regarded him with a mixture of pity, kindness and exasperation. He knew all about business, but people had to be explained to him, even those he loved. But when Carlyle undertook any task he did it well, and the following evening he brought home a large jeweler’s box, which he took straight to Emma’s room. Briony found herself firmly excluded, but from behind the door she could hear Emma giggling and saying, “That one—no that one.”

  At last Emma looked out. “You can come in now,” she said, taking Briony’s hand. She drew her into the room where Carlyle was waiting with something hidden in his hand. “Do I have to go away?” she asked anxiously.

  “Of course not,” Briony said at once. “This is a family occasion.”

  She felt self-conscious taking part in what should have been a romantic moment, and she wondered if Carlyle felt the same. But he seemed composed as he held out his hand to take hers, and said, “Emma and I chose this together. She’s convinced it’s the one you’ll like, and I hope you do.”

  Briony almost gasped when she saw the ring. With cheerful disregard for her father’s pocket Emma had picked a glittering confection of diamonds. There must have been thirty tiny stones clustered around one larger one in the center.

  “Do you like it?” Emma asked eagerly.

  “It’s beautiful,” Briony breathed as Carlyle slid the ring onto her left hand. She smiled at Emma. “You made a lovely choice.”

  “Daddy helped,” she said generously. She gave her father a significant look and whispered loudly, “Go on, Daddy.”

  For a moment Briony didn’t understand. Emma was regarding her father anxiously, as though fearful that he’d omit something and spoil the moment. Then Briony felt Carlyle’s hands on her shoulders and he was drawing her near. The next moment his lips were on hers.

  There was nothing passionate about the kiss. It was a formality for Emma’s sake. But the touch of his mouth caught Briony unaware and a response awoke deep inside her before she could guard against it. She stood there, stunned, until he murmured against her lips, “Kiss me back or it won’t look right.”

  She hastened to play her part, laying her hands on his arms and leaning closer. His mouth was firm and warm against hers, and suddenly images began to chase through her mind: hot summer days full of sweet, languorous beauty; the earth in bloom; crimson sunsets and scented breezes; wine and laughter and love. Suddenly she was achingly aware of a world full of possibilities, and all because of a light kiss from a man who cared nothing for her and expected her to care nothing for him.

  They drew apart, and Briony quickly turned her head. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she was sure that her face was flushed. “It’s a beautiful ring,” she said, trying to speak calmly. “I’ll treasure it.”

  When they were alone a few minutes later Carlyle said awkwardly, “I’m really sorry about that. I never meant it to happen. It didn’t occur to me that she’d get so involved with the details.”

  “Nor me. It doesn’t matter,” she said hastily.

  “I’ll make sure it happens as little as possible. I promise you I’ve no wish to—well, I’m sure you feel the same—”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Let’s drop the subject, shall we?”

  She went home early that evening, refusing to let Carlyle or Tom drive her. She wanted to be alone to come to terms with the dismaying thing that had happened to her. Her heart and her senses had been insistently warming to Carlyle despite her resolutions. But she felt she could have coped, if only she could keep him at arm’s length. It seemed that was to be denied her. The lightest touch of his lips had affected her so strongly that it was as if the solid ground had vanished from beneath her, revealing that she was actually walking a tightrope across a chasm.

  How could she live close to this man for months without responding to him, loving him? Her heart told her that it wasn’t possible. Yet she must find a way if she was to do what she’d promised.

  Then Emma’s face came into her mind, shining, trustful. If she tried hard she could put Carlyle’s image aside, and think only of the little girl who needed her.

  The ring caught her eye, its glittering beauty seeming to mock her. A woman who’d been given such a ring for love would treasure it and never take it off for a moment. But this was a stage prop, to be returned when the show was over. Before she went to bed she put it carefully away in a drawer.

  *

  Briony dreaded shopping for a dress with Emma, but when the day arrived she found the child’s enthusiasm infectious. Nora came, too, to care for Emma while Briony was occupied in the changing room, and the three of them went into central London, to the bridal department of a store so expensive that in the past Briony had always hurried past its doors. Now she was an honored customer with a limitless budget.

  Confronted with a range of pink satin dresses, Emma was rendered speechless with joy for a full ten seconds before plunging in. In fact she managed to find what she wanted in the first few minutes, trying it on and immediately announcing, “This one.”

  She was far more choosy about the bride’s gown, airily discarding several that Briony felt would have done very well. It was clear that she had a vision in her mind, and nothing would do for her but to fulfill it. Briony was apprehensive about the outcome. She looked best in uncluttered lines, and she was afraid the child would pick one of the fairytale fantasies, covered in ribbons and frills, that was on display.

  At last Emma pointed to a gown and suggested, “Try this.”

  As soon as she saw herself in it Briony knew Emma’s taste was unerring. The dress was made of heavy silk, high in the neck, shaped to the waist then falling over her hips in a very slight flare and dropping straight to the floor. The back stretched out in a long train and the sleeves grew wider as they descended, until they almost touched the pale gray carpet. The only decoration was a sprinkling of seed pearls.

  “I’ve never felt silk as heavy as this,” she murmured.

  “It’s specially woven for this shop, madam,” said the assistant, “to give it the extra weight. Try walking in it.”

  Briony took a few steps and the dress flowed out behind her, a thing of glorious beauty. As if by magic it seemed to correct all the imperfections of her body. square shoulders ceased to be noticeable, and her angular appearance vanished, replaced by a soft, feminine roundness that she had never believed could be hers. She was awed, and felt quite unequal to wearing it. Despite its simplicity this gown had a magnificence that contrasted with the way she saw herself: down-to-earth, reliable, perhaps even a little prosaic.

  “I don’t think—” she began.

  “Oh
, but you must,” Emma said eagerly. “And look, here’s the perfect veil to go with it.”

  The veil was equally overwhelming, stretching down almost the full length of the train. It framed Briony’s face in a cloud of soft white that made her skin glow and her eyes look huge. She began to walk again, and Emma fell into step behind her, holding up the train as they paraded down the long, mirrored room.

  “She’s right,” Nora said. “You look marvelous.”

  “How much is this dress?” Briony asked. The assistant told her. “How much?” she gasped. “Oh, goodness, it’s far too—”

  “We’ll take it,” Emma said calmly. And the deed was done.

  “She just overrode me like a juggernaut,” Briony told Carlyle defensively that night. “Remember that when you get the bill.”

  “I know her in her juggernaut moods,” Carlyle observed. He grinned suddenly. “I can’t think where she gets it from.”

  They were having supper in her little flat. Now that Briony was spending her days with Emma this was their one chance to talk. The time was slipping away fast, making her feel caught up in a whirlwind. Very soon she would become the wife of this man, at least in name. She felt powerfully attracted to him, yet he was still essentially a stranger, and he discussed their wedding as he would have done any other arrangement that he expected to be handled efficiently. It made it hard for her to broach a subject she knew she couldn’t delay any longer.

  “Is everything going all right?” he asked now.

  “Mrs. Grainger has everything in hand,” she said, naming the wedding organizer. “Considering the short time we’ve given her, she’s done a marvelous job.”

  “Then what’s on your mind? Emma’s happy, isn’t she?”

  “Perfectly. She’s full of plans for us—” Briony stopped awkwardly.

  “What pitfall has she opened at our feet now?” he asked warily. “Go on, tell me the worst. I’m beginning to expect it.” He looked suddenly horrified. “Oh, lord, don’t tell me she wants us to have a honeymoon?”

  “No, I got out of that by saying that we don’t want to leave her, and she isn’t well enough to go with us.”

  “Then what haven’t we thought of?”