Richard laughed and waved his hand to dismiss it as though it was nothing. “Just a slight disagreement.”
“A disagreement with whom?” She looked at him with concern written across her face.
He smiled, clearly liking the fact that she was anxious for him. “My brother and I had a minor disagreement last night, after a little too much whisky.”
Grace did not know which thing to react to first, the fact that he drank too much or that he fought with his own brother. “You used your fists on your brother?”
“Yes.” Richard, at least, had the decency to look sheepish. “And he used his fists on me!” he exclaimed, pointing to his blackened eye.
“Will it be healed in time for our wedding?” The thought of standing before the altar of God in a church next to a man with a black eye appalled her.
Richard laughed it away. “Of course it will. Do not fret.”
Grace’s fingers closed involuntarily around the brocade and that was still upon her lap. “And drinking?” She dared not look up into his face. She knew drinking was a delicate subject with a man.
“Drinking?” he said simply.
“Yes,” she said so quietly her voice was barely above a whisper. “Am I marrying a man who drinks heavily, as my father used to for years after Mother died?”
Richard laughed so hard at her question that he snorted. “Dear God!”
Grace looked up at him, eyes wide. She did not see what in this situation there was to laugh about.
“Is that what you think of me? Are you frightened that you may be marrying a man who is a drunkard and is prone to fisticuffs?” He knit his brow and leant closer towards her.
Without thinking Grace shifted away from him, indeed almost frightened of him. “After your confession of drinking too much and fighting with your brother and having seen your black eye, yes, I am afraid that is the kind of man I am to marry.”
She watched him sit back on his haunches and then saw the dismay work its way across his visage. She could see she had hurt him, his honour and his pride, but she knew she must stand her ground. As much as she wanted to soothe his pain, she kept silent.
Slowly and deliberately, in a voice shaking with emotion, Richard said, “Miss Grace Hayward, I am not a drunkard. I am not a man who is prone to fisticuffs. And I most certainly would never harm you or endanger you in anyway.”
Grace stared into his eyes, unable to respond.
“It is important that you believe me. Things became heated between my brother and me. These things happen between siblings; it is normal. I confess it has not happened for many years, but it has happened in the past. We argued, it got out of hand, and we behaved like children. But that does not mean it will happen again anytime soon, and it does not mean that you are marrying a bad man.”
“Promise me it will never happen again.”
“I…” Richard hesitated.
“No, Richard. Promise me it will never happen again. Because if it does, I will be on the first ship to India. And I mean it.”
The look in her eye was hard, and she saw the understanding in Richard’s. He knew she was in earnest. He reached out his left hand and cupped it around her right cheek, pulling her face towards him. Her breathing faltered and her pulse raced, but he held her face still a short distance from his, close enough that she could feel his breath upon her cheek, and he whispered, “My dearest Grace, I promise.”
* * * *
The family came together again in the breakfast room for their midday repast. Grace was introduced to two new additions to their company—Doctor and Miss Martha Coleman. Grace smiled politely and curtsied in greeting. She looked around the room as she seated herself and noticed her father was not present. A quick glance at the table settings confirmed that he was not to join them. “Mrs Emberton, do you know where my father is?”
“Yes, Grace. This morning he expressed the need to attend to some business and departed in the carriage, in, what I must confess to be, quite an excitable humour,” she nodded knowingly.
“An excitable humour?” Grace repeated, puzzled.
“My dear, some things are best not pried into.” Edwina smiled kindly and attended to the footman, who appeared at her elbow with a steaming serving dish.
After helping herself to boiled beef and root vegetables, Mrs Emberton looked back at Grace and mouthed the words wedding gift.
Grace sat back in her chair and wondered what her father was about. She did not require a wedding gift from him. Most certainly the plantation was her wedding gift, was it not? Confused and in silence, she helped herself to some food from the proffered plate and ate slowly in small bites.
Whilst she was contemplating the happenings of the day—the gift of the brocade silk, the mysterious disappearance of her father, and now the new arrivals at the table—Grace impassively watched Miss Coleman. It seemed to Grace that the doctor’s daughter’s eyes flicked frequently to look at Richard. Out of the corner of her eye, Grace covertly studied her fiancé. He seemed to be studiously ignoring Miss Coleman and not paying her the attention that courtesy demanded.
As the meal progressed, Grace became increasingly convinced that Miss Coleman was partial to Richard. Does she know I am to marry Richard the day after tomorrow?
Grace decided to engage the young lady in conversation. “Miss Coleman, do you and your father live near here?” Grace knew the question was ridiculous. She asked anyway. She had to start somewhere with the conversation.
“Yes, Miss…”
“Hayward.” Grace smiled in as friendly a manner as possible. “But, of course, do call me, Grace.”
“Thank you. I shall. And you may call me Martha.”
As the young girl turned her attention to the food in front of her, Grace felt at a loss as to what to say next. The conversation appeared to be at an end when the young lady looked up and enquired, “Do you live near here?”
Grace realized then that Martha Coleman was indeed unaware of the fact that a wedding was to take place in two days. Grace was reluctant to break the news in front of so many people, nor did it seem her place, a virtual stranger. From her own observations, Grace guessed Martha was falling in love with Richard. Dashing the girl’s hopes in such a manner and at such a time seemed unnecessarily cruel. Grace found she could not do it.
“Well…” She decided to try to furnish the young lady with the information she desired in as gentle a manner as possible. “I was born and grew up in Kerala, India, and then I was at school in Berkshire for three years. Now…” Grace took a breath before continuing. “Now, I reside here at Emberton Hall.”
“Oh! That is awfully nice of the Emberton’s to invite you to stay, is it not?”
Grace was saved from having to address this misunderstanding by Martha’s turning to her father and saying, “They are such a kind family. They have always given such kind attentions to us, haven’t they, Papa?”
“Yes, they are very kind indeed.” Grace did not wish to push the subject even further and left it where it lay. She looked over at Edwina, who smiled gently. She, it seemed, had understood Grace’s predicament. This only added to Grace’s sense of discomfort. Now it seemed clear that Miss Coleman harboured affection for Richard.
“Now, Doctor Coleman, there have been many changes at Emberton Hall since you last dined here,” Edwina chimed in cheerily.
“Indeed, there have been,” the old doctor replied, smiling kindly at Grace. “It is always a pleasure to make a new acquaintance, Miss Hayward.”
Grace felt uncomfortable, knowing what Edwina was about to tell the Colemans.
“Well, the best of all the changes we have yet to tell you.” Edwina beamed with such happiness that the Colemans smiled happily in response. “My eldest son, Richard, is to be wed the day after tomorrow to the delightful Miss Grace Hayward.”
Grace resisted the impulse to run out of the room. The look upon Martha’s face was heartbreaking. Her eyes, large and brimmed with tears, flitted between Grace and Rich
ard and back again. Richard leant over toward Grace and squeezed her hand. Grace could not enjoy the moment, neither could she derive any pleasure or comfort from Richard’s touch. She was far too aware of the disappointment and heartache of the girl who sat directly opposite her.
With a shaky voice feigning interest, surprise, and happiness, the doctor responded, “Oh! How delightful! What happy news. Yes, indeed. Happy, happy news.”
With yet another jolt in her conscience, Grace knew this was not happy news whatsoever for either of the Colemans. She prayed for a way to help ease the pain she knew Martha was now experiencing.
Edwina continued, “As our neighbours and dear friends, we would be greatly honoured if you both be our guests at the wedding.”
To avoid eye contact with her stricken guests, Edwina focused on cutting her meat in uniform pieces as she spoke. “It is to be, alas, a small ceremony, but that is what my dear Richard wanted. And as dear Grace does not have a large family, it would be unkind of us to invite all of the Embertons and our extended family. We simply cannot have the church filled on one side only, can we?” She smiled at Grace, who squirmed uncomfortably beneath Mrs Emberton’s gaze.
Under any other circumstances, Grace would most certainly have been grateful for such consideration. That feeling was squelched by the knowledge of how this discussion affected Martha. If indeed Martha did live in the vicinity, she was the first young lady Grace met with whom she might possibly form a friendship. As the conversation continued, Grace could see all possibilities of a potential acquaintance between herself and Martha vanishing.
The remainder of the meal continued in stilted conversation. It was evident to all that some damage had been done. Grace felt worse than she had in a long time. A melancholic mood settled upon her and refused to be lifted. She had not asked to come into this family, and she certainly had not asked to be the method by which Martha had her hopes and dreams shattered, but she was. She tried to think of as many ways as she could of being kind to her new neighbour, but every time she thought of something that she was convinced would lift the girl’s mood and make her smile again, Grace realised sadly that it could be seen as patronising and insulting. It was a relief to all when the meal ended.
As Grace exited the breakfast room, desiring only to retire to her room until the haberdasher and dressmaker arrived, Richard appeared at her elbow. “Grace, you seem a little out of sorts,” he whispered.
“Can you not see that the mode of declaration of our marriage has devastated Martha?” she said sadly.
Richard took hold of her elbow and steered toward the library. Once they were inside and the door was shut to the interference of others, he led her to the window seat he found her ensconced in the day before and sat her down.
“What you must understand about Martha Coleman is that I have never desired to marry her. I never had any interest in her like that. My mother, sensible of the fact that Doctor Coleman is a widower and that Martha is motherless, took them under her wing, as it were. My mother has been more than kind to them. It is neither my fault nor my mother’s, and certainly not yours, Grace, that Martha has been foolish enough to harbour affection for me.”
Grace smiled weakly at him and nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“If she had honestly thought about it, she would realise that marriage to the Emberton heir would be impossible. You and I are alike, Grace. Perhaps, had not tragedy befallen my business, I would have had the liberty to fall in love before marriage. The notion of falling in love is quite bewitching, is it not?”
Grace nodded again, “It would be so much easier if it were not.”
“But we have to work with the cards that life has dealt us. Life brought you to me, and I’m grateful for it.”
She looked at him in astonishment.
“I believe you and I can be truly happy. And I have promised to endeavour to do all I can to make you happy, Grace. Martha Coleman is not my future. I know that my mother has been looking out someone for her, but you know how meddlesome and difficult that can be in and of itself. One day I hope my mother succeeds. I sincerely hope that she finds a young man who will be the best possible husband for Miss Coleman, but that man is not me.”
“I have to admit that for a moment I wondered if there was something between you and Martha,” Grace confessed in a small voice.
“What do you mean?” He frowned at her averted face, flushed with heightened colour. Then realisation dawned upon him. He opened his eyes wide and simply said, “Oh.”
“I beg your forgiveness if that is insulting to you.” She did not understand why was she was beginning to speak so freely to this man. He was still a veritable stranger to her.
“Not at all. I confess I am a little shocked that you would think so. Some gentlemen may behave in such a manner,” he smiled uncomfortably at her. “I can reassure you that I am not such a man.”
Relief flooded her body. She had to admit that this confession pleased her greatly, despite not fully understanding why.
“My father brought me up to be a businessman and only a businessman. We had many times during the summer when we simply played, were boys, father and sons. But with me, as I grew older, my father taught me business strategy, how to run a meeting, how to do this, and how to do that: accounts ledgers, accountants, lawyers. Oh, Grace, a lot of my adolescent years were spent in this room, sitting at that desk,” he pointed across the room to the desk at which he sat to do his business, “whilst I could hear my brothers running around outside in the grounds shouting, calling to each other, playing.”
Grace felt pity for him. “Every child, whether rich or poor, deserves the right to play and not work.”
Richard chuckled, reached out to her hands lying neatly folded in her lap, and gave them a gentle pat. “Grace, I do believe you are extremely liberal-minded. What a progressive woman you are!”
“Am I?” she questioned.
“Indeed. I believe the statement you just made is quite revolutionary.” He gave her a wry smirk, the kind she now came to realise meant he was playing with her and she laughed.
“Yes, I believe you are correct. Perhaps I should tell Edward. He is, after all, the one who could make that happen,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Heaven forbid! Edward already has himself embroiled in the Abolition of Slavery Act. If you tell him this and he goes to Westminster declaring that no child should ever work and must play until they reach the age of maturity, goodness knows what may happen to him!” he chortled.
“You are teasing me.” She reddened.
“Not at all. All that I have said is true. However, it is something my brother most likely would agree with.” Richard lowered his voice to a whisper, “If you ask me, I think my brother may be a radical.”
Grace could not help herself. She found Richard quite amusing. Together they sat on the window seat and laughed. It was the first time she had truly relaxed in his presence, and she hoped in her heart that one day they might become friends.
“Now, what do you say to taking a turn in the Elizabethan garden?”
“That would be quite pleasant. I do have an appointment at one o’clock, so I must return by then.”
It was Richard’s turn to find her amusing and he roared with laughter. “Miss Grace Hayward, you are not yet mistress of this house, but you already have appointments?” he said incredulously.
“Pray do not laugh. It is your mother who has made the arrangements. The haberdasher and the dressmaker are coming. She so wants to have that brocade silk made into a dress for me, if it is at all possible at such short notice.”
“Do not apologise, Grace. I am not in the least bit offended. My mother wants the best for you. We all want the best for you. Will you not believe that?”
Grace could not answer him as she mused over who truly knew what was best for her. “Let us walk, then,” she said simply and rose.
Side by side they left the room and took a walk in the Elizabethan gardens, avoiding discussion of th
e wedding, all the preparations, business, and the marriage arrangements, focusing instead on things that seemed insignificant: the weather, the flowers, the garden’s design, the orchard, the vegetable gardens, and ideas for changes to each. The few minutes they spent together, feeling the chill in the breeze signalling the arrival of autumn, were a balm to Grace’s soul.
Chapter Eleven
There is only so much that one woman’s senses can take in one day. Grace was exhausted. Her entire body hurt, and all she wanted to do was sleep. She spent the preceding four or five hours talking about bonnets, examining new bonnets, trying different styles of bonnets until her hair was in disarray and her head ached.
Then the dressmaker arrived, placed Grace upon a footstool, and draped and re-draped the pattern fabric, pinning, prodding, and poking at her, even drawing blood. On one occasion, when a pin accidentally stabbed the back of her arm, Grace was ready to call an end to the day. When the dressmaker promised that, if she took on two or three more seamstresses, the dress would be ready the following afternoon, Grace had no recourse but to remain standing upon the stool as still and unmoving as a stone statue.
It was remarkable how much pain was inflicted upon the human body when one asked it not to move a single muscle. It was unladylike, she knew, but Grace simply wanted to scream and move her limbs about wildly until the pain left her body. However, she mustered all her inner strength and courage to remain where she was and do precisely as she was told.
The gown began to take shape loosely pinned around her body. She watched the progression in the tall looking glass that was placed across the room for her to look in and was astounded. The dress would be something that ought to be worn at St Paul’s Cathedral or Westminster Cathedral in London, not in the small parish church in the middle of the Essex countryside.
Edwina remained present at all times. Grace had never known the value of a mother figure. Yet now, with Edwina in the room issuing commands, making wise statements, and giving advice, Grace thought she had a small glimpse of what it must be like to have a mother, always present, always there to lend a helping hand, to give sage advice. She was grateful. She would walk down the aisle dressed like a beautiful princess. She could not wish for more, except for the man waiting at the end of the aisle to love her as deeply as she dearly wished to be loved.
The Spice Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 1) Page 9
