* * * *
The plans were laid, extra servants were hired, the food was bought and being prepared, and the wine cellar was well stocked. Everything was ready for Edward’s ball. The invitations had been sent, unbeknownst to him, by his mother before she even presented him with the list. Again, this irritated him, but he could not but admire her efficiency at the same time.
He was uncertain how many of those one hundred and fifty guests had responded to the invitations, but he could make an educated guess judging from the amount of food and drink that was coming into Sandon Place.
It was the second week of June, and Edward could not have been happier with how well the reparations had gone. The house looked splendid. Two guest rooms were completed; five family bedrooms were restored to their former glory; the roofs were repaired, along with the plasterwork and woodwork throughout the house; the kitchen was home to a brand-new range and cold- and hot-water cisterns. He engaged a jolly woman, Mrs Hopwood, as cook. She could not have been happier with the new range in the kitchen. Fortuitously for Edward, she came with her husband, Ralph, who was a well-reputed gardener. Things were falling into place. His household was coming together nicely. Edward was delighted.
Despite the constant need to travel to Westminster, Edward spent a great deal in Sandon Place. Gradually his belongings were moved from Emberton Hall, and the day finally arrived when Edward could officially move into his new home.
It was strange sensation when Stainton, his butler, closed the door and shut them in for the first time. Edward turned around and stared at the door.
“Is there a problem, sir?” Stainton asked his face etched with concern.
“Not at all, I assure you.”
Edward watched as Stainton looked back at the front door and nodded. “Yes, sir, it is an unusual feeling when you close your own front door for the first time.” The butler bowed and departed, leaving Edward standing alone in the empty entrance hall.
He was not prepared for such an onslaught of emotion. He wondered if Richard had experienced the same thing, and then shrugged off the thought immediately. Of course Richard had not experienced it; he still lived in the same house he grew up in.
He decided the best course of action would be to do something, to occupy his hands and his mind. He turned full circle and tried to decide where to go and what to do. The door at the far end of the entrance hall, towards the back of the house, caught his eye. It was formerly a study, and Edward was in the process of restoring it. Unbidden, his feet took him towards the room.
The servants had been in before him. It was no longer the dusty shell of a room it was before. Now it was clean. The chair and desk were situated looking out of the window and upon the gardens, and someone had lit a small fire. But to make it perfect, the room needed an easy chair for him to recline in. Quickly his mind sought out such a chair, and straightaway he dashed from the room and climbed the stairs two at a time.
Edward knew there was a perfect chair in one of the guest bedrooms. He had no intention of inviting anyone to stay over anytime soon, and so he knew no one would be wanting or missing that chair.
Edward took hold of the chair and lifted it with ease; however, getting it through the door was not so easy. He gave the stubborn piece of furniture a firm push.
“Damn it all to hell!” he exclaimed at the top of his voice as he felt his hand catch between fabric and wood and the flesh tear as he snatched the wounded member to his chest in pain.
In his anger and frustration, he shoved the chair out through the tight opening and was amazed when he saw there was no damage to the paintwork, the woodwork, or the upholstery. Harnessing that rage, Edward lifted the chair again and hurriedly carried it along the corridor and down the stairs to the study. Just as he reached the room, the door to the servants’ staircase opened and a young maid appeared.
“Oh, my word!” she exclaimed, seeing his bloodied hand.
Edward spun around to face her, dropping the chair. “It’s quite all right, I assure you. I -- I’m simply moving this chair from the guest room to here,” he stammered, more embarrassed than anything else.
“D’ya want me t’ fetch someone to come an’ ‘elp you, sir?” she asked in her thick Essex accent.
“No, no, not at all. There’s no need for that,” he spoke hastily, hopping from one foot to another. He watched as her gaze moved between his face and his right hand, the blood running down his fingers, threatening fabric and flooring. Putting down the chair, he continued, “Everything is in order…um…what is your name?” No matter how hard he tried, Edward simply could not recall the girl’s name.
She bobbed a curtsey. “Dorcas, sir.”
“Dorcas!” Edward pointed at her as he recalled who she was. “That’s right.”
“I’ll jus’ get someone to come an’ ‘elp you wiv that,” she turned around so quickly and descended out of sight that Edward did not have a chance to stop her.
He huffed in exasperation. “Now the entire household staff will think I’m a bumbling idiot!” He turned back to the chair. “It’s all your fault, you know!” He looked about him self-consciously and shook his head. “The last thing I need is for them to think I’m insane too!”
Taking a deep breath, Edward lifted the chair one more time, being more careful this time, to navigate through the doorway—he did not think his luck would hold out much longer. He coerced the chair into the study and unceremoniously plonked it in front of the fire.
It was with great pleasure that he sank down into the plush cushions. “Ah! I did it,” he sighed.
“That you may well have, sir, but at what price, I ask you!”
Edward jumped, startled at the woman’s voice. He almost leapt out of the chair. “Mrs Clamp!”
“One and the same,” she said matter-of-factly pointing down at his hand. “Now, let me see what damage you’ve done to yourself.”
It was not a request. The housekeeper was brisk and commanding. There was something reassuring about her manner. Edward held out his hand for her inspection as she set down the bowl of water and dressings she carried. “Ah, I see my staff work quickly,” his face reddened.
Ignoring his comment, she took told of his hand, and turned it over in her own well-worn hands. “Oh, it isn’t as bad as it looks. You’ve grazed off the top of the skin, that’s all.”
Edward smiled at the very slight Scottish accent her voice held, telling of her origins.
“What’re you grinning for? Look at the mess you made!” she scolded. “This could have been so very much worse, Mr Emberton.” She stared into his eyes, and he understood the unspoken warning, knowing if he ever did anything of the sort again, she would come down on him like a fury.
He obediently held out his hand towards the bowl of water and watched patiently as she washed and dressed it, all the while studying the woman before him. She came highly recommended from a friend of his mother’s. The old lady died, leaving an empty house and a nasty legal battle for possession of it. Most of the staff applied for other positions and left. Edward was glad Mrs Clamp came to him. He looked at her hair pulled into a tight bun atop her head and wondered if there was a Mr Clamp. Aren’t all housekeepers called Mrs? She had a kindly, mothering nature, and he felt certain he was in good hands, which was a relief to him. After all, he heard some awful stories of men being taken advantage of by their staff and being stripped of all their silver over the years. He did not want that to happen to him.
“There now.” Mrs Clamp stood up straight and stretched her back. “You’ll be as right as rain in a few days, Mr Emberton.” She turned to leave, “Is there anything else I can get you? A hot drink, perhaps?”
“Yes, please. That would be nice,” he replied limply.
“Dinner will be served in an hour, sir. If you need me, I’ll be below stairs supervising the cleaning of the silver.”
“And making sure it’s all still there?” he mumbled.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, hand on the d
oorknob. “Did you require something else?”
Hastily Edward shook his head. He had not meant to speak his thoughts aloud. “No, nothing at all, Mrs Clamp. Just a cup of tea and dinner in an hour.”
“Right you are, sir,” she frowned at him and left him alone by the fireside.
Edward ran his hands through his hair and sighed wearily. “What has got into you?” He stretched out his legs in front of him, laid his head back against the chair, and closed his eyes. “I need a jolly good night’s sleep.”
Chapter Six
Frances was miserable. She was alone in Suffolk, thinking back on all that had transpired. Her father had actually taken the odious Albert Jarvis’ offer of marriage seriously. Father and daughter quarrelled bitterly the following day, him telling her in no uncertain terms that Mr Jarvis’ offer was accepted and that was an end to the matter in his estimation. Having fled the room in disgust the night of the proposal, Frances had absolutely no idea what sweetener had been added to the offer. She knew a great deal of money had to have passed hands in order for her father to agree to the match. The only saving grace was that she had one year in which to find an alternative husband.
Frances did not want a husband. She had never wanted a husband. In her opinion, husbands were overly complicated things. She was far happier with lovers. They were much less problematical and demanding. And if she grew tired of looking at one particular face, she could exchange it for another.
Try as she may, she could not occupy her mind in Suffolk. What she needed was society. What she needed were friends and acquaintances around her. She needed someone’s help in finding a soft, pliable man to marry, preferably one that did not mind, or even looked the other way, if she sought pleasures outside of the marriage bed.
She spent long hours pacing up and down the drawing room or taking long walks in the grounds trying to think of someone to whom she could be wed and have it convenient for the both of them. She thought of Malcolm Biddle, who was well known to be not the marrying type. With his well-known fancies, no one would ever believe that farce of a marriage even if he could be persuaded to agree to it. If only there was an alternative.
Reluctantly, Frances decided there was only one thing for it. She had to throw herself back into society and accept the advances of each and every gentleman who approached her in the hope that one of them would make a passable husband.
As though Providence itself was taking a hand in her life, when she arrived back at the house from one of her long walks, it was to find there was an invitation to a ball awaiting her.
She picked up the elegant invitation, squinting at the name on the card. Edward Emberton. The name was familiar. She was certain her father had mentioned him more than once before. Perhaps he was a politician. Her mind began to work quickly. If he was a politician, then perhaps he needed her help, or rather her father’s help. She knew he was unmarried by the absence of his wife’s name on the invitation card.
Slowly, the scheme began to hatch in Frances’ mind. She would use her father and his connections to persuade Edward Emberton to marry her. She chuckled at her own deviousness and made directly to the drawing room and her writing desk to reply in the affirmative to the invitation. She would be delighted to attend Edward Emberton’s ball. She just hoped he was fair to look upon and would be a pleasing catch. If not, so be it.
* * * *
The day of the ball arrived far more quickly than Edward anticipated. The hustle and bustle in the house left him giddy, and he felt his excitement rise. He would be hosting his first ball. He was determined it would be a resounding success.
Just that morning his mother pointed out that he needed to seek out an eligible bride. He needed no more reminders. From the mounds of acceptance cards he received, he knew he would have more than his fair share of pretty faces to choose from. The only thing he needed to be sure of was that he chose not only to please himself but to satisfy the needs of his life in Parliament.
The very thought that he was now on display made Edward’s stomach turn. His parents had no intention whatsoever of introducing their sons into society in the acceptable fashion. He was not used to the endless parades of debutantes with their frippery, the language of the fan, and the interminably pushy mothers. This night would be a sort of baptism by fire, as Richard put it so eloquently while they dressed. His mother had done her level best to prepare Edward for the nonsense he would encounter from nearly every unmarried female that night. Edward did not know how much of it he would have to endure or, indeed, could endure.
He greeted his mother and steered her towards the drawing room, where they were joined by Richard and Grace. Shortly afterward, they were joined by the Colemans. The relief that flooded through his body upon seeing such friendly faces could not be measured.
“You cannot imagine how pleased I am to see you this evening, Doctor Coleman,” he bowed towards them both. “Miss Coleman.” Edward smiled gratefully at them both as he straightened up, and was rewarded with his own smile reflected back at him from Martha. “I think tonight may be somewhat of a trial for both of us, do you not think?” he asked her conspiratorially.
Martha blushed, “Yes, Edward, I do.”
“You know that I do think of you and your father as family. Indeed, you have been brought up as family, being my mother’s goddaughter. I will need to borrow you quite frequently, without a doubt, tonight to escape the machinations and desires of all the other eligible ladies we have invited.” He laughed and was gratified to see she laughed easily too.
Edward led them to the settee, and they all waited until it was deemed appropriate to enter the ballroom as the sound of carriage wheels crunching up on the gravel drive was heard. The temptation to drink more than one small glass of wine was great—at least it was great for Edward. He had never been so nervous in his entire life. Anxiety was not an emotion he was used to. He was an assertive man, but the prospect of a ballroom filled with young ladies hoping that he would choose one of them to be his bride filled him with abject horror and dread.
His mother saw the tension in him. As he escorted her from the drawing room to the ballroom, she whispered words of encouragement in his ear. “Do not fret so, Edward. I will be on hand at all times. So long as you keep one eye firmly upon me, you will not stray too far from our plan and not be pulled in by a pair of fine eyes or a curvaceous figure.”
Edward did not know which discomfited him more, the prospect of what awaited him within the ballroom or the words his mother just used.
He swallowed down his nerves and stepped confidently into the ballroom. Edward and Edwina took their places to one side of the door and awaited their guests to file in. Edward’s throat was dry, but he knew there was fun to be had if he only remained positive.
* * * *
Martha was elated. She replayed Edward’s words in her mind. “You know that I do think of you and your father as family…” Was he declaring his intentions to her? She stood in line with the rest of the family and was introduced to people whom she knew she had no hope of ever remembering the names of. Her spirits were higher than they had been in months. She was considered part of the family. How far that sentiment extended, she was not yet aware, but with Edward’s words repeating in her thoughts, Martha knew she was to have a splendid evening. She watched impassively as gentleman after gentleman and lady after lady passed her by. She was introduced to them, she curtsied, and they curtsied or bowed in response, but she was in a daze. She barely even looked at any of them. Her mind was entirely preoccupied on the words of the man at the other end of the line, Edward Emberton.
Had she been paying attention, she would have noticed when the beautiful Miss Frances Davenport entered the room and was introduced to Edward. She would have noticed how their eyes locked and remained so as he bowed and she curtsied in greeting. She would have noticed how his eyes followed her along the line and how he ignored the next few people, blindly bowing to them, not hearing their names or acknowledging their greeting.
She would have noticed how Edward was wholly captivated by Miss Davenport.
Chapter Seven
Edward’s breath caught in his throat as the raven-haired beauty entered the room and fairly floated towards him. Her eyes, the colour of emeralds, locked with his—and he was mesmerised. He felt his pulse begin to race and his passions rise up within him. It was with some difficulty that Edward dragged his attention back to his guests as they filed past him. He wondered who the woman was. She had, of course, been introduced to him. In that moment, his ears seemed to have malfunctioned, and he was aware of nothing other than those enthralling eyes.
His brother Richard jabbed him sharply in the ribs with his elbow. “Pick your jaw up off the floor before people notice you ogling that woman!” he snarled.
“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Edward muttered shamefacedly. He felt humiliated that his brother had caught him staring at the lady in such a fashion that it was deemed to be ogling. He dragged his mind back to the matter at hand and bowed graciously to the couple standing before him, some distant relatives of his mother whom he had never seen before in his life.
The column of guests snaked its way from the ballroom out through the doors into the hallway, down the length of the house to the front doors. It seemed interminable. Edward’s back began to ache from all the bowing, and his throat grew drier by the moment. Relief came in the form of Stainton, his butler, who crept silently up behind him and whispered that he had a beverage for him. Edward gratefully turned round and accepted the glass of wine. “I would give anything for a cup of tea right now,” he whispered to Stainton, as he placed the glass back on the tray the butler held so steady.
“I will bear that in mind, sir, and have tea ready for you at a moment’s notice should you manage to escape and seek solitude.” The man bowed and disappeared almost instantly.
The Suitable Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 2) Page 4
