Again, Edward was grateful for his mother’s aid and regretted that so many times in his life he had referred to her help as interference. It was she who had procured a butler for him. And, if he was not mistaken, it was she who also interviewed and engaged Mrs Clamp, his housekeeper. He looked to his right and caught his mother’s eye, giving her a grateful smile. She returned a puzzled smile, and he made a note to thank her at some point during the evening for all she’d done.
“Well, this is a splendid turnout, make no mistake,” smirked the old man standing before Edward.
Edward turned his attention to the man before him with his mouth wide open. “My! Lord Davenport! What a surprise it is to see you here. I had thought, wrongly, I believe now, that you did not attend such gatherings.”
The old man guffawed and slapped him on the shoulder, knocking him off balance. “The young lass, my daughter, you see her there?” To Edward’s utter disbelief, Lord Davenport pointed his finger across the room to the very young lady that had caused Edward so much discomposure. “Frances…”
Now Edward knew her name.
“She absolutely insisted on coming and refused anyone else as chaperone. A feisty little miss if ever there was one.” He winked at Edward. “If you know what I mean.”
Edward had absolutely no idea what he meant, but smiled weakly and nodded his head all the same.
“Well, what can a father do under such circumstances, eh? So I’m here. I expect you and I’ll be talking at some point,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh?”
“Yes. That bill of Wilberforce’s. You’re behind it, aren’t you?” The old man frowned eyeing his host up and down.
Instantly, Edward’s mind snapped back and realisation dawned upon him. Lord Davenport was referring to Wilberforce’s abolition of slavery proposal to Parliament. “Yes, I am, sir. I wholeheartedly support it.”
“Hmm… You do, do you?”
Edward was unclear as to whether Lord Davenport approved of his support of the abolition of slavery bill or not, but Edward was not about to bow down or back out of something that was of such importance. “Yes, Lord Davenport, I do.”
Lord Davenport threw back his head and guffawed, a wheezing kind of laugh that made Edward immediately concerned about the man’s health. “Good! I like the man who knows his mind. We’ll talk later after all this frippery and chitchat nonsense.” He waved his hand around the room, and Edward hoped his mother did not overhear Lord Davenport referring to the ball she and Grace had so painstakingly arranged as frippery and chitchat nonsense.
“It would be a pleasure, sir.” Edward bowed gracefully and smiled benignly as Lord Davenport moved away down the line to be introduced to Richard.
So, Edward thought, her name is Frances. Miss Frances Davenport. He smiled across the room in the general direction of that dark-haired goddess. As though she knew his thoughts, Frances turned and fixed him with a heart-stopping stare. If it was the last thing he did that night, he would dance with Miss Frances Davenport.
* * * *
Frances was more than pleasantly surprised with Edward Emberton. Something had passed between them when she was introduced to him, the likes of which she had not known before, something that made her pulse beat faster, her breath come in huge gasps, and her whole being tingle with an intensity that intrigued her. Frances Davenport knew about men, but no man had ever captivated her the way in which Edward Emberton now enthralled her.
She tried to feel light-hearted and joyful as she made her way around the room, giving her politest hellos to the other guests, while her mind and attention were back with Edward, where he stood greeting those still entering the ballroom.
Something made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and Frances turned to see her father, whilst being introduced to Edward, pointing in her direction and Edward’s eyes fixed upon her. Again, she stared into his ocean-blue eyes. It was as though the distance between them was nothing and they stood merely hair’s breadth apart. She was more uncomfortable with the sensation than she dared to admit. Every fibre of her being was on alert, aware of Edward’s presence. How hard her heart thumped against the inside of her bodice!
Wryly she thought that his being so enchanting would make her task easier. Not once while she was hatching a scheme to entrap a husband did she bargain on actually desiring the man she chose. Suddenly she felt happier with her lot. She felt confident that her scheme of marrying someone other than the abhorrent Albert Jarvis would yield rather pleasing results.
She smiled at her host coquettishly, hoping her eyes conveyed more than just a slight attraction. She hoped they told him she wanted to be chased and was more than willing to be caught by him.
* * * *
Martha spent most of the evening desperately hoping that each time Edward passed by her, he would turn, reach out his hand to her, and ask her to dance. He did not.
She was not oblivious to the fact that Edward could barely keep his eyes off the beautiful dark-haired woman who seemed to light up the whole room. Martha did not know her name. It did not matter. What mattered was a slow sinking feeling of realisation that Edward did not feel for her what she had so recently been persuaded he did.
Try as she might, she could not keep the smile fixed upon her face. A second disappointment in such a short time made that small feat impossible.
“My dear Martha,” Edwina Emberton appeared at her side, “we simply must find you somebody to dance with. We cannot have you standing about in such a fashion all evening. Why, you are simply gawping at all the dancers! That indicates, young lady, that you wish to join in yourself,” Edwina gently teased.
Martha wished Edwina would just go away. She loved her godmother dearly, but right now she wanted to be left alone. She fought the impractical impulse to flee the ballroom, the house, and to go home that instant.
“Now, let me see if I can find you an available gentleman.” Martha protested that she did not wish to dance. “Nonsense,” Edwina replied, already scouring the room for an eligible partner.
To her astonishment, Edward appeared in front of them, out of breath and with the beautiful woman he seemed to favour that evening firmly holding on to his right arm. “Martha, why are you not dancing?” He turned to his mother breathlessly. “Mama, can you not find someone for Martha to dance with?”
“No, I assure you, I do not wish to dance!” Martha was feeling desperate and close to panicking.
“Oh fie!” Edwina waved her fan in Martha’s face. “All young ladies wish to dance at a ball. It is a fact.”
It may well have been a general rule that all girls at a ball wished to dance. For Martha, that wish faded as the minutes ticked by. There was only one partner she desired, and he was occupied. Martha shook her head. No, “occupied” is not the word for it. Look at him, Martha, you fool. He is captivated by her.
At the very moment that Martha believed her heart would be broken forever, Edwina excused herself, having been hallooed from the opposite side of the room, and Martha stood alone. She realized at that moment that she was not meant for an Emberton son.
Slowly, and without drawing any attention to herself, Martha crept around the edge of the room and towards the doors. It seemed to her, in her desperate state, that she could hear Edward and the beautiful lady’s laughter high above the din of the chatter and the music at the far end of the room.
Each time she heard them laugh, she felt as though a dagger had pierced her heart. As she fled the room unnoticed, made her way through the entrance hall and out the front doors, down the steps, and towards the carriage Edwina Emberton had lent them, Martha hoped never to see another Emberton for the rest of her life.
When she finally finished crying, she realised the driver was waiting patiently outside the door and politely not looking in her direction. She sniffed and cleared her throat, “Would you be so kind as to fetch my father, Doctor Coleman? Tell him I am unwell and must return home.”
The driver bowed, pulled at
the front of his hat, and turned on his heel. Martha watched with a heavy heart as he spoke to the footmen at the doors to Sandon Place in order to summon her father. She knew he would have questions, he would want to examine her; and as she was not truly infirm, she knew she could not fake symptoms to fool a doctor. She decided to tell him she became overheated and faint with all the excitement. She felt too ashamed of herself to own the truth.
Chapter Eight
When Proctor, Edward’s valet, entered the room the next day to open the curtains and to rouse him from sleep, Edward had a thumping thick head. He groaned.
“Good morning, sir. Would you like me to arrange for your usual breakfast?” Proctor chirped cheerfully.
Again Edward groaned.
“I’m sorry, sir. I did not catch that.”
“Proctor, could you speak a little quieter, please?” Edward winced at the sound of his own voice.
“Yes, of course, sir,” Proctor whispered. “But sir did not answer my question.”
Edward did his level best to prop himself up in the bed, open his eyes, and look at the man before him. “What did you say?” He grimaced as his own voice reverberated around his painful head.
“I asked if sir was ready for breakfast.” Proctor’s voice returned to its original level.
“I do not know if I could stomach anything to eat this morning, Proctor.” Edward slumped his head back against the headboard.
“I do believe it is the preferred choice of a gentleman who is feeling a little out of sorts to have something to eat and what is commonly referred to as a hair of the dog.”
Edward sat up again, his interest piqued. “Hair of the dog?”
“Hmm… Yes, indeed, sir.” He stared at Edward expectantly. “Shall I?”
Not entirely sure he understood what Proctor was talking about, Edward waved the man away. “Yes, yes, yes. Whatever you deem fit, Proctor.”
Slowly, Edward put his feet to the ground and tested to see if standing would be more painful than lying down. He discovered it was equally painful but decided it was worth it and shuffled over to the washstand, where he poured some water into the bowl and began to wash his face. Having towelled off, he looked up, bleary-eyed, at his reflection in the looking glass and was astonished at what he saw. “Dear God! I look an absolute wreck this morning.” Edward winced once more at the sound of his own voice echoing in his head. “I have to get dressed and get some fresh air.”
Taking his time and not making any sudden movements that would cause his pounding head to beat harder against his skull, Edward began to dress. The task was far more difficult than it usually was, but eventually he managed it. As he began to tie his cravat, his mind flitted back to the ball the previous night and, most importantly, to the entrancing and beautiful woman with whom he danced most of the night.
Miss Frances Davenport was an absolute delight. Not only was she an astounding beauty, with the most breathtakingly beautiful green eyes he had ever seen, but she was intelligent and an excellent conversationalist. It seemed she, he believed, was quite as taken with him as he was with her. She laughed at all of his jokes and was not averse to making a few witty quips herself.
When he did have the opportunity to speak with her father, once they sat down to eat, he found that Lord Davenport was an excellent man to know. As far as Edward was concerned, he could stop searching for a wife now. No one, in his opinion, could surpass Frances Davenport. He could not want anyone other than Frances Davenport. If his memory served him right, and it usually did—although this morning might be an exception—they had arranged to have dinner together this very night.
Edward smiled at the thought of Frances coming to dine. He knew she would have to bring a companion. He hoped it would be her father. If there were two people in the world that Edward wished to know better, it was Lord Davenport and his daughter Frances.
As he made his way out of his bedroom, down the hallway and the stairs, and towards the breakfast room, the voice of Edward’s mother, Edwina, entered his mind, warning him that he ought to ask her opinion before fixing an estimation of any lady. He brushed the thought aside. There would be plenty of time to speak to his mother on the subject. After all, he and Frances had only met the night before. It wasn’t as though they would be getting married in the next fortnight.
Good to his word, Proctor prepared a hearty breakfast: black pudding, scrambled eggs, mushrooms, toast, bacon, and, most importantly, what Proctor referred to as a hair of the dog.
“What exactly is it, Proctor?” Edward asked, holding the glass up and pulling a face at its contents.
“I am not allowed to give away any secrets, sir,” the valet replied, smothering a smirk.
“Secrets?” Edward looked up at him, his eyebrows raised.
“Indeed, sir.” The valet bowed and left Edward alone with his breakfast, hair of the dog, and the butler, Stainton.
“Is this concoction any good?” Edward asked the butler.
“I believe it is, sir,” came the reply. “I have heard of many occasions where it has been used most effectively.”
Edward squinted at the glass, took a deep breath, and drank down the contents as quickly as he could, trying not to taste whatever was in there. After having held his breath for a few seconds, his head thumped harder than before. He groaned and placed the glass back down onto the table.
“I believe now, sir, that it is generally accepted that one should drink coffee,” Stainton advised.
“Whatever you think best, Stainton. As you can see, I am in no fit state to make that decision by myself this morning.” Edward placed his elbows onto the table and rested his head in his hands, deeply regretting having imbibed so much champagne the night before. “Stainton, would you do me a favour?” he asked.
“Yes, of course, sir.”
“Next time you see me drinking so heavily, come and stop me,” Edward grumbled into his hands.
“Very well, sir, if you insist.” The butler poured Edward a cup of strong black coffee and pushed the cup towards him. “Drink up, sir. It will help, I assure you.”
* * * *
“I must say, Emberton,” Lord Davenport drawled, “you do keep a fine house and an even finer table.”
Edward raised his glass of red wine in thanks. “You are most gracious, Lord Davenport. I am most gratified that you seem to think so.”
“Indeed I do, as does my daughter. Don’t you, my dear?” Both gentlemen turned abruptly towards Frances, who was taken off guard by the question.
“Why, yes, yes, I do. Mr Emberton, you are most kind to us.” She smiled at him giving him what Edward believed was a look heavy with unspoken promise.
“Well, you see!” Lord Davenport turned back to Edward and nodded sideways towards his daughter. “If the lady says so, it must be true, eh, Emberton?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Lord Davenport almost choked upon his wine as he laughed at Edward. “Are you that kind of a man, Emberton? Always agreeing with everything I say?”
“That depends on what you say, sir.”
The older man laughed heartily and slapped his left hand on the table making the china, cutlery, and glasses jump. “Ah! The correct answer, as always!” Lord Davenport regained his composure and tucked back into his meal. “So never mind missy here. I want to talk to you about politics, young man.”
Edward threw a look across the table at Frances, who rolled her eyes. “What is it you wish to discuss, Lord Davenport?”
Lord Davenport stared at Edward as though weighing up his character. “What I would like to know, Emberton, is will you support Wilberforce and all his bills right to the bitter end?”
“Again, my Lord, that would depend upon what he proposes. I am wholeheartedly in favour of entirely abolishing the slave trade.” Edward held up his hands to stay any comment Lord Davenport may or may not have made. He did not know the man’s views on the subject. “I know full well that many of our class, and indeed most of the entire empire, is b
uilt upon the back of slavery—you do not have to tell me that. This is the nineteenth century, and I believe it is time that all men were free. The Empire is large enough to support this. We,” he glared across the table at his lordship, “are rich enough to support this. It is our Christian duty to do it.”
Edward was fully aware he spoke with his heart and not his head. He wanted more than anything to have Lord Davenport’s support, and he hoped to have his daughter’s hand in marriage, yet there were some things about which he would not compromise. Slavery was one of those things. He tentatively glanced in Frances’ direction and, to his great relief and pleasure, saw her smiling back at him.
“I like a man who knows his mind and isn’t afraid to speak it.” Lord Davenport nodded at him. “What about this new one?”
“The compulsory registration of all slaves?” Edward raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Hmm… That’s the one. What do you know about it?”
The question was loaded. Edward could not tell whether Lord Davenport knew anything about the proposed bill or not. Perhaps he was trying to see if Edward really knew his stuff. “I spoke recently with Wilberforce at Boodles. Do you know it?”
“The gentlemen’s club in Pall Mall?”
Edward nodded.
“I know it well.” Lord Davenport leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
“We talked at some length about his proposed bill, and I am in full support of it. The bill would require that all slaves are registered, with their country of origin noted, and thereby help to stop any illegal transportation and importation in its tracks.”
“Does not Wilberforce himself say that he had always thought slaves incapable of liberty at present but hopes, by degrees, a change might take place as the natural result of the abolition?”
“He does indeed say that. I expect he will say something of the sort publicly one day, but that does not mean he does not wish for complete emancipation at some point. Good God, if you could actually hear the man speak face-to-face, you would be left in absolutely no doubt whatsoever of his belief in the freedom and liberty of all mankind.”
The Suitable Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 2) Page 5
