by Cheryl Bolen
* * *
Nothing was to be done today about her modest dress, but dear Mr. Birmingham spared no expense in purchasing for her a half a dozen new bonnets—one of which perfectly complemented her sprigged muslin, making her dress appear far lovelier than it actually was. He also bought her a new Kashmir shawl the colour of freshly churned cream, and he took her to what he said was London's finest modiste.
At Madame De Guerney's establishment on Oxford Street, Emma almost forgot her shabbiness for Madame De Guerney herself treated her as if she were a royal princess. "Ah, but mademoiselle's delicate appearance will do great credit to my creations," she'd said as she took Emma's measurement.
Emma actually felt like a royal princess as Mr. Birmingham insisted she select patterns and fabrics for a half a dozen morning dresses as well as a half a dozen ball gowns. When Madame De Guerney showed her the vast array of fabrics, Emma's eyes widened. She felt as if she were in a dream. She'd never thought to see so many beautiful fabrics all at once. Fine silks rustled. Whisper-thin muslins were as soft as goose down. There were everyday bombazines and high-quality linen for shifts. Sumptuous velvets ranged in colour from deep crimson to powder blue. Emma thought she could have spent an entire day ogling at Madame De Guerney's. She'd never imagined such a place existed.
Madame assured Mr. Birmingham all the dresses would be delivered to Curzon Street within five days. Emma was shocked that twelve dresses could be constructed in so short a time, but the modiste explained that she employed a large staff of needlewomen to fulfill her client's orders. "And if I had to stay up around the clock myself to ensure delivery, I would. Mr. Birmingham's satisfaction is paramount to me," Madame De Guerney said.
Emma wondered if this was where Maria had come to have her dresses made. She glanced at Mr. Birmingham, and her heartbeat accelerated. How very handsome he was. How excited she was to become his wife—even if she wasn't a real wife.
But most of all, she thought of how jealous she was of Maria.
What a pity he still loved his former mistress. What a pity that Maria's betrayal had spoiled him for all other women.
After they left the dressmaker’s, Mr. Birmingham insisted they go to Rundell & Bridge. She had seen their adverts in the London papers and knew this was the jeweler to royalty. Her heartbeat soared.
Inside, Mr. Birmingham asked her to select a ring that would symbolize their marriage. The eager jeweler—who obviously knew Mr. Birmingham well—showed her a square ruby wreathed in diamonds, along with a band constructed of identical emeralds as well as a plain band of gold.
She hoped she would not displease Mr. Birmingham, but she selected the simple gold band.
"You're not doing so because it's less expensive?" he asked. "I assure you, I can afford anything you should desire."
She shook her head. "Because of my small stature, I prefer simple pieces. I hope you don't mind."
He smiled down at her. "It's your hand it will go on. Once we've wed, of course."
Her heartbeat roared. I can't believe I'm going to marry this man. In her wildest dreams, she had never imagined she would marry a man who embodied so many sought-after traits. With such handsomeness, wealth, and, most especially, kindness, she could overlook his sottishness. Though she would have to do everything in her power to get the man to church!
After they selected the ring, he decided to make a few selections of his own. "My wife will need jewels."
Silken trays of spectacular necklaces were unveiled. Many-tiered diamond necklaces vied with a ruby pendant and another necklace of scalloped emeralds. All of these were accompanied by matching bracelets.
"Oh, no," she protested. "These are far too grand for me."
Mr. Birmingham scowled down at her. "Remember, Emma, you are to be the wife of one of the richest men in England. You are to dress appropriately."
She felt as if she'd just been scolded. "I assure you, M- - -." She stopped herself. She mustn't address him so stiffly in front of Mr. Bridge. After all, he was to be her husband. "Adam, I have no experience with fine jewels. I beg that you make the selections for me."
His brows lowered. "Are you sure? I wish you'd exert your opinions."
"I have no opinions when it comes to fine jewelry."
Their eyes held for a moment. She thought he was going to protest, then his gaze softened. It was as if he understood she was afraid of humiliating herself. "Very well, my love, I will select your jewels."
She could have fainted. He'd called her my love! She knew he was merely doing so for the benefit of the jeweler. Mr. Birmingham wouldn't like it broadly known that he was marrying a country miss who was practically a stranger. Still, his endearment made her feel as if her heart were expanding out of her chest.
Mr. Birmingham walked along the showcase and came to pause. He eyed a pearl and diamond choker. “I should like to see how this looks on my betrothed.”
“Please,” Mr. Bridge said, “feel free to try any of these on your lovely lady.”
Lovely lady. No one had ever referred to her as a lovely lady before, but she was actually beginning to feel lovely, to feel as if she'd been transformed by some wizard's wand.
Adam took the necklace and came to place it about her slender neck. The brush of his hand as he clasped it gave her another of those chest-expanding experiences. Her breath grew short. No man had ever touched her before.
She had been astonished over his selection for it was the one in all the store that she thought most compatible with her plain appearance.
After he clasped it, he stood back and peered at her. Her breath hitched when she realized his eye skimmed her breasts—not that there was much to differentiate her from a lad. But she did possess a modest bosom, and for the first time in her life, she actually fancied the idea of a man being interested in her feminine jigglies.
His face lifted with pleasure. “Perfection. It’s simple and elegant, just like my dear Emma.”
What talents Mr. Birmingham possessed! He could rival Edmund Kean on the stage.
“Of course, my dearest, you will need one necklace that must be exquisite, that will proclaim you to be the grandest lady in all of London.”
“But . . . dearest, I am not the grandest lady in London.”
He merely gave her a smug smile. “Oh, but you will be.”
“I have just the necklace!” Mr. Bridge went to the back room and returned with a large velvet box. “While we normally create our own jewelry at Rundell & Bridge, this is a very special commission we were able to obtain from a member of the Bourbon Royal Family.”
Emma’s pulse rocketed. Could this actually be happening to her? Emma Hastings, an orphan from Upper Barrington?
As the top lifted from the purple box, Emma gasped. She had never seen anything so lovely. The necklace’s focal point was a net of diamonds which held a small but skillful “bouquet” of amethysts. Of course, it was much too grand for her.
“Allow me,” Adam said as he took it and draped it around Emma. She peered at herself in the looking glass and swallowed. Even if it was far too opulentacious for her, she loved it.
Adam nodded his approval. “Yes, Mr. Bridge, this will do very nicely.” Turning to Emma, he added, “I believe we will have to send a note around to Madame De Guerney to change the green gown to some shade of purple to wear with this. Do you agree, my dearest?”
This necklace with a lavender gown would be, to use Mr. Birmingham’s own word, perfection. She nodded shyly. She felt like an interloper. What had she ever done to deserve to be treated like a princess?
She could never repay Mr. Birmingham for his many kindnesses, but she vowed she would find a way. Even if it took the rest of her life.
When he came to remove it, he said, “It’s very lovely on you.”
“Are you sure you can afford it?” she whispered. “He didn’t mention a price.”
He laughed. “Yes, my darling bride-to-be.”
She felt like a great hoarder after all the beautiful thing
s that had been bestowed upon her that day.
As they rode back to his brother's palatial house, Emma reflected on her stupendous good fortune. In the span of a single day she had gone from the depths of despair to an elation unlike anything she had ever thought attainable.
Though still stunned by the news of Aunt Harriett’s passing, Emma took comfort in Mr. Birmingham’s explanation. Auntie was close to ninety. She must have been waiting until she thought Emma was being taken care of. She wouldn’t have wanted Emma to be melancholy.
Thanks to Mr. Birmingham, her grief was being assuaged.
I am going to be married to the finest man in the kingdom. She was so exhilarated, she felt as if she’d just downed an entire bottle of champagne. (She only hoped her intended avoided champagne—and all other spirits. She wouldn't like him to turn into a Jeb Hickman.)
When the coach entered the courtyard at his brother’s house, all the lanterns glowed now that night had fallen. Once more, she became cognizant of how shabby she must appear to a couple who lived in so fine a home. They must be the toast of London. Even if the Birminghams were not possessed of pedigree.
He turned and took her hand. “You will love Lady Fiona. She’s one of the warmest people I’ve ever known.”
Lady? Had he not said his family lacked pedigree? Now she was more nervous than ever.
Chapter 6
She spun around to face her intended. "I thought you said there were no aristocrats in your family!"
"Lady Fiona's not a blood relative."
"Your brother married a member of the nobility?"
Adam shrugged. "All things are possible when one's pockets are deep. Not that I care a fig about titles. And I assure you none of my siblings who've married into the nobility did so purposely. They all married for . . . " He paused. Swallowed. "For love."
His comment pricked her exuberance. He would be deprived of a loving marriage because of her. She drew a breath, then recalled his words and was stunned. "How many of your siblings have married into the nobility?"
The coachman opened the door. She shook her head. "Please, Adam, not yet. I can't go in there just now."
He nodded sympathetically and spoke to his servant. "Give us a moment."
She felt only slightly more at ease when the coach door closed and it was just she and Adam sitting in the dark carriage.
"Actually, all of my siblings, but I assure you two of the three fell in love without knowing their loved ones came from noble families."
"How can that possibly be?"
"My sister and the Earl of Agar—Lady Fiona's brother—admired each other from afar for many months of morning rides in Hyde Park. And the story of my youngest brother's courtship with Lady Sophia is quite an amusing one. She pretended to be someone else when she first met William, and even when he thought she was what he has referred to as a Shady Lady, he fell quite desperately in love with her."
"What about this brother who lives here?"
"That's another amusing story. Lady Fiona—who is quite beautiful—actually asked Nick to marry her. She needed his fortune to save her brother from Spanish bandits."
"Then neither of them loved when they married?"
"Supposedly not."
"Do you believe Nick married her for her family connections—and her beauty?"
Adam puckered his lips. "I believe he loved her from the moment she came to him, but he would not admit it. "
"And it's been a successful marriage?"
"They are besotted over one another. I will own, it took some time before either would express their true feelings."
For a fraction of a second she allowed herself to hope that a marriage between Adam and her would grow into a powerful love. Then, she sank into melancholy. She needed to release Adam. If she weren't standing in the way, he could also marry one from a noble family. He could marry a beauty like Lady Fiona. He could marry for love.
She had no right to deprive him of happiness. "I can't go in there. I don't belong. You deserve someone like Lady Fiona."
He took her hand and spoke gently. "I told you. Titles don't matter to me. And you, my dear Emma, underestimate yourself. With all your new finery, you will be one of the loveliest ladies in all of London. Did you not hear how Madame De Guerney praised your elegance? I assure you, that woman has a reputation for being ruthlessly blunt. If she thinks you're pretty, the ton will think you pretty." He squeezed her hand. "I think you're pretty."
That one little compliment that likely meant nothing to him buoyed her and actually made her feel as if she were pretty. She did so want to marry him. "Lady Fiona is sure to think me a country mouse."
"Lady Fiona's not like that. You will see. When she first married Nick and found out he had a natural child ensconced with caretakers, she insisted the little girl come to live with them. She has raised that little girl as if she were her own daughter. And, mind you, the child's mother was not fit to be in the same house as a sweet little girl."
"Then I will be very happy to make Lady Fiona's acquaintance."
* * *
"Surely the Prince Regent's house cannot be as grand as this," Emma exclaimed when she found herself in the soaring, candlelit entry hall of Nicholas Birmingham's mansion.
Adam shrugged. "I've never been to Carlton House, so I cannot judge. Ask my brother. He and Lady Fiona have been there."
"Did your brother build this house after they married?"
He shook his head. "No. My brother commissioned it before he ever knew Lady Fiona."
"He's certainly possessed of exquisite taste."
Adam looked up the broad, gilt-railed marble staircase as his brother and his wife came down, calling out a greeting.
When she looked up, Emma was astonished. Nicholas Birmingham looked so much like Adam, they could almost be twins. Of course, she found Adam the more handsome. She also easily understood why it would have been no sacrifice for Lady Fiona to have offered herself to Nick.
Emma looked back to her betrothed. "Does the third brother also resemble you and Nick so strongly?"
He chuckled. "Not at all. He's neither tall nor dark, but he's quite the most handsome of the three."
She doubted that.
If she'd been dazzled over this house, she was speechless over Lady Fiona' loveliness. Nick's wife was of average height—which was two or three inches taller than Emma. Her figure was perfection, slender where it should be and rounded in the appropriate places. Her pale blonde hair feathered with flawless ivory complexion contributed to an icy elegance.
But it was her beautiful face that captured Emma's full attention. Emma could no more have refused to smile back at Lady Fiona's charming countenance than she could destroy a painted masterpiece.
"Lady Fiona," Adam said, "I should like to present to you the woman to whom I am betrothed, Miss Emma Hastings."
How the lady managed to retain her sweet smile while shock registered on her face baffled Emma. And made Emma greatly admire her.
Lady Fiona need not say a word because her husband made the appropriate—or perhaps, in his case, given his sharp tongue, inappropriate—responses. "What the devil? You cannot be serious."
Anger flittered across Adam's face, but he managed to control it. "Pray, my dear brother, have a care for Emma's feelings. I most sincerely do desire to make this woman my wife."
Lady Fiona stepped forward. "Welcome to the family, Miss Hastings."
"Please, call me Emma."
Nick then gathered his composure and bowed at Emma. "Forgive me if I have made you uncomfortable. I meant no offense."
She bestowed a smile upon him. "None taken. The betrothal came rather suddenly. It's only natural you'd be shocked."
Still smiling, Fiona addressed her. "Should you like a tour of our house? I am told it is one of the attractions of London." She directed a worshipful gaze upon her husband. "All owing to my husband's talent for design."
Now Emma gazed admiringly at him. "You served as your own architect?"
As handsome as he was, she was now certain he was not as handsome as Adam.
"I did hire an architect to implement my ideas," he said.
"But Nick was the one who insisted on bringing in an Italian artist to paint the ceilings, and almost everything here that visitors admire was envisioned by my husband."
"No more praise, please, love," Nick said, his voice stern.
Lady Fiona slipped her arm through Emma's, and they began to stroll about the opulentacious house while Adam and his brother went to the library.
* * *
He had dreaded breaking the news of his nuptials to Nick. Just the previous night Adam had been subjected to a lecture from him, and now Nick was sure to launch into another about marrying a woman he'd only just met. He fully expected Nick to encourage him to wait for The One.
Once in the library with the door closed, Nick calmly poured each of them a glass of Madeira and instructed Adam to take a seat on the sofa which faced the fire. Nick turned a wooden chair away from the fire to face the sofa, then he launched into his elder-brother admonitions. "You can't be serious about marrying that young woman."
"I know it's sudden, but I am resolved."
"Do you not still fancy yourself in love with Maria?"
"Of course. I will love Maria until I draw my dying breath."
Nick rolled his eyes. "I will own, I was shocked when you made your announcement. I regret any embarrassment or hurt feelings I may have caused Miss Hastings. She seems to be a nice young lady. And quite the opposite of any woman who's ever appealed to you."
"That's true."
"Then why in the devil did you offer for her? And less than four-and-twenty hours after getting yourself senseless with drink for the love of your opera singer."
"It's precisely because I shall never love again that I have offered to brighten Miss Hastings' existence. I take my consolation in that."
"What the bloody hell does that mean?"