The Spice Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 1)

by Karen Aminadra

  Chapter Two

  “Hurry! The carriages are here!” Grace watched complacently from the edge of the canopy bed as Eliza scurried into the boarding school bedroom they shared. “Oh, you are ready!” cried Eliza, dismayed on seeing her friend’s composure.

  Grace smiled at her friend. “Yes. I could not sleep.” She stood, walked to where her friend stood and took hold of her hands. “Promise me that you will write. Every day.”

  Eliza smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “You know I will. You are off for adventures in India with your papa, and I am to go to Manchester to live with my brother and his wife until I am married off to some mill owner or other.” She looked crestfallen. “If that hasn’t already been arranged for me, that is.” She looked up and smiled weakly, “Of course I will write. Your letters will be the only solace I will have in the entire world.”

  Grace embraced her friend. “Do not despair, Eliza. We shall be in England for a time. Papa has business here. Perhaps in that time I can persuade him to bring you over to India with us for a spell.” She smiled encouragingly but knew the futility of such a proposal. The trip to India was hazardous at the best of times without the threat of the French sinking any British ships upon which they set their eyes. Besides, why would her father go to such an expense? Grace knew full well that he would never bring her friends from England to visit India but insist that she would have to find friends in India itself. She felt instinctively that Eliza’s family would also never permit her to undertake such a journey. She felt sorely for her friend. Eliza’s future lay solely in being a marriage pawn to strengthen her brother’s business. It made Eliza feel wretched, and Grace thanked heaven that she would be free to choose her husband from any of the gentlemen in the British Raj.

  She squeezed Eliza tightly. “Papa wrote and told me that we would stay with a family in Essex. How lovely it will be to walk along the seashore!”

  Eliza brightened at the thought. “Oh, Grace! How lucky you are!”

  “Nonsense!” Grace shook off the notion. “It is business, and how tedious it will be for me if it were not for the location. I have not seen the sea since I came here to Longwood Academy three years ago.”

  Eliza giggled. “Yes, Berkshire seems so far from the sea. But at least it is beautiful.”

  Grace smiled and turned to pick up her bonnet from on top of her trunk.

  “I do not relish the thought of returning to the city.”

  Grace nodded. “I know you do not. And I do not relish the thought of leaving the coolness of the British countryside for the heat of India.”

  Eliza smiled and fixed what Grace called her brave smile upon her face. “Would you like a hand getting your trunk down the stairs?”

  “Yes, please.” Grace did not wish to tell her friend that her father was sending a manservant to meet her. Eliza’s family did not have the means for such an expense. Before following Eliza out of the room, Grace turned and took one last look at the place that had been her home for three years. From the now-flaking grey-painted walls to the fading French royal blue damask curtains and the polished wooden floor where the wonderful Chinese rug her father gave her brightened the room, every nook and cranny held memories of her time at Longwood. Grace had not wanted to go to finishing school at all, let alone be sent all the way to England to do so, but once she arrived, she settled in well and made friends. Now this place was home and she was sad to leave it. However, the thought of sailing back to the plantation in India thrilled her and buoyed her spirits.

  Grace turned and helped Eliza lug the trunk down the two flights of stairs, bruising her shins on the way. As they crossed the landing on the floor where classes took place, she stole a quick glance through one of the open doorways, and her heart lurched. What fun she had here and what she had learnt in those rooms. Now, though, she was to step out into the wider world and, as Miss Noakes, the headmistress, stated last evening after dinner, she had to meet her destiny head on with strength of fortitude. Only she dearly hoped that her future was not as glum as the one that awaited her good friend Eliza.

  The girls all thronged in the foyer, chattering and saying their farewells. Eliza and Grace stood a little apart, holding hands and not saying a word. All that needed to be said had been already, and they waited with dread for the moment when they must part, perhaps forever.

  The next carriage pulled up to the door, and the name of another girl was called. “Miss Suzanne Wallingford!”

  There were so many tears as Grace watched the girls say goodbye that her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard with the emotion.

  One by one, the girls departed until Eliza’s name was called. “This is me,” she said simply.

  Grace nodded, embraced her friend, and let the tears fall. “I promise I will write. We will always be friends, Eliza.”

  Eliza could not speak for weeping, and Grace watched as her friend’s trunk and bags were loaded into the carriage. With one more tearful look round, Eliza boarded her conveyance. Grace waved at the slowly disappearing form of her friend leaning out of the carriage window until they exited the grounds and out of sight.

  The sound of her own name being called brought her back to the here and now. “Miss Grace Hayward!”

  “Yes, I am she.” She took a deep breath, wiped her face on the handkerchief she learnt to embroider at school and, with her chin resolutely in the air, stepped up to the man descending from the carriage.

  “I am John Tate, miss. Your father sent me. We are to go directly to Emberton Hall in Essex.” He bowed.

  “Very well,” Grace replied gathering her composure. “That trunk there is mine,” pointing to where it sat outside the front door, “and these three bags too, if you please.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Grace turned and saw Miss Noakes at the door. Grace was the only girl left there.

  “Am I the last to leave, Miss Noakes?”

  “Yes, you are, Grace dear. The new girls will arrive tomorrow afternoon,” the old mistress replied.

  “Thank you for all you have taught me and your kind attentions. I wish you all the best, Miss Noakes.” Grace curtseyed.

  The warmest of smiles spread across the headmistress’s face. “And the same to you, my dear. I wish you all the very best. I know you will make Longwood Academy proud.”

  Grace nodded, smiled, then turned and mounted the carriage. As the horses drove her away, she resisted the urge to look back at the school which had been her home for so long. Now was the time to look to the future.

  * * * *

  Edwina glanced sideways at Mr Hayward. She was pleased with her guests and believed they were pleased with the Embertons in turn. “Perhaps while our children are occupied getting to know each other today, you and I could get down to some serious discussion.”

  “Serious, you say?”

  “Indeed.”

  Mr Hayward’s moustache twitched as he smiled. Edwina knew that he was unaccustomed to doing business with women, but that was something he would simply have to get used to. “And what do you mean by business, Mrs Emberton?”

  Edwina did not look at him but kept her eyes fixed ahead of her as they walked back through the entrance hall towards the drawing room. “I think you and I both know the answer to that. In these times, we all need a little security. You have a constant supply of something of which we need a secure source. I am certain, should we put our heads together, that we can come up with some arrangement.”

  Once they were seated in the drawing room and Edwina had rung the bell for tea, she turned to face Mr Hayward directly. “Of course, you understand of what I speak.” Edwina watched as Mr Hayward’s face reddened. “I speak of an alliance between Hayward Plantation and Emberton Spices.”

  Mr Hayward coughed in embarrassment. “In more ways than one, am I to surmise? Hmm?” There was a twinkle in his eye.

  Edwina smiled and was glad they understood each other. “I believe that it would be an advantageous alliance to both of us.” He nodded a
nd seemed on the verge of speaking when the tea things arrived. Edwina was frustrated at the interruption and bit her tongue until they were alone, the tea was poured, and she handed a cup to him. “What were you about to say?”

  Mr Hayward appeared disconcerted. He cleared his throat, and Edwina watched as he measured his words carefully. “I am unsure it would be wise business practice to place all one’s eggs in one basket, so to speak. There are many other merchants looking to purchase spices from my plantation.” He looked at her over his spectacles as he took a sip of tea. “Unless you were willing to make it worth my while, that is.”

  “I do have something in mind.” Her eyes sparkled at him over the top of her teacup.

  Chapter Three

  Grace’s journey from Berkshire to Essex was tedious. Alone in the carriage with nothing but the passing scenery to amuse her, she soon grew bored. Inside her reticule, Grace had sequestered a copy of Mrs Radcliffe’s latest gothic novel; however, the to-ing and fro-ing of the carriage as she attempted to read made her feel quite queasy. Within minutes of opening the book, it was safely back inside her reticule, and Grace sat with her head against the red cushioned walls of the carriage and sighed. As she rocked with the vehicle’s motion, her eyes became heavy with sleep. Before she realised it, she drifted in her mind back three years to India…

  Grace stretched lazily in the hammock hung between two columns on the veranda of the plantation in Kerala, India, and yawned. The sun was high in the sky and beat down mercilessly upon them all. It was too hot for her to walk about amongst the slaves that day. However, she had at least made the effort, she tried to convince herself. She donned her bonnet after breakfast and headed out to the cottages with the intent of being as much use as she could to the elderly slaves her father permitted to remain on the plantation after their useful working life was done. He said it was his Christian duty to do all he could for the poor souls. Grace felt the same, although not in the same way as her father. Slavery did not sit well with her at all. It never had. Whenever she looked into the faces or the dark brown eyes of the Indians, it was as though she could hear the Reverend Clarke’s voice echoing inside her mind, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.”

  Neither bond nor free. She sighed and breathed deeply in the spice-scented air. There were times when she was ashamed of herself, and now was one of those times. With a burst of energy, she sat upright and climbed out of the hammock. “What on earth has come over me? It’s too hot to help today!” She threw her hands up in the air in desperation and marched off towards her room. “What is my discomfort compared to that of those who are in slavery here on our plantation?” she mumbled to herself as she walked. “All this,” she waved her arm around her as she continued to her room. “All this is because of them.”

  She entered her room and quietly shut the door behind her. Hurrying over to her bed, Grace knelt down and prayed. “Dear Father God, none of this is of my doing, but I know that if I can do anything at all to lighten my fellow creatures’ burdens, then I must. Please give me the fortitude I lack for the task. Amen.” She rose, went to her bowl and pitcher, and washed the dust and perspiration from her face, neck, and hands.

  Once again, Grace picked up her straw bonnet, placed it on her head, tied the dusky pink ribbon under her chin, and set out for the cottages. As was her practice, she passed through the kitchens and collected her basket filled with medicinal herbs, bread, and fruit, which remained where she left it that morning after deciding the day was too hot to venture outside the house. Without a backward glance, she marched off determinedly to visit one elderly man in particular – Dipali. He was so old and unable to move that he was incapable of feeding himself during the day while his family worked. “I will take on that task from now on,” she declared.

  Grace ignored the cook as she called after her, “Miss Grace, where do you think you are going in this heat? The master will be in a temper if he knows you went out in such weather!”

  Grace cared not. Her vigour was renewed, and her shame at being so weak that morning urged her onward. The cottages always made her feel uncomfortable. They were roughly made from wood, and most of them were nothing more than one room for a whole family. The inhabitants—those who were too sick or with child and not in the cinnamon forests—stared at her as she approached. She felt uncomfortable. She knew she had no right to be there, was intruding in the one place they could be relatively free, but she pushed on regardless.

  As she neared Dipali’s cottage, she saw that it too was in need of repair. I must speak to father about these conditions. This, at least, he ought to attend to. She knocked on the roughly hewn door, but no answer came from within. She knocked again and called out. “Dipali! It is I, Grace. Grace Hayward. Are you there?” She paused and strained her ears for any sound from Dipali. “May I come in?”

  Grace pushed open the door and stepped inside. Despite there being simply two rooms and no flooring at all, the cottage was remarkably clean and tidy. There was an area along one wall where cooking utensils were stacked, and against the back wall there were grass mats and blankets in need of darning. A sound to her left made her jump. She turned and saw in the tiny side room Dipali lying on his mat with his hand raised in greeting. Grace gave him her warmest smile. “Dipali, how are you today?” In one motion, she entered the room and knelt beside him, caring not that her muslin dress was pressed against the soil. He placed his palms together as in prayer and bowed his head to her. She had long since discovered that this was some sort of greeting amongst the natives and returned the gesture.

  * * * *

  “Mother, how can you propose such a scheme to me? I will choose my own business partners as I see fit. Understand?” Richard roared at her. He seethed with anger at her interference. Once again, his mother had taken it upon herself to enter into negotiations without his consent. When would she realise that he was the head of the family now and not a child whom she could manipulate?

  Edwina pressed on, ignoring his objections. “She comes with a thirty thousand-pound dowry as well as the perpetual guarantee of spices from India. India is safe.”

  Richard’s ready retort stopped short in his throat at her words, and all he could do was splutter. “Th…thirty thousand, you say?”

  Edwina nodded. “And perhaps,” she spoke carefully, “in time, your heir will inherit the plantation itself too.”

  Richard’s mind raced. Damn her scheming and interfering! Despite his anger at his mother’s presumptuousness, Richard knew she was right. It was sensible and would secure the business for another generation at least.

  Edwina placed her hand lightly on Richard’s forearm. “Think about it carefully, my dear. It would be foolhardy to throw away such an opportunity.” She turned and headed for the library door, adding casually, “And you have to admit, she is fair to look upon.”

  * * * *

  Later that day, Richard looked up from his walnut writing desk next to the side window at the sound of a tap on the library door. “Come!” he called out.

  Tentatively the door opened and Mr Hayward poked his head into the cavernous room. “I do hope I am not interrupting you. I was asked by your charming mother to come and see you.”

  Immediately Richard was out of his chair and bounding towards the man. “Not at all! Come on in, do.” Richard was aware that his actions were exaggerated and that he seemed overly pleased to see Mr Hayward. He took a deep breath and endeavoured to act with normalcy. “Would you care for some refreshment, Mr Hayward?” He stepped toward the table bearing carved glass decanters of various shapes and sizes. “Some of our own excellent elderberry wine, perhaps?”

  Mr Hayward grinned broadly and laughed nervously. “Why, yes, I would indeed appreciate a glass of your wine. Your mother was so kind as to pour me a glass last evening, and it was a delight to the senses.”

  Richard chuckled. He doubted the veracity of Mr Hayward�
��s statement but poured them a glass each all the same. It seemed to him that Mr Hayward was precisely as nervous about what he was to propose as he himself was.

  Mr Hayward swirled the dark wine around the glass, took a long sniff and then a large mouthful. “Delightful!” he exclaimed.

  Again, Richard chuckled. “I am pleased you like it, sir.” He motioned for Mr Hayward to sit down in one of the two leather wingback chairs on either side of the fireplace. “Do be seated.” Richard’s stomach churned. He never envisaged such an interview, let alone one with such high stakes. He took no pleasure in it. He knew, however, if he could not win Grace’s hand in marriage, then the alliance between the plantation and his spice importing business could falter. With the loss of his third ship in one year, Richard knew he could scarce turn down such a tantalising business deal as that which lay before him now: a secure supply of spices and Miss Hayward’s thirty thousand-pound dowry, all of which would go a long way toward replenishing the fleet. The marriage was the mortar that would hold the contract together. A man like Mr Hayward would never put his daughter’s financial future at risk, if she were Mrs Richard Emberton, by selling his plantation’s spices to any other company.

  Moreover, whether he liked it or not, Richard wanted Grace more than he cared to admit now he knew of the advantages of such a match. He had barely even glanced at her when she arrived, and yet he knew he would put his own personal desires and wants second to that of his family and his business. His mother, he willingly admitted, had made sterling effort and laid the groundwork, and she assured him that Mr Hayward would likely grant his petition for Grace’s hand. One hurdle still stood between him and what he wanted—Grace. After asking her father’s permission, they would have to persuade her to marry him.