The Spice Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 1)

by Karen Aminadra

  “Well,” replied the Reverend, eyebrows raised inquiringly, “that all depends on how elaborate and long you wish the ceremony to be.” He smiled at her kindly, but her response to him was cold.

  “I wish it to be as short as possible.”

  Richard looked at his mother hoping she would reveal what he was to do next, but she did not. She reached out and patted Grace’s hands folded in her lap, leaned in conspiratorially at the Reverend, and said, “Young people today! They are so eager to enter the state of marriage!”

  “Indeed, young people nowadays always seem to be in such a rush to do everything.” The old man laughed. “So, in conclusion, we shall have two hymns; Love Divine, All Loves Excelling, and Amazing Grace. Then the choir will sing as we sign the register. Perhaps Now Thank We All Our God?”

  Richard did not know this hymn. He turned to his mother for inspiration.

  “Yes, the words are beautiful,” she said simply.

  “Indeed they are,” the Reverend beamed. He looked at Richard and Grace and saw their blank expressions. He closed his eyes and quoted the hymn from memory.

  “Now thank we all our God with heart and hands and voices,

  Who wondrous things has done, in whom this world rejoices;

  Who from our mothers’ arms has blessed us on our way

  With countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.

  “O may this bounteous God through all our life be near us,

  With ever joyful hearts and blessèd peace to cheer us;

  And keep us in His grace, and guide us when perplexed;

  And free us from all ills in this world and the next!

  “All praise and thanks to God the Father now be given;

  The Son and Him who reigns with Them in highest Heaven;

  The one eternal God, whom earth and Heaven adore;

  For thus it was, is now, and shall be evermore.”

  He remained with his eyes closed in the silence that followed.

  Edwina was the first to break the silence. “Beautiful,” she whispered. “Simply perfect.” Richard turned just in time to see his mother dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. It was then he saw Grace nodding and watched a tear drop from the end of her chin onto her lap.

  Things could not be going any better, he thought to himself. Despite the fact that Grace so very clearly did not wish to marry Richard, she was having the romantic wedding that perhaps she had dreamed of for most of her life.

  Chapter Six

  Grace managed to escape dinner that night by taking the excuse handed to her by Edwina Emberton. Beforehand, she claimed she had a headache; then, when Edwina suggested it was all nerves and excitement, Grace more than readily accepted it and stayed in her room for the remainder of the evening. She was not excited, neither was she nervous. She was tired and frightened. What did Richard mean by being so kind to her? She was confused and could not fathom him out. She found herself in a situation that was out of her control and yet was precisely what she wanted. She only ever wanted a small wedding ceremony with flowers, candles, and a choir to sing the beautiful and meaningful hymns. That was precisely what she was being given. So why did it unsettle her so?

  She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and climbed up into the window seat, tucking her feet underneath her, and stared out at the beautifully manicured lawns within the grounds of Emberton Hall. She knew precisely the reason she was unsettled. Richard Emberton. She did not care for him, and she believed he did not care for her. Yet he was trying to be kind. This confused her more than she liked to admit. So much so that, as she sat on the window seat, she imagined all kinds of situations in which Richard was compelled by his mother and her father to do as he was told.

  She laid her head back against the wall and sighed. She knew Richard was master of his own destiny. True, his mother was a wilful woman and she would put her hand to whatever she wished, but Richard was not being forced into this marriage. Richard wanted the business deal. He wanted the plantation. He wanted the spices. But did he want her?

  Grace watched through the window as the gamekeeper came into view by a gate to the right of her vision. Some kind of hound ran in front of him and a shotgun was slung over his left arm. She observed as he walked across the lawn and through another gate and then disappeared from view.

  She sighed and leant her head back against the wall. Within a week, seven exceedingly short days, she would be mistress of all of this. She should have been glad. She would want for nothing. Yet, try as she might, she could not muster even one small grain of excitement and happiness at her prospects.

  Her thoughts returned to Richard and his behaviour toward her that day. He had been more than courteous. He was kind and attentive. She even discovered that they had more than one thing in common. He listened to her opinions and even asked for them on more than one occasion. He seemed interested in her likes and dislikes.

  She shook her head and said aloud, “It is not possible that Richard Emberton would like me. He is merely doing what I said I would do this very morning; he is making the best out of a bad situation.”

  She pulled the shawl tighter around her. “I simply must master my own emotions. I am too transparent. I must lock them safely away inside of me. I must become as stone. Once I have provided him with an heir, perhaps I can leave and return to India.”

  She slipped off the window seat and walked across the room, locked the door, and returned to the writing table. She took a piece of paper and began another letter to Eliza. With her pen poised above the paper she wondered at which point during the day she had gone from trying to persuade him that she hated him so that he would not want to marry her and she could return home with her father to deciding to go ahead with the match and even providing him with an heir. She shivered.

  * * * *

  Richard was glad Grace was not present at dinner. Having spent an entire day trying to please her, fawning over her, he felt drained and in need of rest. His head pounded. The day had seemed to stretch on for eternity. There were times when he thought he was breaking through, that there was a chink in her armour that he thought he could get to, and then her defences would come up again and he would have to try another tactic. She was a complicated woman; that was certain. Were all women the same? He longed for Edward to return from London. He moved in society more than Richard did. He had to; it was part of his profession.

  He sat in silence as his mother and Mr Hayward conversed naturally like old friends and thought about his brother Edward. He was likely to find himself in a very similar situation regarding marriage. He was a politician. There was no possible way that he could marry anyone that would not elevate him in some way or another. And yet Edward was sanguine about it all. He did not use battle metaphors when he spoke about his future and any marriage he would have to make. He spoke as their mother would. He spoke as someone who knew that love was not necessarily the reason for matrimony. Edward, aptly named after his mother, was very much his mother’s son. If only Richard could be so sanguine too.

  By the time they all retired to the drawing room that evening for coffee, Richard felt he was invisible. He did not mind in the least. For that evening, being unseen was a good thing. He could not get Grace out of his mind. When he first met her, he thought her slightly priggish. He thought her merely on the pretty side of plain. A pleasant sort, he supposed.

  That first evening the conversation was free and easy. No business contract had been drawn up; no marriage arrangement had been made. He found her accomplished, opinionated—which amused him—and more than a little pleasant to be around.

  Since the union of families and business had been announced, she was irritating, bordering on infuriating at times. Why could she not be content with her lot? It was not as if he was asking her to live in abject poverty. He would give her anything her heart desired.

  He swallowed down the remainder of his cup of tea, carefully placed the cup and saucer back on the tray, and stood to take his leave. “Mama, Mr—I
beg your pardon, Papa, I will take my leave of you both now. I am tired.” He looked pointedly at his mother. “Mama, would you like me to escort you to your room?”

  Richard watched as his mother smiled, nodded her head in acquiescence, and rose in one fluid movement. She placed her cup and saucer on the tray next to his. “But of course, my son.”

  Richard held out his arm for his mother to take, waited for her to place her hand upon it, and then led her to the door. As he did so, she turned back to Mr Hayward and said, “Do remain as long as you wish, Mr Hayward. Our home is at your disposal. In the room next to the library, my sons keep an exceptionally good billiards table, if you so wish to partake of some recreation.”

  “Mrs Emberton,” Mr Hayward stifled yawn and stood, clanking his cup and saucer as he placed them on the tray. “I, too, am fatigued and I also wish to retire for the night. I will stop in to check on Grace on my way to my room.”

  Richard opened the door and, with his back towards Mr Hayward as he and his mother passed through it, said, “Do give Miss Hayward, our best regards and tell her that we are most concerned for her and wish her a speedy recovery.” He paused and turned towards Mr Hayward, giving him the best smile his tired face could muster. “I wish her a good night’s sleep and pray she is well in the morning.”

  “Richard, my dear boy, you are too kind. I will indeed pass on your wishes and regards. That is,” he chortled, “if the lass is not already fast asleep when I get there.”

  The three of them made their polite good-nights and made their way up the marble staircase along the gallery and then separated, Mr Hayward to the east wing where the guest quarters were and Richard and his mother to the west wing and the family rooms.

  Once they were out of earshot of Mr Hayward, Edwina sighed. “A good day’s work, Richard.”

  “You think so, Mama?”

  “You think not?” She looked at him sideways and smiled. “I believe you made headway with that girl today, Richard.”

  “I am not so certain of that, Mama. She’s certainly a stubborn young lady,” Richard replied sleepily.

  “She is merely exercising her right as a woman and showing you that she is not happy at her treatment.”

  “Her treatment?”

  “Yes. She most likely thinks herself ill-used.” They came to a stop outside Edwina’s room. “She is suffering from the same delusion that many girls of our class suffer. She thinks she has a right to marry for love. Only the poor can afford that luxury.” She inclined her head and Richard kissed her on the forehead.

  “Good night, Mama.” He watched as his mother entered the room and shut the door behind her. Was she correct? Was love a luxury that only the poor could afford?

  Chapter Seven

  Grace had taken breakfast, returned to her room to collect her bonnet, and had set out to take a walk in the formal gardens when the morning’s letters arrived. She hastily turned around and headed back to the house when she saw the rider on horseback. She prayed there was a letter from Eliza. Her spirits needed picking up that morning. Richard continued with his politeness and attentions to her. With every conversation and with every small gesture, Grace found herself losing her composure. She walked back into the house and into the grand hallway where, upon a beautiful round mahogany table in the centre of the room, was a silver salver containing four letters.

  Slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself, she walked towards the table. The butler just at that moment entered the hallway from the side door and asked, “Miss Hayward, is there anything I can help you with?”

  “No, not at all, but thank you,” she replied hastily. Her eyes flitted toward the silver platter on the table.

  “Are you expecting a letter, miss?”

  “Well…” Grace was nervous. She had no reason to be embarrassed and discomfited in front of the butler, but she was all the same. “I was wondering if a letter came from a friend of mine. We were in boarding school together.” Internally, Grace could have kicked herself. There was no need to give him any explanation at all. She merely needed to say, “Perhaps there is a letter for me,” and take a look, pick up the letter, if there was one, and depart. But, no, she launched into a justification of herself, so unbecoming of a young lady.

  The butler calmly walked up to the table and picked up the letters. “I think I do remember seeing your name upon one of them, actually, Miss Hayward.”

  She smiled at him with gratitude as relief flooded through her. “Oh?” she said as nonchalantly as she could.

  “Here it is!” the butler exclaimed with triumph as he handed it to her. “Now you can be at peace.”

  Grace felt herself blush. It started at her toes and stretched all the way up to the top of her head. She was being silly, but she felt extremely embarrassed by the interaction. As she thanked him, turned on her heel, and walked back out into the garden, she tried to calm herself by saying that the butler was so very much older than she and, therefore, full of wisdom and experience. It was most likely not the first time he had ever seen a young lady rush to see if there was a letter for her.

  She took deep breaths as she strode through the formal gardens towards the shade of the trees in a small copse she saw that bordered the stream running across the property from north to south. Once she entered into the privacy of the trees, she stopped to admire the beauty of the area. It was stunning. She never believed there could be such a peaceful and tranquil place right in the centre of such ordered and formal gardens. She looked about her and, to her surprise, discovered that someone had placed a beautifully ornate iron bench beneath the grand old oak tree. She walked toward it, looking about her, concerned that this was someone’s favourite spot and not wishing to disturb them.

  There was no one there. She was alone. Grace breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on the edge of the bench, gazing at her surroundings. She was awed by the fact that this spot had been deliberately and specifically chosen by someone. The neighbouring countryside could be seen with its hills, vales, and forests; and the babbling stream, not more than ten feet away from her, sang as it burbled and gurgled its way to she knew not where. It was a perfect setting. Her heart yearned to know what this place was like as each season changed into the next. She felt this would be a place she should like to know better.

  Remembering the letter in her pocket, Grace withdrew it and carefully opened it. She recognised immediately Eliza’s handwriting, and her heart jumped for joy. However, the missive itself did not contain happy news. Eliza was miserable. Grace felt a pang of guilt, for upon the pages Eliza described a life that did not compare one iota to that in which Grace now found herself. Yes, it was true, Grace also found herself marrying a man chosen for her, a man she must marry for business’ sake alone. However, Eliza, she read, found herself in a dark, dingy city surrounded by industry and machines and the dirt and filth all that entails.

  Grace felt sorrowful for Eliza as her eyes filled with tears. She wept for her friend. This day, she realised with a jolt, was Eliza’s wedding day. She was marrying a man more than twice her age. His name was Albert, but that was all Eliza said about the man. Grace frowned and wondered why she wrote so little about her husband-to-be. What sort of a man was he? Was he a good man, a man of integrity? Grace clutched the letter to her chest and closed her eyes, wishing ardently that she was with her friend on this very special day, knowing the difficulties that she would face. She breathed out heavily and raised her eyes heavenward, whispering a prayer for her and asking for strength, courage, peace, and patience. Just as she was about to whisper Amen, she hastily added that she wished Eliza all the happiness in the world.

  Grace carefully folded the letter and placed it back into her pocket. She stared out at the scenery around her—the trees, the grass, the flowers, the birds tweeting in the canopy above—and peace filled her soul.

  Richard was a good man, Grace knew. She smiled and amended that thought. Richard was a good and handsome man. This was a beautiful place. She certainly co
uld have done far worse. She decided to sit for a moment or two and count her blessings. Despite the fact that she felt more peaceful and more at ease with her situation, she certainly was not going to make it easy for Richard Emberton. She wanted love, romance, and happiness in her life, and she was determined to get it. She stood and straightened her skirts before turning back towards the house. If Richard Emberton thinks that I will simply be submissive and subjected to him, he is sorely mistaken. I am a woman with my own thoughts and opinions, dreams and desires, and if I cannot have the husband I have always dreamt of, then Richard will simply have to become that man. She smiled as she strolled back through the formal gardens. There is only one thing in this whole wretched situation that I can control, and that is how I react and behave. I am not a soft touch. I am no pawn in a business transaction. I am a person. I am a human being. And, as such, I am valuable.

  * * * *

  That morning Richard attended to business. In four days’ time, he would be married to Grace Hayward and his business would be secure. Moving the whole thing from Ceylon to Kerala in India was precisely what the business needed. India was a British territory; therefore, any ships leaving from that region were naturally protected by the British Navy itself. Richard’s delight glowed on his face. He could not have been happier. He had that moment returned from town with Mr Hayward, who had arranged transferral of Grace’s dowry of thirty thousand pounds into his own bank account. He felt triumphant and victorious. Now all that remained was to finalise the wedding arrangements. He left those in the capable hands of his mother, who said she would consult Grace. Edwina told him that it was important that Grace felt she was having the wedding she wanted and not something she would have to endure.

  Richard smiled at the thought. Yes, it was important that Grace was consulted. She was a sweet young lady, and he was growing fonder of her day by day. As he changed out of his travelling clothes, he tried to imagine what it was like for Grace currently. She was marrying into a family that, up until a few days ago, she had never met, neither had she known they existed. She spent the preceding three years at finishing school in England, and he knew she had felt excited to go back and live with her father in India, something that now would never happen. Her father would return to India, alone, and Grace would remain here in England with her new family. He wondered what torment and anguish she must be going through, and a new seed of compassion started to sprout in his heart. He decided, there and then, that he would put more effort into making Grace happy. It was the least he could do.