Once he was dressed and had dismissed his valet, Richard descended the stairs and went in search of Grace. He had an idea, and he hoped it would cheer her up.
It took him a while to find her. Henry, the butler, reported that he had last seen her walking off in the direction of the stream. Richard raced to that location but could not find her, and so turned around and headed back to the house. Eventually he found her sequestered, almost hidden, in a corner of the library reading a well-thumbed book.
“Might I disturb you a moment?” he asked tentatively.
Grace visibly jumped and looked up from her book. “Oh, Richard!” she cried, clearly startled. She almost tumbled out of the window seat and onto the floor.
Richard leapt forward and reached out to help her. However, the look on her face made him wish he had not. Under his fingers, her skin had a warmth which spread through his body, making him wish to continue holding the delicate hand. Grace was looking at him with what looked to be fear akin to that which he saw many times in small creatures which had detected his presence as he was hunting. He dropped her hand. The last thing he wanted to do at that moment was to offend or frighten her, and he felt that that was precisely what he had done.
“I merely came,” he said in a voice cracking with emotion from her touch, “to ask you if you would do me the honour of picnicking with me on the lawn today.”
Grace merely continued to stare at him wide-eyed with her mouth opening and closing, not uttering a single syllable.
“Sincerely, I did not wish to startle you.” Richard felt the whole thing was a disaster. He bowed and turned to take his leave. “I apologise for disturbing you. I shall leave you to your reading.”
As he was walking towards the door, he heard her speak in a feeble voice. “Yes.”
“I beg your pardon?” Slowly, almost disbelieving his ears, Richard turned back to face her.
“I said yes.” Again, she was blushing. Richard liked it when she blushed. He believed that every day she grew prettier in his estimation.
She said yes. Richard stood tongue-tied, gaping. She said yes. He shook himself and smiled broadly, delighted with the turn of events. “Capital! I…I shall make the arrangements.” He turned around and darted from the room and, as the door to the library closed behind him, he caught Grace giggling, a tinkling sound that made his heart flutter.
* * * *
Grace could not help herself. She laughed once the door closed behind him. He was positively falling over himself to please her. What had brought about this change in him? She did not know, but she was pleased to see it. She bit her lower lip. Wouldn’t it be perfect if we actually fell in love? She shook her head to clear her mind of such thoughts and chided herself. He doesn’t love me. He’s merely feigning interest, trying to make the way to the altar easier. The smile that had moments before lit up her face disappeared and her countenance fell. It is most likely an act put on simply to allow my father to believe that Richard is actually fond of me and not what I bring him. The thought tore at her heart. For one foolish instant she had begun to like Richard Emberton. She steeled her resolve. She would not fall in love with the man. She would be grateful and content, yes, but she was a pawn, little more than a slave, and how could she love a man who had put her in such a position?
Her interest in the book was now gone. She picked it up and placed it back upon the shelf from whence it came. Slowly and with a step heavy with sadness, she made her way out of the library, through the hallway, and up the stairs to her room.
Once there, she took out Eliza’s letter and read it through again. She remembered how she felt as she sat by the stream earlier that morning and also remembered the promises she made to herself. She tried to imagine what Eliza’s wedding day was like. There was no maid of honour, no bridesmaids, and no attendants whatsoever. Eliza was stood, perhaps at this very moment, before the altar in a church in Manchester, with only her father, her husband-to-be, and his best man. She imagined the loneliness, the discomfort bordering on shame that Eliza must feel. What she described to Grace, she knew, was that of a rushed wedding of a ruined woman, a woman who was perhaps already with child. Again, Grace wept for her friend.
When she thought she could cry no more, she took a deep breath, walked over to the washstand, and splashed a little cold water upon her face. Once she dabbed herself dry, she changed into a pretty pink muslin dress perfect for a picnic on a sunny September afternoon with the man to whom she was betrothed.
She glanced at her reflection in the looking glass, grabbed her horsehair brush, and tidied her saffron-coloured hair, once more wishing it was curly so that she could wear a more fashionable hairstyle without the necessity of curling irons. She tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ear and pulled a funny face at herself in the looking glass. She was not ugly, neither was she beautiful. She felt herself to be attractive, not quite pretty, but not plain. Was that good enough for Richard Emberton? Well, it will simply have to be, she thought. She turned around and headed out of her room.
* * * *
By the time Grace reached the bottom of the stairs, Richard stood there, alone in the centre of the vast cavernous space. She smiled politely down at him as he looked up at her.
“You’ve changed. What a pretty dress,” he smiled back at her.
“Yes, thank you. I think this is fitting for a picnic on such a pretty day.” There, I can do it. I can be polite and affable.
“There is a lovely little hillock towards the west of the property that overlooks a fishing pond. In the summer my brothers and I used to swim in that pond. It makes an excellent place for a picnic.”
She felt his eyes bore into hers as though persuading her that his choice was the correct one. Since she had no frame of reference and did not know Emberton Hall and the surrounding property as well as he did, she had no choice but to defer to his judgement. “It sounds delightful,” she replied simply.
As they walked side by side out of the front doors, Grace wondered where the picnic basket was. Her question was answered as she gave a furtive glance behind her. There, proceeding from the door that led down to the kitchens, she assumed, came three footmen. Never before had she had quite this kind of experience. Back in India she had people who waited upon her, women around her like the cook, the maid, the housekeeper, and of course a governess when she was younger. However, the house staff in India were slaves. These men were paid servants. In that moment, she realised she was living in an entirely different world. She looked up at Richard and saw that he was indicating they should take a path towards the west, pulling her out of her reverie.
“When we were younger, my father used to take us to the fishing pond, and he taught us how to fish there. As you can imagine, we have had many adventures in these grounds.”
Grace had not spared a single thought to the fact that Richard had recently lost his father, and she felt pity for him then. She could not imagine life without her father. Quietly, she said, “What was he like?”
“My father?”
Grace nodded. “Yes.”
“He was a strong man in every way. Strong morals, strong character, strong ambition, strong everything. All that he did, he did with a passion. My brothers and I always remember that our father’s motto was Work hard, play hard.”
Grace looked up at him a puzzled expression upon her face. “What does that mean?”
“That you put all your effort into your work, all your strength, all your intelligence, and all your ability. Then you put the same amount of vigour into playing.”
“Playing?”
“Yes. You know, fishing, billiards, chess, horseback-riding, playing cards, spending time with the family, all of it. You put all of your vigour into all of it.”
Grace was thoughtful. She had never heard such an approach to life. “And you? Do you, too, work hard and play hard?”
Richard laughed. Grace liked the sound of his laugh. It was hearty, from his belly, and genuine. “I am not certain whet
her I can answer that question. Of course, I would like to think that I do work hard and play hard too. But I would assume that is not for me to judge, for we can so very easily deceive ourselves, can we not?”
“Well… I suppose so. I never thought of it before.” She looked up at him with fresh eyes. She had not thought to find in Richard Emberton a man with whom she could so easily converse and with whom she would be so challenged within herself. “Do you employ this method to your business dealings?”
She watched as he shot her a sideways glance, clearly trying to see what she meant by her question. “It is, I believe, very important to be dedicated to one’s work. I do not wish to be lax in my business dealings. Within the past year alone, Emberton Exports has lost three ships. I have had to work dreadfully hard to keep the business afloat.”
Grace did not know if she wanted to hear such things. At finishing school, Miss Noakes always said that business was a man’s domain and not the province of woman. However, she bit her tongue and listened to him; he clearly wished to speak to her.
“We lost hundreds of pounds’ worth of revenue to the ocean when the French Navy sank those ships. And I say nothing, of course, about customers here in England waiting months for the spice ships to arrive from the Indian subcontinent.”
Grace, despite herself, was interested in what he told her. “Does it take a long time for a ship to sail from Ceylon to these shores?”
Richard smiled at her, disarming her even more. “Three months if the going is fair, the same as from India, I suppose. Though, at the moment with this damnable war, everyone is suffering and losing out.”
“Forgive me,” Grace said looking sheepish, “I had no idea that Napoléon and his fleet were over there in the Indian Ocean.”
“Oh, yes. Ceylon, as you know is a Dutch province. The Dutch have been much weakened by the war against the French and recently, and very sadly, the French troops have conquered the island.”
Grace gasped. “I did not realise!”
“It has been only recently, as I said. Our own forces were certain they could retake the island from the French immediately. That, unfortunately, has not happened. Therefore, Ceylon is now in French hands; hence my need to move the entire interest from that island to India, which is a British territory.”
“Oh!” Grace looked down at the path ahead of them, comprehension dawning upon her of why the arrangement with her father was so vital to Richard. “The quality of the spices from my father’s plantation is extremely high. Of that, you can be assured.”
“Thank you…Grace.” Her breath caught in her throat. There was something about the sound of her own name coming from his mouth that took her breath away. His voice was deep, commanding, and slightly grainy. For an instant she caught herself willing him to say it again. “I have been aware of your father’s plantation and the quality of the spice he produces for some time. It has long been a desire of mine to move my operation to India anyway. Therefore, you can imagine how elated I feel that I am now acquainted with not only your father, but have sealed a business contract between us that will last for generations to come.”
Grace paled. She did not know whether to be insulted or complimented. Part of her was injured at the notion. She was merely part and parcel of a business contract. And yet at his very words for generations to come, he expressed the shocking reality that made it more real to her, and which made her stomach churn: She would be the mother of the next generation of Embertons. She wanted to flee at the thought.
A few short days ago Grace was still a schoolgirl. Today she was walking alongside her future husband discussing a business contract which involved her as a bargaining chip and him nonchalantly mentioning future generations.
“Miss Hayward? Grace…” There. He’d said her name again. Her breath caught in her throat once more. How could something so simple as someone speaking her name aloud produce such a physical reaction in her? “I do sincerely hope that speaking to you thusly has not caused you any offence. I would not wish to cause you any pain.”
Grace stopped walking, turned, and looked up at him. “The very notion that I am simply a bargaining chip in an important business deal is what offends me.”
“I apologise…” Richard looked horrified, “I—”
“I was slowly trying to convince myself to be sanguine about this arrangement, Mr Emberton. However, speaking so plainly has brought it home to me…” She endeavoured to control her emotions but sadly found she could not. She put her fingertips together and placed them over her mouth as the tears fell down her face freely. “I am nothing more than a commodity, like cattle, to be bought and sold, to be used as you will. The only value I hold in your eyes is that of being the one thing that secures your future. I am not an object, Mr Emberton. I am a human being, and I would thank you very much to treat me, and to speak of me, as though I am one.”
Grace was utterly undone. She stood there blubbing like a child. She turned on her heels and ran as fast as she could back to the house and to the safety of her room. She did not care what the servants thought of her. She did not care any longer what Richard thought as he stood there, slack-jawed, next to his footmen bearing the picnic. She just wanted to be away from him.
When she reached her room, she locked the door and threw herself upon the bed, face down, and cried her heart out. She did not wish to see Richard Emberton again for the rest of her life.
Chapter Eight
Richard could, quite earnestly, have kicked himself for being such a fool. Why on God’s earth had he opened his mouth and said such a mindless thing? His thoughts churned over, wondering what kind of irreparable damage he had done to his fledgling relationship with Grace. She was clearly suffering more than he understood.
He turned to the footmen. “Take all this back to the kitchen,” he ordered and marched back into the house in search of his mother. Only she could help repair this mess he had got himself into.
He found Edwina in the private salon adjoining her bedroom, discussing the wedding menu with Cook. He stood by the door and waited patiently for their discussion to end. His irritation was so great that he clasped his hands behind his back to prevent himself from fidgeting.
Once the cook was dispatched, Richard relayed the entire event to his mother, who sat on her méridienne sofa impassively watching him as he paced to and fro in front of her. Once he was finished speaking, he felt drained. He sat down in a beautifully embroidered armchair and regarded his mother, his eyes pleading her for help.
Edwina remained motionless with her hands folded gently on her lap, staring ahead of her. It seemed like an eternity before she moved spoke. “The value one places upon oneself is a fragile thing. It can be easily damaged and, oh-so quickly removed entirely. What you have said, in Grace’s mind, is that she is of little worth and—”
“But I did not mean to!” he interjected.
“Do not interrupt me, Richard!”
He looked at her angrily. He hated it when she rebuked him like a child.
“I will see what I can do to restore her sense of her own value. What you must not do is speak about your marriage as though it is part of your business—” She held up her hand when Richard made to interrupt her again. “We all know she came as part of your arrangement with Mr Hayward, but it is highly insensitive, Richard, to state such a thing to the young lady in question. For certain, I brought you up with more sense than that!”
Her scathing remark stung.
“Any young lady of breeding, no matter why she is being married off, is a delicate creature. It can take time before the realities of marriage fully dawn upon her. For now, it is clear that Grace Hayward is a romantic creature. To win her over, Richard, you also must be romantic.”
“I was trying to be, mother, with the picnic…” He reached up and rubbed at his side-whiskers, huffing in frustration.
“Yes, and certainly it would have been delightful. She, most likely, enjoyed every moment of it. That was, until you opened your mou
th so indiscreetly.”
“Mother,” Richard moaned, “I am contrite about that.”
“As well you should be. Now go in search of the gardener and instruct him to search out any late blooms. Then take them into the kitchen and have Maisie make them up into a bouquet.” Abruptly she stood, indicating the interview was at an end. “Present them to Grace and apologise deeply, and from your heart. If you injure this girl any more than you already have done,” she scowled at him, “she may very well be able to persuade her father how unhappy she is. Richard, you and I both know the consequence of that. He will take her and return to India. Your business hopes in India will be over, and that money you already have in your hands will have to be returned. Is that what you want?”
“No, Mama,” Richard said meekly, as he quietly seethed.
“No, I did not think so.” She turned her back upon him, chin held high.
He clenched his jaw, infuriated that she spoke to him in such a manner, and departed from her presence. In his anger, it was all he could do not to slam the door behind him. He decided to take the long route around the house to the gardens in search of the gardener. The last thing he wanted was to take out his temper upon another human being. He had caused enough upset for one day.
The Spice Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 1) Page 6