Despite the sunshine, the air was chill. There was a frost upon the lawn, and it was not long before Grace pushed herself back inside the room and slammed shut the window. She turned and looked towards the wardrobe where her dress hung. She could not face it at that moment. She needed to eat something, to quench her thirst, to take some time in dressing, and to still her nerves.
Her wedding day arrived much sooner than she expected. Her stomach continued to lurch. She sat down on the end of the bed, doing her best not to weep again.
* * * *
Richard, despite having imbibed far too much alcohol the previous day, almost leapt out of bed when his valet arrived that morning to awaken him, open the curtains, and help him prepare for his wedding day.
“Good morning, Mr Emberton, sir. The day has dawned bright and fair. It is a little chilly, but it will soon warm up.” The valet turned and smiled charmingly at Richard.
“Thank you, Pardue, and good morning to you too,” Richard chirped. He clapped his hands together with excitement. “Today is the day I make the lovely Grace Hayward my wife.”
“Yes, indeed, sir. And might I take the liberty of congratulating you.” Pardue bowed before turning towards the pitcher of hot water he brought with him and pouring it into the bowl Richard was to wash and shave in.
“Yes, you may indeed, and thank you very much, Pardue. Your sentiments are greatly appreciated.” A shadow passed across his face as he wondered how Grace was feeling that morning. He hoped that, despite her apprehension, there would be a glimmer of hope, and even the slightest excitement within her too.
“My mother,” Richard said as he turned to the valet, “had my waistcoat made up in the same silk brocade that Miss Hayward is wearing today. Has it been delivered to my room?”
“Yes, indeed it has, sir.” Pardue inclined his head. “I took the liberty of carefully stowing it in your wardrobe, sir.”
“Good, good. Then all is as it should be!” Richard sing-songed as he stepped up to the pitcher of hot water and began his toilette.
* * * *
The stage was set and all the pieces were in place. The house was beautifully decorated and awaited the return of the married couple for their wedding meal. Louis Emberton, Richard’s youngest brother, arrived early from Oxford and escorted his mother to the church. Edward lingered with Richard until they were ready to depart, and then the pair of them made their way happily, laughing and joking, to the church.
The only people to remain within the house were Mr Hayward and Grace.
Grace stood resplendent in her dress before the long looking glass in her room, awaiting the arrival of her father. She knew he would not be tardy and before long they would be making their way to the church. She looked up and down at her reflection and could not but admire it. She was pleased with how she looked. A girl had but one wedding day, and Grace knew that, without a doubt, she looked absolutely beautiful. If only she could lift the sadness from her eyes.
A gentle knocking at the door alerted her to her father’s presence. Without waiting for her to bid him enter, he opened the door and stepped inside, gasping at the sight before him.
“Oh, my dear girl!” Mr Hayward reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, he noisily blew his nose, dabbed at his eyes under his spectacles, and wiped his moustache before returning the handkerchief to its place. “If only your mother could see you now. I do believe, although I would not admit it within her hearing, that you look lovelier than even she did on our wedding day. And on that day I thought she was the loveliest creature I had ever beheld.” He walked towards his daughter and took hold of her by the shoulders. He bent his head and kissed her tenderly upon the forehead. “In creating you, your mother improved upon perfection.”
Despite endeavouring to have an iron will, Grace’s eyes filled with tears.
“Now, now. We cannot have any of that.” Mr Hayward’s frantic gaze fell upon the handkerchief on the washstand. He snatched it up in time to quell his daughter’s welling tears. “There now, dry your eyes.”
Grace, grateful for the handkerchief, placed the fabric against her eyes, allowing it to soak up her tears. “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered, her throat hoarse with emotion.
“Now, what do you say to us taking a leisurely stroll to meet the carriage?” Mr Hayward asked as he held out his arm for her.
Grace knew that she could no longer delay the inevitable. Remembering what her father said about her mother, she gathered up all her inner strength, lifted her chin, and, taking hold of her father’s arm to steady herself, made her first steps toward her new life.
Smiling down at her through his spectacles, Mr Hayward reached out and squeezed the hand that rested upon his arm. “I could not be prouder, my darling Grace. I could not be prouder,” her father’s voice cracked with emotion as he choked back tears of his own.
* * * *
Nothing could have prepared Richard for the sight of Grace as she stepped through the arched doors and into the church that morning. She was surrounded by a halo of sunlight as it streamed in the entrance behind her. Her portly father on her left side beamed from ear to ear with pride.
Grace looked nervous as she stepped into the church and all eyes turned to look at her. Richard knew this day was difficult for her, that this particular moment filled her with dread. Even so, he never knew her to look so radiant. She was more beautiful to him then than ever. He knew in his heart that he would never see anything or anyone as beautiful as Grace Hayward was on their wedding day.
He felt his brother draw closer to him as he stood behind, and whisper in his ear, “You are one extremely fortunate man. I hope you know that, Richard.”
If it were possible, Richard’s smile grew in size and brilliance. Only a week ago, the notion of marriage had not even once entered his head, and now, as he stood with his brother in front of the altar, watching as Grace and Mr Hayward made their way down the aisle towards them, he could not imagine living in any other way than within holy matrimony.
As she approached, Richard willed his bride to look at him, and in that instant, her eyelids fluttered and her gaze rose. Their eyes locked, and it was as if she stared right through his and into his heart. She flushed from her hairline all the way down her lovely neck, into her décolleté.
He was mesmerised. When his mother suggested the business deal, he was furious with her. He shot his mother a grateful look, startling her with its intensity, before returning his gaze to the wonderful gift she had brought into his life.
As they stood side by side, the ceremony began, and Richard reflected that from this day forward their lives would never be the same. In a silent prayer, he made a solemn vow to devote his days to providing for Grace’s comfort and happiness. She would never regret their marriage; he would see to that.
* * * *
Grace’s nerves reached fever pitch. If it were not for the fact that her father gripped her so tightly as he led her up the aisle, she would have turned on her heel and fled the building. As she slowly and reluctantly approached the altar, she raised her eyes to find Richard’s face filled with a tenderness the likes of which she’d never seen. She looked into his eyes, and what she saw within astonished her. She was no expert in matters of the heart. She had no frame of reference whatsoever. Could that be love she saw?
She stood by Richard’s side as Reverend Davis began to perform the solemn service before God. She uttered a quick prayer in her heart of repentance for her anger to the Creator and asked for His help in learning to love the man she was being joined to for life.
Occasionally, she felt Richard’s eyes upon her, and she peered at him through her lashes. Repeatedly, she saw the look in his eyes, the tender smile, until she was entirely convinced, just before the Minister pronounced them man and wife, that he was indeed in love with her.
The ceremony passed in such a blur that before she knew it, she was being whisked through the side entrance and being asked to sign the register as Grace Hayw
ard for the last time. It seemed to be over so quickly. She wished there were some way that she could go back and relive the moment of the union, just to be sure it had happened. She looked down at her left hand and saw glinting there a beautiful band of gold.
It was true. They were husband and wife. She felt numb.
* * * *
Richard could not stop staring at Grace. She looked exquisite in her gown of gold, but her lovely face was pale, her features drawn. She had barely spoken a word and had repeated her vows so quietly, he was certain that only half the church heard them. But say them, she had. They were married. She was Mrs Richard Emberton.
Richard couldn’t keep the pride from his face, though his cheeks began to ache from smiling, as he helped his bride into the carriage that was to take them back to Emberton Hall. They sat patiently awaiting Mr Hayward, his mother, and brothers to join them. It was a tight squeeze, but they all managed to fit, and soon the carriage began to move.
Edward and Louis joked and laughed, as brothers will, on the journey, but Richard had eyes only for Grace. She was quiet, but did smile at the silly things his brothers said.
Once they arrived back at the house, they saw the household staff lined up outside the house to welcome the new Mrs Emberton.
As he helped her to alight the carriage, Richard whispered, “This is all for you, Grace.”
Her brow wrinkled with confusion.
“They are here to welcome you to your new home.” He stood up tall and straight and offered her his right arm, which she took gingerly, and together they entered Emberton Hall as husband and wife, household staff bowing and curtseying as they passed.
He led her into the drawing room, where refreshments were laid out for them all. He took two glasses of champagne from a footman and returned to his bride’s side, handing her one of the crystal coupé stems.
“Here. Champagne, laid down before the wars with France. You could do with some roses in your cheeks.”
Grace took a steadying breath. “Thank you.”
He leant forward conspiratorially. “You are looking a little pale, my dear.” He watched as she took a sip of champagne and pulled a face. “You do not like it?”
“No, not at all.” She passed her glass back to him.
“Would white wine be more to your liking?”
Grace nodded graciously. Richard bowed and went to fulfil his errand as his wife made her way to the settee.
* * * *
Grace was overwhelmed by it all. She discovered she did not like champagne. She discovered she did like the attention she was receiving from Richard. In a single night he had changed. Or has he? Is it I who have changed?
The whole morning seemed to have passed so quickly that Grace barely had time to take it all in. Thankfully, and to her great relief, there were not many guests, only the Embertons, the Colemans, and her father. Grace never wanted a large wedding, and she didn’t have one. She thanked heaven for small mercies.
She sat impassively as she listened to everyone congratulating her and telling her how beautiful she looked. They complimented her on her gown, and she directed them back to Mrs Emberton, saying it was all her doing.
“Now, now, Grace dear. Yes, I will take credit for having that beautiful dress made, but you,” she leant forward as though telling her a great secret and as if no one else was in the room, “must now call me Mama. I insist upon it.” She smiled disarmingly, and Grace knew in her heart it was a genuine request.
Grace tried out the word in her mouth as she thanked Edwina, but it felt strange to her. It would take some getting used to. It had been many, many years since Grace had called anyone Mama.
Richard took his place beside her, and at the sensation of him sitting in such close proximity, Grace’s heart began to race. The reaction she felt to his presence startled her. She did not wholly comprehend it. She was not altogether sure she wanted to.
She listened blankly to the conversation and laughter around her, smiling where appropriate, laughing when she thought she ought to, but most of what went on around her bypassed her mind entirely as she tried to imagine married life.
When dinner was announced, Grace allowed herself to be led out of the room and seated at the place of honour at the beautifully decorated dining table.
People were talking to her. She could hear her voice responding, but it felt as though she was watching herself from a distance. Nothing seemed to reach her. Is this normal?
* * * *
Richard was laughing at a joke his brother Louis made when he felt Grace slump against him.
Before he realised what had happened, he heard his mother exclaim, “She has fainted!”
He moved quickly, slipped one arm around her back and under her left arm and the other under her knees, kicked her chair aside, and lifted her into his arms. “Where shall I take her?” he asked his mother directly.
“Take her to your room; it is all prepared and ready for your arrival.”
Richard did not need to be told twice and carried Grace out the door and up the stairs toward the west wing where the family rooms were.
He could hear his mother’s voice fading behind him, “It must be from too much excitement. It was simply too much for her to bear!”
Richard could hear his brother speaking, but by then he was too far away to make out the words. Once in the relative safety and quiet of his room—their room—Richard gently laid Grace down on the bed and returned to close the door behind him. He pulled the cord to the side of the fireplace, which summoned his valet, and went back to Grace where she lay. He took hold of her hand and started to tap the back of it, something he watched his father do on the only occasion, to his knowledge, that his mother ever fainted—when she was with child with Louis. “Grace, wake up!” He continued to tap the back of her hand, striking the skin harder and harder until she started to stir.
It took a minute or two before she came round. When she did, she was disoriented. “Where am I?” she murmured.
“We are in our bedroom. Are you well? Do you wish for me to send for the doctor?” Richard’s face was etched with worry.
“No, no,” Grace replied as she tried to sit up. “I am well. Truly I am.”
Richard helped her to get comfortable, propped up with pillows against her back. “Mother says it was all too much for you—you know, the excitement.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down at his hands as he played with the coverlet. “But we both know it was not from excitement,” he looked up at her, his eyes filled with sadness, “was it?”
“What do you mean?” Grace was watching him carefully as she laid her cool hand across her forehead.
“What I mean is that you fainted, Grace, out of fear and unhappiness.” Richard found he could not look up at her. During the wedding ceremony he felt a flicker of hope as he looked into her eyes, seeing a glimmer of some affection for him written upon her face. But now he realised, with a feeling of utter desolation, that she still felt abject terror at the situation she found herself in.
“I know—you do not have to tell me—that you are fearful and distressed. You do not have to worry on that account. I will sleep on the settee in the little salon adjoining this room. It is for our own private use. No one will know, I promise.”
With his legs leaden with sadness he rose, without looking at her, and turned away towards the salon. “I will not disturb you. Of that, you can rest assured.”
Chapter Sixteen
Grace awoke a few minutes later to the hushed sound of her husband talking to someone in the room adjacent to where she lay. She had not realised she had fallen asleep, but she clearly needed rest.
She remembered what Richard said. On the one hand, she was relieved that he would not disturb her, that she would be able to sleep alone and without fear. On the other hand, she knew that would not last forever—and that it was wrong.
Her eyes filled with tears. She knew the duty of a wife; she was not ignorant. She also knew that she did not want he
r husband near her. She was relieved but also somewhat disturbed that he offered a solution to that. Quickly she closed her eyes again as the door opened and Richard and whomever he was with entered the room. She listened to the end of their conversation.
“Bring her hot water to wash when she wakes up. Bring up some tea and something to eat. I do not know what she would wish for. Bring some toasted teacake and some fruit.”
A voice she did not recognise replied, “How about some sandwiches, sir?”
“Only if my mother does not discover it. You know how she feels about that new food. She believes it to be just a passing phase of fashion.”
“Indeed, sir.”
Grace heard the door open. “For now, let her sleep. She needs to rest.”
The door closed, and Grace immediately opened her eyes. She was alone, much to her great relief.
She pulled the coverlet from the opposite side of the bed over herself and closed her eyes again, drifting effortlessly back to sleep.
When she finally opened her eyes, she could see the sun was low in the sky. The afternoon was marching on. She was missing her wedding day. She cared not. She did not wish to celebrate it.
Slowly, she sat up and noticed the door to the adjoining salon ajar. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she slipped off the bed and took a peek into the room.
The room was beautifully decorated in a colour Grace knew to be duck egg blue—an exceedingly fashionable colour. She found she liked it; it was peaceful. She looked around at the furniture: two armchairs, the settee, the bureau and the writing desk. It was a lovely room, quaint and welcoming.
Her eyes moved to the coffee table in front of the settee and saw, to her great delight, the tray with tea, toasted teacakes, little tiny triangles of bread filled with something, which she assumed were the sandwiches Richard mentioned, and a plate of fruit.
The Spice Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 1) Page 13