“Fair enough, however, it would be nice if you found a husband with whom you could travel. You cannot allow your life to go by without going to Paris.”
“Paris.” I consider dreamily. “I am certain Mr. Percy would be more than willing to escort me to Paris, once we have married.”
Edmund exhales loudly and says, “You act as though you are certain, but are you really? I sincerely doubt Percy Grant would be willing to leave his precious manor of Webshire.”
“Edmund, I appreciate your concerns, but they really are not necessary. I am a grown woman and am perfectly able to make appropriate decisions in regard to my life.”
“If marriage to this man is what you desire, then I am happy for you. For now, we shall dance in celebration of your impending doom, I mean betrothal,” announces Edmund, flashing his mischievous smile.
“You are a loathsome creature! In spite of my disgust at your lack of tact, I shall dance with you in celebration of my upcoming wedding.”
As children, Edmund and I were inseparable, and there have been many occasions when I have enjoyed having him as a dance partner. Upon his arrival this evening, I have found a familiar happiness sweep through me that I have not experienced for quite some time. That is until I am approached by Mr. Grant and my father.
My father’s face brims with joy and he says in good cheer, “Good to have you home, Edmund! What brings you to the country?”
“Actually Father, I have a business proposition for you,” says Edmund, and I cannot help but marvel at my brother’s newly acquired confidence. Papa appears equally impressed.
“I am quite curious as to your newly found interest. It would appear we have much to discuss. Let us retire to my study,” says Papa. “Please excuse us.”
Before leaving, Edmund says, “Emma, I am afraid our dance will have to wait. I will make it up to you.”
“I understand,” I say and lean closer to whisper, “Good luck with Papa.”
I am left standing alone with Mr. Grant, an awkward silence holds thick.
“How do you do this evening?” I inquire, graciously attempting to dislodge the uncomfortable tension.
“Very well, indeed,” offers Mr. Grant before glancing back over his shoulder. Behind him stand his mother and my Mama. Both are watching us with an expression of keen interest.
“Mr. Grant, have you ever been to Paris?”
“I am not made for adventures over the high seas. I have a queasy stomach that would make the journey unbearable,” he says and coughs into his hand. “Besides, it is more sensible to simply remain here in England. After all, there is much to see and do right here.”
“Paris is merely a short jaunt over the waterway. High sea, indeed,” I say, immediately regretting my lack of tact. Mr. Grant does not respond. He is still looking over at his mother.
After another awkward moment, he says, “My apology, I was distracted. You said something. What was it?”
“Oh, it was nothing important,” I say, thankful for his temporary distraction.
Another immeasurable amount of time passes without a word between us. Desperately, I yearn for an outside source to intrude. A little gossip from Victoria would be greatly appreciated. Again, Mr. Grant glances over at his mother. He nods his head and returns his attention towards me.
“Miss. Emma, would you do me the courtesy of meeting me on the terrace, before the last dance?”
I do what is expected by obliging and give a curtsey. After this ridiculous display, I am able to take my leave of him. I imply I have obligations to fulfill in another room.
I race away, searching for the closest location for solitude. At last, an unoccupied room. I slither inside the dimly lit sitting parlor. Papa’s study is located just on the other side of that wooden door. My father and Edmund are, at this very moment, discussing business. I can faintly hear their voices deep in conversation. I lean toward the door and become engrossed in their dialogue. It is difficult, but I am able to absorb a little of what they are saying.
I shuffle closer, when I am startled by a rustling sound from across the room. It is followed by a male’s voice. “I do hope I am not interrupting anything.” He may have said more, but I am too embarrassed to pay much attention. I do not want to turn around. I do not want to know who has just held witness my unladylike display of eavesdropping.
After an unsettling amount of time, I say, “Excuse me, sir. I was unaware this room was occupied.”
At the very moment I complete my rotation, I behold a man sitting all too comfortably in my father’s chair. I have never seen him before. I would have remembered his striking face.
He stands and moves closer to me. “I am truly sorry. It would appear I have alarmed you. I am here with Edmund Middleton, son of Mr. Philip Middleton. They are conversing in the other room. Of course, you must already be aware of that.”
“Indeed, you are speaking of my brother and father. However, I am afraid I have not made your acquaintance, sir,” my reply is polite, although tense, and I pray I am not blushing.
The stranger laughs under his breath and offers an enchanting smile. He continues moving closer to where I am standing.
“Please excuse my manners. My name is Andrew Stone. Although I feel I know your brother well, I have only just recently made his acquaintance. He has invited me to stay here,” says Mr. Stone, now standing only a few feet away.
I am captivated by his foreign accent. It is proper like the King's English, but projects a casual ease.
“I am Edmund’s younger sister, Emma Middleton. When I saw my brother earlier, he did mention he had brought a guest. Only, I had assumed you would be much . . .”
“You imagined I would be an old man? That is understandably your assumption. If it were a few months ago, you would have been conversing with my father, instead of me. With his recent passing, I have stepped in to take over the family affairs,” offers Mr. Stone.
“I am sorry to hear of your recent loss.”
“I thank you for that sentiment. My father was a good man. I am now running the plantations just as he would have.” Again, a smile I find irresistible comes to Mr. Stone.
Suddenly, a light from the office floods into the dimly lit parlor, and its luminescence causes me to step away from Mr. Grant.
My brother stands motionless at the lintel, wearing a ridiculous grin. “Good-evening, this is a wonderful surprise, finding two of my favorite people within the confines of such a small area! Emma, what brings you so far from the festivities?”
“Um, well . . . Victoria sent me to look for Father. Are you still with him?” I say, deliberately turning my attention away from Mr. Stone, fearing he will suspect I was here to eavesdrop.
“I do hope everything is all right,” says Edmund in alarm.
“Everything is fine. She has a concern that has probably already resolved itself. It is not important; please carry on with your business. It is a pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Stone. I look forward to our next meeting. Good-evening.”
“I am quite certain the pleasure was all mine. Only in the future, please refer to me as Andrew. Mr. Stone sounds far too stuffy.”
“Of course, Mr. Andrew,” I say, swiftly rushing towards the door.
Following my departure, I overhear a brief conversation between the two men. It begins with Mr. Andrew’s appraisal of me, “You neglected to tell me how fetching your sister is.”
“Well, I am sorry, but I must inform you of her impending engagement,” my brother responds, and my heart sinks.
“That is a shame. The night is young, and I say we carry on with our business matters expeditiously, so we may join in the party.”
The two men’s laughter fades, as they presumably enter into the study. I am left standing in the vacant hall, assessing the events of the evening. I am not sure what has come over me. It is disturbing to have been made aware of my recent addiction to eavesdropping. Normally, I am not the sort to meddle in the affairs of others, nor to gossip.
I also find it disconcerting that I am so undeniably charmed by the man I have just met. I question on what account he has enchanted me so. His casual accent lingers in my ears. I am beguiled by Mr. Andrew’s confident smile and bright green eyes. A budding desire has captured me, and I imagine running my hand through his golden-brown hair . . . . I am shocked to be having such unladylike thoughts! What has that man done to me?
Mr. Andrew’s smile seemingly has an inappropriate affect on me. A pink blush spreads over my face. I raise my hand to cover my mouth and battle to suppress my nervous laughter. Our encounter was but momentary, but I feel a brief wave of sorrow for dreams that could never be. I must remind myself of my impending engagement to Mr. Grant.
After realizing I still linger in the darkened hallway, I place my hand on my stomach and inhale deeply. I must compose myself. It takes another minute before I feel ready to reenter the celebration, just a few steps away.
Fourteen
I draw closer to the merrymaking and am overcome by the sounds of laughter. I enter the warmth of candlelight, music, and happiness. The room has become magically enchanted, and our guests are having a grand time.
Dancing will wash away my cares.
I am wandering toward the music, when suddenly I realize I am sandwiched between my mother and Mrs. Primrose! How did I end up between these two cackling hens? Slowly, I try creeping backward. The two women have not noticed I am here, being they are in the midst of a heated exchange of gossip. Both women wear an expression of excitement and collusion.
I am almost away from them when my mother blocks my escape! I sigh with resignation. I am trapped.
“Emma, you have missed out on all of the evening’s entertainment! Where have you been?” My mother affectionately nudges me, adding, “It has come to my attention that a certain daughter of mine will soon be betrothed!”
The two women look inquiringly in my direction for a response.
“Indeed, Mr. Grant has requested to meet with me on the terrace. I suppose he wishes to express his desire to marry me,” I sigh. “Mama, I am not entirely certain Mr. Grant is the right man for me.”
“Emma, I am curious as to the nature of the sort of young man that you would be inclined to marry. Besides, you and Percy have always gotten along so well together.”
“Mama, we were children. Perhaps I should take a little time for myself, first. I could travel with Edmund for a little while. We could go to Paris!” I exclaim.
“Travel to Paris with Edmund? My dear girl, you panic your mother with talk of such nonsense. Why, Edmund would simply steer you right into trouble. You cannot possibly consider turning down poor little Percy’s proposal, just to flit away on some silly holiday. Emma, stop pondering such ridiculous rubbish and be grateful for the opportunity God has granted you.”
“You are right, Mama. I suppose I have allowed my nerves to overtake me. I would be foolish to deny Mr. Grant. He is a fine gentleman,” I say with false confidence.
“Now, that is more like it. Oh dear, it is a joyous event! And Emma, you do realize, one day, you will become the Lady of the manor of Webshire!” Mama proclaims in delight, as if this were an accomplishment. “I only wish I could sit in to hear Percy’s words of proposal.”
“The very notion of your being there is preposterous! May it ease your mind to know, I will retell the whole event to you, word for word,” I admonish in horror.
“I suppose that will have to do. I would not wish my future son-in-law to think of me as overbearing.”
“Where would he ever derive a notion such as that?” I reply and can see my feigned attempt at sincerity has not been lost on the woman.
“I wonder, indeed!” says Mama.
“Good gracious, Emma is that one of your gowns?” inquires Mrs. Primrose.
“Why, yes it is,” I offer, hoping to hear a positive appraisal of the dress.
“It is simply stunning! Do not you agree?” Mrs. Primrose says to my mother. “Your daughter has impeccable taste. I should very much like to commission Emma to design a new dress for both my daughter and me.”
“Of course, I shall make a dress for the both of you. I cannot, however, expect you to pay for it. The simple fact you will wear one of my creations is more than enough recompense for me,” I exclaim, still beaming from her compliment.
Mama peers over my shoulder, before interceding, “I do not wish to alarm you, but I do believe a young gentleman approaches.”
For a fleeting instant, my heart leaps in the hope of it being Mr. Andrew and Edmund. I turn around and my smile fades; it is Mr. Grant who advances.
“Good-evening, ladies,” he says.
Mama and Mrs. Primrose squeal with delight and greet him with high regard. He is smooth with his praise of them, and when they have finally concluded with their small talk, he acknowledges that I am here.
“Miss. Emma, will you permit me to escort you in a dance?” he inquires, boldly extending his clammy hand.
At his touch, I feel nothing. By this time, I should hope I would feel more. Why am I pondering such naive thoughts?
He escorts me to the dance floor, but all the while my smile is thin. We move smoothly through the crowd and find our positions. On cue, music begins to flow, and the dancers sway to the melody. I enjoy dancing, even if it is with the likes of Mr. Grant.
He continually pulls me out of my moment with his exasperating attentiveness and formal attempts at conversation. “Miss. Emma, are you enjoying the merriment of the evening?” he inquires.
“Yes, I tend to become quite swept away with dancing. Do you enjoy it, as well?” I return.
“I find it most invigorating. It is also much more preferable than being forced to listen to the drivel that comes from the minds of vacant people,” he says flatly. My mind considers about whom in particular he is referring.
Although I would like to question him further on the subject, I remain mute. I return my attention to the music and attempt to find some enjoyment. It is common on such occasions to be passed from partner to partner, and I am thankful for this, as I spin with ease around the floor.
When the music comes to a halt, I give my regards to Mr. Grant and turn to leave.
“I will wait for you on the terrace!” he says rather loudly, before I am able to vacate the room.
“I would not miss it for the world,” I reply, quickening my pace.
I weave through people, heading in the direction of the dessert table. As I observe the splendor, I am tempted to devour the entire display. Perhaps that will help feed the butterflies fluttering rampantly about my insides.
I am holding a tart, when I become jostled by Victoria. In contrast to me, she appears to be having the time of her life.
“I have just had a glimpse of Edmund’s friend!” she exclaims, biting her lip. I have seen this look before. “Do you suppose I ought to approach Edmund for an introduction? Although, I am not certain our brother would be amenable to the idea.”
I listen to her strategically dissect the situation, but am wondering about the tart I still hold. Perhaps she will not notice if I taste it.
“How delightful it is that Edmund has invited Mr. Stone to stay here!” Victoria looks overcome with anticipation.
“He seems nice, I met him outside father’s study,” I offer.
“How should you be so lucky as to stumble up on him, so? I am jealous!” She puffs out her lower lip. “I will just have to come up with something equally as clever.”
“I wouldn’t exercise too much thought on the matter,” I say and indulge in the sweetness of the apple tart. “After all, he will be staying with us for at least a fortnight.”
The tart is now completely gone, so I decide it would be rude to deny a macaroon my attention. After that, I treat myself to a variety of desserts, listening indifferently to Victoria’s ramblings. She is in a tizzy, discussing the scandalous rumors circulating the room.
“Emma, I do hope you will not make a spectacle of yourse
lf by gorging on the dessert table again,” says Victoria.
“If you are referring to Mrs. Primrose’s high tea, then I must inform you I did not make a spectacle of myself. I merely tasted some of the delicacies that were on display.”
“Darling sister, if that is how you wish to remember the event then I shall leave you to your delusions.” Victoria produces a handkerchief and wipes my chin with it. “You have some jam on your face.”
I glimpse over at my brother and Mr. Andrew. They are speaking avidly to one another. I watch their faces light up with animated excitement. Their meeting with Papa must have gone well.
“There he is, now! Just over there, with Edmund!” Victoria exclaims, taking in the sight of him. “Mr. Stone has a certain distinctive air about him. Does he not?”
“Yes, he does,” I reply.
“Oh and look, Edmund seems to be motioning for your future husband to join them,” observes Victoria. “Why would our brother wish to introduce him to Mr. Stone? I thought Edmund found Mr. Grant to be a complete bore.”
I stare unblinkingly, as my brother laughs while inviting an uncomfortable looking Mr. Grant closer into their conversation. Edmund looks pleased with himself. Why, he is grinning from ear to ear. What deviltry is he up to now?
Slowly, it occurs to me what Victoria has just said.
“What do you mean Edmund finds Mr. Grant boring? He has never mentioned his dislike of Mr. Grant to me,” I say, still staring at the three men just beyond the threshold.
“Of course, he would not let you know how he truly feels about the man you are about to marry. That would be in poor taste, would it not? Now that you are aware of his feelings, I must let you hear some of the funny remarks he has made about Mr. Grant!” she offers with a large grin.
“No thank you, Victoria. I have a feeling I could guess some of them.”
“You are no fun! Why, I laughed hysterically, when just earlier, Edmund referred to Mr. Grant as the most boring man in all of England!” She sniggers right in the midst of retelling the story.
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