“Everything is quite all right. It’s just beginning to dawn on me the importance of this evening.” Her voice shook with emotion as she tried to express how she was feeling.
Edward stepped towards her and placed his gardening gloved-hand upon her shoulder, being careful not to get any soil upon her dress. “What is it? What has you feeling so emotional, my dear?” Ever so gently, Edward led her to sit upon the balustrade wall.
Frances heaved a sigh of relief and closed her eyes, taking in deep breaths of the chilly air. “I can’t quite put my finger on it,” she breathed with her eyes still shut. “I suspect it is all to do with the fact that this is the first event to be held in our new home and I must make a good impression.” She opened her eyes and turned to gaze sadly at her husband. “I fear making a shambles of it and letting you down, Edward.”
The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile, and Edward slipped the gloves from his fingers. He reached over and took hold of Frances’ hands, gently stroking the delicate skin on the backs with his thumbs. “I fear you worry too much, Frances.”
Frances closed her eyes and laughed the air out through her nose. She leaned her head forward until their foreheads touched. It was only a small intimacy, but it felt as though she embraced him, body and soul. It was precisely what she needed at that moment. Just that small connection with the man that meant so much to her seemed to chase all her troubles away and still her heart. They remained thusly for a few moments until Frances shivered.
“You’re getting cold.” Edward tilted his head back and kissed her gently on the forehead. “You had better get back inside. Perhaps you can ask your maid to draw you a bath.” As she began to protest, he quickly interjected, “It will be some time before the water is hot enough and the hip-bath is filled, during which you can flit about for a little more to assure yourself everything is prepared.”
“Come along,” he insisted as he stood up, placing his hand in the small of her back and applying a little pressure. “I’ll join you in a few minutes. I just have to finish up here, and then I too have to wash up for tonight.”
Frances was reluctant to agree to his suggestion, but she knew he was right. A hot bath was just the solution to calm her enough for the evening’s event. Everything else was ready—her dress, shoes, gloves. She even had a selection of ornaments she would like to try for her hair, including the little tiara she wore on their wedding day after they had returned to the house in Mayfair and her bonnet had been laid aside.
When she was back inside the warmth of the house, Frances made one last visual check on everything. She quickly popped down to the kitchens to make certain all ran smoothly and there were no problems she was needed for. She returned to the dining room and was making a few suggestions on some changes when her maid, Jeanette, informed her that her bathwater was ready. She made her way up to her bedroom and, with great relief, closed the door upon all the hustle and bustle.
One look at the brass hip-bath before the blazing fire and Frances sighed, hurriedly helping Jeanette with the undressing so she could step into the inviting, steaming water.
* * * *
The swell of pride that expanded Edward’s heart in his chest as he watched his beautiful new bride, Frances, glide gracefully down the grand staircase as his guests milled around conversing to each other could not be measured. She looked even more resplendent in her grey satin gown than she had on their wedding day. Edward could not believe that his love for Frances could increase exponentially every day, but it did.
The smile he wore started in his heart, spread across his face, from ear to ear, and then radiated throughout the room. Frances kept her gaze steadily upon him as she descended.
It was then that Edward realised she was the perfectly suitable woman for him. No other would have made him feel the way she did. It mattered not to him that she had a chequered past. She delighted him entirely, and he adored her wholly. No one else would have suited him.
He held out his left arm for her to take as she reached the bottom of the staircase, and as she slipped her arm around his, he whispered, “I scarcely believe my own eyes, for you look lovelier tonight than ever.”
Edward was rewarded by the smile of pure satisfaction that spread across Frances’ face. “Thank you,” she replied giving his arm a little squeeze.
“Ah, now!” Lord Davenport’s voice bellowed across the space. “There she is! Doesn’t she look ravishing?” he asked to the whole assembly.
Edward noticed that Frances did not blush at his compliment, merely inclined her head to accept it.
She caught him looking at her quizzically and explained in a whisper, “His words are mere flattery; they do not hold the sincerity that yours do.”
He thought upon her comment as he led her proudly into the drawing room, followed by their guests. “You do not like flattery?” he asked.
“On the contrary, I like it very much. I simply prefer it to come with honesty.”
“Oh, I see. I shall endeavour to ensure that every time I flatter you, I do it honestly and sincerely,” he replied, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips belying his solemn bow.
Frances’ giggle tinkled around the room, high above the baritone chatter of the assembled gentlemen. It was music to his ears.
As her father approached them, Edward made his excuses to greet other guests in order extricate himself from his wife’s side. He had discovered that in other company Lord Davenport’s behaviour was rather brash, which often made Edward feel uncomfortable. He gratefully, and somewhat guiltily, passed his wife into the good care of her father, making a mental note to apologise for that later. Edward knew from whispered late-night confidences that Frances’ relationship with her father was not entirely harmonious. He was very demanding and she was headstrong; there were bound to be many clashes of personality.
Turning around, Edward spied one of the men who inspired him greatly, Mr Thomas Clarkson.
As Edward made his way towards Clarkson, the older gentleman looked up and smiled warmly in greeting. “Emberton, how jolly pleasant this all is!” he waved his hand holding a glass of wine, indicating the drawing room.
“I’m honoured that you like it, Mr Clarkson.” Edward bowed in greeting.
“It’s a splendid place, and you’ve worked wonders with it. I remember it was just a little shy of derelict when you moved here, wasn’t it?” he chortled.
“Yes,” Edward reddened, “it was.”
“You’re a miracle worker then! This room is fabulous. And,” he lowered his voice as though telling a great secret, “I stuck my head in through the dining room door and…” his eyes flitted past Edward and to the door. “My word!” Mr Clarkson gasped. “He’s come!”
For the briefest of moments, Edward was bewildered by the abrupt change of subject. His mind still lingered on the dining room, but following Mr Clarkson’s gaze, Edward looked behind and he too gasped.
There, walking in through the door, and looking frailer than Edward had ever seen him due to recent illness, was none other than William Wilberforce himself. For a couple of seconds, Edward stood rooted to the floor, overcome by such an honour. Quickly collecting himself, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, his hand outstretched in greeting, a smile firmly planted on his face. Don’t look like a complete nincompoop, Edward! he chided himself.
“Mr Wilberforce, I am so pleased you could come!” Edward tried not to fawn over the man, but to him Wilberforce was a hero and, having never had the opportunity to speak with him face-to-face, Edward was overwhelmed.
“Why, thank you, Emberton.” The older man took Edward’s hand and shook it with a firm grip that belied his fragile state. “I wasn’t all that convinced I would make it, to be honest.” He looked around at all the smiling faces, whose owners waved, nodded, and bowed their greetings. “But now that I’ve made the effort, I am glad I have.”
“As am I, sir.” Edward led Wilberforce to the armchair nearest the fire. “Might I offer you a drin
k?”
“Oh, only a small glass of something to warm me after the journey from London,” Wilberforce acquiesced.
Edward ordered a small brandy from a footman. “I trust the journey was well.” Why can I not ask something better than that?
“Tolerably,” Wilberforce nodded.
Edward then ran out of things to say. He tried to think of something, anything, that might be of interest to his idol, but his mind drew a blank.
It was Wilberforce who broke the awkward silence. “You invited him, did you?” he asked with a steely edge to his voice as he sipped at the brandy in his hand, his gaze fixed on a point at the other end of the room.
“Hmm?” Edward, confused by the question, glanced in the direction of Wilberforce’s glower. “Lord Davenport? My father-in-law, you mean?”
Wilberforce looked Edward directly in the eye. “I heard rumours of your marriage while I was abed with the sickness.” He pursed his lips as his eyes flitted back toward Davenport.
“Yes, to his only daughter, Frances.” Edward beamed with pride and happiness.
Wilberforce snapped his head back and fixed Edward with a withering stare. “I just hope you know you’ve invited a serpent to dine with us.”
The dinner gong sounded at that precise moment, leaving Edward wondering what on earth Wilberforce was talking about.
As the guests filed out, Edward held back a little and waited for Frances to come alongside him.
“So that is the famous William Wilberforce, is it?” she murmured in his ear as he led her out of the drawing room, across the hallway, and towards the dining room.
“It is indeed, my dear. I cannot tell you what an honour it is to have him here in our house. It is as though,” Edward spoke excitedly, “he's setting the seal on my acceptance into his group of friends. I am truly humbled.”
“I can see that perfectly,” Frances giggled at him. “You are awed by him, are you not?”
“Yes, I am. He is a man of outstanding character.” He turned to look at her, unaware of how much his face glowed with passion and excitement. “If I could be half the man he is, I would be very content indeed.”
“Oh, Edward!” Frances squeezed his arm and patted him gently. “Do you still not see what an outstanding man you are yourself?” She smiled at him lovingly as he pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit before tucking it in and pushing it back towards the table.
He was not entirely convinced of that, but the depth of her conviction shown in her face; she thought he was an outstanding man. His heart swelled love for her again. I pray you always have this effect on me, my darling Frances.
Edward made his way to his chair at the other end of the table, allowed the footman to pull it out for him, and seated himself as his guests did likewise. He looked down the length of the table. They were twenty in all, and Edward was overcome with pride and elation at the thought of what this moment meant, their first dinner party, every invitee replied in the positive, all were present, including William Wilberforce. Yes, Edward thought, this truly does announce that I have finally arrived.
He looked down the table at each of his guests as the butler and footmen brought in the platters of food Frances had carefully selected. Edward felt he was on the edge of something big, the beginning of the rise of his career. He smiled to himself as Stainton served him from the soup tureen. He had always loved white soup and was glad Frances chose this particular recipe. It was sure to go down well.
Conversations started up all along the table. Some were continuations of those that began in the drawing room; others were newly begun simply because of the seating arrangements. Lord Davenport alone appeared to be unengaged in conversation. In fact, it appeared to Edward that his guests were deliberately avoiding his father-in-law.
Bewildered but unable to address the issue, Edward shifted his focus down the table and caught Frances’ eye. He raised his glass to her and nodded, his eyes expressing his appreciation for all her hard work. He was rewarded as her cheeks reddened slightly as she drank from her own glass.
Edward turned to his right and addressed the Member of Parliament for Grampound, Devon, the Right Honourable Mr John Teed. He knew little of the fellow apart from his connection with the Right Honourable Andrew Cochran-Johnstone. “Did you travel up from Devon this evening?” It was a limp question, but Edward had to begin the conversation somehow.
John Teed shook his head, his mouth full of food. “No.” He swallowed his overfilled mouthful of food down hard. “I've had the good fortune of being in London this past sennight.”
“Oh! On parliamentary business?” Edward asked, his interest piqued.
Teed shook his head and laughed, his jowls jiggling as he did so. “No, not at all. Pleasure, my lad! Pure pleasure.”
Edward did not quite know how to respond. “Indeed?”
“Aye. But you being newlywed and all won’t know about that kind of pleasure just yet.” He threw his head back and laughed throatily, and Edward could see the food in the back of his mouth.
“Ah, that kind of pleasure.” Edward opened his eyes wide and raised his eyebrows a little. He turned back to the serving dishes before him and speared some more roast pork for his dinner plate. Anything was better than continuing a conversation about John Teed's mistress. “Do you come to London often for Grampound constituency business?” Edward asked hoping to change the subject.
“Never!” came the answer together with a chuckle.
“Never? You never have to come to London on business?” Edward was confused. He looked at John Teed sideways to see if he was in his cups and the worse for wear for liquor.
“Aye, I might have to come to London once or twice a year and show my face, but that's all.” He looked up at Edward, who wore a dreadfully confused expression. He explained, “Grampound is a rotten borough, you see?”
“Oh! I did not know that.” Edward had heard about rotten boroughs but had never met the minister for one. They were somewhat of an anomaly, a rotten borough being a borough with relatively few voters and yet somehow managed to gain an MP. This was mostly because of the power of one particular family. Edward wondered if that was the true connection between John Teed and the Right Honourable Andrew Cochran-Johnstone, who was the youngest son of the eighth Earl of Dundonald. “I suppose it is very convenient indeed.”
Once more Teed threw back his head and laughed throatily, and Edward was once more treated to the sight of Teed's mouthful of food. “I would say it was convenient, yes. Ha!” He slapped his hand down upon the table hard, making the plates and cutlery jump. “You know what, Emberton?” he asked as he turned towards Edward again and waved his knife at him. “I think I like you.” He nodded and eyed Edward approvingly.
Edward laughed nervously, quite at a loss for words. “Erm… Thank you,” he shrugged.
This set John Teed off into further guffaws of laughter. Edward was entirely unsure what to make of the man. He was either as drunk as a lord or utterly insane. Of course, Edward mused as he turned his attention to his meal, it could well have been a combination of both. In an attempt to become occupied elsewhere, he took a sideways glance at the diner on his left and discovered he was already in deep conversation with the gentleman to his own left.
Edward shrugged and reconciled himself to the fact that he would have to sit and converse with an entire bore of a madman throughout the remainder of dinner. Never mind, he consoled himself, dinner will not last forever, and there will be plenty of opportunities to speak to the other members of Parliament afterward.
John Teed was blathering on about rising taxes, when Edward’s attention was caught by a commotion going on out in the hallway. Giving half an ear to what Teed was saying, Edward signalled to Stainton to go out and deal with whomever or whatever was threatening the dinner party.
He glanced up the table and saw Frances periodically shooting sideways glances at the door, becoming more agitated by the second. She was in a better position to hear what was happening in
the hallway than Edward, but even from his position, he knew it was nothing good.
Edward had just begun to weigh up the possibility of excusing himself tactfully to go and deal with the commotion personally when the door burst open and in tumbled a dishevelled and clearly drunken man shouting at the top of his voice.
Forcibly Edward pushed his chair back, scraping it along the parquet flooring. Annoyed and embarrassed at the disruption in front of his guests, he marched towards the intruder, prepared to personally throw him out of his house. As the man's words reached his ears, Edward froze to the spot.
“She is mine!” he cried out, tears streaking down his face. He pointed directly at Frances as his words reverberated around the dining room. “She is mine!” he repeated.
Edward’s limbs felt as though they were made of lead. He could barely move. A small voice in the back of his mind told him this was the James Kirby that Frances had told him about. He could see Frances squirming under the man's accusation. She shifted in her seat to move as far away from the man as possible. If she could have fled the room without having to get past Kirby first, Edward was sure she would have.
The man continued to cry out as a hush fell on the room. “I had her before you! She is mine, not his!” He spun his head round and pointed in Edward's face, his expression full of hatred and bile. “You’re just a bloody puppet, Emberton, and I had her first. She belongs to me not to you! I will not give her up! You cannot make me!”
Edward was astounded as James Kirby then rounded on Lord Davenport. “I don't care what you say. I don't care what threats you make or what power you think you have. Frances is mine, and I am not leaving here without her!”
Still Edward could not move, speak, or even think clearly. He was in disbelief, maybe even in a mild state of shock. As if through cotton wool, he heard the sound of Lord Davenport’s laughter, laughter as though he found something highly amusing. There was nothing remotely humorous about this situation to Edward’s mind. His lordship’s laughter rang out loud and clear throughout the dining room, and Edward’s guests stared with incredulity first at the intruder, then Davenport, and back again.
The Suitable Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 2) Page 14