The Suitable Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 2) (11 page)

“Now what am I to do when you are already promised to Mr Emberton?” Davenport pursed his lips, his face a study of puzzlement. “Or is it that you were promised to Mr Kirby first?”

Frances paled. She wondered what her father was about. Was he trying to punish her in some way? Whatever the reason, and whatever he thought he was going to achieve, Frances knew she was powerless to prevent him.

“What is the truth of that, Frances?”

Frances’ heart stopped. Out of the corner of her eye she could see James smirking, enjoying every single exquisite moment of her torture.

“What’s the matter, my girl? The cat got your tongue?” Her father chuckled again, and this time Frances did not miss the cruel edge to it.

“I was never promised to Mr Kirby.” Frances mumbled in a barely audible voice.

“Oh!” Lord Davenport looked surprised at this revelation. He twisted in his seat towards James. “Now, now. This is not what you told me, Mr Kirby.” His exaggerated movements would have amused Frances in any other situation. But, as the seconds ticked past, she grew increasingly disquieted. “You distinctly told me, Mr Kirby, that you had an understanding with my girl here, and now she’s gone and got herself engaged to another man. And you demand recompense. Is that not the way of it?”

This time it was Frances’ chance to sit and watch as James paled. “I… I…” he stammered. “We had an understanding!” he spluttered as he turned an angry glare towards Frances. “You know we had an understanding!”

“I know nothing of the sort,” Frances spat back at him without thinking. “I never promised to marry you, James, and you know it.” Out of the corner of her eye, Frances could see her father lean back in his chair and grin with satisfaction at the altercation between James and herself. Spurred on by her father, knowing now that what he wanted to see was her to stand up to James and deal with the matter, she demanded, “What is it you want, James? Why have you come here this evening?”

“To make you admit that you are promised to me, Frances!” James blurted out as he shook a pointed finger at her.

“I will make no admission of the kind.” Frances tensed in her indignation.

“Damn you!” James shouted as he rose from the chair, visibly shaking, and stared threateningly at Frances.

“Now, now, Mr Kirby.” Lord Davenport finally spoke up in a commanding voice. “Sit yourself down or I will have you physically removed from my property.”

James twisted his head around to stare back at his host, his expression of violent anger not missed by either Lord Davenport or Frances. Reluctantly, and with some effort, he did as he was told and sat back down, glaring across the room in Frances’ direction.

“You came here this evening to demand that my daughter admit that she promised her hand to you. Am I right?”

James looked at Lord Davenport with incredulity. “That’s what we’ve just been talking about, is it not?”

“No need to be rude, Mr Kirby,” Lord Davenport snapped. “Am I right?”

“Yes,” the young man replied.

“As you now know,” his lordship continued matter-of-factly, “this is not going to happen. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then my question to you, Mr Kirby, is what will make you give up this claim and disappear?”

It took all of Frances’ might not to gasp at her father’s words. He truly was on her side after all.

“What?” It appeared that James was not going to give up without a fight. “You want me to give up the woman I love and disappear?” He shook his head from side to side in disbelief. “I cannot believe you asked that.”

“Believe it,” Lord Davenport barked. “I have no intention whatsoever of allowing this charade to continue. It ends right here, right now. So, Mr Kirby, what is your price?”

“You can’t put a price on love!” he cried out.

“Good God!” Frances exclaimed. “Do you really expect anyone in this room to believe that you are talking about love, James? This is about revenge, and you know it!”

“Well said!” his lordship responded, giving her an encouraging smile. “While my daughter’s behaviour with you is not above reproach, Mr Kirby, your ridiculous assumption that you could ascend beyond your rank and gain the daughter of a peer as your wife is beneath contempt. I repeat, I have no intention of allowing this charade to continue. So name your price.”

James sat in his chair, looking between Frances and her father, trembling in fury. Frances was convinced that if James was arguing with any man other than her father, he would strike him.

“Well? One hundred pounds?”

“No!” James snarled, insulted. “Five hundred pounds!”

Lord Davenport threw his head back and laughed until his wheezing cough returned. The sound seemed out of place in a room with so much tension. When he finally stopped coughing enough to catch his breath, Davenport stared at the younger man with a glare that would wither the most hardened of criminals. “Don’t be absurd!”

“You are not in any position to haggle.” James’ spiteful smirk made his face twist in an ugly fashion.

“You are mistaken, Mr Kirby, if you believe you are the one that holds all the bargaining chips. You underestimate my power.”

The smirk slipped from James’ face.

“I will make one more offer, and you will do well to accept it.” Frances watched with bated breath as Lord Davenport paused to allow his words to sink in. “I will give you one hundred and fifty pounds and book you passage to the New World if you drop this ridiculous claim on my daughter’s affections and we never hear from you again.”

James took a sharp intake of breath and was about to speak, when Lord Davenport raised his hand to stop him.

“The alternative, Mr Kirby, is that I will see to it that you are stripped of your position and your name blackened. I will see to it that the only place you will find refuge is in the poorhouse. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

James snapped his mouth. Frances could see the fear written across his face. He swallowed deeply, and Frances watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “One hundred and fifty pounds, you say?”

“Yes. It is a generous offer. A fifty-pound increase from my first one. You would be a fool to refuse me, Mr Kirby.”

Frances could see that James now accepted his fate. Lord Davenport’s threat hit hard. Frances could hardly breathe. Would James truly leave the country and leave her life for good? She could scarcely believe her luck.

“I accept your offer, Lord Davenport, but I ask for one thing in return—”

“It is not your place to demand anything, young man,” Lord Davenport interjected.

James sighed in defeat. His whole demeanour spoke of his resignation. “I simply wanted
a
few moments alone with Frances to say goodbye to her.”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” she spat, putting paid to his request.

“You have your answer. My daughter has no desire to be alone with you and has nothing more to say. I believe this discussion is at an end.” Lord Davenport rose from his chair and stood expectantly, staring down at James, cigar and port glass in hand.

James did not stand. “I want to say goodbye to Frances,” he said more vehemently.

“Young man, she has said all she’s going to say to you. Now I suggest you take your leave, and do it politely, before I have to force you to go.” The intensity of Lord Davenport’s stare increased. “I will have the money and your ticket brought to you within the week.”

Frances stood up and crossed the room to join her father. She knew the conversation was at an end. The Davenports waited in silence for James to leave.

“I pray you will not deal so falsely with this Emberton fellow that you plan on marrying, Franny. I pray you don’t break his heart the way you’ve broken mine,” he spurted as he exited the room and marched out of the house without saying goodbye.

“Well!” Lord Davenport breathed a sigh of relief. “I believe, my dear, that is the last you will ever see of that unpleasant young man. Make sure you have no more communication with him.” He glowered at her before brushing past her out into the hallway and disappearing from her view.

Frances’ heart was still racing but began to slow to its normal pace. She could scarcely believe what had just happened. Her father had come to her rescue and extricated her from James’ control. The sense of relief and gratitude she felt towards her father was profound. She knew he would not appreciate an open display of affection, if she gushed out her feelings to him. Frances knew the best way to show her gratitude was by doing what was expected of a proper young lady. She had, from now on, to be an exemplary daughter and an impeccable wife.

Chapter Fourteen

Edward could not help himself,
neither did he want to. He loved Frances Davenport. The more time they spent together, the more ardently and passionately he felt about her, and all the past injury faded to a distant memory. There was not a day that went by where Edward was not distracted by constant thoughts of her. He wanted to be with her always, to stare into her emerald green eyes, to smell the scent of rose petals from her raven hair, to listen to the infectious tinkle of her laughter. Edward counted the days until the wedding, when he could, without scruple, enjoy her entirely.

He suspected that, should he be of a mind to, he could act freely and with abandon towards Frances. His own conscience would not allow that. Edward was a man of honour. No matter what was said about Frances, no matter what the truth was, he would not act dishonourably towards her.

No matter in which direction Edward’s thoughts went, he could not escape Frances, even when it was not pleasant. More than once he avoided visiting Boodles because of the censure he received in the stares, glances, and comments, half hidden behind the backs of hands of those he believed to be his friends. Edward wished he could say he did not care what people thought of him, but he could not.

What was worse was that every time he heard Frances’ name in connection with some sordid joke, vile gossip, or abhorrent insinuation, he felt sick to his stomach and ashamed that she was to be his wife. By morning the feeling had passed and Edward was repentant and ashamed of himself. Just to be in her presence sent his blood racing through his veins and his passions to rising. He not only knew he loved Frances; he wanted her in every way that a man could want a woman.

It cut him to the quick that he could be so easily hurt by the opinions of others. It made him question his suitability to be a politician. How could he do his job if opposing views made him sway like a reed in the wind? He ought to be steadfast and unmoving. Frances deserved a husband like that.
Can I be such a man?
he wondered as he strode through the house heading towards the waiting carriage outside. He was to join the Davenports for dinner that night, after which he would be staying at a hotel for two nights, and finally the wedding on the following morning.

Edward’s stomach churned as he thought of his impending nuptials. The seed of thought had implanted itself and was now sprouting and growing within him. Was he the kind of man that Frances deserved? Was he the best husband for her?

He shook his head as he seated himself against the plush leather-cushioned seating in the carriage and moved aside the red curtains to gaze out at his grounds. Why was he questioning his suitability? “Preposterous!”

As the carriage pulled away and he listened to the mesmerising clip-clop of the horses’ shoes upon the gravel driveway, Edward wondered what the future held in store for him. He was marrying a woman who took his breath away, who mesmerised him, and whom he loved more than anyone in the world, a woman his family despised. Would they ever breach the divide between his mother and Frances? Would Frances ever be accepted as one of the Embertons?

Ever the eternal optimist, Edward leaned his head back, wriggling it until it settled into the dip formed by one of the buttons in the upholstery, closed his eyes, and tried not to think of Frances, the wedding, or what anyone thought of him.

That was easier said than done, and Edward was tired and irritable when he arrived in London that evening. The sun was setting behind the tall brick townhouses as the carriage turned in to Mayfair, and he wanted more than anything to sleep, as impossible a notion as that was. As the carriage pulled to a stop outside the Davenport home, Edward fixed a smile upon his face, shook himself mentally and physically in an attempt to banish his weariness, and descended onto the street.

As the door to the grand facade, behind which Frances lived, opened, Edward could see Frances hovering at the foot of the staircase, waiting for his arrival. It took just one look at her for all his fears and doubts and worries to be erased. She was all he would ever need. Of that, he was certain.

Edward climbed the steps and entered the house. The butler closed the door behind him and disappeared as servants did. Edward stepped forward and took hold of Frances’ hands, placing a long, lingering kiss on the backs of her knuckles. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her full, enticing lips, but he resisted the temptation. He wanted to believe she could change, become honourable, and on the way to London Edward decided the best way to help Frances was for him to treat her as the wife he wanted her to be. He wanted her to be principled; therefore, he would treat her as though she always had been.

“I have missed you more than words could say, my dearest Frances.” He stared into her eyes, expressing all the love he held in his heart, and she blushed under the intensity.

“I have missed you too, my love.”

For one as worldly as Frances, when she blushed, she looked as pure and as innocent as a maiden. It was easy in that moment for Edward to believe her virtuous. “Only two more days, my dear, and then we two shall be one.”

Frances took a faltering step towards him and Edward wanted nothing more at that moment than to kiss her perfectly formed mouth, but it was not to be as her father appeared in the doorway to the drawing room on the right.

“Ah, Emberton! You’re here already! Good, good! Come on in then, lad.” Lord Davenport beckoned with a wave of his hand and led the party into the drawing room. As usual, the stout politician had a fat cigar in one hand and a well-filled glass, this time of Scotch, in the other. “Pleasant journey?”

Edward, giving an apologetic look to Frances, scuttled after his lordship. “Nothing out of the ordinary, sir.”

The old man laughed. “Yes, it can be such a bore, all that travelling.” He seated himself with a satisfied murmur and settled back into his favourite chair, puffing on his cigar. “That’s really my reason for not going out of my country property so much. I cannot stand all that travel.”

Edward did not know what to say. His lordship was making small talk, something they were not accustomed to doing. Usually Lord Davenport was direct and succinct, never one to mince words. Edward smiled at him politely, with one eye on Frances as she entered the room and poured him a glass of Scotch too.

“When missy here is finished making a fuss of pouring you a drink, I’ll get right to the point, shall I?”

Edward did not miss the hurt expression on Frances. “Of course,” he bowed his head politely wondering what sort of relationship Lord Davenport truly had with his daughter if he could embarrass her so in front of her intended.

“So,” Lord Davenport eyeballed Edward as he tasted the amber liquid within his glass, “you’ve met with the campaigners?”

For a moment Edward had absolutely no idea what Davenport was talking about.

“The pro-abolition campaigners…” his lordship prompted.

As realisation dawned, Edward closed his eyes.
How stupid of me! Of course he means the pro-abolition campaigners!
He pulled himself together. “Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. I dined more than once with many of them, even speaking to Wilberforce himself on no less than three occasions.”

Lord Davenport raised his eyebrows and looked impressed. “Hmm… This is all very good, Emberton. You are doing very well indeed.” Edward watched as his lordship took one long drag on his cigar, savouring the feel and taste of the smoke as it entered his lungs and watching as the blue tendrils swirled about his head when he exhaled again. “Now you must tell me everything. If I am to secretly support this from my position within the government, I must know as much as possible. Do not leave out any detail, Emberton.”

Edward took a deep breath. He had not expected this. He believed he was merely coming for dinner with his fiancée and future father-in-law, not to furnish his lordship with a blow-by-blow account of all the chatter, suggestions, lobbying, and arguments that had gone on recently within the pro-abolition camp. He stared down at the glass in his hand thinking,
I’m going to need this refilled more than once,
as he launched into a monologue about what the pro-abolitionists wanted, hoped, and desired.

Lord Davenport listened attentively, smoking his cigar thoughtfully and sipping at the Scotch in his hand.

Edward was aware of Frances’ presence. Her eyes never strayed from his face as he spoke. She gazed at him from under her lashes, and Edward felt the caress upon his skin. When she rose from her chair, it was to furnish them both with more Scotch or to give her father another cigar. Edward noted that his lordship smoked far too much. His own lungs started to feel the pain of constantly breathing in the smoky air. He longed for the fresh cool night air of London but, dinner not having yet been served, knew it would be long before he could indulge that desire.

His throat became sore and his head began to pound between his temples. He longed for dinner to be announced in order to have respite from his discourse. As the clock struck nine o’clock and his recitation was nearing an end, Edward heard the dinner gong being struck in the dining room. He neatly rounded off all he had to say and took a large swig of the Scotch, emptying his glass and soothing his throat.

For what seemed like an age, Lord Davenport remained motionless, apart from a small nodding of his head. “Very interesting, Emberton. Very interesting indeed.” He continued nodding as he stared down at the rug on the floor before him. “I shall know precisely how to act now.”

Edward’s puzzled expression apparently amused Lord Davenport.  He chuckled. “Not to worry yourself about that, Emberton. I have your report. I will do what I can from my position within the Cabinet.” His eyes sparkled with something that Edward would normally have termed shrewd. “You keep furnishing me with all this information. That’s all I ask of you.” Abruptly his lordship stood up and walked his ample frame towards the door. “Keep on giving me all I need, Emberton.” He chuckled again as he disappeared into the dining room on the opposite side of the hallway.

Edward stared wonderingly into the empty space that Lord Davenport had just vacated. He reflected on the sly, satisfied look he saw on the face of his benefactor. His instincts kicked in, and he started to feel uncomfortable, aware that ordinarily that kind of expression would raise his suspicions.

“What is it?” Frances asked him, her voice soft and soothing, as she slipped her arm through his.

Mentally Edward shook himself and turned to give Frances his most charming smile. “Nothing at all, my dear, I assure you.”

As they started to walk side by side towards the door, Frances leant closer, “My father is a man of his word. If he says he will help, he will do so.” She smiled up at him reassuringly.

Her words did not allay the small coil of fear that had started to snake its way up Edward’s spine.

“You can place all of your trust in my father. If he says he supports your course, then you can rest easy that he wholeheartedly and most certainly does.” She smiled again, but Edward found it difficult to reciprocate.

He wished with all his heart that her words were true, but there was something he could not put his finger on that made him begin to doubt Lord Davenport’s sincerity.

For the rest of the evening all attention was devoted to Frances. She chatted away about the wedding during dinner; afterwards she regaled them with her ability at the pianoforte, with her beautiful mezzosoprano voice; then she beat them both at
Vignt-et-un
.

Edward was surprised at her skill at the card table. He did not have to try to allow her to win; she truly was an able player.

She giggled at his look of surprise when she won her fifth consecutive round. “Your expression tells me that you are surprised, Edward. Is it not possible for a lady to be so accomplished at the card table?” she asked him playfully.

He blushed from his hairline all the way down to where his cream silk cravat touched his neck. “Not at all, I assure you. I merely did not realise that
you
were such an accomplished player.”

“I am glad to have amazed you,” she giggled.

“I supposed you to have used your time in different ways.” As soon as the words left Edward’s mouth, he knew he had committed a
faux pas
. The expression of shock and hurt upon Frances’ face cut him like a knife. He knew he had to say something quickly to worm his way out of trouble. He looked down at the cards that Frances had just dealt him in order to avoid looking at her wounded expression. “It is clear to all who have had the pleasure of hearing you play and sing that you have used your time very well indeed.” He fixed upon his face the brightest smile he could muster and looked up at her directly and, relieved to see his words had the desired effect, continued, “You truly are an asset to your father.” Edward watched as Frances’ features softened, the offended expression that so recently struck her visage gone.

“Indeed, I spent more money than you can imagine, Emberton, on having this girl taught by some of the best tutors and governesses in this land. She ought to jolly well be an asset and highly accomplished young lady!” Lord Davenport declared.

“Oh, Father!” Frances rolled her eyes and shook her head at him as though scolding a small child. “What nonsense you speak!”