The Suitable Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 2) (12 page)

Edward watched with amusement the interaction between the father and daughter before him.

“How would it have been, Papa, if you had not had me educated well?” She pursed her lips at him as though she were cross.

“Yes, well, that’s beyond the point!” he responded grumpily, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. “How would it have been if I’d spent all that money on you and you had not been accomplished at the end of it all?” He poked a finger in her general direction.

Frances laughed at him. “Papa, I believe you are the worse for wear for liquor this evening.”

“Twaddle!” he slurred back at her.

She inclined her head at Edward. “You see what I mean?”

Edward did not wish to get involved. He looked away, hoping to not endure the wrath of Lord Davenport another time.

“I believe it is time you retired for the night, Papa.” Frances commanded. In one fluid movement, Frances pushed her chair back, rose from the table, and moved to ring the bell to call for a servant.

Edward watched in discomfort. He was embarrassed to witness Lord Davenport in his cups.

The butler arrived. Frances directed her father be taken to his room, despite his lordship’s bellowed resistance, and Edward found himself alone in the drawing room with his bride-to-be.

Suddenly the atmosphere changed. It was leaden and heavy. He was more aware of Frances’ presence than at any other time that night. He was also aware that he too had imbibed far too much of Lord Davenport’s Scotch. If he were to remain the gentleman he wished to be, Edward knew he would have to make a delicate and swift departure. He turned towards Frances, who was gazing at him expectantly through her long black eyelashes. Edward’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her beauty. He was all too aware of the physical reaction the sight of her gave him. If she were to take a step towards him in an attempt to kiss him, he would be powerless to resist. He had to do something, and he had to do it quickly.

He cleared his throat loudly, a horrible, grating noise which broke the tension in the room instantly. “I had better make my way back to the hotel, my dear. It is getting very late indeed.” He grinned at her awkwardly.

“Must you leave?” she implored, her voice as soft satin upon the skin.

This time Edward cleared his throat for real, swallowing down the passion that was rising within him. “I think it is for the best,” he said, realising his voice was deep and husky. He surreptitiously made little steps backwards away from her.

Frances pouted prettily. It seemed she was as greatly affected as he. She sniffed.

Edward knew she was trying her level best to get an emotional response from him. He stared at her well-formed plump lips and wanted nothing better at that moment then to taste their sweetness and feel the velvetiness against his own. His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth was dry as he continued to edge towards the door. “I… I really do think I should be going.”

Little by little, Edward moved backwards until he hit what he thought was the wall. He turned around sharply and gasped as he came face-to-face with the butler, standing expressionless and immobile, holding Edward’s hat and coat. Edward’s embarrassment could not have been greater. He turned and grinned at Frances, who was laughing, highly diverted.

“Oh, Edward! You are funny.” She shifted her eyes to the butler, her giggles stifled. “Call Mr Emberton a cab, will you?”

The butler bowed and went into the street to hail a hackney cab.

“I shall see you in two days,” Edward said to Frances, his face still as red as a beetroot.

“It seems like ever such a long time away.” Frances had gone back to pouting.

“It will pass quicker than you think, my dear.” With his coat on and his hat securely upon his head, Edward reached out his hands to take Frances’. He kissed the backs of them lingeringly, breathing deeply her scent. “Before you know it, you will be walking up the aisle of St George’s Church in Hanover Square upon the arm of your father, and I will be watching you in all your magnificent bridal beauty. For that sight alone, I can endure two days without you.” He watched as Frances bit her lower lip at his words, struck dumb by the strength and intensity of his declaration.

Again Edward lowered his head and kissed the backs of her hands, knowing that if he lingered too long, he would never leave. Slowly he raised his head and took one long, lingering look into her emerald green eyes. “Adieu, my darling Frances.”

The sigh that escaped her perfectly formed lips was all the reward Edward could have wanted that night. He knew it would sustain him until they met again before the altar.

Chapter Fifteen

St George’s Church was as
opulently decorated as Edward expected it to be. Small posies of flowers and festoons of ribbons adorned the end of each pew all the way down the central aisle. Surrounding the entrance to the church itself, inside and out, was a beautiful arch created with fresh hydrangeas, roses, and freesias surrounded by a sea of greenery. There were more candles than usual adorning all window alcoves and any flat surface around the cavernous church. These too were decorated with roses, freesias, and greenery.

As Edward looked around the interior of the stone church, he could see the guests from all walks of life. On his side of the church sat his family. His mother wore a tight-lipped expression, which softened slightly as she tried to smile at him. He would take what he could get from her. She had smiled at least. He was encouraged.

Behind his family, including younger brother Louis, Grace, and the new baby, were family members Edward only had a vague recollection of. Richard was standing up with him as best man.

On the other side of the church were people that Edward did not recognise whatsoever. He believed most of them to be Frances’ family. He could see a vague familial resemblance to Lord Davenport himself amongst some of the sea of faces. Behind them, Edward saw rows and rows of guests from the
ton
itself—politicians, dignitaries, aristocracy, royalty, even some of obvious foreign descent. Edward was duly impressed. Lord Davenport clearly pulled out all the stops for his only child’s wedding. He clearly wanted the whole world to know that Frances Davenport was getting married and that she was marrying a respectable British politician.

Edward puffed out his chest with pride. Within the next hour, Frances would be his wife. He endeavoured to keep his face straight, but it was to no avail. An excitedly elated grin broke out on his face which he could not have removed even if he should wish to.

“Are you well, Edward?” Richard whispered as he leaned closer towards him.

“Yes,” he breathed as he turned to face his brother. “I have just realised that the most beautiful woman in the entire world is soon to be my wife.”

To give Richard credit, he did his best to return a genuine smile filled with happiness.

“I know you believed the same thing on your wedding day, did you not, Richard?”

Richard glanced behind his brother toward Grace, who gently rocked their infant son. “I believed that then and I still believe it now, Edward.”

“Does it ever fade?”

The question clearly startled Richard. “In all truthfulness, I cannot answer you. It ought not. It should not. If it does, one only has oneself to blame. After all, love does not fly in through the window, catching us unawares. Love is something we choose to do, an emotion we choose to feel.”

Edward nodded solemnly. He had not thought of it that way.

“I apologise. I suppose that is a little too much philosophy merely minutes before one’s life is to change forever,” Richard quipped and gently elbowed his brother in the side.

Chuckling to himself, Edward thought upon his brother’s words. He believed no better advice had ever been given to any man upon his wedding day.
Love is something we choose to do, an emotion we choose to feel.

Edward was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of the organ announcing the procession and caught the breathtaking sight of Frances entering through the church doors on the arm of her father. He knew at that moment, as he watched them slowly make their way towards him, that nothing else mattered, not her reputation, not his mother’s opinion of her, nothing other than what he felt for her and what she in return felt for him. He loved Frances Davenport with all of his heart. He caught the answering twinkle in her eye. She loved him equally. Nothing else mattered.

* * * *

Edward wished he could turn back time. Before he knew it, the vows were said, they were pronounced man and wife, had signed the register, and were making their way back to Mayfair. The house was equally well adorned with hydrangeas, freesias, roses, and beautiful green leaves as the church had been.

The laughing and smiling couple were quickly ushered into the house, down the long hall, and out through the back of the house again into the garden where, it seemed, the entire lawn was taken up by the erection of a huge marquee. It was a sight to behold. In the far left corner, there was a string quartet playing some piece of Mozart’s music or other. To the right stood the longest and largest table Edward had ever seen, the centrepiece of which was the most exquisitely decorated and so very carefully made wedding cake.

Edward was dimly aware of this burgeoning fashion but had never seen such a masterpiece as this. It stood three tiers high, the largest of which was on the bottom and the smallest on the top. It was covered in white icing and adorned with the most delicately made and tiniest of sugar flowers. It was as though a florist had laid garland upon garland of flowers upon and around the cake and then, as if by some culinary magic, a chef had come along and turned them all into sugar and icing. Edward was in complete awe of the spectacle.

The new Mrs Emberton at his side gasped with delight. “Oh, Edward! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Edward nodded. “Yes, it is,” he breathed.

Lord Davenport appeared at Edward’s right shoulder. “I am glad you both approve. I spared no expense. This has to be perfect.”

Not wishing to spend much time in his new father-in-law’s presence that day, Edward turned to his bride, squeezed her hand that lay upon his forearm, and smiled down at her lovingly. “Shall we descend into the garden and await our guests, my dear?”

The look of relief in her eyes told him she too wished her father was far away. “Yes, please.”

Edward led her down the grey stone steps and onto the soft spongy lawn, where he was careful to place her in the shade so she would not become overheated while they greeted the goodness knows how many guests they had.

Wave upon wave of invited guests flowed through the house and out into the garden. The more people that arrived, the more weary Edward and Frances grew. Edward could not help a furtive glance now and again up the stairs and through the house to see if he could spy the end of the line. There seemed to be no end in sight. Thankfully, there were plenty of footmen at hand to keep coupes of champagne and glasses of lemonade coming regularly.

Frances leant towards her husband. “Edward.” He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was growing tired. “My feet are aching. How much longer do you think we have to stand here?”

Before Edward even had the chance to reply, Lord Davenport’s deep voice bellowed out across the gardens. “Come along, come along! Get yourself seated. Some of us are starving!” He laughed at his own joke and a titter of reciprocating and sycophantic laughter followed him around the marquee.

“He is our opportunity,” Edward whispered. “Let’s get to our places so that you can rest your tired feet.” Edward was amused to see that Frances did not need telling twice. Almost before the words left his mouth, she had moved toward the marquee with one intention on her mind, to collapse into her seat and to kick her shoes off under the table.

Edward joined his wife and was relieved to take the weight off his own feet. He looked down at the table before him and his eyebrows rose unbidden when he saw it set with gold cutlery.

His expression caught the attention of his bride. “Don’t worry,” she whispered in his ear, “I wouldn’t expect gold cutlery at home.”

It wasn’t what she said about the cutlery that made his breath catch in his throat; it was the fact that she so easily called Sandon Place home. He smiled at her warmly, a flush of affection for her thrilling his entire body. “You said home,” he muttered.

“I did, didn’t I?” She smiled back at him, her eyes flitting between his mouth and his eyes. Slowly she moved towards him. He wanted nothing more than to taste her lips. The fleeting kiss as the minister pronounced them man and wife was not enough for him. It was polite. It was light and perfunctory. Edward wanted to take Frances in his arms and show her how he felt. He too began to lean towards her, hoping to steal a kiss before the meal arrived.

“Now, now! None of that!” Someone yelled across the marquee, which in turn gave rise to a chorus of whoops, ahhs, and oohs. “You can leave all that till later!” called out some other smart aleck.

Edward and Frances exchanged bashful glances, and then Edward stood and waved his hands in the air, reddening slightly but enjoying the fun. “Yes, yes! Thank you, thank you! If you’d all be seated, I believe my father-in-law, Lord Davenport, would like to begin the proceedings.” Edward smiled as charmingly as he knew how at the gathered invitees and turned towards his lordship, bowing at him in deference.

Proudly, Lord Davenport rose from his chair with his usual fat cigar in one hand and a glass of Scotch in the other. Edward shook his head and wondered if the man ever drank anything else other than whisky and port. “My lords and ladies, distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you all to my home. Today is one of the proudest days of my life.”

Edward watched as his lordship turned toward the happy couple and raised his glass to them both.

“I believe it is customary to say that I am not losing a daughter but gaining a son, and I can tell you all from the bottom of my heart that it is the truth.” A round of polite applause made its way around the marquee, and again Edward nodded towards his lordship. “We have, in actual truth, known Edward Emberton for a relatively short time,” he continued, “but in that time we have both grown quite attached to the young man.” Again his speech was punctuated by applause. Lord Davenport cleared his throat, evidently dismissing the sentimental tack he was on and avoiding any emotional embarrassment. “Enough of all that!” he declared to the gathering at large. “My lords and ladies, distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen, would you all please be upstanding and drink to the health and happiness of my daughter and her new husband, Mr and Mrs Edward Emberton!”

There was a cacophony of sound as chairs were pushed back, tables were bumped into, and the gathered throng stood collectively, raised their glasses, and chanted, “To Mr and Mrs Edward Emberton!”

With smiles fixed upon their faces, Edward and Frances reciprocated the action and drank from their champagne glasses.

“Let’s eat!” his lordship declared, and the noise level in the marquee, once again rose to a deafening degree as the guests took their places once again and the food was brought in on impossibly large silver platters carried by footmen dressed in the most elegant livery with powdered wigs.

* * * *

If Frances and Edward had not been so tired, they would have spent most of the night giggling and talking about their wedding feast and the dancing thereafter. After excitement and activity of the day, both of them nodded off to sleep in the carriage on the way back to Sandon Place that night. It was late when they left the Davenport’s home. The journey from Mayfair to Essex was not particularly long, but long enough to allow them both to slip into a restful and exhausted slumber.

It took them a couple of minutes to rouse themselves once the carriage pulled to a stop before the entrance to Sandon Place. When they were finally awake enough to realise where they were, and that they ought to alight from the carriage, Edward took hold of Frances’ hand, rousing her from her sleepiness, and said, “We ought to go inside. The night air is turning chilly. It will be warmer in the house.”

Frances smiled and nodded drowsily at him. “I confess I am thirsty too.”

“Then let us get into the house and see what we can find to drink.” Edward led the way out to the carriage, turning to help his wife alight. It had been a long day, and Frances was bone-weary. Her feet and her back ached. Her head was beginning to pound, but she knew that was related to the day’s exertions and that a good night’s sleep would cure it.

As they walked slowly up the steps to the front door, Frances looked up at the sky and estimated it to be past midnight. There were no servants awaiting their arrival, and Frances had to admit that part of her was disappointed. There would be plenty of time the following day for a formal homecoming. All she wanted now was a warm drink, to wash, and to spend the first night with her husband together in their own home.

Edward left Frances standing in the hallway as he scuttled toward the servants staircase. “I’m just going down to the kitchen. The room to your left is the drawing room, should you so wish to sit. I shall be back post-haste with some tea.”

Frances did not wish to sit. She had been sitting all the way from London, and it felt good to stretch her legs as she walked around the hallway. It was simply decorated. The walls were white plasterwork, and the stairs and floors were black and grey marble. It was all very elegant, but she could not help considering it a little masculine. As she walked around the floor in a long oval shape, she contemplated the little touches she could add to the place: some flowers here, some paintings there, a change of furniture perhaps—the addition of a lovely table in the centre of the room would add that homely touch. She smiled to herself and shook her head, wondering when she had become such a woman. She never thought before she was the kind of person to want flowers and paintings and fine furniture everywhere, to add those little touches that only a woman can, but there she was, contemplating that very thing almost the instant she became mistress of Sandon Place.