The Suitable Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 2) (6 page)

The sentiments the letter contained, Frances could not return. The more she read, the more infuriated she became, to the point of shouting aloud, “Damn you, James!”

She paced up and down her bedroom as she re-read the letter. She could not believe what he was saying. “You are a fool indeed, James Kirby, if you think that I will lower myself to marry you,” she spat, tossing the pages of the letter onto her bed.

Frances’ lady’s maid arrived to help her out of her gown. “Is there anything I can get you, miss? A cup of tea, perhaps?” the maid inquired, hoping to soothe the fury she could see barely contained in her mistress.

Biting back anger that had nothing to do with the girl in front of her, Frances replied in a tolerably calm tone, “A cup of tea, yes. Thank you, Jeanette.”

The girl bobbed a curtsey and fled from the room, and Frances was quite aware that the little maid was frightened of her. 

Dismissing the thought, Frances collected the three pages from her bed and skimmed through the angry words, dismissive of the claim of ill use. She was never kind when she let a lover go, but she always paid well. The man had the audacity to say she was little more than a harlot! As infuriating as that was, it was his demand at the end that baffled and outraged her.

Marry him? After calling me a whore?
Frances swallowed down the bile that rose to her throat. “How dare he?” She leant upon the bedpost and took deep steadying breaths.

When she felt able to, she returned to the letter in her hand. Apparently this is what he believed all along—that marriage would follow the affair.

“Preposterous!” she cried out.

“Miss?”

Frances spun around at the sound of Jeanette’s voice. The poor girl was standing there, looking more frightened than ever, with a steaming cup and saucer in her hand. “Nothing, Jeanette. I was just thinking aloud.”

“Yes, miss.” Jeanette curtsied and handed Frances the cup of tea before scurrying away as though she thought her mistress might strike her.

Frances stood in silence and realised something she never wanted to think about herself, that others thought her selfish and cruel. She raised the delicate china cup to her lips and sipped the hot liquid within. She was grateful for the taste and feeling of the tea as it trickled down her throat and into her stomach. If Jeanette thought she was frightening and James was convinced she was cruel, then perhaps she was not the lady she thought she was.

Frances walked over to her dressing table, turned her back on the mirror, and sat on the stool looking into the room. She did not care that Jeanette had forgotten to have the fire lit. She sat in her nightgown drinking tea, thinking about the letter, and what she would do next. James was threatening to expose her, that he would not only tell her father but would announce an engagement in the newspapers to force her hand.
“You are mine and you always will be.”
Frances shuddered as she remembered those words, written in a forceful hand, as she sipped at her tea, allowing the hot liquid to settle her churning stomach.

If Edward ever found out about her past lovers, he would never marry her. For certain he would consider her a scandalous woman, one unsuited for a man in his position. As her father repeated to her over and over again, a politician must be above reproach at all times.

Frances drained the tea from the cup as she made her way to the bed, placed it with its saucer upon the nightstand, and with a heavy heart climbed into bed. She folded the letter and slipped it into a little crack at the back of her nightstand where she always kept love letters.

As she laid her head down upon her feather pillow, Frances knew she had to make a choice. Whichever of the three choices that lay before her she chose, she would have to deal with and forever end all things pertaining to the other two. Her first choice, and her favourite of them all, would be for Albert Jarvis and James Kirby to disappear entirely and for her to marry Edward Emberton. She shook her head; it was nonsense to think they would disappear, more’s the pity. Her only real choice, in order to save Edward from any possible scandal she might bring, would be to marry either James or Albert. She shuddered once again as she closed her eyes. She could not bear the thought of being married to Albert Jarvis. That realistically left her with one option only, to marry below her station, to marry James Kirby as he demanded.

Chapter Nine

That Sunday, Edward was invited
to dinner at Emberton Hall. What a strange sensation to be invited into one’s former home, the place in which he grew up. What a pleasure it was to arrive there after church, to feel the old familiarity and the sense of home which Sandon Place did not yet hold for him.

He tried to measure his steps and walk calmly behind the butler, Henry, as he led him into the drawing room and announced his arrival. This was all so strange to Edward. What he wanted to do was just burst in on the entire family, but that would never do. At least, he thought it would never do. He wondered if he might ask his mother’s permission to just arrive whenever he felt like it. Would she accept that? It went against all the social norms, but Emberton Hall still felt like Edward’s home. The Embertons waiting in the drawing room, and the Colemans too, were all his beloved family.

“Edward, how wonderful it is to see you!” Grace was the first to rise, and that small gesture helped reality to dawn in Edward’s mind. Grace was now the mistress of the house, not his mother. He would have to petition his sister-in-law if he wished to arrive unannounced.

He bowed in response to Grace’s curtsey. “It is so good to be —” he wanted to say home but instead he chose “— here.”

Edwina, his mother, then rose and greeted him with a warm embrace. “It seems so abnormal to not have you here with us.”

As Edward seated himself, he returned her sentiments. “I know what you mean, Mama. The first night in Sandon Place was so peculiar. If I could but explain and describe the sensation I felt when the doors were closed and the world shut out, or should I say, I was shut in…but it is so good to be here.” He reached across from his position in the armchair by the fire to take Grace’s hand and boldly asked, “Is it strictly necessary for me to be announced each time I arrive?”

Grace smiled so kindly at him, he knew at that moment why Richard adored her so. “Edward, this was your home long before it was ever mine. Of course you must come and go as you please, if that is acceptable to everyone else.” She glanced up at Edwina and Richard, who both nodded their eager acquiescence.

Edward breathed a sigh of relief and sank back into the armchair. “You have no idea how hard it was to restrain myself behind Henry. I just wanted to burst in on you all!”

Richard laughed heartily. “I couldn’t believe you were being so formal in this house, to be honest. It is nonsense. We are all family here, and we have all agreed you shall come and go as you please.”

There, it was confirmed twice. Edward was free to come to Emberton Hall as he pleased. And it did indeed please him to know that. He did not know how long the place would still feel like home to him, but while it did, it felt like a sanctuary. Sandon Place still felt cold and empty to him, almost lifeless. One day, he knew, he would feel more at home there. But for now, he was glad that he was so freely welcomed back to his childhood home.

Edward thoroughly enjoyed dinner that evening. He tried to engage Martha in conversation, but she was so quiet and unwilling to speak to him that he wondered if she was well. Curiously, she spoke openly to Grace and his mother; to Richard and himself, she barely spoke two words together.

He decided to invite Doctor Coleman and Martha over to dinner at Sandon Place the following Sunday. “Doctor Coleman, I wonder if you and Martha would care to join the family for dinner at Sandon Place next Sunday?”

Doctor Coleman seemed elated by the invitation. Martha, Edward observed, looked even more reserved than she had been.

“We would be most delighted to visit your beautiful new home again.”

“But, Papa, we have plans for next Sunday, do we not?”

The expression on Martha’s face was not lost on Edward. He wondered what he had done to offend the girl.

“I know of no previous engagement, my dear.” The doctor looked perplexed.

Martha huffed, “Yes, you know…our friends from the village are coming. Remember?” There was a note of desperation in that final word.

Again, the doctor looked nonplussed. “I’m afraid, Martha, if we have made arrangements, I have entirely forgotten about them.” He turned to Edward, red in the face. “I do sincerely apologise. It seems, as my daughter has just reminded me, we have a previous engagement, and therefore we must decline.”

He looked at Martha, disgruntled. Edward watched as a thought seemed to occur to the man as his eyes lit up. “However, I will check with our guests and see if we can’t rearrange their visit, for I, for one, would much rather visit Sandon Place.” He patted Martha’s hands, which were folded in her lap, without looking at her. “And I’m sure my daughter wholeheartedly agrees.”

Edward doubted the veracity of the statement. He smiled benignly at the pair of them, but he knew something was wrong. In some way, Edward suspected, he was the source of some sort of distress to the girl. He was entirely ignorant to whatever it was, but he was sorry to have caused such a sweet girl any pain.

The evening continued in a rather stilted way. The Embertons all chatted amiably with each other, Doctor Coleman joined in where he could, but Martha did not utter another syllable. Edward made a mental note to ask Grace to question the girl to see if he could remedy whatever it was. She was in high dudgeon, that was for sure, and as, he thought of her wholeheartedly as a sister, he desired to help if he could.

* * * *

Frances had not slept very well since the arrival of James’ letter. Her head told her she had no choice, but her heart desired something entirely different. It wanted Edward Emberton. She wanted Edward Emberton.

There was only one thing for it. She had to speak to Edward and perhaps push the issue with him. But before that, she had to address her problems with James, and that would require meeting him again face-to-face.

She sent a message to him in her usual fashion, the same signal they always used. She trapped a yellow ribbon between the two panes of her window and let it flap outside in the breeze. When James passed, which he usually did in the afternoons, he would see it and know to call that evening at seven o’clock precisely. He would wait outside in the carriage, Frances would slip out of the house, and they would drive off without anyone knowing he had called.

She dreaded seeing him again. He was certainly angry with her, but no angrier than she was with him for his foolish assumption that marriage was in their future. She would never have agreed to such a thing, never have considered such a thing. Frances knew she had to set things to rights.

Thankfully, the running of the household required her attention that afternoon, and she was occupied; otherwise, Frances knew, she would have paced the floor apprehensively awaiting the time to meet James.

The carriage pulled up outside the Davenports’ home at seven o’clock on the dot. Frances pulled up the hood on her long black velvet cape and slipped unnoticed out of the door and into the carriage, which pulled away and drove down the street as soon as she was seated.

She avoided looking at her erstwhile lover as she mounted the carriage and sat down on the opposite end of the seat to him. The carriage, not being very large, did not afford her very much room and there were but a couple of inches separating them. She turned her head in the opposite direction. She knew it was childish, but she could not bear to face him.

“It was good of you to come and see me, Franny,” he said in such a soft voice that Frances could not help inclining her head towards him.

“I do not see what alternative I had,” she replied with a steely edge to her voice.

James laughed. It was a cruel and callous sound that made Frances’ blood chill within her. At one time she thought James’ throaty laugh was the most desirable sound she had ever heard. Now, though, it was hard, not the caressing sound she once loved. “My letter produced my desired result. You’re here with me.”

She shot him a look of disgust.

He shifted in the seat beside her and those few inches of separation were gone. “Oh, Franny, you changed so quickly towards me,” he said impassionedly, his tone shifting with his position. “Can you not remember how dearly you loved me?”

“I never loved you,” Frances hissed at him. She glared at him with something akin to hatred burning in her eyes.

He was taken aback by her outburst. “How can you say such a thing, after all that we were to each other?”

Frances knew she had to be pragmatic, but her temper was running high. It was clear that James believed they were deeply in love with each other. It was a mistaken belief. It was a one-sided love, and he needed to know that. “As I said, James, I never loved you. You pleased me for a time. That is all.” She looked at him haughtily and hoped he realised that she was far, far out of his reach.

Unmistakably, he was stung. He remained in silence for the next minute or two. Frances did not know whether that was a good thing or not. She prayed to God that he was weighing up the situation. How could he think she would consent to marry him? Unfortunately, he did hold one vital piece of information which he could use as leverage against her—his word that they had been lovers. Under scrutiny, it would be proven true. Frances’ reputation, even perhaps her father’s reputation, would be entirely ruined if word ever got out that she was tainted.

Everyone knew very well that dalliances happened every day and at every level of society. The one thing they all had in common was that they were kept behind closed doors and that the truth never came out. The one to be damaged by the revealing of such secret liaisons was the woman. The man involved always seemed to get off scot-free; the woman never did.

If word got out that it was Frances herself who initiated these affairs, she would be doubly damned, and her father along with her. Society would turn its collective back on them. Her father would have to give up his position within the government, and Frances would be assured that Edward Emberton would never set eyes on, let alone speak to, her again.

“I cannot believe, I will not believe, you were lying to me all this time,” James whimpered, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I did not lie, James. I never told you I loved you or that I would marry you,” she snapped. Frances threw caution to the wind. “You can threaten me all you like. You can ruin my reputation, but I could never bring myself to marry someone like you.”

Frances winced as she saw the fire ignite in James’ eyes. “You say that to me? How can you be so cruel, Franny?”

“I am not being cruel, James. I am merely stating a fact.” She stared emotionless ahead of her. She did not wish to speak anymore. All she wanted was for James to tell her what he was going to do.

“You break my heart, Franny.”

She did not reply, although she heard the sounds of snivelling and weeping. The more he cried, the more she began to despise him and question how she could ever have found him tempting in the first place.

“Please, Franny…” he whimpered and reached out to take hold of her arm.

She snatched it away. “Don’t touch me!”

She felt rather than saw him slump back in his seat. She knew he was deeply injured. But what was that to her? Surely he realised their love affair could never be any more than simply that. Frances did not know what he was thinking, but she hoped he was coming to his senses.

“I could…” he spoke so quietly that Frances was not sure that he spoke at all.

She waited to see if he would continue.

“I could tell your father, as I said I would.”

She wanted to turn round and slap his face, but she did not wish to give him the satisfaction of seeing he touched a raw nerve.

“In fact, I may go to him, this very night. Perhaps I will have the carriage turn around and go back to Mayfair this instant.”

Still Frances did not move.

“What would he say to you, Franny? Would he be angry with you? Would he be disappointed in you?” His voice changed to a snarl. “Or would he recognise you for the whore that you are?”

That produced a reaction. She turned on him and lifted her hand to strike him, but he was faster than she. He had anticipated her. He grabbed her by the wrist, squeezing so tightly that he bruised her delicate pale flesh. “James,” she gasped, “you are hurting me!”

“Now, you listen to me, and you listen well.”

Frances was frightened now. The tears welled up in her eyes and she nodded to him as she was listening.

“This will not simply go away. Do you hear me?”

Again, she nodded that she heard.

“I see what a manipulative hussy you are now. You used me for your own sport.” He spat, the vein in his temple standing out as he shook her in his distress. “You disgust me, but I will not simply disappear into the woodwork. You are mine, Frances Davenport.”

“Please! You’re hurting me, James!”

“I don’t care anymore. Why should I care if I hurt you or not? You did not care that you hurt me, did you?”

Frances began to fear that he would strike her.

James reached up and thumped on the top of the carriage with his free fist. “Back to Mayfair!” he commanded.

“What are you going to do?” The panic was evident in Frances’ words.