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

Chapter Two

The following morning Edward arrived
for breakfast looking the worse for wear.

Richard looked up at his brother as he entered the room and chuckled. “You look a little ragged this morning, brother. Too much wine last night?”

Edward shook his head, kissed his mother on the cheek, and sat down opposite his brother. “On the contrary, I assure you.”

“Then what happened?” Richard pressed.

“Jemima Etherington-Smythe,” he replied curtly.

Richard took in a sharp intake of breath. “I see.” He shook his head and returned to his breakfast.

“Who would have thought that becoming a Member of Parliament would also draw out all the unmarried women from the woodwork?”

“Edward, now that your brother is married, all of society’s mamas will suddenly appear at every public gathering to which you are invited. You are now the eligible bachelor in the family,” Edwina informed her son sagely. 

Edward looked defeated as he bit into a slice of hot buttered toast. “I had at least thought to do better than Jemima Etherington-Smythe,” he sulked.

Richard drank from his cup of hot chocolate to hide his smirk.

“Who is Jemima Etherington-Smythe?” Grace asked from her position at the end of the table.

Edward looked at his sister-in-law kindly and smiled. Richard had married this lovely young lady just before Christmas, and now her dress revealed the unmistakable sign of the swelling belly of pregnancy. “Mrs Etherington-Smythe, my dear Grace, is a widow. She is merely twenty-nine years old. Unfortunately, having borne her late husband five children in their time together, she now, sadly, looks to be forty-nine.”

He looked back at his brother. “She is hardly suitable.”

“Yet she has proven her worth as a mother.” Again Richard smirked and barely contained his laughter.

Edward found none of this amusing. “Richard, let me make this perfectly plain. I am a bachelor. I do not wish to marry a widow. Yes, it may be true that we are of a similar age, she being only three years older than I am, but I have no desire to be a father to children who are not my own.”

“Edward!” Their mother slammed her knife down upon the table with a loud clatter. “That is uncalled for and unkind. I did not expect to hear such callousness from you.”

Edward looked contrite. “I apologise, Mother. I just hope to do better than Mrs Etherington-Smythe.”

“And indeed you shall,” Edwina replied picking up her knife again and continuing with her breakfast. “I have already compiled a list of suitable young ladies for your perusal.”       

“Mother…” Edward shot a look at Grace and saw her glance down at her lap in embarrassment. “Please do not arrange a marriage for me. This is the nineteenth century, and I am perfectly capable of choosing a young lady to take as my bride by myself.”

“Be that as it may, Edward, you do not know the information that I have in my possession. The mothers of these daughters confide titbits of information about their darling daughters that the girls themselves would hardly allow you to know.” She looked at her middle son archly.

“What do you mean, Mama?”

“Scandalous things. Things which you, I am certain, would prefer to be hidden from wagging tongues in society. Things that you would not wish to be known abroad about any future wife of yours.”

“Mama, are you saying some of the young ladies who wish to marry well have dark secrets?” He gazed with incredulity at his brother and sister-in-law.

“Indeed, I am. This is knowledge, Edward, that only a woman would know. If you feel so very strongly that you ought to be the one to make the choice, then go ahead.” Her light tone changed as she looked at him with eyes that pierced his heart like daggers. “But you listen carefully to me, my son. Before you seek an audience with the young lady’s father, before you even declare your intentions to the young lady herself, you will come to me. Do I make myself clear, Edward?”

The edge in her voice told Edward there was only one response to her question. “Yes, Mama.”

“Good.” Edwina pushed the chair back and rose. “I will bid you all a good day. I have things to attend to.” And with that, Edwina gracefully swished out of the room, leaving a stunned silence behind her.

“Well…” was all Richard could say as he shook his head.

“She seemed very angry,” Grace muttered.

Edward mustered all his strength to smile at her and said with bravado, “Don’t you worry yourself about Mother.  From time to time she gets herself in a lather like this.” 

“Edward, I do believe you ought to do as she asks.” Grace bit her bottom lip nervously.

He saw the action and understood it well. “Grace, you need not be anxious about speaking your mind with me. We are family, are we not?”  

“Yes, we are.” She smiled across at him. “I am convinced your mother is correct. If she has information that you do not know of, it is wise to learn what she knows and ask her opinion.”

“Yes, Grace, you are correct. The wife I am looking for will not only be able to elevate me in political circles through her familial contacts, but she will be a wonderful woman too, with a clean and pure reputation. If, Grace, there were such another woman as you,” Edward teased as he watched the blush spread across her face, “then I would marry her immediately. Marrying from the
ton
is no easy thing, and it comes with innumerable considerations. Society is not always the nicest of places.”

“You can say that again! All things considered, I am heartily glad that Mother brought my beautiful wife to me.” Richard beamed at his wife, his happiness evident. “Grace is correct. It would be wise to seek Mother’s advice. I would not wish to see you unhappily – or unfortunately – married, brother.”

“Nor would I,” Edward mumbled earnestly.

* * * *

“I have failed you, my child. I see that now.” Doctor Coleman lamented as he stood over his weeping daughter. “I was foolish and blind. I saw only the advantages that came to us through the benevolence of your godmother, Mrs Emberton. It never occurred to me that you would form an attachment to one of her sons.” He reached out tentatively and placed his hand upon her head. “The Emberton brothers are so much like family, and brothers to you, that it was entirely illogical to me that any romantic notions would even enter your mind.”

Martha Coleman, Edwina Emberton’s goddaughter, wept increasingly bitter tears at her father’s confession.

“I offer you my deepest and sincerest apologies, Martha. I think it would be best if we removed ourselves from Emberton Hall and the family. I can seek out employment elsewhere, if you should so wish.”

At his words Martha looked up at him sharply and in alarm. “No, Father! I beg of you, do not remove me from the Embertons. My godmother is so kind and generous to me, and we so enjoy dining with the family, do we not? I will be myself again, I promise. It is I who must apologise to you.” She looked into her father’s eyes and saw pain within. “I was foolish and childish to believe that Richard Emberton would ever think of me as a wife.” She was heartily ashamed of herself to even have thought her godmother meant her to marry one of her sons.

“If it causes you too much pain, my child, we will remove ourselves. I cannot bear to see you upset.” He sat down beside her on the settee in their small parlour, and took hold of her hand. “It is my responsibility as your father to protect you from such hurt and harm.”

Martha gently squeezed her father’s hand in response. “Father, you cannot always be there to protect me from hurt and harm. Some things, some hurts, happen to all women regardless of her class or station in life.”

Doctor Coleman sighed heavily. “I promised your mother, when she passed, that I would keep you out of harm’s way. I have failed in my duty.” He hung his head.

“You have not failed, Father. You cannot, and could never, have prevented an attachment on my part.”

“Richard is a good man. I should be grateful, I suppose, that you placed your affections in such exalted ground, that you did not choose a blackguard or libertine.”

Through the veil of her tears, Martha turned and smiled at him. “You brought me up far too well, Father, for me to even consider such a man.”

“Of that, at least, I can be thankful. But I would like to see you happy. I would like to see you recover from this disappointment.”

“I shall be well again, Father. I promise. Time is a great healer of wounds.”

“God has a husband for you, of that I am most certain. How could he create such a wonderful young lady as you and not also create the perfect husband?” he returned, heart nearly bursting with love for his child as he sniffed back his own tears.

Martha shook her head. If only she could believe there was a man out there for her. She had honestly and entirely hoped to be Richard Emberton’s wife. Now, whenever she thought of it, not only was she feeling a profound pain, but an intense shame also. Why would the heir of the Emberton estate and import business think to marry a lowly country doctor’s daughter?

“Well, then, it is settled,” Doctor Coleman said decisively. “You see, you will recover, and of that I am also confident. Now, what do you say to taking a stroll in the garden and getting a little fresh air? I have my rounds to make this evening, and I would like to spend some time with you.”

Instantly Martha’s heart lifted. The one steadfast and constant companion in her life wanted to be with her—how could that not make her happy? “I would love to, Papa. Permit me a moment to wash my face, collect my shawl and bonnet, and I will meet you back here post-haste.”

“Then get a move on, Martha dear, as we do not have much time to waste.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his watch. “We have a little over one hour before I must depart.”

Martha fled the room to fetch her bonnet and shawl. The action of her father looking at his pocket watch was one to set the world to rights. It was no longer a time to think about her hurt and disappointment. It was a time to get back to routine and daily life.

As she splashed cold water onto her face, she thought about what had just passed in the parlour. She could not have hoped for a better father. He had offered to put his own career second to her needs and desires. She would never have asked that of him, but she was deeply touched that he proposed it as an option. The last thing she ever wanted was to leave the home she grew up in, the home that contained so many memories of her deceased mother. No, the best thing for Martha would be to get on with her life, to continue being the devoted daughter and occasional assistant that she was.

Father and daughter walked arm in arm and in silence around their small garden. They both took pleasure in planting and nurturing it, and now as spring arrived, they delighted in its burgeoning.

When they returned to the house, Doctor Coleman bade Martha a good evening, kissed her on the head, and his departing words, as he collected his medical bag and placed his hat on top of his head with a twinkle in his eye were, “There’s always Edward, you know.”

“Papa,” she sighed, “you and I both know it would be unsound for me to consider any of the Emberton brothers.” Despite the logic of her words, Martha felt a little flutter in her heart of hope.

Chapter Three

Edward was more than aware
that he needed to find a permanent abode, and find it quickly. As his brother had so rightly pointed out, it would not do for a Member of Parliament to still be living at home with his mother.

With the aid of Miles Henderson, the Emberton estate steward, Edward arranged to view four prospective homes, two of which were in London, one in the middle of the county of Essex, and the fourth was on the London Road, just south of the village of Chipping Ongar past Marden Ash. Having decided that the two in London were too far away from his constituency, despite being perfectly situated for Westminster, and dismissing the rotting, derelict carcass in the middle of the county, Edward set out to view the last—Sandon Place.

He had travelled the Romford Road many times before and was satisfied that, as it turned into the London Road a little further south, it would be the perfect situation for his home. He calculated the time it would take to visit his mother and the time it would take to ride into London when necessary. Sandon Place could not have been better situated between the two.

When he arrived, it was clear that the house itself was not quite as perfectly situated. The house was a typical limestone Georgian edifice in need of a great deal of kind attention and repair work. Nevertheless, Edward was encouraged. The yearly rent was considerably lower than that of any other house he had seen, and the surrounding countryside was some of the most beautiful the inland part of the county offered. Within the grounds themselves, he was told, there was grouse aplenty and, since the house stood empty, the wildfowl had a chance to repopulate. This pleased Edward no end. He knew full well that his politician friends loved a good hunt. There was no better way to entertain them than to have them stay at his house, filled with good food and drink, and invite them to shoot the birds on his property.  

As he walked around the ground floor of Sandon Place, Edward imagined residing there. He imagined furniture, which he had yet to purchase. He imagined the guests he would invite. He imagined his family seated around a large dining table. But most of all, he imagined his wife and children in that house.
How fanciful you have become, Edward,
he chided himself as he kicked at a loose tile in the entrance hall floor.

Edward realised it was becoming something of an obsession with him, finding a wife. Although he had not taken any steps thus far to seek out a future mate, he had spent far too long dwelling upon it and mulling it over in his mind. He had to actually do something about it.

He walked into what would be the drawing room and gazed up at the walls covered in flaking paintwork. His eyes travelled to the ceiling where the plaster mouldings were detaching themselves and then back down again to the wooden floor, which looked as though it had not been polished since the house was built. He wandered over to the fireplace but dared not light a fire. He was convinced that if he did so, the whole room would fill with smoke. He knew that if the interior of the house was so poorly cared for, that the chimneys most certainly would not have been swept. He did not wish to risk setting fire to the place his heart had decided would be home.

He turned around and looked directly at Mr Henderson. “What do you think, Henderson? Do you like it?”

“It is not my place to tell you whether I like it or not, sir. The rent is cheap, but it does need an awful lot of work. The choice is entirely yours,” the man said noncommittally.

“My brother, I’m certain, will send men to help with getting this place shipshape and Bristol fashion in no time at all. I can hire all the help I need. I will need servants—downstairs, upstairs, groundsmen, and the like.” He clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. “I think I’ll take it, Henderson. I think with a little elbow grease, this place will do me just fine.”

Miles Henderson bowed. “I will inform the attorney directly, sir. Perhaps we can meet with him now and close on the deal immediately.”

Grinning from ear to ear with excitement, Edward replied, “Excellent notion!”

Thus it was that, within the space of a few short days, Edward was in full possession of his own home. It was a good step forward. He was determined that the only steps he would take from now on would be forward. There were good mutterings and murmurings about him around Parliament, and he was single-minded in his resolve to be a man of action. He determined to put advertisements in the local papers for the requisite servants, and he knew straightaway who to call upon in London to arrange furnishings. Perhaps they too would know of workmen that could begin immediately on repairing the paintwork, plasterwork, and floorings within the house.

Now all he needed to do was to find that suitable bride. And whether he liked it or not, his mother was the best person to consult in that regard. Once the house was presentable and ready for guests, with luck in a little over a month or two, Edward was determined to host the ball of the year. June would be a perfect month for a ball in the country. He would invite everyone of his acquaintance. He would ask his mother to invite everyone of her acquaintance also, knowing that amongst them she would be certain to include a great number of unmarried ladies.

The very prospect filled him with excitement. He had to take care that his eagerness to wed did not overtake him and rule his head. Edward had to be sure he thought very carefully before making any proposal of any kind to any lady.  And to consult Mama!

The journey back to Emberton Hall from the attorney’s office was quicker than he anticipated, and soon Edward was back within the warmth of the drawing room, elatedly conveying every last bit of information about Sandon Place he could.

“It sounds like a terrible amount of work, Edward!” Grace exclaimed. 

“Indeed, it does, and yet that was reflected in the price, my dear sister-in-law. The positive side to that is I can have the house decorated to my taste and not to that of any previous owner or tenant. But in no time, we will have the place transformed, and I promise you we will hold a ball!” Edward cried out, his excitement contagious.

“Then we had best get to work, brother,” Richard laughed, catching his brother’s enthusiasm. “I shall see to it that some workers are sent to the house tomorrow to begin the renovation.”

“Thank you. I knew I could count on you for help.”

“Well, then,” Edwina declared from the opposite settee, “I believe Grace and I also have a great task at hand. For, Edward, a ball will not organise itself, will it?”

“No, it will not, Mother, and I thank you for your help. I estimate the house should be ready enough to receive guests sometime in June.” He stood tall and proud and looked at them all, one by one. “I thank you all for your help in this undertaking. I am excited about this new phase in my life, and I’m so glad to share with you all.”

Richard burst out into raucous laughter. “Said like a true politician!”

Edward pulled a face at his brother, chuckling at the accuracy of the statement.

* * * *

Frances eventually grew tired of James Kirby. She ended the affair in her usual fashion, and it was over as far as she was concerned. She promised the man a substantial sum of money from her own private income, dependent upon two non-negotiable factors: how long they had been seeing each other and his ability to keep his mouth firmly shut. James had been entertaining enough for eight long months. Now, with his unreasonable demands and expectations, he was becoming staid and rather boring.

Winter was over, spring had arrived, and Frances knew she would be expected to go into the country. Her father would spend the remainder of the year between London and their home in Suffolk. The thought of the house brought a smile to Frances’ face. They had a sprawling estate just south of Stowmarket, a little place that brought her great pleasure. It was always good to get out of the stinking London air. 

Lord Davenport was away from the house more frequently now that the winter scene was over. There was plenty of government business for him to do, what with the war against France. As much as she loved their home in the country, Frances always missed her father when she left him in the spring.

As she prepared to leave the house in Mayfair, Frances decided to spend the summer free of men. She smiled wryly to herself,
if that is at all possible.
She could not help but laugh at the thought. She never had been the kind of person to resist a pair of commanding or sparkling eyes, a rugged face, or an athletic body. She knew very well indeed what kind of woman that made her, and she was only too glad that the good fortune of her birth meant she could hide her true nature within the
ton.
Anyway,
she thought,
it is far more common than people care to think. I need not chastise myself for my natural urges.
She lifted her nose in the air and strode in the direction of the drawing room.

She could tell by the aroma of cigars in the air that her father was home. She paused before she entered the drawing room, smoothed her dress down past her tiny waist and to her lithe legs, set her shoulders back, knowing that her dark raven hair was perfectly arranged, opened the door, and stepped in.

Her father was not alone. He rarely was these days. His companion that evening was a fat bore of a man who had been her father’s companion since before her birth.

“Mr Jarvis, I had not thought to see you this evening,” Frances smiled as she curtsied to him.

The man turned awkwardly in his seat toward her and chuckled, “Does that necessarily signify that I am unwelcome, my dear?”

Frances swallowed down her revulsion of him. “Not at all, Mr Jarvis, I assure you.” She inclined her head and moved towards her father. She placed a kiss on the top of his bald head and greeted him.

“I am glad you are here, my dear,” he said.

Frances looked at his face and could see how tired he was. “Father, are you quite well? You look ever so tired.”

“Ah, my dear girl,” he took hold of her hands in his wrinkled and ink-stained hands and squeezed them tight. “Do not fret on my behalf. I merely need a good night’s sleep. That is all.”

Frances frowned at him, her eyes conveying she did not believe a single word he said. “Very well, but I insist that you go to bed early tonight.”

Mr Jarvis laughed again. “Go to bed early? What are you? His nursemaid?” He continued to laugh at his own joke as he puffed on the fat cigar in his hand, his belly and jowls jiggling in unison.

It took all of Frances’ strength not to lash out at him. She disliked the man intensely. He always leered at her in a way that turned her stomach and made her skin crawl. “No, Mr Jarvis, I am not his nursemaid. I am his concerned daughter.” She turned her back on him, hoping to put the conversation at an end and poured herself a glass of sherry before sitting as far away from the man as possible.

To her utter astonishment, he began to speak about her as though she were not present in the room.

“What that young girl needs, Ronnie, my old chum, is a husband. And not just any husband at that. She needs a man to take her in hand. She is far too forceful for a lady. Anyone less than a strong-minded man and he’ll be cuckolded, I tell you,” jabbing his finger at Lord Davenport.

“Oh fie, Albert!” Lord Davenport dismissed him.

“No, I mean it! She is far too dominating for a lady of breeding. You mark my words, if she does not change her ways and get married, she will be left a spinster for life.” He nodded, accentuating his double chin.

Frances wondered if he truly knew what her
ways
were. The vile man had spies all around town, and it was likely that if any of her paramours spoke out, word would most certainly reach his ears. She glanced up at him trying to weigh how much he knew of her, when he turned his attention to her, turning her blood cold.

“Hmm… If I was a younger man I’d have a mind to marry her myself.” He cast a lascivious eye over the length of her body before returning to dwell, for far too long, over the mounds of her breasts.

Frances resisted the urge to throw her drink in his lecherous face. She watched in disgust as he ran his tongue hungrily over his lips.

“Indeed, I give you my word, if she is not married by this time next year, I’ll take her off your hands,” he promised his old friend as he waggled his eyebrows at Frances suggestively.

“Oh, come now, Albert. You would not wish to marry again, would you?” his lordship chuckled.

“For a tasty bit of skirt like Frances? Oh, yes, I would.” He puffed on his cigar and Frances swallowed hard, hoping her father would come to her rescue.

“Well, you are a rich man, to be sure. You could give the girl all she would ever want.”

Frances could hardly believe her ears. She stared in disbelief as her father looked her up and down weighing up the proposition set before him.

“Aye, and more besides!” The two older men cackled with laughter, and Frances was dismayed to hear the familiar sound of her father’s wheezing laugh.

In that moment, it seemed, her entire life flashed before—a future married to Albert Jarvis, the vile gluttonous toad, or…
What is the other option?
she asked herself.
What is my alternative? Unless I marry, it seems my father will agree to my marrying this – this beast.
Frances could take no more. Her stomach churned, and she thought she would vomit. Without taking leave, she fled the room.