The Suitable Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 2) (5 page)

Chapter Eight

When Proctor, Edward’s valet, entered
the room the next day to open the curtains and to rouse him from sleep, Edward had a thumping thick head. He groaned.

“Good morning, sir. Would you like me to arrange for your usual breakfast?” Proctor chirped cheerfully.

Again Edward groaned.

“I’m sorry, sir. I did not catch that.”

“Proctor, could you speak a little quieter, please?” Edward winced at the sound of his own voice.

“Yes, of course, sir,” Proctor whispered. “But sir did not answer my question.”

Edward did his level best to prop himself up in the bed, open his eyes, and look at the man before him. “What did you say?” He grimaced as his own voice reverberated around his painful head.

“I asked if sir was ready for breakfast.” Proctor’s voice returned to its original level.

“I do not know if I could stomach anything to eat this morning, Proctor.” Edward slumped his head back against the headboard.

“I do believe it is the preferred choice of a gentleman who is feeling a little out of sorts to have something to eat and what is commonly referred to as a hair of the dog.”

Edward sat up again, his interest piqued. “Hair of the dog?”

“Hmm… Yes, indeed, sir.” He stared at Edward expectantly. “Shall I?”

Not entirely sure he understood what Proctor was talking about, Edward waved the man away. “Yes, yes, yes. Whatever you deem fit, Proctor.”

Slowly, Edward put his feet to the ground and tested to see if standing would be more painful than lying down. He discovered it was equally painful but decided it was worth it and shuffled over to the washstand, where he poured some water into the bowl and began to wash his face. Having towelled off, he looked up, bleary-eyed, at his reflection in the looking glass and was astonished at what he saw. “Dear God! I look an absolute wreck this morning.” Edward winced once more at the sound of his own voice echoing in his head. “I have to get dressed and get some fresh air.”

Taking his time and not making any sudden movements that would cause his pounding head to beat harder against his skull, Edward began to dress. The task was far more difficult than it usually was, but eventually he managed it. As he began to tie his cravat, his mind flitted back to the ball the previous night and, most importantly, to the entrancing and beautiful woman with whom he danced most of the night.

Miss Frances Davenport was an absolute delight. Not only was she an astounding beauty, with the most breathtakingly beautiful green eyes he had ever seen, but she was intelligent and an excellent conversationalist. It seemed she, he believed, was quite as taken with him as he was with her. She laughed at all of his jokes and was not averse to making a few witty quips herself.

When he did have the opportunity to speak with her father, once they sat down to eat, he found that Lord Davenport was an excellent man to know. As far as Edward was concerned, he could stop searching for a wife now. No one, in his opinion, could surpass Frances Davenport. He could not want anyone other than Frances Davenport. If his memory served him right, and it usually did—although this morning might be an exception—they had arranged to have dinner together this very night.

Edward smiled at the thought of Frances coming to dine. He knew she would have to bring a companion. He hoped it would be her father. If there were two people in the world that Edward wished to know better, it was Lord Davenport and his daughter Frances.

As he made his way out of his bedroom, down the hallway and the stairs, and towards the breakfast room, the voice of Edward’s mother, Edwina, entered his mind, warning him that he ought to ask her opinion before fixing an estimation of any lady. He brushed the thought aside. There would be plenty of time to speak to his mother on the subject. After all, he and Frances had only met the night before. It wasn’t as though they would be getting married in the next fortnight.

Good to his word, Proctor prepared a hearty breakfast: black pudding, scrambled eggs, mushrooms, toast, bacon, and, most importantly, what Proctor referred to as a hair of the dog.

“What exactly is it, Proctor?” Edward asked, holding the glass up and pulling a face at its contents.

“I am not allowed to give away any secrets, sir,” the valet replied, smothering a smirk.

“Secrets?” Edward looked up at him, his eyebrows raised.

“Indeed, sir.” The valet bowed and left Edward alone with his breakfast, hair of the dog, and the butler, Stainton.

“Is this concoction any good?” Edward asked the butler.

“I believe it is, sir,” came the reply. “I have heard of many occasions where it has been used most effectively.”

Edward squinted at the glass, took a deep breath, and drank down the contents as quickly as he could, trying not to taste whatever was in there. After having held his breath for a few seconds, his head thumped harder than before. He groaned and placed the glass back down onto the table.

“I believe now, sir, that it is generally accepted that one should drink coffee,” Stainton advised.

“Whatever you think best, Stainton. As you can see, I am in no fit state to make that decision by myself this morning.” Edward placed his elbows onto the table and rested his head in his hands, deeply regretting having imbibed so much champagne the night before. “Stainton, would you do me a favour?” he asked.

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“Next time you see me drinking so heavily, come and stop me,” Edward grumbled into his hands.

“Very well, sir, if you insist.” The butler poured Edward a cup of strong black coffee and pushed the cup towards him. “Drink up, sir. It will help, I assure you.”

* * * *

“I must say, Emberton,” Lord Davenport drawled, “you do keep a fine house and an even finer table.”

Edward raised his glass of red wine in thanks. “You are most gracious, Lord Davenport. I am most gratified that you seem to think so.”

“Indeed I do, as does my daughter. Don’t you, my dear?” Both gentlemen turned abruptly towards Frances, who was taken off guard by the question.

“Why, yes, yes, I do. Mr Emberton, you are most kind to us.” She smiled at him giving him what Edward believed was a look heavy with unspoken promise.

“Well, you see!” Lord Davenport turned back to Edward and nodded sideways towards his daughter. “If the lady says so, it must be true, eh, Emberton?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Lord Davenport almost choked upon his wine as he laughed at Edward. “Are you that kind of a man, Emberton? Always agreeing with everything I say?”

“That depends on what you say, sir.”

The older man laughed heartily and slapped his left hand on the table making the china, cutlery, and glasses jump. “Ah! The correct answer, as always!” Lord Davenport regained his composure and tucked back into his meal. “So never mind missy here. I want to talk to you about politics, young man.”

Edward threw a look across the table at Frances, who rolled her eyes. “What is it you wish to discuss, Lord Davenport?”

Lord Davenport stared at Edward as though weighing up his character. “What I would like to know, Emberton, is will you support Wilberforce and all his bills right to the bitter end?”

“Again, my Lord, that would depend upon what he proposes. I am wholeheartedly in favour of entirely abolishing the slave trade.” Edward held up his hands to stay any comment Lord Davenport may or may not have made. He did not know the man’s views on the subject. “I know full well that many of our class, and indeed most of the entire empire, is built upon the back of slavery—you do not have to tell me that. This is the nineteenth century, and I believe it is time that all men were free. The Empire is large enough to support this. We,” he glared across the table at his lordship, “are rich enough to support this. It is our Christian duty to do it.”

Edward was fully aware he spoke with his heart and not his head. He wanted more than anything to have Lord Davenport’s support, and he hoped to have his daughter’s hand in marriage, yet there were some things about which he would not compromise. Slavery was one of those things. He tentatively glanced in Frances’ direction and, to his great relief and pleasure, saw her smiling back at him.

“I like a man who knows his mind and isn’t afraid to speak it.” Lord Davenport nodded at him. “What about this new one?”

“The compulsory registration of all slaves?” Edward raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Hmm… That’s the one. What do you know about it?”

The question was loaded. Edward could not tell whether Lord Davenport knew anything about the proposed bill or not. Perhaps he was trying to see if Edward really knew his stuff. “I spoke recently with Wilberforce at Boodles. Do you know it?”

“The gentlemen’s club in Pall Mall?”

Edward nodded.

“I know it well.” Lord Davenport leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“We talked at some length about his proposed bill, and I am in full support of it. The bill would require that all slaves are registered, with their country of origin noted, and thereby help to stop any illegal transportation and importation in its tracks.”

“Does not Wilberforce himself say that he had always thought slaves incapable of liberty at present but hopes, by degrees, a change might take place as the natural result of the abolition?”

“He does indeed say that. I expect he will say something of the sort publicly one day, but that does not mean he does not wish for complete emancipation at some point. Good God, if you could actually hear the man speak face-to-face, you would be left in absolutely no doubt whatsoever of his belief in the freedom and liberty of all mankind.”

Lord Davenport smiled at him. “You’re quite an impassioned speaker yourself, Emberton.”

“When I believe fervently, yes, I suppose I am.” Edward nodded and fiddled with his knife.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of in that. In fact, I applaud it.”

Edward studied his guest curiously, with a hint of suspicion.

“Oh, yes, I do.” The old man took in a deep breath through his nose and puffed out his cheeks to let it out again. “There are far too many men in our profession who are in it for the status, for the money. They’ve become politicians not to make a difference in the world but to line their own pockets with sterling. No, my lad, I applaud you for having the strength of character to sit across the table from me—a man with far more influence than you have—and admit what you just did, that you admire Wilberforce, his beliefs, and agree with them yourself.” Lord Davenport continued to nod, eyeing Edward shrewdly. “I like you, Emberton. I think you’ll go far. No…” He looked down at his plate and thought for a moment while Edward held his breath. “No, I know you’ll go far,” he declared. “And I have decided, with me behind you to ensure that you do, you
will
go far.”

Edward was speechless. Lord Davenport held his gaze so steadily and earnestly that Edward felt a lump rise to throat. “I thank you, Lord Davenport,” he mumbled gratefully.

“There is no need to thank me just yet, young man. You don’t know what it is I will ask of you.”

* * * *

Frances barely had a moment alone with Edward the whole evening. There was no opportunity whatsoever to speak to him. Everything she wanted to say had to be conveyed through gestures and eye contact alone.

To begin with, she was unsure if she expressed all she wanted to. As the evening progressed, she grew more and more convinced of Edward’s increasing regard for her.

She observed with astonishment how her father took a shine to Edward. This pleased Frances no end, and she felt assured that within a few short weeks she could, firstly, secure a proposal of marriage from Edward and, secondly, be confident of her father’s acceptance of such a proposal. All she had to do was take her time and plan the romancing and seduction of Edward Emberton.

As she listened to him talk in such an impassioned manner on many subjects with her father during the evening’s visit, she learnt more and more about the man she hoped to one day call her husband.

Lord Davenport and his daughter took their leave, thanking Edward for a very pleasant evening.  As she was being handed into the carriage, Frances stopped and looked at her father over the footman's head. “Father, I'd like to return to London with you.  I have some shopping I'd like to do.”

Lord Davenport gave the order to the coachman before following Frances into the carriage and settling in for the ride to Mayfair.

That settles that
, thought Frances
. I shall send for my things in a few days and just stay in London. Suffolk is such a bore this year.
She relaxed into the cushions of the carriage, reflecting on the events of the evening and the future she hoped for.

Untying her bonnet in the entry hall, Frances spied, with more than a little irritation, a letter from James Kirby, her former beau. She blocked her father’s view of the hall table as she snatched up the letter, hid it inside her bonnet, and rushed upstairs to her room to read it in private.