The Spice Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 1) Page 11

  “What would you suggest, Edward?” Richard asked. “You know more about these things than either of us do. I do not want the possibility of slavery being abolished to have a negative impact on my business, and I will need your help and advice in that, as and when the time comes. Nevertheless, right now we are faced with a slave coming to live in our house. Grace is unhappy about it, and I am equally discomfited about anything that makes her unhappy.” Richard breathed in heavily through his nose and stared at his brother for a solution.

  “There are two roads open to us,” Edward spoke slowly, in the practised way of a politician, and looked between the both of them. “We can apply to a lawyer and obtain from a court of law the necessary documents to make this young girl a free person in her own right.”

  Grace gasped and clapped her hands in delight. “That’s it! That’s what we shall do! Excellent notion!”

  Edward held up his hands to still her. “Not so fast. It may possibly be that the very thought of being free will terrify her.”

  “Terrify her?” Richard asked.

  “Yes,” Edward nodded. “It is a documented fact that some slaves, upon receiving their freedom, have absolutely no idea what to do with it and are terrified of the future. Most of them are born into slavery, the children of slaves who, in turn, themselves were the children of slaves. It is a complicated and emotional issue. If we decide to present the option of freedom to the young woman, we must also give her a suggestion of what she may do with that freedom.”

  “Like what, precisely?” Grace wondered.

  “Perhaps she is a good seamstress. Possibly she can go into business?” Richard suggested.

  “All good and valid questions,” Edward said with a gentle smile. “Sadly, most slaves only know how to do one thing: obey blindly.”

  All three of them sighed heavily. “Then what are we to do?” Grace thought aloud.

  “It may be that your father’s notion of training her to be your lady’s maid is actually the best and kindest thing for her, whether you like it or not, Miss Hayward.”

  “What do you mean?” Richard asked.

  “It is all good and well for us to imagine that she may have a glorious and successful future as a businesswoman, as an independent, and free, businesswoman, but we have not thought of one other vital fact. She is Indian. She will always be Indian. She will never be able to change the colour of her skin. England is an extraordinarily cosmopolitan country. People live and work here from all over the world, within the Empire and outside of it. We are used to seeing folks from diverse nations in all parts of society. It is a different matter for a person of dark skin to be free and independent in England. The most successful blacks in this country are those who have remained in service of some sort or another. They are all protected by the household which they serve. We may have the moral and Christian obligation to make these people free men and women, but society is not yet ready to accept them working and living on equal footing with us.”

  Grace looked crestfallen.

  “I had not thought about that,” Richard muttered. “And yet I can see perfectly what you mean, brother. I am concerned that the abolition of slavery will have a detrimental effect upon my business, my fortune, and my future. I have not once, to my shame, not even for a moment, considered the impact that it would have upon the slaves.”

  “I do not want her to be ill-treated,” Grace told them with strength and determination, “but I do want her to be free. We will train her to be my lady’s maid, yes. Edward, if you would be so kind as to make the arrangements, I would most certainly wish to enable her to be a free human being. That is the gift I would like to give her.” A tear made its way down her cheek as she spoke so passionately. “I know now, from what you have said, that the kindest thing I can do, the best service I can give her, is to keep her safe with me. I will employ her.” She gasped and turned to Richard, “Oh, I do beg your pardon.”

  “What on earth for?” Richard looked confused.

  “I spoke out of turn about employing someone in a home that is not mine.” Grace blushed at taking such liberties.

  Richard smiled encouragingly at her. “Continue with what you were saying. WE will employ her…”

  Grace breathed a sigh of relief and smiled back at him warmly. “Yes, we will employ her. She will earn money as a free woman in this house, if my husband agrees.” She kept her eyes locked with Richard’s.

  Richard nodded and simply replied, “Agreed.”

  * * * *

  The three of them left the library together, and Richard kept his eyes firmly upon Grace as Edward chatted away about affairs of state. He was pleased they were finally making headway and becoming friends. It was a good place to start. He wondered what she would do with the remainder of her last day before they wed.

  After their discussion in the library, Grace seemed light-hearted and carefree, a vast difference from when she had entered it. As they passed the hall table, Richard watched as Grace’s eyes scanned the silver salver, strewn with letters, and saw a look of recognition pass across her face. Clearly, she received something.

  Sheepishly, she looked up, smiled at him, then deftly reached out and snatched up the letter addressed to her.

  “We shall leave you to read your letter in peace, Grace.” Richard bowed courteously and steered his brother in the direction of the drawing room. He closed the door behind them, and they made their way to the fireplace. It was the first chilly morning of autumn, and a fire was already lit. They warmed themselves in front of it and began to discuss the hows and wherefores of the plan to make Mina a free woman and to employ her.

  “I will have to make enquiries, of course. I’ve never done anything like this before, but I do know the right people to ask. I’m sure it will be fairly straightforward,” Edward reassured his brother.

  Richard was about to ask a question when Grace burst in through the door in a state of agitation yet again.

  “There is something amiss with Eliza!” She held out the letter towards Richard as though that was all the explanation he needed.

  He took the piece of paper in his hand and gazed down at it. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “She says she cannot come to the wedding—”

  “You did not honestly expect her to travel all the way from Manchester to Essex by tomorrow, did you?” Richard frowned at her and caught the look of amusement on his brother’s face.

  Grace shook her head sharply and answered vehemently, “No, no, not at all. That would be an unreasonable expectation. But look at how she writes.” She pointed at the letter in his hand.

  Richard wondered if Grace was the sort of woman to always be so excitable about things and whether his calm and orderly life would be forever turned upside down by her passions. “Very well. I will read it.

  “My dearest friend Grace, I hope this letter finds you well… etc. etc. etc.…”

  He looked up at her after reading a little more and asked, “What is it precisely that I am expected to see in this missive?”

  Grace huffed in frustration. “Can you not tell? She did not write it!”

  Again, Richard frowned in confusion at her and hoped that expression would not become a commonplace one on his features. “I believe that is a lady’s handwriting, is it not?”

  “Yes!” Grace exclaimed, her frustration mounting. “It is written in her hand, that is true. But don’t you see? The voice is not hers!”

  This time Richard forced himself not to frown. “What do you mean, the voice is not hers?”

  “Those are not Eliza’s words. She may have written a letter, but she did not write anything that was her own.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked angrily between the two of them, wondering how they could be so thick.

  It was all Richard could do to keep from laughing. Her pose, he found amusing. The very notion that someone wrote a letter in a voice that was not their own, to him, was absurd.

  “How do you know the voice is not hers?�
� Edward asked calmly, although his eyes still twinkled at the diversion.

  “Well, Eliza was marrying a man who was more than twice her age.” She looked from Edward to Richard and back again. “She was far from happy at her situation.”

  “This is something of a tendency among young ladies, I believe.”

  Richard could barely keep a straight face at his brother’s comment.

  Again Grace huffed in frustration. “Her last letter to me contained heartbreak and misery. That was yesterday. Please explain to me, if you will, how, in one single day, a young lady can go from feeling abject terror and wretchedness to expressing sheer delight and happiness in her situation! You forget that I lived with Eliza for three years at Longwood. I think I may be relied upon to know if my friend has written this letter or not.”

  Richard released his breath in one long whistle and looked at his brother with raised eyebrows. “What to do?”

  “Yes, Grace,” Edward leant forward in his chair. “What precisely do you expect us to do?”

  She looked down at her feet contemplating the question. “I do not know.”

  “Neither do I.” Richard wanted to reach out and comfort her by placing his hand upon her shoulder but decided against it. In his mind, Grace was being extremely silly, and he did not wish to condone her behaviour by giving her the attention she clearly craved. “I suggest you return to your room and write her another letter.” He returned Eliza’s letter. “Write her a letter as though this one never arrived. If, when she replies, the tone is the same, you will know that Eliza is truly happy. If the tone is melancholic, then you know this one is false and, at some point in the future, you may wish to ask her about it. Although, Grace, I cannot imagine why Eliza wrote words that were not her own.”

  “Unless she was forced to write the letter!”

  Richard and Edward watched with astonishment as Grace spun on her heel and fled the room, fury stamped upon her features. Long after Grace’s angry footsteps could no longer be heard, Richard continued to stare at the door with incredulity. “Are women always like this?”

  “You mean emotional and sometimes irrational?”

  Richard nodded. “Precisely!”

  “Dear God, I hope not! I have to marry one too, you know!” After exchanging looks of mock terror, the brothers burst out laughing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Grace ran to her room, threw herself upon the bed, and wept. They did not understand, and it was evident from their expressions that they found her concerns amusing. She turned over and sat up on the bed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. If Eliza had indeed been forced to write that letter, then Grace would find out. She we get to the bottom of it, and then she would show those two! They were wrong and she was right. She knew it.

  She slipped off the bed, rushed to the writing table by the window, and sat down to begin another letter to her friend in Manchester.

  The exercise was far more difficult than she had imagined, and, after several false starts, Grace managed to put something down on the page. She expressed her sadness at not having her friend by her side on her wedding day, although she made it especially clear that she understood that such a long journey could not be undertaken, especially when Eliza herself was so newly married.

  It took all of her imagination to write happily and positively. She managed, to her own surprise, to complete the letter and not mention anything about the one she received that very day. She wanted to know why Eliza’s feelings had changed so dramatically. She wanted to know why the voice was so different. She wanted to know if Eliza was forced to write the letter. What she wrote, nevertheless, was a happy, kind, and affectionate letter speaking of the delights of Essex and hoping that they could get together once the winter passed.

  She smiled triumphantly as she folded the letter, sealed it, and addressed it. She put away the pen, sealed the ink, and stored the paper. Then, calmly, she took the letter downstairs and placed it upon the silver salver with a little prayer for her friend.

  Grace decided to retreat to the library and read. She had not managed more than three or four paces when she heard Edwina’s voice call out her name. She spun around to face her future mother-in-law and smiled, “Yes, Mrs Emberton. I am here.”

  “Wonderful. I have found you at last.” Edwina slipped her arm through Grace’s and led her towards her own ground-floor salon between the breakfast room and the drawing room. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “You have?”

  Edwina nodded and smiled with satisfaction. “I have indeed.”

  “Whatever can it be?” Grace wondered aloud.

  “You will just have to come with me and see.” Edwina led her into the room and closed the door. “Now, I wish you to take a look at the contents of that box upon the table.” She nodded at a large flat box which immediately caught Grace’s attention.

  With excitement, Grace rushed across the room and paused to take a deep breath before lifting the lid. What she saw inside the box was entirely covered in paper, which she carefully unwrapped, revealing the beautiful silk brocade Edwina had given her as a wedding gift. “Is it the dress? Is it finished already?” Grace looked at Edwina with astonishment. “So soon?”

  “Many hands make light work, as the saying goes,” the older woman replied with satisfaction.

  Grace nervously reached out and picked up the dress by the shoulders, lifting it out of the box, holding it away from the table, and allowing it to fall to its full-length. “It is exquisite!” she sighed.

  “As I told you before, only the best for my daughter-in-law.” Edwina drew near and reached out to stroke the material. “Now, all that remains is for you to try it on to reassure us both that it fits correctly.”

  Grace gasped. “Is there likely to be any doubt?”

  “No, I most certainly hope not. My seamstress’s work is always exemplary. Be a dear and satisfy my curiosity. If there are any alterations required, they must be made immediately.” Edwina pointed to a door in the left-hand corner of the room. “You may go and change in that room there. No one will disturb you.”

  Obediently Grace did as she was told and entered the room via the little door in the corner. Her curiosity was piqued upon entering the small room. It contained a chair, a small table with candle, a chaise lounge with a blanket draped across its back, and, behind a screen, a commode. She was astonished to find a secreted toilette room and thought it would be such a delight to be able to attend to such matters in private.

  She closed the door behind her, carefully placed the wedding dress upon the chaise, and began to undress. She looked at the dress she was to be married in, and her stomach fluttered with nerves. This time tomorrow, she would be Mrs Richard Charles Emberton. She felt sick, and her palms grew moist with perspiration. She had never felt so nervous in her entire life.

  She took a few steadying breaths, reached out, and took hold of the dress. Carefully she stepped into it. She could not fasten the back, but she adjusted it as well as she could, and stepped out into Edwina’s salon.

  “Oh, my dear girl!” Edwina inhaled sharply with surprise and delight as she rushed forward to fasten the dress properly. “You look simply beautiful!”

  Grace looked down at the lovely gown, feeling like a princess. Despite the fact that in the morning she would marry a man she barely knew and was only now becoming friends with, she would at least be beautiful when she did so.

  Sadness crept into her heart. Would being beautiful on her wedding day be compensation enough for marrying a man for whom she felt no love at all?

  * * * *

  The rest of the day passed slowly for Richard. He spent a little time with Edward and played billiards with Mr Hayward. He yearned for something useful to do, but there was nothing. His mother, on the other hand, was as busy as a bee, scurrying here and there, issuing orders, directing tradesmen, and making arrangements for the following day’s festivities.

  It was all beginning to resemble a dream and did not fee
l at all real. Richard had the impression that he and Grace met but the day before, yet he could feel love for her growing within him. She was lovely to look upon, and he had greatly enjoyed the picnic where they had seemed to talk for hours. He was disturbed by the level of emotional discord that was appearing to accompany her.

  The first time he endeavoured to have an in-depth conversation with her, his frankness made her burst out crying. He then had to seek out his mother and rapidly learn how to undo the mess he got into. Afterwards, without his realisation, he had grown jealous of his very own brother when there was no real cause for such an emotion. Involuntarily, he lifted his hand to touch his left eye, thankfully now displaying very little evidence of bruising.

  As he wandered around the library, he thought about the recent conversation he, Grace, and Edward had there. He remembered the look upon her face and her agitation. It was most evident to him that slavery repulsed her. He remembered she had referred to herself as nothing but a slave with regard to their marriage. Richard made a mental note to discover the root of that particular impression. He wondered what she had seen and experienced in India before coming to England. He most certainly had heard stories about the treatment of slaves. Tales abounded of their mistreatment, beatings, and even brutal murder. Had Grace experienced such things?

  He leant back against his desk, crossed his legs in front of him, and folded his arms across his chest. She certainly is a deep and complicated young woman, but are we not products of our environment and nurture? Does she not react the way she does mainly because of the things she has seen and experienced?

  He thought about her melodramatic overreaction to the letter she received from her friend. Perhaps Grace Hayward was too easily led by emotion.