“This is outrageous!” Charity’s anger was so loud and sudden that even the maids took a step back. “Send a complaint to the modiste at once. A replacement gown must be made.”
“Mama, there isn’t time.” Emily cleared her throat, trying to soften the erratic beating of her heat in her chest. “There is only three days until the ball now.”
“Then she will have to work quickly to see the task done. We paid for this dress, and I will not have it delivered to you like this.”
“I do not understand.” Julia kept shaking her head as she turned to Emily, gesturing at the torn-up pieces. “The modiste would surely not do this, not to her own work. Who would do this, Emily?”
She could not answer. Her hands were beginning to tremble, and she tried to hide that shaking movement behind the shredded material. She had a feeling she knew exactly who had done it. Whoever was behind those awful letters had found another way to scare her. A ripped reticule was clearly not enough, and they had proceeded to tearing up gowns.
“I do not feel that is the right question,” Grace’s voice was shaky as she moved to Emily’s other side, her head shaking back and forth in wonder. “I want to know,whywould someone do this?”
Chapter Sixteen
“God’s wounds.” Aaron breathed a sigh of wonder as he stepped into the ballroom.
There was not an inch of the hall that was not decorated. Warm summer blooms had been brought into the house, trailing along the white stone archways and pillars that bordered either side of the room, with dark purple wisteria petals and long green leaves, interspersed with white roses. Every now and then amongst the greenery candles were discretely placed, complimenting the candle chandeliers that hung down from the ceiling.
“Mother, I think you have outdone yourself,” he called ahead into the ballroom.
The room was abuzz with activity. As footmen bustled around Joyce, asking where to place all the crystalware, she turned her head, looking for Aaron.
“You like it?” she asked, extricating herself from the staff and hurrying to his side. “It has taken so much planning and organizing. I understand why your father is so loathed to hold events such as these. So much effort goes into them.”
“Why are we holding this ball exactly?” Aaron asked as he looked around the ballroom. The tables were lined with white and embroidered cloths, where the staff were currently placing out the crystal and silver ware.
“For you.”
“For me?” Aaron jerked his head back toward his mother, cricking his neck from the suddenness of the movement.
“For you and Hugh.”
“Ah, I see.” Aaron placed his hands in his pockets, feeling he knew what was about to happen. “Father is to toast Hugh’s and Jane’s betrothal tonight, is he not?”
“Yes.” Joyce looked discomforted as she spoke, fidgeting with her hands.
“Mother, you do not need to tiptoe around me.” Aaron rested a hand on his mother’s shoulder, trying to bring her comfort. “I am quite at ease with the idea, and I will lift my hand to toast them with the rest of the guests tonight.”
“I am pleased,” Joyce said with a sigh. “Your father wishes to make a second toast tonight. To you and your future.”
“My future.” Aaron could not stop the smile that overtook his features. “On that note, there is something I wish to ask you. I need your advice.”
“Ask away.” Joyce encouraged with a wave of her hand. “But may we speak and walk, dear? The maids are in need of my attention with the flower arrangement.”
“You have more flowers coming?” Aaron asked in wonder, following her around the room. “It’s a wonder there is anything left in the garden and the hot house from how much is in here.” As he spoke, some maids hurried in, carrying tall vases of flowers with them. Some were bursting with more white roses, but there was one particular vase blooming with red roses. Aaron found himself lifting one of the blooms out of the vase and lifting it to his nose, inhaling the scent.
They will always remind me of Emily now.
“Aaron? You seem somewhat distracted,” Joyce’s teasing words made him look up from the rose and lower it in his grasp. “Did your thoughts wander elsewhere? Perhaps to a certain lady?” Joyce took one of the vases from the maid’s hands and placed it in the middle of one of the tables, behind a circle of tall crystal glasses.
“They did,” Aaron confessed, stepping up to the other side of the table and catching his mother’s gaze. He was ready to ask his mother’s advice. “I was thinking of asking Lady Emily to marry me.”
Joyce knocked over the vase of flowers. There was a bustle of the maids who ran forward to catch the vase, narrowly stopping it from knocking over the crystal glasses around it.
“You are?” Joyce asked.
Even as he said the words, Aaron felt a new smile take up place on his face. He could picture the wedding day, standing at the altar as Emily walked toward him, carrying a bouquet with a few red roses hidden within. He could envisage the way she would smile up at him and the jests she would whisper in his ear as their congregation sang their hymns. At the end of the service, he would take a kiss, sealing their marriage.
It was the perfect wedding, something he had thought for so long was out of his reach, but it was there at last. How he wanted to make it a reality.
