Chapter 3
From the time Emma arrived back at the mansion after tea, she hadn't taken a moment's thought on anything. She was busy with all the preparations for the wedding. It was not just a ceremony; it was a far cry from being merely a ceremony. Mid-morning there was a wedding brunch for the families of the bride and groom and their close friends. The wedding ceremony would take place in the early afternoon, then there would be a garden tea to which all the highest of society were invited after the ceremony. Then the farewell for the bride and groom, after which there would still be more to come of the celebration. There would be a bonfire and after that a ball. Being the Governor, and as such the top of the social rope of the colony, Emma's uncle was expected to put on the most elaborate and exquisite of weddings, which had turned out to be no small task.
Emma's sole duty was that of keeping her cousin sane. This proved to be a highly difficult task; Julieanne insisted on trying to monitor every preparation, every plan, every order, every reply to invitations, and all the food preparations.
The first real break Emma had had from pre-nuptial details and Julieanne's nervousness in weeks was the last hour she'd spent with her grandmother. But Julieanne's nervousness was all she escaped now, for when Emma walked back onto the grounds of the mansion, she was immediately assaulted with questions about the last minute preparations.
So it was that Emma was provided with a legitimate reason for excusing herself from the usual after dinner gathering in the drawing room for cards and other high class activities. The whole family knew that Jonathan Livingstone had asked the governor for a private word before dinner, and they all knew it to be for the sole purpose of gaining her uncle's permission to ask for Emma's hand in marriage.
Luckily Mrs. Margret Andrews was the only one who knew the real purpose for Emma's retiring early. Smart girl, off you go before he gets a moment alone with you to ask the question you don't wish to answer. She smiled at her granddaughter as she made her apologies and exited the room, and indeed, Livingstone looked disappointed at her exit.
Once Emma had closed the door of the drawing room, she heaved a sigh of relief.
"Are you feeling quite alright, Miss Andrews?" the butler standing right next to the door asked. Mr. Jenkins was an old, slightly bent man. He'd served the Andrews family for over thirty years.
"I am quite well now," Emma smiled. Jenkins laughed. "What?" she asked.
"I know you only wish to postpone Master Livingstone's proposal. I've watched you and your mother grow up, so I know what you're up to," Jenkins smiled knowingly. "You know, you are just like her in every way. Let me walk you to your room. I've had your maid draw a bath for you. It should be ready about now. Even if you didn't retire because you have been under pressure this last week, this will be just the thing to relax you for tomorrow."
They began to walk up the stairs. "There is something else you may wish to know, Miss Andrews."
"What is that?" Emma asked puzzled.
"Governor Andrews was called upon by a certain young man this morning, not for business, mind you, but I do believe that Henry Thomas was here about something rather different. He arrived very nervous, and left much less so. Now, if you'll excuse me Miss Andrews, I must attend to my duties," Mr. Jenkins smiled and bowed.
"Well, thank you, sir." Emma walked into her room, a little overwhelmed at the news of Henry Thomas speaking to her uncle as well. She doubted his wanting to ask for her hand to be the occasion for his calling, but she suspected that he had come to ask for permission to court her. She walked into the antechamber of her room, where indeed there was a warm bath waiting. Emma tossed some jasmine from the dressing table onto the surface of the water. She then removed her dress with difficulty, for it was hard to remove the blasted corset without help, and then was able to slip her petticoats and other undergarments off easily. Emma then hopped into the tub.
The water was quite warm and soothing, relaxing her muscles. The jasmine calmed her nerves, and Emma completely emptied her mind. She simply let the water envelop and overcome her. As the water became cool, Emma deserted the tub, pulled on a silk nightgown and retreated to the window in her room.
The sun was hanging low in the sky and the silver clouds burned at the edges with radiant colors from the quailing sun. Emma sat at the window seat and pulled out a manuscript, quill and ink bottle out from the secret place behind the loose moldings next to the glass of the window. Emma had quite an imagination, and loved to write. She would often tell stories to her family after dinner.
Emma had just began to scribble the next part of her writings over the parchment when her maid entered, bearing a tray with some tea. She said that Jonathan Livingstone sent his wishes for her return to health and then left again.
Emma sighed in exasperation and put her story aside. Could she not escape the road she was expected to follow? If it wasn't Livingstone, she would be expected to marry, the it would be Henry Thomas. She could almost live with it but not quite. An unhappy marriage would produce a half-life. But so also would be a life as an old maid. Emma wanted to marry; she just wanted to marry someone she loved deeply who, in turn, felt the same way for her. Jonathan did not feel this way about her or any woman. All he cared for was himself. He wanted the perfect wife, someone who was beautiful, well-liked, and above all, capable of raising his social standing, fortune, and his children. He didn't care about her feelings, only winning her as a wife.
Henry Thomas was a different story. In fact, Emma hardly knew him at all, but he seemed different from Livingstone. Henry Thomas was a bit shy, and he seemed to treat everyone with respect. He was handsome, and Emma did respect him, but she did not love him. Maybe with time she would be proven wrong.
However, marriage itself was only half of why Emma was discontent. She didn't want to have to leave her carefree youth. She wanted to spend days in the gardens and evenings with Julieanne, peeking into the ballroom of the mansion, wishing they could wear the fancy gowns and dance with the dashing men, just as they did in the days of her childhood.
Now she was the one in the fancy gowns, dancing with the men, and though she did enjoy it all, it wasn't nearly as glamorous as she'd hoped for. Maybe it would be, when she finally met the right man. The evenings of dancing would be magical and romantic. Emma sighed and reached for the cup of tea.
Then, for the first time that day since arriving home, Emma thought about tea with her grandmother earlier that afternoon. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of her grandfather, her father, her mother, and her brother. Grandmother had not spoken much of the loved ones they'd lost. It was such a painful a subject for Emma. Emma tried rarely to think of them, especially her brother. There were too many memories.
Emma closed her eyes and the tears flowed down as she desperately tried to force the memories out of her head, of the childhood, of the voyage, of that day of fog, when a horrible ship had emerged from the white abyss, a ship with black sails, a pirates' ship.
The pirates! Emma thought immediately of the man she'd just been introduced to that day. Charles Everett was handsome, charming, humorous obviously, he was...Emma didn't know, but she watched the sun set, the stars come out, and all the lights in the town except for the taverns go out one by one, still thinking of him. She was interrupted by a small knock on her door amidst her thoughts. Emma got up and answered it, wondering who could be calling this late at night.
Her grandmother stood at the door. "Hello dear, just thought I'd check up on you," she smiled. Emma had a guilty look on her face. Margret laughed, "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Now I've brought you something. Come sit over here."
They sat on Emma's bed and Margret handed Emma an old, worn, brown leather journal. There was a ribbon for a bookmark, and at the end of the ribbon there was a golden trinket. It was a simple circle with engraving on it. "This was your father's. I recently came into possession of it, and you should have it."
Emma smiled and thanked her. There was another knock on the door. Emma sat the journal on her bedside table and went to answer it. It was Julieanne. Their grandmother sat with them for a few minutes, then bade the girls goodnight. Julieanne and Emma stayed up all night talking. It was their last night together like this. They talked of everything, of all their childhood memories, of Julieanne's wedding, of Emma's prospective proposals. However, Emma didn't speak of the journal or of Everett...
From the time Emma arrived back at the mansion after tea, she hadn't taken a moment's thought on anything. She was busy with all the preparations for the wedding. It was not just a ceremony; it was a far cry from being merely a ceremony. Mid-morning there was a wedding brunch for the families of the bride and groom and their close friends. The wedding ceremony would take place in the early afternoon, then there would be a garden tea to which all the highest of society were invited after the ceremony. Then the farewell for the bride and groom, after which there would still be more to come of the celebration. There would be a bonfire and after that a ball. Being the Governor, and as such the top of the social rope of the colony, Emma's uncle was expected to put on the most elaborate and exquisite of weddings, which had turned out to be no small task.
Emma's sole duty was that of keeping her cousin sane. This proved to be a highly difficult task; Julieanne insisted on trying to monitor every preparation, every plan, every order, every reply to invitations, and all the food preparations.
The first real break Emma had had from pre-nuptial details and Julieanne's nervousness in weeks was the last hour she'd spent with her grandmother. But Julieanne's nervousness was all she escaped now, for when Emma walked back onto the grounds of the mansion, she was immediately assaulted with questions about the last minute preparations.
So it was that Emma was provided with a legitimate reason for excusing herself from the usual after dinner gathering in the drawing room for cards and other high class activities. The whole family knew that Jonathan Livingstone had asked the governor for a private word before dinner, and they all knew it to be for the sole purpose of gaining her uncle's permission to ask for Emma's hand in marriage.
Luckily Mrs. Margret Andrews was the only one who knew the real purpose for Emma's retiring early. Smart girl, off you go before he gets a moment alone with you to ask the question you don't wish to answer. She smiled at her granddaughter as she made her apologies and exited the room, and indeed, Livingstone looked disappointed at her exit.
Once Emma had closed the door of the drawing room, she heaved a sigh of relief.
"Are you feeling quite alright, Miss Andrews?" the butler standing right next to the door asked. Mr. Jenkins was an old, slightly bent man. He'd served the Andrews family for over thirty years.
"I am quite well now," Emma smiled. Jenkins laughed. "What?" she asked.
"I know you only wish to postpone Master Livingstone's proposal. I've watched you and your mother grow up, so I know what you're up to," Jenkins smiled knowingly. "You know, you are just like her in every way. Let me walk you to your room. I've had your maid draw a bath for you. It should be ready about now. Even if you didn't retire because you have been under pressure this last week, this will be just the thing to relax you for tomorrow."
They began to walk up the stairs. "There is something else you may wish to know, Miss Andrews."
"What is that?" Emma asked puzzled.
"Governor Andrews was called upon by a certain young man this morning, not for business, mind you, but I do believe that Henry Thomas was here about something rather different. He arrived very nervous, and left much less so. Now, if you'll excuse me Miss Andrews, I must attend to my duties," Mr. Jenkins smiled and bowed.
"Well, thank you, sir." Emma walked into her room, a little overwhelmed at the news of Henry Thomas speaking to her uncle as well. She doubted his wanting to ask for her hand to be the occasion for his calling, but she suspected that he had come to ask for permission to court her. She walked into the antechamber of her room, where indeed there was a warm bath waiting. Emma tossed some jasmine from the dressing table onto the surface of the water. She then removed her dress with difficulty, for it was hard to remove the blasted corset without help, and then was able to slip her petticoats and other undergarments off easily. Emma then hopped into the tub.
The water was quite warm and soothing, relaxing her muscles. The jasmine calmed her nerves, and Emma completely emptied her mind. She simply let the water envelop and overcome her. As the water became cool, Emma deserted the tub, pulled on a silk nightgown and retreated to the window in her room.
The sun was hanging low in the sky and the silver clouds burned at the edges with radiant colors from the quailing sun. Emma sat at the window seat and pulled out a manuscript, quill and ink bottle out from the secret place behind the loose moldings next to the glass of the window. Emma had quite an imagination, and loved to write. She would often tell stories to her family after dinner.
Emma had just began to scribble the next part of her writings over the parchment when her maid entered, bearing a tray with some tea. She said that Jonathan Livingstone sent his wishes for her return to health and then left again.
Emma sighed in exasperation and put her story aside. Could she not escape the road she was expected to follow? If it wasn't Livingstone, she would be expected to marry, the it would be Henry Thomas. She could almost live with it but not quite. An unhappy marriage would produce a half-life. But so also would be a life as an old maid. Emma wanted to marry; she just wanted to marry someone she loved deeply who, in turn, felt the same way for her. Jonathan did not feel this way about her or any woman. All he cared for was himself. He wanted the perfect wife, someone who was beautiful, well-liked, and above all, capable of raising his social standing, fortune, and his children. He didn't care about her feelings, only winning her as a wife.
Henry Thomas was a different story. In fact, Emma hardly knew him at all, but he seemed different from Livingstone. Henry Thomas was a bit shy, and he seemed to treat everyone with respect. He was handsome, and Emma did respect him, but she did not love him. Maybe with time she would be proven wrong.
However, marriage itself was only half of why Emma was discontent. She didn't want to have to leave her carefree youth. She wanted to spend days in the gardens and evenings with Julieanne, peeking into the ballroom of the mansion, wishing they could wear the fancy gowns and dance with the dashing men, just as they did in the days of her childhood.
Now she was the one in the fancy gowns, dancing with the men, and though she did enjoy it all, it wasn't nearly as glamorous as she'd hoped for. Maybe it would be, when she finally met the right man. The evenings of dancing would be magical and romantic. Emma sighed and reached for the cup of tea.
Then, for the first time that day since arriving home, Emma thought about tea with her grandmother earlier that afternoon. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of her grandfather, her father, her mother, and her brother. Grandmother had not spoken much of the loved ones they'd lost. It was such a painful a subject for Emma. Emma tried rarely to think of them, especially her brother. There were too many memories.
Emma closed her eyes and the tears flowed down as she desperately tried to force the memories out of her head, of the childhood, of the voyage, of that day of fog, when a horrible ship had emerged from the white abyss, a ship with black sails, a pirates' ship.
The pirates! Emma thought immediately of the man she'd just been introduced to that day. Charles Everett was handsome, charming, humorous obviously, he was...Emma didn't know, but she watched the sun set, the stars come out, and all the lights in the town except for the taverns go out one by one, still thinking of him. She was interrupted by a small knock on her door amidst her thoughts. Emma got up and answered it, wondering who could be calling this late at night.
Her grandmother stood at the door. "Hello dear, just thought I'd check up on you," she smiled. Emma had a guilty look on her face. Margret laughed, "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Now I've brought you something. Come sit over here."
They sat on Emma's bed and Margret handed Emma an old, worn, brown leather journal. There was a ribbon for a bookmark, and at the end of the ribbon there was a golden trinket. It was a simple circle with engraving on it. "This was your father's. I recently came into possession of it, and you should have it."
Emma smiled and thanked her. There was another knock on the door. Emma sat the journal on her bedside table and went to answer it. It was Julieanne. Their grandmother sat with them for a few minutes, then bade the girls goodnight. Julieanne and Emma stayed up all night talking. It was their last night together like this. They talked of everything, of all their childhood memories, of Julieanne's wedding, of Emma's prospective proposals. However, Emma didn't speak of the journal or of Everett...