For the Love of Emma Read online

  “Yes. He said they had to be the absolute best the shop had,” Emma told her.

  There was a knock on the door and Carlyle’s voice called, “Briony—”

  Emma shrieked and ran to the door. “No, Daddy, you mustn’t come in.” She darted out and they could hear her saying, “You mustn’t see Mummy before you get to church.”

  And Carlyle saying prosaically, “But I see her every day.”

  “Not today,” Emma lectured him. “It’s unlucky. You want to be happy for years and years, don’t you?”

  “Yes, darling, of course.” Briony could hear the awkwardness in his voice.

  “She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Joyce said. “And it’s entirely due to you.”

  “She loves the excitement of a wedding. All little girls do.”

  “No, it’s more than that. She loves you. Thank you for what you’re doing, Briony.” Joyce’s face became wise. “My son has told me a little, but I’m sure he hasn’t told me everything. Is this marriage a sacrifice for you?”

  “No,” Briony said quickly. “It’s not a sacrifice. I love—I love Emma.”

  There was a pause before Joyce said quietly, “That’s what I thought.”

  There was understanding in the older woman’s eyes, and for a moment Briony almost dared to confide in her. But she was forestalled by a loud ring on the front doorbell.

  “That will be the flowers,” Joyce said. “I’ll go and get them. I’m so glad we had this little talk.”

  “So am I,” Briony said.

  Joyce soon returned with the flowers. Briony had a bouquet of white roses. Instead of a posy Emma would carry a little basket of rose petals, and walk in front of the bride, strewing petals into her path.

  When Emma was dressed she looked enchanting in her pink satin, with the material gathered into scalloped festoons around the hem. Pink rosebuds were gathered at her waist, and more buds adorned her hair. Something caught at Briony’s heart at the thought that in a few months this enchanting little creature would exist no more. She pushed the thought firmly aside. Nothing must spoil this day for Emma.

  At last Briony looked into the long mirror, and didn’t recognize herself. The veil and gown framed her in a white mist, softening her angles, turning her into a fairytale creature. If she’d been dressing for a groom who loved her she would have rejoiced at the beautiful woman who looked back at her. But the marriage was a sham, and suddenly Briony felt its emptiness with a new pang.

  There was another knock on the door and Carlyle called, “I’m about to leave for the church. Are you all ready?”

  “Stop fussing, dear,” his mother advised him, opening the door a crack. “You’re not in your office now. I have everything under control. Off with you to the church.”

  He laughed and Briony heard his footsteps going downstairs. Looking out of the window, she saw him get into the long, black limousine, which glided away through the gates.

  “I’ll be going now, and leave you in Emma’s capable hands,” Joyce said. “Follow in five minutes.”

  Briony and Emma watched the bustling below. Joyce got into a car, with her husband and various cousins. More family members followed. At last only the bridal car awaited. Carlyle’s uncle Derek, who was to give her away, knocked at the door. Briony said, “Ready?” Emma nodded and solemnly presented her with the bouquet.

  It was a glorious day. The first leaves of autumn were beginning to fall, but they’d been blessed with an Indian summer, warm and sweet, and perfect for a wedding. On the short journey to church Briony tried to rid herself of a sense of unreality. But then, this wasn’t real, just a parade of shadows. Somehow she must get through these next few months without allowing herself to fall in love with Carlyle. It would be the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life, for he was a man she could have loved, a man whose love she would have fought to win, if things had been different. But now she had no right to think of herself.

  They’d reached the church. Emma hopped out of the car first and eased the train out, settling everything straight around Briony. Her little face was very serious as she performed her duties. Then Briony took Uncle Derek’s arm and nodded for Emma to precede them into the church.

  As soon as they appeared in the doorway the organist struck up “Here Comes the Bride.” Walking into the dim light straight from the sun Briony was momentarily blinded. As her gaze cleared she could see Carlyle standing at the altar. Emma was perfectly composed, moving with grace and dignity as she sprinkled rose petals from side to side. Carlyle stood motionless, a poignant look on his face, as he witnessed the little procession approach. It seemed as if something had taken his breath away, and, recalling Emma’s likeness to her mother, Briony wondered if he was seeing Helen approach him. She was glad he’d been given this beautiful moment to remember from his daughter’s short life.

  At last Emma reached her father, stopped, then sidestepped with great precision, making a space for the bride. As Briony glided into position next to Carlyle he looked directly at her and a faint smile softened his harsh features. Something happened to her heart. She felt as if the whole world had vanished, and she could do nothing except stand here, looking into his eyes. She was brought back to reality by a slight tug on her sleeve, and looked down to find Emma waiting for the bouquet. She handed it to her, and Emma stepped back, full of grave responsibility.

  Briony had steeled herself against the reciting of the vows, but she had no defense against the moment when Carlyle took her hand in his and held it there as he began to say, “I, Carlyle David, take thee, Briony Anne, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse…”

  His voice faded. A tremor went through him. Briony felt it through the hand that gripped hers with sudden, terrible pressure, and she knew that a vision of the worst had come upon him, darkening the day, and making him cling to her instinctively.

  In that moment the last of her detachment fell away. She couldn’t stand aloof from this man, living with him day after day, witnessing his sorrow, and sharing it. She must love him with her whole heart and soul, giving endlessly with no hope of receiving. For only in that way could she help him. She felt courage flood through her. She was no green girl, but a woman, with a woman’s power to love, and give, and endure. And she would put it all at the service of the man she loved.

  Carlyle recovered himself and finished the vow. In a calm voice Briony made her promise, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, to love and to cherish. Her heart meant every word.

  At last the vicar said, “You may kiss the bride,” and Carlyle drew her close to lay his lips on hers. Briony tried to steady herself against the tide of love that swept through her. His mouth was warm and firm, touching hers gently for a kiss that might have lasted for a moment or for a hundred years. She couldn’t be sure. She only knew that she loved him completely, and she always would.

  As the organ pealed out a song of triumph, they turned and began the return march up the aisle, smiling for all the world to see. The photographer was waiting to catch the moment when they left the church, and there followed a seemingly endless series of pictures. Briony and Carlyle alone together, then with Emma standing in front, beaming.

  “I’d like one alone with my daughter,” Briony said, which made Emma ecstatic.

  They found the perfect spot in the churchyard, beneath the trees. The photographer, who had a gift for spontaneity, snapped them walking hand-in-hand through a little flurry of leaves that a sudden wind had brought down, laughing together.

  Then there were more poses with Carlyle’s family, during one of which he murmured, “I took your advice.”

  “About what?” she whispered back.

  “About taking Emma’s advice. Wait until you see the surprise we have planned for you.”

  The surprise turned out to be an open, horse-drawn carriage. Briony laughed with delight, and Emma jumped for joy at her pleasure. Carlyle handed her in, but as he was about to close th
e door Briony said significantly, “You’ve forgotten something.”

  He understood at once and held out his hand to his daughter. “Get in.”

  “But the bride and groom are supposed to be alone,” Emma said, torn between hope and tradition.

  “You don’t think we’re going to shut you out from your own idea, do you?” he asked. “Come on.”

  Eagerly Emma seized his hand and jumped into the carriage. She sat facing them as they made the journey home, looking adoringly at Briony, and sometimes waving to people they passed in the streets, like visiting royalty. Little crowds gathered to watch them and wave back, enchanted by the picture the three of them presented.

  “My daughter was right to make you buy that dress,” Carlyle said, smiling.

  “Our daughter,” she said firmly.

  “Yes. Our daughter has perfect taste.”

  “Mummy didn’t want to buy it because she said it was far too expensive,” Emma confided. “But I said it didn’t matter how much it cost.” She regarded her father with a touch of anxiety. “If it’s too much, you can take it out of my pocket money.”

  He grinned. “Thank you, darling. I appreciate the offer, but I won’t take it up. I don’t care how much it cost. It’s lovely. And so is Mummy.”

  “Yes, she is, isn’t she?” said Emma happily.

  At the reception speeches were made, toasts were drunk. Emma was allowed a sip of champagne, and toasted her new mother, her eyes shining with joy. The sight of that joy made everything worth it.

  A cousin called Denis, whom Carlyle confided in an undervoice was the family clown, made a very funny speech which set the tables roaring with laughter. When the four strong band struck up, Denis made a low bow to Emma and led her onto the floor.

  “She’ll be all right with him,” Carlyle said. “Denis is an idiot but a well-meaning idiot. Now, can I have a dance with my bride?”

  As they were circling the floor Carlyle murmured, “You look wonderful. Everyone said so.”

  Did you think so? she wanted to ask. But at least she was here in his arms, held close in the bridal waltz.

  “Your pearls were the finishing touch,” she said. “I hadn’t expected anything like this.”

  “Of course I gave you the best I could find. I wanted you to know that I—Yes, it’s been a great day, hasn’t it?” The last words were to someone who’d claimed his attention in passing. Briony sighed. What had he been going to say?

  “How late are they going to stay?” he asked in her ear.

  “I don’t suppose they’ll stay long, but we can hardly ask them to leave.”

  “Well, I wish they’d all go.”

  Her pulses began to race at the thought of what he might mean. When the music finished they each turned to other partners. Briony danced every dance in a dream. The room was hot and her heart was singing at the vision that had opened before her.

  The evening drifted on. Carlyle danced with Emma, who was then sent, protesting, to bed. Denis claimed a waltz with Briony. He seemed to be in his late twenties, with mobile features and a great deal of volatile charm. He’d drunk too much champagne, which he frankly admitted. “That’s the best thing about parties,” he said cheerfully. “Chance to stock up at someone else’s expense. Dashed if I ever thought to see Carlyle struck by love at first sight, though.”

  “Is that what he told you it was?” Briony asked casually.

  “Carlyle? Go on. You know him better than that. Never talks about what’s going on inside him. I don’t think he’s said more than fifty words to me in his life, and then they’re usually terribly tragic things like, ‘Not another penny,’ and ‘When are you going to get a proper job?’”

  Briony chuckled. However feckless and unreliable Denis might be, his droll manner made him impossible to dislike.

  “Then how do you know it was love at first sight?” she asked lightly.

  “Well, look at the dates. He seems to have proposed almost as soon as he met you. Mind you, I don’t blame him. If I’d met a smasher like you first I’d have proposed the same day.”

  Briony laughed out loud, causing several heads to turn. Carlyle’s words had left her feeling too exhilarated to take offence at this irresponsible young man, and it was charming to be called ‘a smasher’ for the first time in her life.

  “I don’t think you ought to talk to me like that at my wedding,” she teased.

  “What, not call you a smasher? I can’t help it. Look at yourself in the mirror and see how beautiful you are. Carlyle’s a lucky dog.” He tried to draw her close.

  “Let me go at once,” she ordered him, and he immediately relaxed his hold. “And be careful what Carlyle hears you say, or he won’t make you another ‘loan.’”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve already got that safe,” he said with a wink, and she laughed again. Her head was swimming with delight. Soon the evening would end. Soon she would be alone with Carlyle.

  Joyce announced the last waltz, and Carlyle took Briony in his arms again. He was frowning slightly. “You seem to get on well with Denis. Just don’t believe anything he said to you.”

  “Not even when he told me I was beautiful?” she asked with a smile.

  His face softened. “If you want compliments, I’m happy to pay you all you like. You’ve done me proud today.” He drew her nearer. Her senses swam.

  “What were you going to say to me?” she murmured.

  “What?” He seemed to come out of a dream.

  “You were going to tell me something about why you bought these pearls.”

  “Later. When everyone’s gone. You do like them, don’t you?”

  “They’re perfect.”

  “I told the jeweler they had to be.” Carlyle gave a reminiscent grin. “He ended up ransacking three other branches of the shop before he found something that satisfied Emma and me. I think he was glad to see the back of us.”

  Was it madness to try to read something into Carlyle’s desire to give her a perfect gift? Briony knew of his routine efficiency, but a little corner of her heart that persisted in believing in miracles, longed for something more. She touched the pearls gently, reveling in their beauty, hoping against hope…

  Gradually the guests drifted away. The ones who were staying the night went to their rooms. Briony looked in on the sleeping Emma before going quietly to the bedroom she would share with Carlyle.

  She’d chosen her nightdress with great care. If she could have pleased herself she would have selected something low-cut and seductive; a bride tempting her groom to the pleasures of passion. It would have been sweet and wonderful to know that Carlyle would look on her with the eyes of love; to don a wispy garment that his eager hands would toss aside in the urgency of his desire; then to lie with him in the warmth of the big bed, giving and receiving pleasure until exhaustion overtook them and they could sleep in each other’s arms.

  But she hadn’t dared to wear such a nightdress for fear of embarrassing him. Nor, on the other hand, did she want to seem dowdy. Their situation might indicate cotton or flannel buttoned to the neck, but she would have died rather. Finally she’d settled on peach satin trimmed with lace. The neck was modest by bridal standards, but a tug on a dainty ribbon would open it further. What he read into it would depend on how he felt.

  And after his words earlier, she could hope. She touched the pearls that were still around her neck, glowing against her pale skin. He’d said, I wanted you to know that I—What was it he wanted her to know?

  At last she heard his footsteps coming along the hall from the bathroom, where he’d changed. Her heart was beating with thrilling anticipation as he opened the door. He was wearing a wine-colored silk dressing gown over dark blue pajamas. He smiled when he saw her sitting at the dressing table, and came over to look into the mirror over her head.

  “What a day!” he said. “I shall be glad when the last of them have gone tomorrow and we can have the house to ourselves.”

  “So shall I,” she said fervently.


  “No regrets? It’s not going to be too much for you, is it?”

  She met his eyes in the mirror. “I have no regrets, Carlyle, and I never will have.”

  “Nor me.” He smiled and touched the pearls. Briony’s heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it. At any moment now he would say something that would fill her with delight. “Take care of these, won’t you?”

  “I will,” she told him softly.

  “Let me help you with them.”

  She felt him working on the clasp, his fingers brushing against the nape of her neck, and wild thrills went through her. She looked anxiously at her reflection, sure that the warmth that had surged up in her could be seen on her skin. But the woman in the mirror looked back calmly. Only her shining eyes betrayed that she was alight with love, longing to believe that her dreams could come true.

  “There,” Carlyle said at last. “It might be an idea to put them in a bank for safety.”

  “But I’d rather keep them with me. They’re so lovely.”

  “They’re also very valuable. In time you should be able to sell them for quite a lot.”

  At the word “sell” the dream shattered, revealing itself as tinsel after all. Briony watched, stunned, as the pieces drifted to the ground, to be trodden underfoot.

  “Sell them?” she managed to ask. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Why not? My dear, it’s all right. I don’t expect you to be sentimental about my gifts. We made a bargain, and you’re keeping your side wonderfully. I couldn’t have asked for more.” As she turned to stare at him he touched her face, gently lifting her chin. “You’re a generous woman, Briony, with a great heart. One day, some man’s going to be very lucky.”

  She smiled faintly. “Was that what you were going to say to me?”

  “Partly, but there’s something else. Here.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out an envelope.

  “It looks like my bank statement,” she said, puzzled.

  “It is. It came this morning but I kept it to give to you myself. You might get a surprise.”