The Bride Price

Chapter Twenty-Two

They would walk to the ball. Emily and William kept no carriage of their own, and even a horse was an expense set aside for the next season. But as the weather was fine and the roads dry, they had no reason to look at the two mile stroll to Bexley Hall as an inconvenience.

Emily stood in their bedroom, ducking her head down to glance at her reflection in the small mirror she shared with her husband. Her gown was simple, nothing out of the common way. Yellow silk with white embroidery at the hem and along the neckline, while the edges of her puff sleeves gleamed with new ribbon, the only addition she'd made to the gown purchased before her ill-fated season in London. Her gloves would do, though there was a stain on the wrist of the left one that refused to fade no matter how much she soaked and dabbed and scrubbed.

She wore her hair pulled back, curled as best she could manage and decorated with a scrap of ribbon leftover from the trimming of her sleeves. Apart from that, she boasted no other adornment on her person. The gown, the gloves, and the ribbon would be enough. She would not be attending Marbley's ball in order to impress or draw attention towards herself. She would be there to support her husband and any of the other townspeople who sought a conference with Lord Marbley and some measure of justice from him.

William walked up behind her, his footfalls signalling his approach. She smiled as his reflection joined her own in the mirror, before she closed her eyes at the feel of his arms reaching around from behind to embrace her.

"I have something for you," he whispered in her ear, and put enough space between them to reach into the pocket of his coat and draw out a small cloth pouch, of a size to fit in his palm.

She glanced at his face in the mirror, his eyes unreadable but his mouth set in a line that seemed to belie some inner excitement. "What is it?" The question slipped out, though she knew he would not answer, at least not with words. Instead, he pressed the pouch into her hand, his fingers giving away a telltale tremble as he did so.

The thin cord that tied it was knotted, and Emily bit her lip as she struggled with the tangle. Once she loosened it, a thin silver chain tumbled out of the pouch and onto her palm, and from the center of the chain hung a single pearl.

"It belonged to my mother," William said, while she picked up the pearl and watched as the light glistened on its surface. "My father gave it to her when they were married. He nearly put himself into debt buying it for her, and when times were difficult, she often considered selling it. Yet she could never bring herself to exchange it for a few months' of paid bills."

He took the chain from her and placed it around her neck, the pearl settling beneath the hollow at the base of her throat. She tilted her head forward as he fiddled with the clasp. A whispered curse slipped out of him after he fumbled and almost dropped it, and she smiled, her shoulders shaking against the urge to laugh.

"There." He turned her towards the mirror again, his hands sliding slowly up and down the length of her arms. "Do you like it? You don't have to wear it tonight if you feel it doesn't suit. But I thought..."

She leaned back against him, not seeking out his image in the glass but instead enjoying the mere feel of him supporting her, the touch of his work-roughened hands as he caressed the bare skin of her arms below her sleeves. "It is perfect," she said, and smiled again as he kissed the top of her head.

"Shall we go?" he asked as he held out his arm to her. She noticed the state of his own dress, his clean shaven jaw and the curling ends of his hair, catching the light from the windows and shining gold above the collar of his coat.

She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He wore his best clothes, though a close examination would reveal the flaws that several years of wear and tear had produced. For a moment, she tried to imagine him dressed in the sort of finery worn by Lord Marbley and others of his ilk. The best silks and satins, collar starched until his could not turn his head from right to left, jewels placed discreetly at his cuffs and neckcloth, his boots polished to a shine that would rival the reflection produced in the mirror before her.