My Dear Emma [Sherlock Holmes Romance]

Chapter Eleven

"You are going to be such a lovely bride," my mother said as the tailor tucked and pinned fabric around my figure. "Though, I would have preferred your dress to have been white."

"Lavender makes my complexion stand out," I replied, shaking my head. "And the color is so pale, it is nearly white anyway. Thomas never said anything against it when I mentioned the colors I thought of using. Furthermore, I'll never have use of the dress again."

Mother was not convinced, but she left the subject alone. The months passed in the blinking of an eye. Preparations for the wedding were underway; Mr. Holmes assured me he would cover all necessary expenses. It warmed my heart to see how happy the detective was to pay for the wedding. Thomas was certainly overjoyed. He had been attending the university, taking classes in medicine and helping my father with his practice.

"I would still like for you to have a more tradition gown, sweetheart," Mother insisted, moving the ringlets of my curls around my shoulders.

"Thomas and I are not at all traditional, Mama," I said with a smile. "And it's not about the dress. It's about two people coming together as one, because they love each other. Wouldn't you think so?"

"Of course, I think so, Emma. I want you happy, and Thomas makes you happy. I wouldn't dream of tearing that away from you over the argument of wedding gowns. If you want this gown, you may have it."

"I love you, Mama."

"I love you too, my darling."

***

Thomas

I paced in my father's study. The hour could not come quicker. I hated being away from Emma for so long. Yes, I understood there certain traditions that followed the preparations of a wedding. The groom must not see the adorned bride before the ceremony. Hogwash! A glimpse of the wedding gown would not curse our marriage. The thought was idiotic and foolish. Ludicrous! Mrs. Watson made it utterly clear that I was not to see anything of Emma's gown until we said our vows.

"Holmes?"

I stopped pacing when Emma's father entered the study. He wore a skeptical expression as he glanced around. Searching for my father, no doubt.

"How are you, Thomas?" he asked, nodding his head in greeting.

"Not the greatest, if I'm honest," I replied, shaking my head. "If you're here to see my father, you'll have better luck spotting a lion in the grasslands."

Dr. Watson chuckled, "I wouldn't expect anything less. Emma is downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. I thought you might want to see her."

I straightened at the mention of Emma's name. Bashful and excited, I smiled and quickly left the room. I ran down the stairs and into the parlor. Emma sat with Mrs. Hudson, drinking tea. I saw the plate of jelly-filled scones, but not because I wanted to eat them. I saw that Emma had piled her plate with several scones. I loved that Emma could eat more than the average English woman could and she did not care what others thought.

I walked up to the sofa and placed my hand on Emma's shoulder. She looked up and smiled at me. I bent over and kissed her.

"I was waiting for you," I whispered, glancing up at Mrs. Hudson. "Would you mind if I stole my fiancée for a bit, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Steal her away," the old woman replied, waving her hand as she stood to clear the tea tray.

I chuckled and took Emma's hand, pulling her with me as I led the way from the parlor. Normally, I would take her upstairs to the library, but with the contraption my father created this morning in hopes of Dr. Watson would have a heart attack. I found it amusing. However, I wanted to spend time alone with Emma, and that meant the garden would be the appropriate place.

"Mrs. Hudson takes wonderful care of the garden," Emma looked at each flowerpot, smiling.

Gathering her to my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around her waist, I kissed Emma's cheek. Both cheeks. Repeatedly. When we were with her parents, or my father, I had to maintain my displays of affection. The most I could manage in their presence was Emma holding my arm, or I holding her hand.

"You can't have missed me that much," Emma laughed, "You saw me for supper last night."

"I'm always with you," I replied, pressing a final kiss to her forehead. "You can't blame me."

She smiled, clutching the lapels of my coat in her fists. She drew me closer and leaned upwards to kiss me on the lips.

"I've meant to ask," she said, pulling me towards the stone bench my father had given Mrs. Hudson as an apology. "You are hardworking and full of determination. I can only hope our children inherit such qualities. Do you wish to wait the full year before we have a child? Or do you wish to continue working with Papa longer?"

I considered her words with much care. I sat beside her with her hand held tightly in mine. I had not thought about having children, other than the fact that I wanted Emma to bear my children.

"If we have children in the first year, it was meant to happen," I told her, and brought her hand to my lips.

My answer seemed to satisfy. Emma smiled and leaned her head on my shoulder. We gazed at the plan the garden until supper.