Master of None - Book 2, Bespoke Special Edition

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Chapter 1

Millcastle, England, 1832

“Well, I never!”

Emily Marsham walked into the drawing room and stared inquiringly at her mother, who was reading the newspaper.
“What is it?” She handed her mother her sewing basket, and resumed her seat beside the fire. “Has somebody died?”
Her mother, Doris, loved to peruse the Millcastle society columns, such as they were, searching for scandal and fresh gossip. In truth, being a somewhat timid woman, she preferred reading about things rather than actively entering society and participating in them.
“Mrs. Harding!”
“The bookkeeper who works at the dressmaker’s has died?” Emily asked.
“No! It’s far worse than that.”
“In what way?”
“I’m beginning to believe bookkeeping was not the only service she was providing for that man.” Her mother lowered the paper to stare at Emily. “She’s marrying Captain Grafton.”
“My Captain Grafton?” Emily sat up straight.
“Your father isn’t going to be pleased about this at all,” her mother murmured.
“He actually approved of Captain Grafton as a potential husband for you, and now he will blame me.”
“It’s hardly your fault, Mother,” Emily objected even though she knew her opinion would make no difference to her father when he was angry. “I can quite see why Captain Grafton decided to marry Mrs. Harding. She is nearer his age, is a lady despite her occupation, and she is very handsome.”
Her mother sighed and returned to her reading, only to squawk again.
“Emily, Captain Grafton is Viscount Wesley!”
Emily put aside her embroidery. “He never mentioned he had a title.”
“He never mentioned it to anyone, apparently, seeing as he was out of favor with his family.” Her mother sighed. “This will just make things worse with your father. You could’ve been a Viscountess, Emily, and your children would have been landed gentry.”
For a woman like her mother, who had started life as the daughter of a clerk in a shipping company, such lofty heights were almost unimaginable. It was only due to her father’s rapid rise as a mill owner that Emily and her brother had grown up in such relatively wealthy surroundings.
“Perhaps Father won’t find out about it,” Emily said.
“He’ll know. They’ll all be talking about it at their silly meetings at the Piece Hall, I can guarantee that.” Her mother shivered, drawing her silk shawl more closely around herself. “I can only pray that your father doesn’t come back in a bad mood tonight.”
Despite her father’s veneer of respectability, he still tended to settle arguments and grievances with his fists, and would think nothing of taking out his anger on his wife or his children.
“You can share my bed tonight if you wish, Mother.” It wouldn’t be the first time she had sheltered her mother or attempted to get in between her parents when her father was in a rage.
“Thank you, my love. I’ll see how he is when he arrives home.”

After her mother retired with a headache for an afternoon nap, Emily picked up the newspaper and read through the wedding announcement. She marveled at the change in Mrs. Harding’s fortunes—from working for a living to becoming a Viscountess with a substantial country home not far from Millcastle. Mrs. Harding and her mother had been very kind to Emily, and she would write the bride-to-be a congratulatory note.
If she were being honest, she was slightly disappointed that Captain Grafton hadn’t furthered his acquaintance with her, but she couldn’t deny the allure of the intelligent, hardworking Mrs. Harding. There were very few men in Millcastle who interested Emily. Captain Grafton had lived in India and had business interests all over the country. Despite his somewhat dry wit and fearsome reputation, he had encouraged her questions without making her feel presumptuous for asking them.
Emily went to the desk and wrote the note to Mrs. Harding. The family had recently moved out of their lodgings above the dressmaker’s, but she didn’t have a new address for them. She decided she would drop the letter into Captain Grafton’s office, which was above the shop, the next time she visited the dressmaker’s with her mother.
“Afternoon, sis.”
She looked up to see her brother Matthew smiling at her from the doorway.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the mill?” Emily asked.
“Of course I am.” He sauntered toward her. “I can’t stand it in there. The noise, all those stinking paupers…” He wrinkled his nose. “They don’t like me, anyway.”
“That’s because you have made no effort to learn about the business.” Emily met his gaze head-on. “If you tried—”
He held up his hand. “Be quiet, Emily. Just because you think you could run the entire world, doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do at my own bloody mill.”
“It’s not your mill. It’s Father’s,” Emily retorted. “They are all his.”
“And one day, they’ll all be mine.” He walked over to the sideboard and helped himself to a substantial glass of brandy. “If Father asks where I am, tell him you haven’t seen me.”
“As if I would give him news that would anger him.” Emily shuddered. “I have no desire to take your punishment for you.”
“I’m too big for him to hit now.” Matthew drank half the brandy and stared at her over the rim of the glass. “I hit him back last time, and he stopped.”
“Which means he now turns his fists on me and Mother whenever you transgress.”
Her brother at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “There’s trouble brewing in the sheds over that bloody reform bill again.”
“There always is.” Emily sighed. “Although I can’t say I blame them.”
“You dare to side with the workers whose labor provides you with the clothes on your back, the carriages you ride in, and that fancy horse of yours?” Matthew’s smile wasn’t pleasant. “Let me tell you, little sister, that if that mob ever gets the vote, they’d strip you of your finery and make you work down the mines in your petticoats.”
Emily shivered. She feared that Matthew was right, but it didn’t stop her attempting to remonstrate with her father to provide adequate wages and rudimentary schooling for those he employed. If she had the ability, she would do so much more…
“Did you hear that your beau is marrying his mistress?” Matthew asked.
“Are you speaking of Captain Grafton?” Emily raised an eyebrow. “He was hardly my beau.”
“I saw you fluttering your eyelashes at him at the Yule ball, but you never stood a chance, did you? Men like Captain Grafton prefer a more seasoned and mature bed-partner than a simpering twenty-two-year-old miss.”
“I’m twenty-three.”
“And well past the age when you should be married and nagging some poor bastard other than me.” Matthew finished his brandy. “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up on the shelf, my dear.”
“You aren’t married, and you are five years older than me,” Emily pointed out.
“I’m betrothed, don’t forget that.” An expression of distaste crossed his face. “Although why Father had to honor his promise to take care of his wastrel second cousin’s progeny and shackle me to that woman, I will never know.”
“Margaret is—”
“A plain, managing woman who will no doubt make me a dutiful wife one day when I am forced to settle down and procreate.” Matthew yawned. “And now I’m going to bed. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Emily sealed her letter and decided to consult with Cook to ensure that when her father did return from the mill, he would be offered all his favorite dishes. Perhaps that might mollify one of his appetites and prevent him from starting an argument with Matthew or berating her or her mother about Captain Grafton’s matrimonial plans. It was a forlorn hope, but it was the best that she could do.