Page 24 of To Heal a Broken Earl
“My mother,” Michael said solemnly. “She married a vicar, and my grandfather cut off communication with her. By the time he found my sister and me, Grandmama had died.”
“That’s so sad,” Emma said, carefully closing the trunk. She turned to him. “What about that large one over there?” she asked, pointing to a brass-and-black trunk behind the one they had just investigated. He nodded, and they opened it.
Emma unwrapped a package of artfully folded tissue paper that had been meticulously arranged to protect an exquisitely folded bridal veil. “This must have belonged to the lady of the manor. It’s lovely, and such an unusual thing to find. Many brides in my grandmother’s and mother’s days didn’t wear veils on their wedding day.” She held the veil up to the light, lovingly fingering the fine muslin. “Do you see the flower petals that are embroidered on it? The embroidery is so delicate and well-made.”
Michael cleared his throat. “I’m unfamiliar with bridal attire, but it is alovely veil,” he said wryly.
“Nor am I,” she responded. “The only wedding I ever attended was my sister’s, and it was a tiny ceremony.” Emma carefully re-wrapped the veil and set it aside as she combed through a box of handkerchiefs, a beautiful silver cake server, a small bundle of letters wrapped in ribbon, dried flowers, and various other items in the trunk.
“So many sweet keepsakes,” she said as she closed the lid with a wistful exhale. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she had hoped to find the wedding gown that went with the veil. And when she didn’t, she felt disappointed about refolding the veil and tucking it back into the tissue paper, as if relegating it to a prison of timeless indifference. She had never seen anything so lovely and wondered what the dress had looked like. Perhaps it had been given to another family member who hadn’t needed the veil. To her eye, the fabric showed no evidence of deterioration, thanks to the careful packing in the trunk and the lavender sachets that kept the moths away.
The only veils Emma recalled were drawings in clothing pattern books or descriptions in some of the novels she had read. Her father’s older sister, Aunt Zelda, had tutted when she asked about Evie wearing one for her wedding.
“It’s a lovely concept, and would look beautiful on you or Evie, but it’s generally not done, Emmie. We don’t want to draw negative attention to ourselves by being overly ostentatious,” her aunt had told her. “I certainly didn’t use one, and nor did your mother or anyone I can think of.”
While she acknowledged her aunt’s concerns, Emma saw the aristocracy as the epitome of extravagance, based on one of the few occasions she’d attended a ball. She also judged, given the substantial number of hats Katie had been playing with, that the former lady of the manor might have felt similarly. They were dusty and piled in the corner of the attic. Yet, she thought, the veil had been lovingly and carefully packed away. She blinked back a tear at the thought and hoped Michael had not seen it.
Beneath opulent chandeliers and polished marble floors, women of thetonparaded in extravagant attire. Massive hats embellished with gaudy ostrich feathers—feathers that the birds themselves would have preferred to keep—adorned their heads, bobbing into pedestrians’ faces as the women sauntered through shops. And she couldn’t begin to describe the fox pelts. Emma was firmly against hunting and couldn’t stand looking at anyone wearing a pelt unless it was someone who genuinely needed the animal to fend off starvation to survive.
She couldn’t understand the reluctance about wearing a veil, especially a veil as lovely as this one. And she couldn’t help the way the veil seemed to call to her, even though she knew she would soon be considered firmly on the shelf.
“What aboutthattrunk?” Emma asked, pointing to a large brown trunk against a far wall.
She watched as Michael limped over to it. “It’s got a lock on it,” he said. “But curiously, the key is still inserted in the lock.”
She laughed. “What good is a lock if it’s not locked?” Leaning back, she looked over at the far side of the attic, where Katie and Finn were merrily trying on hats, totally lost in the moment.
“Exactly,” he said, pocketing the lock and key. “I don’t think we should leave any locks up here that have keys with them. I don’t want the curious Katie to get any ideas. She might accidentally lock herself or Finn in one of the trunks.”
She glanced again at Katie and Finn, noticing that the girl was busy tying the ribbons to a bonnet on Finn’s head, which made both Emma and Michael chuckle. “Oh! That would be unthinkable. You are right to be concerned. I’ll be setting some rules for her regarding the attic,” she said, standing and walking over to the larger trunk.
Michael took the cloth Emma had brought with her and placed it on the floor to keep her from getting dust on her clothing.
“Do you think we’ll find anything useful in here?” she asked.
“I’m as curious to see as you. I didn’t know this part of my family very well, and I don’t recall ever meeting my grandmother or any aunts. My mother’s sister, although she was considerably younger than my mother, had married and moved away by the time my sister, Lizzie, and I began to visit with my mother. And we didn’t visit all that often. I barely remember what this estate looked like before I inherited the property. In any case, it was one of the minor properties—I think a summer estate, and not the main seat.”
“So, was your inheritance of the title and estate a surprise?” she asked.
“Yes, it was—and there’s been little explanation on my Uncle Robert’s demise, except to say he had a coaching accident. From the little I’ve learned, he hadplannedto marry the young woman betrothed to him since childhood, but he had not and therefore had no heirs. He was buried long before I was notified that I’d inherited an earldom.”
“That must have been a daunting conversation with the late earl’s solicitor,” Emma remarked, pushing open the lid. Inside the trunk, she discovered exactly what she was looking for. “Look, Michael! There are bolts of fabric, all wrapped in tissue paper. And here are drawings of rooms, even with the placement of furnishings. And here—”
“Are drawings of the grounds, when they were in their heyday,” he said, unrolling a scrolled bundle of parchment she’d handed him. “This is excellent. It shows the rock wall when it was first built. This will certainly help in my quest to rebuild the damaged areas. And this section looks like a plan for large stables. The existing stables are much smaller than what is depicted in this drawing.”
Emma noticed something shining wedged between two packages. She reached for and pulled out a small brass-and-wood-handled penknife, just like the one she had often seen Martin use to open packages delivered to the house.Michael might appreciate that for his desk,she thought.Maybe I can find a way to clean it up for him.Glancing in his direction, she noticed he seemed to be still absorbed in the drawings of the property, so she tucked the penknife into her pocket, planning to clean it properly later.
She looked at him as he stood next to her, combing through the packages of fabrics and the scrolls of drawings. It made her feel warm all over when he was near—something she’d only begun to experience after she met him and found herself in his company.
Hoping to distract herself, she examined a bolt of blue damask. “Do you favor blue? I imagine this cloth was intended for covering chairs.” She looked around and spotted some chairs in the corner, covered with cloth to shield them from the dust.
“I rather like the color. It’s calming. I could easily be happy with blues throughout the manse,” he said, leaning down closer and bringing his face next to hers.
She was very aware of his presence, as a blush heated her face. With his face this close to hers, she wondered what it would be like if he kissed her. She gave herself a mental shake and blurted, “My room at Evie’s was in blues and white. I loved the colors. And you’re right, they did feel calming.”
As he helped her up, she tripped on the cloth on the floor. When he caught her by the waist, they stood mere inches apart.
“Eek! A bat!” Katie’s scream sliced through the stillness of the room, shattering the fragile moment. It was followed by a loud yip and a crash, with the chaotic sound of her tiny feet mingled with those of the dog in full gallop racing in their direction. “Aunt Emma, where are you?” Katie cried out, her voice filled with panic.
