The Wedding Dress(84)

“I, for one, am glad the children moved up the wedding. Don’t know where we got the notion long engagements were a good idea.” Father spoke over his forkful of duck.

Under the table, Phillip squeezed Emily’s knee, sending a firebrand to her heart. She took an unladylike bite of her bread to hide her gasp. Since choosing not to wait until spring for their marriage, Phillip had returned to his former ways, becoming more and more amorous.

Emily patted her mouth with her crimson and cream napkin. Greedy. He’d become greedy. She couldn’t wipe the word from her heart. She’d been most grateful the other night for the complexities of her corset.

“Did Phillip tell you, Howard?” Mr. Saltonstall wiped his lips and chin with his napkin. “He cleared Emily of her charges.”

“Our lawyer did quite the job.” Phillip reached for his goblet. “The chief was most agreeable. He’ll expunge the charges, but I think it’s most clear, Emily darling, that you are to steer clear of the coloreds.”

“Except I’m wearing Taffy’s dress for our wedding.” Emily adjusted her napkin on her lap as silence settled around the table. She peered from face to face. “I’m sorry, but I cannot be quiet about my choice. We can arrange for the dress to come here without infringing on any silly law or being accused of insurrection.”

“I suppose the groom has no say.” Phillip kept his eyes on his fork and knife slicing through his duck. “But I’d like you to wear Mrs. Caruthers’s dress, darling. It seems to be the most pleasing to all. The most acceptable.”

“You are correct, Phillip. Grooms have no say. I’m sure you do not want your bride fainting in the middle of the wedding because her gown cuts off all her air and blood flow.”

“I have a say since I’m paying the bills.” Father raised his voice. “Emily shall wear the dress of her choosing.” Oh, bless you, Father. “Here’s what I’d like to know. Who swore out a warrant against Emily? I’ve tried my contacts with the police and there seems to be a brick wall guarding the information.”

“I found the same wall, sir. The only assurance I received through my barrister was that the charges would be expunged.”

“Then we will be grateful for small blessings,” Mrs. Saltonstall said. “Maggie, I declare, you and Molly outdid yourselves tonight. I never tasted a more succulent duck.”

Jefferson appeared in the doorway in his waistcoat, his own dinner napkin dangling from his hand. “Begging your pardon, sir, but you have a visitor.”

All eyes settled on the Irish butler.

“Might I ask who comes at dinnertime? Is it an emergency?” Father sounded annoyed.

“He says it’s quite urgent, sir. He did not give his name. I told him you were dining with family, but he insisted.”

“Excuse me, Cam and Henrietta.” Father bowed to his guests, then to Mother. “My dear, begging your pardon.”

“Hurry, dear. Molly’s chocolate cake for dessert.”

Emily watched Father go with a curious slither of Who? running across her mind. Rarely did Father’s business come to the front door.

The chatter around the table moved to wedding details. There’d been much to do with the accelerated date. Mr. Saltonstall had secured the Phoenix Club for the reception. The gentlemen’s club had a fine ballroom.

Mother made arrangements with the church and paid for extra seamstresses to sew the bridesmaids’ gowns and the rest of Emily’s trousseau.

“Oh, darling, I forgot to tell you.” Phillip motioned to his father. “Dad and Mom have gifted us with the Highland home. No need to house hunt. We have a place all ready for us.”

“That’s very generous, Mr. and Mrs. Saltonstall.” The Saltonstalls’ home sat in the shadow of Red Mountain not but a few blocks from Father and Mother’s. It was lovely. But not Emily’s home. “But, Phillip, I thought we’d find our own home.”

“Why? The Highland house is perfect.” He took a bite of his duck. “And free.”

“We are delighted for you to live there, Emily,” Mrs. Saltonstall said. “The décor is practically new. We remodeled and never moved in.”

Emily hid her emotions behind her glass of tea. But it was Mrs. Saltonstall’s décor. Heavy and dark.

Father burst into the room, his face red, his eyes narrow beams of light. “Phillip, excuse me, but I require your presence.”

“Is everything all right?” Phillip tossed down his napkin as he shoved away from the table.

Howard Jr. stood. “Do you need me as well, Father?”

Mr. Saltonstall joined the brigade. “May I assist?”

“No, no. Phillip is all I need.”

Father’s interruption popped the delight in the atmosphere, dimming the light and merriment. Emily visually checked in with Mother, who wore her usual mask of all is well. Especially in front of company.

The clock in the hall ticked off the time. The table conversation was thin and scattered—the lovely December weather, the Christmas program at church, Mr. Saltonstall’s consideration of the newfangled invention of electric lights for the Christmas tree, then of Howard Jr.’s football prowess at Harvard. Mother inquired of his lady friend, Jennifer Barlow, and how she liked Birmingham compared to Boston.