Miss Hastings' Excellent London Adventure (Brazen Brides Book 4)(10)

 

Because of the trajectory of her thoughts, she finally came up with something to say to him. "I suppose Maria was very beautiful."

 

He was silent for a moment before answering in a woeful voice. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I fell in love with her the first time I saw her upon the stage." Turning to Emma, he added, almost boastfully, "She's an Italian opera singer."

 

"You met her in Italy?"

 

He shook his head. "I've never been to Italy. She came to London for an exclusive performance. She'd been the toast of Naples."

 

Even though Emma had never seen Maria, she would vow that every man in that audience must have half fallen in love with the lovely opera singer. What man wouldn't be honored to win such a woman's affections?

 

But to Emma's thinking, it was Maria who had been the lucky one to have won Mr. Birmingham's affections—even if he was frightfully attached to the bottle. He was a very fine looking man. And exceedingly kind. And enormously wealthy. "When did you meet her?"

 

"Three years ago."

 

Emma might be a provincial, but she knew enough of the world to know that men did not marry women like Maria. They kept them as mistresses. (Much of Emma's education came from reading the Society columns in the London newspapers to which Aunt Harriett subscribed to.) A man with Mr. Birmingham's wealth would have been able to give the Italian woman anything his fortune could procure.

 

"She was your mistress?"

 

He did not meet her gaze but spoke crossly, eyeing his lap. "That is not a topic fit for a young lady's ears."

 

What had come over her? Emma knew better than to have asked so personal a question. "Forgive my impertinence."

 

"I daresay you're just unaccustomed to Society."

 

After they reached the address of Mr. Wycliff's establishment, Mr. Birmingham's coachman opened the door and lowered the step for them.

 

Mr. Birmingham was kind enough to offer his hand when she disembarked. How interesting it was for her to observe real barristers hurrying along the pavement in long, tightly curled white wigs and flowing black robes.

 

Every new sight and sound in the Capital exhilarated her. This city's vibrancy never waned, be it day or night. Such a diversity of people and professions she had never thought to see. Upper Barrington to London was like bread crumbs to a royal feast.

 

There was so much more she wanted to see. If only she didn't have to return to Upper Barrington. She knew if she went back, she'd never leave. She'd die an old maid just like her aunt. No man there was suited to be her life's mate.

 

Just as terrifying, once Aunt Harriett died, Emma wouldn’t even have a home in Upper Barrington. Therefore, she had been all the more grateful to her uncle for offering to share what he had with her.

 

Mr. Birmingham proffered his arm, and they entered the three-story building which housed the offices of Mr. Hugh Wycliff.

 

They located Mr. Wycliff's place of business on the second floor. The solicitor's clerk, a bespectacled man not much older than Emma, looked up from reading one of many dozens of bulging folders which cluttered his desk. "May I help you?"

 

Mr. Birmingham spoke. "Miss Hastings wishes to see Mr. Wycliff regarding her uncle, the late Mr. Simon Hastings."

 

The clerk nodded, rose from his desk, and went to an adjoining room. Seconds later he reemerged. "Please, come this way, Miss Hastings. Mr. Wycliff can see you now."

 

Mr. Wycliff's office was devoid of the piles of papers which cluttered the outer office. His corner office was lighted by eight tall windows and warmed by a red-brick fireplace.

 

The white-haired, well-fed gentleman stood when she entered, the expression on his face suitably grim, given the sad nature of her visit. "I offer you my most sincere condolences, Miss Hastings."

 

She nodded solemnly as he beckoned her and Mr. Birmingham to sit in the chairs opposite his desk. Even after he'd muttered his condolences, his face remained solemn and he refused to meet her gaze. Several seconds passed. He gave no indication he would initiate a conversation.

 

Finally, Mr. Birmingham spoke. "Miss Hastings arrived in London last night at her uncle's invitation, only to learn of Mr. Hastings' death."

 

"Very unfortunate," said Mr. Wycliff, shaking his head sorrowfully. "Just in the prime of life."

 

While five-and-fifty sounded quite old to Emma, she realized to a man of the solicitor's advanced years, five and fifty might seem young. "I would like to know when my uncle died."

 

Mr. Wycliff counted upon his fingers, mumbling under his breath. "Four days ago."