Miss Hastings' Excellent London Adventure (Brazen Brides Book 4)(33)

 

Not that she deserved perfect happiness. She did not deserve any of these wondrous things. She'd done nothing to deserve them. It wasn't even as if she were a great beauty he should like to hang on his arm.

 

Her thoughts tangled in her mind and kept her from sleeping. She found herself wondering if she and Adam would ever have children. Then, quite naturally, she wondered if Adam would ever share her bed. The very thought spiked her pulse. Which kept her awake for a considerable period of time.

 

* * *

 

Therese had opened the draperies in Emma's bedchamber to fill the room with brilliant sunlight. Emma was surprised she had slept so late. But, of course, it was near dawn before sleep finally fell over her.

 

Because of the sunshine, it was impossible to be melancholy this morning. She sat in her bed propped up on mounds of pillows, sipping her hot chocolate. Aunt Harriett would have been mortified at her indolence, but Emma felt as if she were in an intoxicating dream. Everything was so wondrous. Never would she have thought to have so beautiful a bedchamber, to be mistress of so fine a home, to be wife to the most perfect of beings. (For she believed he must have conquered his sottishness.) Her heart expanded at the thought of Adam.

 

How he had changed from the night she had met him. He'd been so witless she never would have thought him a capable man. But sober, he exuded intelligence and leadership. One quality that endeared him to her the most had been present on the night they met and had only strengthened since: his kindness.

 

Even that first night, so drunk he could hardly find his way home, he'd been compassionate toward her, a strange young woman lugging a portmanteau in the rain.

 

Her thoughts flitted to what she would wear today. She wanted to look so pretty he would forget that wretched Maria.

 

Therese entered her sunlit chamber, this time carrying a soft yellow morning dress. "Has madame finished her chocolate?"

 

Emma nodded, set her tray aside, and leapt from the bed. "I wish for you to make me lovely. I must dazzle my husband."

 

* * *

 

"Mr. Wycliff," Adam said, "my wife and I shall need a list of all those employed in Mr. Hastings' household."

 

"It won't take me a moment to get you that information. Is there anything else I can procure for you?"

 

Adam felt like asking him to throw out the bogus will, but he had confidence the truth would prevail. "That will be quite enough."

 

A few minutes later, a neat list of Simon Hastings' domestic staff was handed to him.

 

Wycliff cleared his throat. "I am sure you are aware that your own solicitor, Mr. Emmott, has met with me?"

 

"Yes, of course."

 

Wycliff's gaze shifted to Emma. "Rest assured, Mrs. Birmingham, your uncle's property will not be handed over to anyone until this situation is resolved."

 

"Thank you, Mr. Wycliff."

 

They left the solicitor's chambers, and once they were in the coach, she turned to Adam. "I didn't know you were going to ask for those names. What is the purpose? Are we going to try to interview each of them?"

 

He shook his head. "I was looking for the names Jonathan Booker and Sydney Wolf."

 

"The witnesses to Uncle's will."

 

"Wouldn't it have been the most natural thing for your uncle to have his servants act as witnesses?"

 

"Indeed it would."

 

"He didn't. None of the servants bear those names."

 

"Oh, dear."

 

"By the way, I've indirectly placed a large order for Ceylon Tea."

 

"To see James Ashburnham's handwriting?"

 

He nodded.

 

"You used your own name?"

 

"No. The order was actually placed by one of the businesses I own."

 

"You own other businesses beside the bank?"

 

"I'm one of the shareholders in a company that acquires choice properties. I like owning land. We like owning land. My brothers are also shareholders."

 

She giggled. "I daresay none of the Birminghams will have to buy tea anytime during the next year." They had ordered half a dozen cases.

 

Their coach turned onto The Strand, where it was going to be difficult to progress because of all the conveyances making their way along one of the Capital's busiest streets. From his window, the passing vehicles varied from a cart piled high with potatoes to an aggressive hackney driver trying to weave in and out of the snarl, various tilburies and phaetons, and a very long cart transporting an enormous slab of Sienna marble.

 

"Would you mind terribly if we didn't go to the museum today?" she asked.

 

He turned to her, a puzzled look on his face. "But I thought it was you who wanted to see it."