By the time they arrived at the entrance to Vauxhall Gardens, it was just past seven o’clock. They paid for their admission and entered onto the Grand Walk, where freshly raked gravel suddenly crunched beneath their feet. Emily sucked in a breath at the sight of the nine-hundred-foot-long walkway that was flanked by elms on either side. “Shall we?” Francis asked as he offered her his arm. “Supper generally begins at nine, so we can take a turn of the gardens until then.”
Resting her hand on his arm, Emily allowed him to steer her forward between the gathering crowds. Never in her life had she seen so many fashionably dressed men and women gathered together in one spot—not even at Almack’s. The sight was so spectacular that she could not stop herself from staring, her head turning from side to side so as not to miss a single thing.
Francis grinned down at her. “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he mused.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Francis,” she muttered, suddenly painfully self-aware. “I don’t mean to act like a gawking imbecile . . . but . . . oh my goodness, would you look at that lady’s hat!”
“Please tell me that you do not like that catastrophe,” he said with apparent alarm.
“Oh no,” she assured him. “But it’s quite extravagant nonetheless—from an artistic viewpoint, of course.”
“Of course,” he concurred, trying desperately to stifle an impending burst of laughter.
He led her all the way down toward the bottom of the walk, stopping along the way to buy an ice for each of them. They found a bench on which to sit as they enjoyed their refreshment, watching the vast variety of people passing by, quietly commenting on their appearances from time to time.
Continuing on their way, Francis steered Emily right toward the Southern Walk. Once again, Emily found herself struck with wonder and admiration at the sight of three triumphal arches that were spread out along the length of it. As they passed under the last one, Francis nudged her in the direction of the grove. “Let us enjoy the music for a while,” he suggested. “There’s still half an hour until nine o’clock.”
Taking a seat on one of the many benches that lined the periphery, they allowed the music to waft over them. Neither of them spoke until it was over. “I could sit here forever,” Emily told him.
“I know what you mean. However, I do believe that it’s time for supper.” He rose, reached out his hand, and helped her to her feet.
Passing a statue of Handel, they entered a semicircular plaza surrounded by twenty supper boxes, all painted in bright colors to depict children at play, adults’ pastime activities, and scenes from the theatre. “They’re so beautifully painted, Francis. And the way they’re lit up . . . as if the murals are glowing . . . I must admit, I never thought to see a place such as this. I believe it’s my turn to thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he told her as he turned his head toward her with a smile.
They ordered some thinly sliced ham, a selection of cheeses, and some sweetmeats. Francis asked the waiter to bring them a decanter of arrack punch so that Emily might try the specialty. “Come, try this,” he told her once the food had arrived. He held a piece of sweetmeat up to her lips and slipped it into her mouth. Her eyes opened wide in appreciation. “Now follow it with arrack.”
The rich flavor of the confection mingling with the liquor made for an extraordinary gustatory experience. Emily closed her eyes, savoring every moment of it as Francis watched her with delight, happy to see the joy that she took in such a simple thing.
Her eyes flew open at the sudden sound of whistles blowing. She looked about to find the source. In astonishment she watched the gardens flood with light as hundreds of globe lanterns came ablaze. “Incredible,” she sighed. “How many do you suppose that there are?”
“Well over a thousand, if I’m not mistaken.”
Emily shook her head in wonder as she reached for a piece of ham. “This place truly is magical, I believe. It just continues to impress me.”
“Just wait until you see the cascade,” he told her.
“A waterfall?” she asked in astonishment.
He nodded. “Yes, you’d better hurry up and eat so we’ll be ready when it begins.”
“How will we know when it begins? Oh, Francis, we mustn’t miss it.”
He grinned at her. “There’ll be a bell,” he promised. “Now, how about a dessert plate with a selection of tarts, cheesecake, and some fresh fruit?”
“Sounds divine,” Emily told him dreamily as she finished the remainder of her arrack. “Perhaps with some coffee?”
“I didn’t think you drank coffee,” he teased as he leaned toward her, brushing her cheek with his lips.”
“Just because you’ve never seen me drink it, doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy it.”
“Hmmm . . . I can’t help but wonder what else you might enjoy doing . . .”
“Francis!” Her cheeks filled with color as she glanced across at Mary, who was seated on a bench within a reasonable distance of them. The maid was paying more attention to the crowd passing her by than she was to either Emily or Francis, however.
There was no doubt in Emily’s mind that Francis was extremely aware of this, for in the next instant, she felt his hand grip her thigh beneath the table as he fixed her with a heated stare. A sudden primal urge to let him ravish her there and then hit her like a blow, knocking the air out of her. “Oh God, Francis,” she groaned, her eyes swimming with desire.
“I’ve never felt this strongly for any woman, Emily. Just thinking about you—and the evening we shared in your bedroom—makes me hard.” She whimpered slightly as she felt his grip tighten. “Do you have any idea how much I want you, Emily?” he asked. There was an almost desperate tone to his voice as he posed his question to her.
“I’m barely able to think of anything other than your hands on me, Francis. In fact, I think you’ll find that my need is just as great as yours.” She swallowed hard, then set her mind to slowing the beat of her racing heart.
“For pity’s sake, Emily.”
She eyed him warily. “Do you intend to seduce me before our wedding night, Francis?”
His hand was gone from her thigh the moment the words left her mouth, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of regret, as if she’d lost something very dear to her. “No,” he told her with a hint of severity, determination clear in his eyes. “Some things are sacred.”
“Then why? For heaven’s sake, Francis, why would you . . .” The disappointment she felt at his sudden righteousness was so overwhelming that she felt she might scream with frustration.
“I wanted you to understand that what I feel for you is more than a passing fancy. I want to share my bed with you every night for the rest of my life. And when we’re out of bed, I want to spend my days talking to you, sharing my thoughts with you, and listening to everything that you may wish to tell me. I want to see you laugh, Emily, because when you do, the whole world seems to brighten with your happiness.”
The sound of a bell ringing was followed by a loud bustling all around them as men and women rose to their feet, all intent on viewing the cascade. “Come, Emily,” Francis urged her. “Let us hurry so that we can find a good vantage point before the crowd closes in around it.” He quickly handed a wad of money to their waiter as he hauled Emily out of her seat and hurried her along at a brisk pace.
They pushed themselves forward until they stood at the very front, to find themselves looking at a miller’s house standing next to a frothing waterfall. At the bottom of the waterfall, the churning waters drove a huge wheel attached to the side of the house. The color of the water changed from blue, to green, to red as different lights illuminated it.
Unable to tear her eyes away from any part of it, Emily looked on in wonder, not uttering a single word for the fifteen minutes that the spectacle lasted. Finally, the water slowed and the crowd began to disperse.
“It never would have occurred to me that watching water flow could be so mesmerizing,” she muttered as she turned back toward Francis. “Thank you for a wonderful day and evening.”
It had been wonderful, he agreed, as he took her by the arm and began leading her back toward Vauxhall Road—unbelievably wonderful. And while he’d never much cared for the notion of marriage, he suddenly had an urgent need to cart Emily off to the nearest church. The sooner they spoke their vows the better, he decided—especially if she was going to remain chaste until her wedding night.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“A letter came for you yesterday, Miss Emily,” the butler told her as she arrived for breakfast the next day.
Beatrice and Claire were both enjoying a hot cup of tea and some scones with strawberry jam as she walked across to the table. “Thank you, Parker,” Emily said, taking the letter from the tray that he was holding out to her. She then looked at her sisters as she took her own seat at the table. “I didn’t see either one of you yesterday. Francis mentioned something about a bonnet. Did you find it?”
“Oh yes,” Claire replied. “It’s the most splendid thing in the world. Don’t you agree, Bea?”
“It is lovely,” Beatrice agreed. “And I’m sure that I never would have heard the end of it if I hadn’t gone with you. Sorry we left you here alone, Emily, but your sister insisted that if we did not hurry, then someone else was sure to buy it.”
“That’s quite all right,” Emily chuckled. “As it turned out, I had a rather splendid day together with Francis.” It was impossible for her to hide her joy as the corners of her mouth edged upward into a happy smile.
“Really? Well, what did you do? Surely you weren’t alone with him?” There was a mischievous gleam in Claire’s eyes that told Emily that she almost wished it were so.
“Mary was with us, of course.” Beatrice made an evident sigh of relief. Emily then told her sisters of her visit to the Dulwich, and later trip to Vauxhall Gardens and how spectacular she had found it.
“Though I’m sure that both these places are of great interest,” Beatrice said with a smile, “I’m more inclined to believe that it’s the company you kept that has you looking so giddy this morning.”
“Oh, Bea, it was wonderful—he was wonderful. When the fireworks started . . .”
“There were fireworks?” Claire exclaimed, to which Emily nodded. “I should love to see them sometime.”
“Perhaps you shall,” Beatrice told her patiently, then turned her attention back to Emily. “And what happened when the fireworks started?”
Heat flushed Emily’s cheeks. “He put his arms around me, pulled me close, and kissed me, right there in the middle of the gardens.”
“Good God, Emily,” Beatrice exclaimed.
“Bravo!” Claire hooted simultaneously.
“Settle down, Claire,” Beatrice told her sister sternly. “This is a serious matter. Where was Mary while all of this kissing was going on?”