The Wedding Dress (15 page)

Laughter flowed about the room. Phillip anchored his arm around Emily’s waist just as she caught Father’s eye. He nodded to her with a wink.
Did I not tell you .
. .

Emily raised her glass to him.
To you, wise Father
.

“Thank you all for coming and celebrating with Emily and me.” Phillip held her closer as he addressed the ballroom. “How did I win this fine creature as my bride, Powell? Naturally, I wooed her with my charms.” Phillip bowed to the room, which rippled with applause and laughter.

“I daresay it’s the large ring you gave her.” Cornelia Weinberg took a bold step forward, distinguishing herself from the other guests. At thirty-four, she was a widow already, her husband passing three years ago from heart failure at sixty-five. “I tell you it would’ve wooed my affections.”

“Ah, but I believe I’m too young for you, Cornie,” Phillip teased. “You like your men more . . . shall we say . . . seasoned?”

Emily leaned against her man, letting all her doubts fade away with the lively banter of friends and the elation of being celebrated for the night. Cornie was becoming a dear friend and Emily admired her resilience.

Mostly Emily relished moments like these when friendship and c cendughter.amaraderie extinguished all social decorum and folks felt free to laugh.

“If I’d set my sights on you, Phillip Saltonstall, I’d not have missed.” Cornie squared off with him in the middle of the floor. Phillip kept Emily tucked in close.

“You’re not that good of a shot, Cornie.” He lowered his chin but raised his brow.

“I suppose now you’ll never know.” No other Birmingham belle could jest like Cornie. She had a way of making it all seem so innocent.

“All right, you two.” Powell stepped in between them. “The orchestra is ready. Cornie, you can take the first dance with me.” He was a confirmed bachelor, and Cornie’s husband-hunting tactics didn’t scare him.

The guests gathered in small pockets, waiting for the dance to begin. Women chatted about the upcoming debutante season. The men discussed the Barons and Alabama football.

“Phillip, lovely party.” Herschel Wainscot shook his hand. “Emily, lovely as always. Do you mind if your intended and I talk business, just for a moment?”

“Only a moment, Mr. Wainscot. This is my engagement party and I won’t have it spoiled.” Emily gave him a scolding look, but only a quick one. She was too happy.

“I promise not to keep him long, but for some reason I can’t seem to track Phillip down during business hours. He’s very busy.”

“I’m always available to you, Hersh.”

“Then stay in the office once in a while. I’ll telephone you.”

A willowy woman appeared next to Mr. Wainscot. Emily straightened when a flutter zipped between her ribs. The woman from the street . . . outside Loveman’s. Her legs trembled beneath her full, taffeta skirt.

“Introduce me, Herschel.”

“Emmeline Graves, this is Mr. Phillip Saltonstall and his bride-to-be, Miss Emily Canton.”

“Lovely to meet you, Mr. Saltonstall.” She offered her hand to Phillip but kept her eyes averted. “Miss Canton, your gown is quite lovely.”

“Thank you.” Emily braced as she peered up at Phillip. Would he be drinking in the sight of this slender woman? The one Emily saw laughing with him on 19th Street? She had the same thin frame and thick golden hair.

But Phillip barely shook her hand and instead fixed his attention on the bandstand and the orchestra. “How long does it take them to tune, for Pete’s sake?” he said. “I’m ready to twirl around the floor with ce f

Mr. Wainscot chuckled. “Well, while we’re waiting, let me have a word with you. Phillip, how’s the convict-leasing program working for you and Saltonstall mines? We’ve been thinking of using them to work on the city roads. Save some money on labor. Slag is a bit more expensive than concrete.”

“We have no complaints from our overseers.”

“But you do from the citizens, Phillip.” Emily stepped into the conversation. “The convicts live in deplorable conditions and they’re treated brutally. Father has horses and hounds that fare better.”

“Emily—” Phillip’s glare demanded her quiet submission.

“They’re men, not animals.”

“They’re convicts, Miss Canton.” Mr. Wainscot’s tone was devoid of his previous charm. “They’re paying their debts to society.”

“Leg irons, hard labor for a misdemeanor? Half starving, whippings for the smallest infraction. It’s barbaric and beneath a Southern gentleman’s ways.” She leaned close to Wainscot. “And they’re all colored.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Emily. They’ve received due process.”

“From a white jury and white judges, who give cruel and unusual punishment they’d not hand down to white men. Not for the same offense. I don’t see white convicts assigned to this leasing program. The men are cheated, made to work longer than their sentence, to pay for what? Living in squalor? Lining the pockets of the mine owners and crooks who run the city?”

“Miss Canton.” Mr. Wainscot squinted at her. She braced for his shallow rebuttal. He burst out laughing and clapped Phillip on the shoulder. “Phillip, you have a spitfire here. Intelligent. Speaks her mind with eloquence. Even better than most men. Perhaps she’ll study to be admitted into the bar. Or take up management in the Saltonstall offices.”

Phillip chuckled as if Wainscot surely had to be joking. “Emily has no such aspirations.”

“How do you know, Phillip?” Emily said. “Have you asked me? It’s men like you two that make women want the vote, so we can bring some civility and humanity to politics.”

“My dear.” Phillip wrapped his hand about her waist and pressed her to him. “You sound like pamphlet rhetoric. I thought you didn’t care for the suffrage meetings. Hear now, it’s our party. Why don’t we”—the orchestra began a waltz—“dance?”

“Yes, of course.” Emily dabbed the moisture from her forehead with the handkerchief tuck ckerliked against her palm. “I’m sorry, Phillip, I didn’t realize all of that was inside me.”

“Then you surprised us both.” He held her face in his hands and stroked his thumbs over her lips, sending a buzz through her. “But you’re beautiful when you’re fiery. It makes me want—” His lips covered hers and Emily clung to him, and his passion. When Phillip released her, she fell against his chest.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“You didn’t embarrass me, love, but make no mistake, I am a man like Herschel Wainscot. A businessman in this city, working to make it better for all of us. Hersh is a bit arrogant, but he’s a reasonable, solid character.” Phillip brushed his hand over her cheek as he started to waltz her about the room. Step, turn, step, turn. “I never tire of looking at you, Emily. You’re so very, very lovely.” His low, romantic tone wooed her. His eyes gripped hers and she felt locked into him.

“You are most dear, handsome Phillip. I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

“I look forward to our wedding night. Perhaps you’ll reserve some of your fire and passion for me there.”

“Phillip,” she whispered, burning with embarrassment, though his intentions awakened her desires.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll teach you.” His lips caressed the soft flesh at the base of her ear with no regard for the room full of friends and family who might be watching.

Emily shifted her head away from him. It was not their wedding night yet. Though, obviously, he’d like it to be so.

“Phillip, may I ask you something?”

“Anything.” He spun Emily about the floor with grace and ease.

“Do you know Mr. Wainscot’s friend, Emmeline? Where is she from?”

“I know what you know, dear Emily. Just met her tonight.”

Wainscot appeared through the dancing couples, the willowy woman in his arms. “Phillip, do your ole pal a favor. For the grand ole frat, Phi Delt. Dance with Emmeline, and let me take a turn around the floor with this vision of a woman you call your fiancée.” He lifted Emily’s hand from Phillip’s and twirled Emmeline into Phillip’s arms. Wainscot settled his hand on Emily’s back, her palm in his, and danced them away.

“Thank you, dear Emily, you rid me of that silly dame.” Herschel stepped her around the floor, light on his feet. Emily’s skirt swished against her legs. “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight, and I’ve never been so jealous of my best pal.”

Emily darted her gaze to the floor as they turned, heat creeping along her neck. How did he expect her to respond?

“Mr. Wainscot.” Emily raised her chin, keeping her voice light and airy, boasting a smile. “If the dame is silly, why’d you force her onto my Phillip?” She coyly peered around his shoulder to see Phillip dancing with Emmeline as if her form was familiar to him. As if her curves belonged beneath his palm.

“Because I wanted to dance with you.” He exhaled, his port-tainted breath brushing over Emily’s hair. “Phillip’s always had the luck with the ladies. I remember our first day on campus, he had the girls fawning all over him. I decided then he’d be my best friend.”

“And does he still? Have luck with the ladies?”

Herschel looked in her eyes and exhaled, his breath warm on her face. “He has you, hasn’t he? I’d fight him for you if I thought you’d take me after I won.”

“Mr. Wainscot.” Emily moved out of his arms.

“Call me Herschel, please.”

“You seem to be in no short supply of beautiful escorts, Herschel. Emmeline is quite beautiful.” Emily knew most every woman in their social circle, even the nieces, granddaughters, and relatives who came to Birmingham for long visits now and then. “How do you know her?”

“She’s the daughter of a friend.” Herschel offered Emily his arm, motioning to the refreshment table. He handed her a glass of punch, then took one for himself.

The drink was sweet and minty, but the air between Emily and Herschel was hot and sticky. Wanting to escape his company, she scanned the guests for a sign of Mother and Father. Or Phillip. But she couldn’t find them among the dancers.

“Emily,” Hershel said after a moment, “I hope I didn’t offend you earlier. I think your position is admirable.”

“You didn’t offend me, Herschel.” She strained to see where Phillip had gone, wrestling with guilt for suspecting him. Blast that Daniel Ludlow for sowing seeds of doubt in her heart. “I only hope I didn’t offend you.”

Herschel laughed. “It’d take more than pushing out of my arms to offend me.”

She sipped the last of her punch, and as she set her cup on the table, Herschel offered her his hand. “Shall we?”

Emily hesitated, then slowly gave him her hand. “We must find Phillip soon.”

“Perhaps it is upon him to find us.” Herschel swept Emily around in the dance, the sheen of his blond hair catching the spark cingt sizle of the chandelier, his magnificent smile attempting to work his charms.

“You think highly of yourself, don’t you, Herschel?”

“No more than any other man thinks of himself.”

Emily laughed, moving with him among the other guests. “Perhaps Phillip is right, you’re not a bad sort after all.”

“You pay me a high compliment.”

“We shall have to have you to dinner once we are married.”

“At your earliest convenience, please do.”

“I’ll speak to Phillip at the end of this dance.” It was then Emily caught sight of her fiancé’s broad back disappearing into the dark, secret shadows of the terrace, dancing with Emmeline Graves in his arms.

Chapter Ten

 
Charlotte

 
C
harlotte carried the Herrera gown up to the sewing salon, walking under a waterfall of sunlight spilling into the shop from the skylights. The cherry hardwood gleamed beneath her feet.

Her heart still lacked light, but she felt better today, nearly a week after seeing Tim at Homewood Gourmet with his ex-fiancée. She’d slept well the last two nights, after pleading with God for some kind of peace.

Slipping the dress over the dress form, Charlotte smoothed her hand over the ivory satin bodice with handcrafted embroidery set above a full tulle skirt, one of her favorite designs.

A new client had chosen the Herrera—which was perfect for her—and had scheduled her first fitting for Saturday. Malone & Co.’s seamstress, Bethany, always inspected the gown before working with the bride.

Heading back downstairs, Charlotte pictured the bride’s face when she slipped on the Herrera, then phoned her fiancé in tears.
I found my dress, baby
.

Why hadn’t she ever found a nickname for Tim? A term of endearment? He was just Tim. To her recollection, he’d never called her anything but Charlotte or Char. Not babe or baby. No sweetie or honey.

And if she was honest with herself, which she had the courage to be now, Charlotte held back from him, not really willing to give up her identity as orphan girl made good.

She, Charlotte Malone, could soar high and wide all on her own. She didn’t need a man, fingt otte smoo a family, or her own Cinderella wedding to validate her. She’d proven she could make it on her own and created a good, safe, dependable life she loved.

At the bottom of the stairs, Charlotte paused when the front door opened and the bells chimed. The fragrance of roses swept into the shop. “Welcome to Malone & Co. May I help you?”