Chapter 2
Emma Jane
The key to a successful scheme is to lay the groundwork before striking while the opportunity is hot.
I place the corner puzzle pieces quickly, then I begin working on the sides. “You know, Henrietta. Frank Weston, Mr. Weston’s son, is down from New York for a month. Word is he’s still single. Maybe I can set something up.” I raise my eyebrows at her before continuing my puzzle.
My friend, with her short, curly brown hair and doe brown eyes, sighs.
“E. J., he’s Frank Weston. He’s loaded with money and lives in New York.
There’s not a chance in heaven he’d be interested in a plain, orphaned farm girl such as myself.
First it was the son of the Mississippi State senator.
Now an investment banker who doesn’t even reside in the state.
Why do you keep trying to set me up with men so far out of my league?
And men that would eventually force me on a plane? You know I refuse to fly.”
I purse my lips, placing the last side puzzle piece for the 5,000-piece image.
I think this may be my fastest time yet.
“You have a warped view of yourself, Henrietta. Or you severely lack confidence.” I stand, tugging her with me.
I walk her over to the stand-up mirror in my bathroom and play with her hair.
“Look at yourself. Your milky white skin is without blemish. Your hair doesn’t frizz.
You are not in need of makeup or jewelry.
How could any man turn you away? You will not have to get on a plane, and if you do, then you’ll be so in love that you’ll feel safe. Will you trust me?”
She turns her soft expression to me. “You mean it?”
“Yes, Henrietta. I mean it. Will you do as I say with Frank Weston? I have a plan, but you must follow it to a tee.”
I stare into her widening eyes. She swallows once and then nods.
“Good.” I smile and then return to my puzzle on my wooden table that I’ve devoted entirely to puzzles.
As I search for a faded green piece, I go over my outfits in my closet, mentally picturing her in each of them until I land on the right option.
“Henrietta,” I sing her name, “I have just the outfit for you to meet Frank Weston in.”
She groans, running her fingers through her brown curls, which bounce right back into place somehow. It’s her personal magic trick, I’m sure of it. “Please do not put me in a sequin skirt and silk top.”
“I—”
“Well, a silk top would be okay. But no sequins. Or lace.” Henrietta takes my hand between hers. “I’m not you, E. J. Don’t try to dress me as if I’m your favorite doll.”
Her request takes me by surprise, though I guess it shouldn’t. I’m used to people copying my style in this town but looking back, Henrietta has never been that way. Maybe it’s why I keep her close?
“I just want to see you happy and thriving within this small, debutante-centric society.”
She gives me a pointed look. “You forget I wasn’t a debutante. That was you.”
“But you were there for me through the entire process. You might as well be one.” I smile, removing my hand from hers and bounding toward my walk-in closet.
Regardless, I want to make her look and feel like a high class woman.
“What’s mine is yours, Henrietta. Now, allow me to show you my idea.
If you detest it, then we will look through my other clothes. ”
The next hour is spent switching between various fabrics, neckline cuts, and statement pieces.
Henrietta grumbles and groans but finally settles on a red long-sleeve silk blouse with a long cut from the shoulder to the wrist. She chooses a high-waisted, flowy white skirt.
Then I force her to wear simple golden hoops with diamonds on the bottom, matching bracelets, and a necklace.
“E. J., why am I fully dressed in this getup right now and why are you doing my hair? I was under the impression the meeting would be later in the month…”
My lips twitch. “I never said that, Henrietta. You assumed. Frank Weston is on his way over as we speak. In fact, he should be here—” The doorbell rings, and I rock onto my toes with delight. “Marvelous. Let’s go win you a keeper.”
“Emma Jane! Wait—”
I grab her wrist and yank her behind me, momentarily cursing myself for not making sure her toenails were painted since we don’t wear shoes in the house. That’s not being perfect, E. J. Do better. Details matter.
“Listen to me, Henrietta. Be your charming self. Smile softly, laugh at his jokes, tuck your hair behind your ear, and bat your eyelashes when he compliments you. Understand?” I pull her through the third-floor hallway, down the winding staircase, and through the first-floor hallway until we reach the edge of the sitting room where my father, Frank’s father, Frank, Halle, and… Knightley?
What’s he doing here?
“Ah, Emma Jane. Come in,” my father says in an overly cheerful greeting.
“Look who’s here. Frank Weston.” He catches Henrietta at my side, promptly noticing how she looks ten times better than I do right now as I sport an oversized hoodie, leggings, and unwashed hair.
Unfortunately, I’m the type of girl who will steal the show, and I don’t mean that to be conceited.
It’s simply a fact, and I have lost many friends over it.
Therefore, I opt to dress down—even though I love dressing up—when hanging out with other women who are single.
I don’t have evidence that Henrietta would be that way.
In fact, I believe the contrary, but it’s happened too many times in the past for me to even risk it.
“Henrietta Bates, please come in. Have you met Frank Weston?” My father manages a small smile and an awkward nod toward me, letting me know he’s onto me and what I’m planning.
The lights in the sitting room are off, so only the glow of the fireplace illuminates the cream walls with their golden siding.
I grin, thinking about how good it is to always have him on my side and in my corner even if he isn’t quite on board with marriage.
I glance at Knightley as Henrietta and I walk into the room, and his expression is far different from my father’s warm, approachable demeanor.
Knightley frowns, his eyes shifting between me and my friend.
He obviously knows what I’m up to as well, but where my father is encouraging despite his disdain for marriage, Knightley seems as if the idea of my matchmaking Henrietta with Frank gives him a stomach ulcer.
As we exchange greetings, I’m not subtle in my attempt to size Frank up.
While shaking his father’s hand, I notice Frank is tall and lean, sporting chocolate brown hair similar to his dad’s.
Though unlike Mr. Grant’s, Frank’s hair is thick and lush.
When I embrace Halle in a tight hug, I catch sight of Frank over her shoulder sporting an easy smile with crinkles around his dark eyes.
Then against my will, as I’m attempting to watch Frank greet Henrietta, two large hands wrap around my biceps from behind, spinning me around until I’m face to face with the current thunderous rain on my matchmaking parade.
Face to chest, I should correct.
And I scowl at that broad expanse, refusing to meet his stormy blue tornado-cloud eyes that will hail down disapproval.
“What do you think you’re up to, Emma?” Oof. He single-named me. Big mistake, buddy. I finally lift my eyes, jutting my chin.
“Whatever I so please, Knightley George Austen. So stay out of my way and go ruin someone else’s fun.”
He releases my arms, one hand resting on his jeaned hip while the other runs through his auburn hair. With an exhale, he proclaims, “You can’t run around meddling in the lives of others. Frank and Henrietta? Really? What are you thinking?”
I fold my arms across my chest, meeting his stare and cocking out one hip. “I’m thinking it’s a match made in heaven. Look at them.”
I glance over my shoulder to find Frank pulling out a spare chair for Henrietta. He catches my gaze and nods once, wearing a pleased smile.
“See?” I whip around toward Knightley while my thumb points at the obvious love blossoming behind me.
“Do you even know what kind of man he is? Why he’s back in Hartfield? And think about Henrietta! This is real life, Emma Jane. Not a romance movie where the poor girl gets the hotshot New York man.”
“He’s a perfect gentleman for Henrietta. And would you look at her?” I turn around again, this time maneuvering to Knightley’s side. “She’s got that whole girl-next-door vibe with her wide, almond-colored eyes and simple style. Any man would be a twit to not fall in love with her.”
Knightley’s warm breath tickles my ear. “Then, pray tell, Emma Jane, why does he keep side-eyeing you?”
“He’s suspiciously eyeing the man hovering beside me like an annoying fly.”
I move to stand behind Henrietta, effectively deciding to photo-erase Knightley from this scene.
Frank Weston sits across from us, chatting with my father.
Grant and Halle sit on the gray ornate loveseat together, gazing into each other’s eyes as if they didn’t just get back from their three-day honeymoon.
Henrietta twirls her thumbs in her lap, nervously looking at Frank and then back at her fidgeting hands. Time for me to intervene.
“Frank, it’s so good to see you here in Hartfield again. I feared you’d disappeared on us for good. How’s life back in New York?”
Conversation between Father and Frank ceases as both men acknowledge me with pleasant smiles. Frank clears his throat, man-splaying in the settee before resting his elbows on his knees. “New York is full of life, character, and… stimulation. You would love it there, E. J.”
“Henrietta, haven’t you mentioned before that you were just dying to see what New York looked like outside of the movies?” I place a hand on her shoulder while I fix my gaze on the still-grinning man. “Frank, why don’t you show us pictures of the Big Apple?”