“I am certain she will.”
I looked back at the bed, where I had laid out my new silk waistcoat and dark blue jacket. Beside it was a crisp white cravat. The tailor had schooled me in the tying of it and I hoped I remembered the correct knot. “Actually, Robert,” I said, going over to the bed and lifting up the cravat, “now that I think of it, I would appreciate a hand with tying this.”
“What style were you considering?” he asked.
“What would you suggest?”
Robert didn’t hesitate. “For this evening a Maharatta tie would do well.” He placed the starched linen fabric to the back of my neck, brought the ends forward to join them as a chain link, and expertly fastened the remainder of the cloth in the back. As he helped me with my waistcoat, he voiced admiration of the embroidered blue flowers that dotted the ivory silk. When my jacket was in place, he tugged the tails straight and gave it a quick brush.
I slipped on the black silk eye patch that the tailor had designed to fit as flawlessly as a well-made glove, then I turned to Robert for his appraisal. “What do you think?” I asked.
Robert looked me up and down, then gave a rare smile. “It is a handsome look,” he said. “Mr. and Mrs. Burton will be pleased.”
“Do you think so, Robert?” I asked again.
He nodded. “I do,” he said, then gave my shoulders a last quick brush before he held open the door.
THE DRAWING ROOM, just off the dining room, was already filled with guests when I entered. Mr. and Mrs. Burton were waiting for me, and together they took me on rounds to greet everyone. I already knew Nicholas and his wife and had met the family lawyer a number of times, but this evening I was introduced to his attractive young niece, a Miss Grewen.
When Robert opened the doors of the dining room to announce dinner, there was a collective gasp of delight. Candlelight from the low-hanging chandelier lit the glittering silver and crystal on the long dining table. Masses of white blossoms spilled over onto crisp white linen, and the scent of jasmine was thick in the air.
Robert, stylish in a blue body coat, blue trousers, and a yellow vest, stood at the ready alongside six assistants, all dressed like him, minus the yellow vest. A disgruntled Delia was positioned next to the sideboard.
When I was seated in the place of honor on Mrs. Burton’s right, I had no doubt that this evening was about my promotion. But with so much attention on me, I had grown increasingly uneasy and wished the Burtons had not made this fuss. Yet I could see Mrs. Burton’s excitement, so I forced myself to smile at her, for I had never seen her this happy.
When everyone was seated, Robert, much like a conductor at a concert, set the meal in motion. Delia ladled out a creamed carrot soup, then handed the bowl off to a waiter, while Robert gave a last inspection to make sure the waiter’s thumb was enclosed in a white napkin before he served each bowl to a guest. Etiquette dictated that we not wait for the complete table to be served and those who began were quick to declare their approval.
The feast was served at a practiced pace, with the soup course leisurely followed by crab, picked clean and then roasted in its shell—a dish Mrs. Burton knew that I particularly enjoyed. Each course brought with it a new wine, and though I seldom drank, I did so this evening. I had two glasses in quick succession and was quite relaxed when another favorite dish of mine, roast lamb with mint, was served.
When the cheese and fruit were brought to the table, Miss Grewen, the young woman seated to my right, turned to me. “Would you care to share a pear with me?” she asked, blushing as though she had offered a true intimacy. Feeling friendly as a result of the wine, I smiled my agreement and adeptly speared the ripe fruit with my fork. I glanced over to see Mrs. Burton watching while I peeled the pear as she had taught. I gave her a quick smile and then a teasing wink. She laughed aloud, but then her eyes filled with tears. Before I could apologize, champagne had been poured, and Mr. Burton was rising with glass in hand. I looked again to Mrs. Burton and was concerned to see that her eyes still glistened.
“Are you all right?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she said, reaching for my hand. She looked at me with such affection that I was reminded of Grandmother. In that moment my usual reserve fell away, and I spontaneously lifted and kissed Mrs. Burton’s hand.
“We are here this evening to celebrate this young man.” Mr. Burton nodded toward me. My face grew hot. By now I was convinced that he was going to offer me employment. Buoyed by the dinner wine, I quickly thought out some words of gratitude.
“Not only has he become a valuable member of our work team”—here he exchanged a nod with Nicholas—“but Mrs. Burton and I have come to care for him as we would a son.”
I lowered my head. How unexpected were those words. I had come to care for each of them deeply, but to hear him use the word “son” touched me. When I looked up again, his eyes shone back at me. “And so, James, with our friends to witness, Mrs. Burton and I are asking you to join our family. We would like you to legally become known as our son, James Burton.”
Stunned, I looked to Mrs. Burton, who now wept openly.
“James?” Mr. Burton addressed me again.
I tried to take it in. Could this be true? No! They didn’t know me! An image of me holding a blasting rifle was quickly followed by another of Belle. I couldn’t go through with this. What if they learned the truth? No! I wanted to shout. No! You don’t know me!
“Do you accept us, James?” Mr. Burton asked, his voice choking back tears.
Mrs. Burton leaned over and grasped my hand. “Please say yes! Everyone is waiting.”
Had she not been clinging so tightly to my hand, I might have bolted. Instead, when she urged me on, I rose unsteadily. “I don’t know what to say . . .” I struggled for an answer.
Mrs. Burton began to laugh through her tears. “Oh, Jamie, please say yes! Don’t you know that we already think of you as our son?”
I looked down at her. She wore a silk green gown made especially for the occasion, and though the white lace ruffle overpowered her, she had never looked so dear. How could I hurt her in front of all of her friends?
I felt light-headed and clutched her hand for strength. “Yes.” I forced the word out. “Yes,” I repeated. Nicholas’s cheer of approval set off a round of applause.
“I would like everyone to raise a glass,” Mr. Burton called out, lifting his champagne glass in my direction. “To our son, James Burton.”
As everyone joined in the toast, no one else seemed to notice the crash of the tray when it slipped from Delia’s hands, and everyone was crowding around me as she rushed from the room.
“You’ve made them so happy these past years. They are so proud of you.” Those phrases were repeated over and over, and I did my best to respond appropriately.
As Robert directed the guests into the drawing room for coffee, the Burtons led me to the study. There, we sat at a table where their lawyer handed me a document enclosed in a beautiful folder of velvet indigo. As I scanned it, the lawyer explained that my signature and those of the Burtons were all that was required on this document to put my adoption in motion. The lawyer handed me a pen, but I set it down. I felt desperate to tell the truth. Yet, if I did, I would lose everything—this home, my job, and not least, the Burtons’ support and love.
“What is it, James?” Mr. Burton asked, seeing my hesitation.
“I am not worthy,” I murmured.
Mrs. Burton reached for my hand to kiss it. “Of course you are, my dear,” she said.
“We are getting old, James,” Mr. Burton said. “You understand the business, and what you don’t yet know, you will grow into. There is no one better suited to take over for me one day.”
“Don’t you see, Jamie,” Mrs. Burton asked, “how much we need you?”