Read Mr. Darcy's Daughters Online
Authors: Elizabeth Aston
Camilla, however, had eyes and heart for nothing and no one but Wytton. He was sitting beside her in the open carriage, and as they turned through the park gates, she could sense the eagerness tensing in his body.
“That tree there, the big oak, that was a famous one to climb; I had a tree house in it until I fell out one day. They thought I had broke all my arms and legs, but it was no such thing; I was merely stunned.”
Camilla looked at the tree with no great satisfaction, thinking how nearly it had deprived her of Wytton. He was leaning forward now and pointing to the east side of his house. “Most of the cloisters remain, you know; you will catch a glimpse of them in a minute. How your Miss Griffin will like to wander about that part; there are cellars and all manner of vaulted chambers, the very thing for an author.”
The days before her wedding were a time of great happiness for Camilla as she explored every nook and cranny of the abbey in Wytton’s company. There were kisses and embraces beneath the varied gazes of his ancestors in the portrait gallery, and happy hours spent walking hand in hand about the park.
The guests began to assemble for the ceremony, more than they had expected, but still a select gathering of family and friends. Layard, who was to be Wytton’s groomsman, drove himself up from London and pleased everyone with his warm-hearted, good-humoured delight in his friend’s match.
Aunt Lydia had been invited, for Camilla had felt that was only proper, but she had, rather to her niece’s relief, declined the invitation. She was fixed in Brighton now, and Herefordshire was such a great distance away from Sussex. Mr. and Mrs. Wytton must be sure to call on them and enjoy the company at the seaside resort before they set off for foreign parts. She would, she added, think of her niece at the very hour of the service, and cry just as much as if she were there.
The Gardiners arrived on their own. Camilla had danced at Sophie’s wedding only three weeks before, a smart London affair, but the Allingtons were presently touring in Scotland and could not attend. The Fitzwilliams came separately, Fanny coming on ahead to help with the bride’s final preparations for the wedding, and bringing with her the bridal gown from London.
“And it is to be hoped that all the rest of your clothes will be ready in time, for the dressmakers are not used to making such clothes at this time of year, when all their other customers are asking for velvets and heavy silks.”
Letty could not reconcile herself to Camilla and Wytton setting off on their travels.
“By sea!” she had exclaimed. “There and back? To Constantinople and then to Egypt before returning to England, and at such a time of year. You cannot mean it, you could not be so foolhardy. The Bay of Biscay is a graveyard of ships; everyone says so. Even the sailors in our navy, you know, fear the Bay of Biscay for its storms and savage seas. Then there is the Mediterranean; I feel quite faint even to think of it. Pirates, there are Barbary pirates, apart from the weather; you are certain to be captured or shipwrecked.”
Wytton was amused by such extreme ideas. “Our naval men go to and fro in all seasons, they think nothing of it.”
“It is their profession, they are obliged to go. It would be so much more sensible to remain in England until our dear parents return; even the thought of their journey fills me with alarm.”
“More sensible, perhaps,” said Camilla. “But not half so interesting, you will admit.”
Letty would admit nothing. She could see no merit in visiting the Porte, as Wytton called Constantinople, nor the point of Egypt. Europe was bad enough; only think of poor Georgina languishing in Paris, so far from her family and friends.
“Languishing, indeed,” Camilla said to Wytton when they found themselves alone for a few minutes in the Great Hall. “Why, she is as happy as can be.”
“Not as happy as you will be once we are married,” said Wytton with great affection.
Titus Manningtree, the grandest of Wytton’s neighbours, came into the Hall just then, looking aloof and severe. He was a disappointed man, Wytton had told Camilla; he had fallen foul of the present administration and a hoped-for political career had come to nothing.
“I like Manningtree,” Wytton said. “I am glad he is out of politics, for the life is not right for him. He is too independent minded, it would never do. He will have to find some new interest, however; he is not a man to stay at home and be dull.”
Manningtree cheered up when Alethea sang to entertain the company, and indeed the warmth of his gaze when he looked at her sister caused Camilla some concern.
“You will have to get used to that,” Fanny told her. “It is just as I said, she is growing into a beauty. Only wait, all the men will be wild for her.”
“A hugger-mugger affair, in my opinion.”
Lady Warren put down the newspaper in which she had been reading the Announcements page. Her mouth was pursed and dissatisfied.
“A pretty poor show by the sound of it,” George agreed. He was lounging in a low chair opposite her, his highly polished boots up on the fender, his cravat loosened, quite at his ease.
“And at Sillingford, in the abbey chapel, not in Derbyshire, and without her father there to give her away. It gives a very off appearance, one feels.”
George flicked at a speck of dust that had had the temerity to settle on his gleaming Hessians. “I wonder if Sophie Allington, as she is now, was a guest. That would make any bride uncomfortable, knowing the predecessor in her husband’s affections was sitting in a pew at her wedding.”
“That is a most shocking match,” said Lady Warren. “Allington may be a charmer, but he has not a penny of his own. You would think a man of Gardiner’s wealth could buy his daughter a better husband than that.”
“He did, but the deal didn’t come off, did it? He hadn’t bargained with Miss Camilla’s campaigns and stratagems.”
“Well, she has what she wanted, and much joy may it bring her. Her cousin’s cast-off, a man of great volatility like Wytton; I shouldn’t give a fig for that marriage turning out well. And Wytton’s mama wasn’t present, please take note of that. Neither of the couple’s parents at the wedding; why, it’s scandalous.”
“It is damned odd, his mother not being present.”
“She is for ever jaunting about Europe, she hardly ever comes to England these days. She cares nothing for her children, or she might have put a stop to this business. She is in Venice just now, I believe.”
“No, you’re out there, Caroline,” said George, sitting up. This was something he could speak about with authority. “No one is in Venice at this season, I assure you. It’s devilish hot, the canals give off the most terrible stench and one is all too liable to catch some lethal fever. No, no, if she’s in Italy she’ll be in the mountains.”
“Wherever she is, she was not at her son’s wedding. I wonder what she will make of her new daughter-in-law when they do meet. I never cared for her as an unmarried young woman; I shudder to think what airs she will be giving herself now she is Mrs. Wytton.”
None of her sisters or any of the women present could hold a candle to Camilla on her wedding day. Her whole being was focused on Wytton, and she admitted afterwards that the vicar could have been reciting lampoons for all she made of the words. But the serious way Wytton said his responses, and the look on his face when he turned to his bride, brought tears to Fanny’s eyes and a squeeze from Fitzwilliam’s hand in hers; he, too, was taken back to his own wedding day and the joy he had felt at standing before the altar with Fanny beside him.
“They make a splendid couple,” he acknowledged, as the bride and groom came down the altar steps to walk the short distance through the small congregation and out of the ornate doors into the sunshine beyond.
“And I never saw Camilla look more lovely,” said Fanny.
Her words were echoed hours later by Wytton, after the feasting and dancing and merriment were over, when Sackree shooed the revellers away and at long last Camilla and Wytton were alone, alone in the huge bedchamber in which he and several generations of his forefathers had been born.
“Shall I blow out the candle?” he asked, clasping her round the waist and kissing her loosened hair.
She wrapped her arms around him, rejoicing in the feel, the scent, the sound, the very being of him. “Leave it be, what need do we have of darkness?”
A Touchstone Reading Group Guide |
Discussion Points
Discover more reading group guides and download them for free at
www.bookclubreader.com