Rogue Grooms (24 page)

“Oh.” Georgina relaxed, and laughed at her own silliness. She had thought for an instant that he would say she would have to be locked up at Fair Oak for their whole married life, or something of that sort, he had sounded so serious! “Well, that sounds like a tolerable condition, I must say. What if what I like is to buy your mother some new furniture and draperies for Fair Oak? Or give your sister a grand Season?”

Alex laughed, and hugged her close. “I believe that would be acceptable!”

“And what if I like to pay for the laborers needed for the fall plowing?”

At that, he balked. “You mustn’t spend your money on the farm, Georgina.”

She pressed her finger to his lips. “Ah, now, you said I could spend it however I wished. We are to be a family, which means that we help each other. It is only until the farm begins to show a profit again, which could be with the next harvest. Emily says we have been having exemplary weather and growing conditions. Then I will gladly see you pay for your own equipment and improvements and new roofs.”

Alex kissed her warmly and lingeringly. “Georgie! I do love you so very much. No woman ever spoke of new roofs as alluringly as you.”

“You cannot possibly love me half as much as I do you,” she teased.

“Twice as much, I am sure.”

“No. And there is one other thing I intend to spend my money on.”

“What is that?”

“The grandest, most glorious, most vulgar wedding ever!” She tilted back her head to smile up at him radiantly. “I never had a proper wedding. And, as this is the last time I intend to marry, I am going to do it right.”

 

 

 

 

 

The wedding of the Duke of Wayland and Mrs. Georgina Beaumont was indeed the grandest ever seen at St. George’s, Hanover Square.

All the grandes dames whose portraits Georgina had painted attended, with their most elaborate jewels at their throats and their noble husbands on their arms. Even the Prince of Wales himself was there, lodging his not inconsiderable girth into a pew next to Lady Hertford.

Lady Emily Kenton was lovely as the bride’s attendant, in a gown of pale blue satin, with white rosebuds in her golden curls. She garnered many lingering glances through quizzing glasses, and soulful sighs from young bucks, even though she was not yet officially “out.” But stern glances from the dowager duchess, seen in London for the first time in over a decade, quickly put paid to all unruly speculations.

Lady Isabella Everdean scattered rose petals in the bride’s path, very prim and proper in her pink muslin dress, but obviously delighted, and a bit smug, to know that
she
had played an instrumental role in the meeting of the bride and bridegroom.

Her parents, the Earl of Clifton and his Spanish countess, beamed in pride as Isabella promenaded up the aisle, scattering her petals more perfectly than any other flower girl ever had before. The newborn Viscount Killingsham slept peacefully on the countess’s green-velvet-covered lap.

In the very front pew sat the delighted Hollingsworths. Elizabeth could be seen distinctly wiping away copious tears of joy. Rather less moved were the newly arrived Georgina and Isobel, little angels of perfection asleep in their baskets.

The groom was attended by the Viscount Garrick and Mr. Frederick Marlow, who were still basking in their notoriety after a well-publicized “incident” at Astley’s Amphitheater the week before. But they were perfectly dignified in St. George’s.

The bride wore jonquil-yellow silk, with a bandeau of topaz and seed pearls in her hair. She carried a bouquet of white roses and lilies. Very striking, all agreed, and most becoming for a fourth-time bride.

The bridegroom was very handsome and most noble—if he could only have ceased grinning quite so much.

It was the crowning jewel of a most delightful, and eventful, Season.

Georgina and Alex, after all the ceremony and festivities were concluded, settled into the flower-bedecked carriage with Lady Kate, headed for a Scottish wedding trip.

“Oh, my darling,” Georgina sighed happily. “I know that some high sticklers would not approve of weddings with babies and dogs in attendance ...”

“Like a wedding in a nursery,” Alex mimicked in a high-pitched voice, sounding just like old Lady Collins.

“Exactly!” Georgina laughed. “But I think it was the grandest wedding ever.”

“My dear Lady Wayland,” Alex said, leaning in to kiss his bride. “I could not agree more.”

Lady Kate barked out her most hearty agreement.

 

 

In the course of researching this book, I came across many fascinating sources that I hope may be of interest to people who would like to read more of India. jewels, or the Elgin marbles (in fact, I had to force myself to stop researching and start writing!). The following were some I found to be useful:

Barr, Pat.
The Memsahibs.
Random House, 1989.

Cook, B.F.
The Elgin Marbles.
British Museum Press, 1997.

Dalrymple, William.
White Mughals.
Viking, 2003. (Highly recommended!)

Durbar, Janet.
Golden Interlude
. Academy Chicago, 1986.

Kincaid, Dennis.
British Social Life in India.
Routledge, 1973.

Rushby, Kevin.
Chasing the Mountain of Light.
Palrave Macmillan, 2001. (Great book about the gemstone industry, history, and lore of India. The tale David tells Emily about the Star is based on a legend about the Koh-i-noor diamond.)

Tytler, Harriet.
An Englishwoman in India: The Memoirs of Harriet Tytler, 1828-1858.
Oxford University Press, 1986. (Fascinating diary of an officer’s wife who lived through the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857.)

I also want to give my deepest thanks to author Meredith Bond, who gave me much advice and help in the course of writing this book, and also to her daughter Anjali, for allowing me to borrow her beautiful name!

 

 

It is said that sapphires are the symbol of love and purity, and the Star of India is a prime example of such a legend. A thirty-carat, flawless oblong Burmese sapphire surrounded by diamonds, it was mined in the seventeenth century and originally placed in a shrine to the god Shiva near Calcutta. In the eighteenth century, it was removed from the temple and gifted by Gayatri, daughter of the Maharajah of Ranpur, to her husband, the English Earl of Darlinghurst. It is not known how the princess obtained the Star from Shiva, but it is said that a curse followed the sapphire and was responsible for Gayatri’s early death and the Star’s dispersal. The jewel was then owned by the Duke of Wayland. and was sold by his oldest son to Sir Charles and Lady Innis, a wealthy merchant family. Both the duke and his eldest son met early ends, and the duchess spent much of her life wheelchair-bound after a hunting accident. The Mercer Museum obtained the Star from the Innis family during the Regency period. It has resided here ever since, as the centerpiece of the Gemstone Collection and one of the foremost sapphires in the world.

In 1991, a jewel thief was killed by falling through a skylight while attempting to burgle the Star. Has the curse followed the Star here? Well—that remains to be seen.

 

“
Y
ou can’t catch me!” Lady Emily Kenton called gleefully over her shoulder, as she dashed down a hillside into a beckoning green meadow. She might only be eight, but she was fast and she knew it. Racing after two older brothers had made her strong and quick, not to mention impervious to teasing and hair-pulling. Now she ran from her best friend, David Huntington, son of their closest neighbor, the Earl of Darlinghurst.

She heard his answering laugh on the wind. He was thirteen now, older than her and much taller, but she knew he did not
let
her win the race, as her brother Alex often did to humor her. That made the victory all the sweeter.

She neared her favorite tree, a spreading, ancient oak, and reached up to grab a stout, low-hanging branch. She pulled herself up onto it, and then onto the next level. She heard the hem of her muslin skirt tear, and knew that she was in for a scolding from her governess, and probably her mother, too. But that did not matter—her heart was bursting with exhilaration and good fun. Being a girl was sometimes so tedious, with music lessons and stitching. She had to seize her enjoyment where she could, out in the sun and the wind.

She came to a rest on the branch, and leaned against the rough tree trunk to catch her breath. Her pale yellow curls escaped from their confining ribbon and fell into her eyes. She pushed them back, and grinned down at David.

“Do you concede?” she called to him.

He braced one arm against the tree and grinned back at her. The sunlight glinted on his overlong crop of hair, turning it the rich blue-black of a raven’s wing. Really, Emily thought, he was the most handsome boy she had ever seen, with his dark eyes and tall figure. Except for her father and brothers, of course.

“I concede, my lady,” he said. “You are a veritable Atalanta. Now, will you come down from there?”

Emily slid down to sit on the branch, letting her legs dangle. “Oh, I don’t know. It is very comfortable up here. I have a lovely view. Why, I can see your house from here, I vow!”

“Then I will just have to persuade you.” He leaped up and caught one of her slippered feet, pretending he would pull her to the ground.

Emily giggled, and kicked out at him. “No, no! I will come down.” She leaped to the lower branch and then to the ground, where she collapsed onto the grass. David sat down next to her, stretching his long legs out before him.

“You grow faster all the time,” he said, admiration in his voice. “I shall need golden apples to keep up with you.”

Emily flushed warmly at his praise, but she shrugged as if it was nothing. “I have to be fast to keep out of the way of Damien and Alex.”

“Do your brothers tease you a great deal, then, Em?”

“Damien, yes, when he is around, which isn’t often these days. Alex, never. He is teaching me to use a sword, much to my mother’s dismay. But it is always useful to be able to outrun them!”

“Swordplay, eh? Then you will be even more fearsome, my little Boudicca!”

Emily laughed in delight at his use of their special nickname—they had been reading Ben Jonson’s
The Masque of Queenes
together, and the tale of the fierce Iceni queen was her favorite. How she adored it when he called her Boudicca! It made her feel she
could
be brave and strong, even when her family treated her as a helpless infant who must be sheltered.

Her parents and her brothers (or at least Alex) loved her, she knew that, but to them she was their little baby daughter, to be coddled and protected. Only David spoke to her as if she was an intelligent person, a person who could understand books and art and even swordplay and footraces. He had danced with her at her parents’ lavish Christmas ball, went riding with her every week over the countryside. He told her tales of his late mother, the beautiful daughter of an Indian maharajah, and of his early childhood in Calcutta before he came with his father, an earl, to England. He was her truest friend.

“You
need never fear me, David,” she said, leaning against his shoulder. “You are my ‘parfit gentil knight.’”

He smiled down at her, but she thought there was something sad and strange in his dark eyes. “Is something amiss?” she asked, sitting up straight.

“No, of course not,” he answered. “I
will
always be your knight, Emily, I promise. No matter what. Do you believe me?”

He sounded so very serious, so unlike her merry David. She felt a tiny pang of misgiving in her heart. “Of course I believe you. We are friends—we will
always be
friends.”

“Yes. Here, I want to give you something.” He reached into a small pouch hung on a leather thong around his neck and pulled out a ring. He placed it on his palm and held it out to her.

It glittered in the spring sunlight, beckoning to her. It was a circlet of nine stones—she recognized emerald, ruby, cat’s-eye, topaz, blue sapphire, pearl, coral, moon-stone, and diamond.

Emily stared down at it, her lips parted with wonder. She knew it was the height of rudeness to gaze at something with one’s jaw agape, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. It was so very beautiful—more beautiful even than her mother’s diamond tiara, and more grand than anything Emily could hope to own before she was grown up.