The Cavendon Women (40 page)

A five-piece band was situated in a corner, and as James and Dulcie walked in holding hands, they struck up “Here Comes the Bride.” And everyone clapped at the sight of them.

The food was delicious, the wines superb, and the room buzzed. People were chatting and laughing. It was not only a lavish wedding but a joyous one.

There were, over a period of time, many toasts and speeches. The latter were kept short, following Miles's stern instructions. Some were very funny, others touching.

At one moment, James and Dulcie went onto the dance floor. It was their first dance of the evening. Once they had been around twice, other couples followed, and it seemed to Dulcie that there had not been such gaiety and happiness at Cavendon for years. Not even at her father's marriage to Charlotte last year. It pleased her that people were having a good time.

After dessert had been served, Miles came to speak to James. “You should do your speech now, before the wedding cake is wheeled in. That's quite a performance, cutting it, and all that. A bit of a fuss, actually.”

James agreed with him. “Yes, it's best to do it now,” he replied, at the same time wondering if he and Dulcie could escape after that.

A few minutes later Miles and Cecily tapped their crystal goblets with their spoons and the room fell silent.

Squeezing her hand, James stood. Everyone was staring at him, including his wife. But he was used to that after all these years on the stage, and he never minded an audience after-hours. It was part of his life, a given.

“I will never forget my beautiful wedding in the snow,” he began. “Marrying my incredible Dulcie has made this the happiest day of my life. I could sing her praises to you, and tell you how unique she is, but I would prefer to say something to my wife instead.” He looked around the room, and added, “If you will permit me?”

“Yes, yes, go ahead!” Ralph Shore cried, and all of James's male friends started to clap. “Go ahead, say it to her, Jamie!” Ralph exclaimed. “We'd love to hear it, too.”

“Since I'm an actor and not a writer, I'm used to speaking other people's words. I would like to do that now, in order to express my feelings about my wife.”

He looked down at Dulcie, sitting on his right, her bright blue eyes huge in her face.

He stood there without speaking for a moment. And yet he was charismatic and compelling in his silence and stillness. The moment he began to speak again, in that memorable voice, the entire room went quiet. There was not a sound but his voice ringing out across the ballroom.

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of being and the ideal grace.”

He paused for a moment, his voice becoming slightly softer as he continued, “I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need … by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely as men strive for right. I love thee purely as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs and with my childhood's faith…” There was another pause, and his cadence changed again. “I love thee with the love I seemed to lose with my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life…” He inclined his head. He had finished saying the words written so long ago by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

James leaned down to Dulcie, took hold of her hands, and brought her to her feet. Looking into her face, he said, “Oh how I love you, my darling wife. So very, very much.”

Tears glittered in Dulcie's eyes and in his. And everyone else's. There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

The two of them remained standing, gazing at each other, and then she put her arms around him and kissed him, holding on to him tightly, as he now held her.

Everyone began to clap, and Dulcie walked him out to the dance floor. The band began to play a waltz and they danced around the floor, still gazing at each other. The guests were mesmerized and remained seated.

A few moments later two footmen and Hanson came into the ballroom. Gordon Lane and Ian Melrose were pushing a rumbling trolley on which stood an enormous three-tier wedding cake. A masterpiece of icing sugar and fantastical decorations.

They positioned the trolley in the middle of the floor. Hanson beckoned to James and Dulcie. They joined him next to the cake, and Hanson handed Dulcie a large silver knife.

“Put your hand on top of hers, sir,” Hanson said to James. “You must cut the cake together.”

They did so. There was more applause from the guests, and laughter from the bride and groom.

Hanson beamed at them, and motioned for the two footmen to wheel the cake to the other end of the room, where it would be cut into slices and served.

The band began to play on cue from Miles. James took Dulcie into his arms and beckoned to their guests and family members. “Come and join us!” he called. “Dance with us! Celebrate with us!”

Cecily and Miles came onto the floor first, followed by Daphne and Hugo, Ruby and Ted. Owen and Elaine followed. And so did Charles and Charlotte, with DeLacy and Travers hard on their heels. The floor was soon filled with couples enjoying every moment of this quite extraordinary wedding.

“Let's go,” Dulcie whispered after a few seconds.

James nodded, and holding her firmly in his arms he danced her across the floor and out of the door of the ballroom. They ran down the corridor and into the hall, went up the main staircase to the East Wing. This was where the Inghams lived, and Dulcie had insisted James have a suite near her room.

Dulcie stopped when she came to her bedroom. It was just three doors away from the Marmaduke Suite, where James was installed.

He stared at her, asked worriedly, “Do you think I can get you out of this complicated dress?”

“I doubt it,” Dulcie answered, and looked over her shoulder. “Cecily agreed to follow us when we left the ballroom. She'll get me undressed. Go on, go to your suite. Oh look, here she comes. I won't be a minute.”

“After waiting four months, I think I can manage a minute,” he said, giving her a theatrical leer. “Hurry up though.”

 

Forty-eight

The light was dim in the bedroom of the Marmaduke Suite. James had turned out most of the lights, had left only one on. But there was firelight in the grate, and moonlight streaming in, so she could see him quite clearly.

He was standing in front of the window, looking out at the long stretch of park toward the lake. He had not heard her come in, and she remained there in the doorway, studying him intently, wanting him so much, but wanting to savor every moment of her wedding night.

James was so still he seemed like a statue. She was aware this stillness was part of him, an internal calmness that was natural. Perhaps it was even part of his success. He had hardly moved onstage when she had seen him in
Hamlet,
taken just a few steps. But he had been riveting. That stillness was a powerful tool. And it added to his natural elegance, refinement, and grace. She also understood that his voice was his greatest gift of all.

He happened to turn around as she walked into the room, and was startled when he saw her, exclaimed, “I didn't hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a minute.”

A smile flickered around his mouth. “It took more than a minute for you to get out of that wedding dress.”

“I know, but I'm here now.”

He came toward her. She saw that he was wearing a dark blue silk robe, tightly belted, and he was in his bare feet as she was. She did not move, suddenly awed by him, and his great fame, and an unexpected shyness came over her. She was frozen to the spot.

James noticed her sudden hesitation; he also noticed how ethereal she looked in a filmy white peignoir that floated around her. But it was short, fell just below her knees and showed her shapely legs provocatively. He hurried to her.

James grabbed hold of her and pulled her into his arms, then stood there breathing in the smell of her hair, the scent of roses on her skin. She was his. They were married. What a blessed relief.

He tilted her face to his and looked down at her. Her eyes were a deeper blue in this light, and he saw in them a yearning for him. It was a yearning he shared. How he had ached to be with her like this, able to make love to her properly, without any rushing, or anxiety, or later, regret.

His heart turned over. But oh God how young she was. Only nineteen. So innocent, untouched, inexperienced. For a split second he was almost afraid to make love to her. She was so vulnerable, defenseless.

As if reading his mind, she said, “I took two minutes instead of one, because I asked Cecily what I should do to you in bed.”

This startled him. “You didn't!”

“I did. And she said I shouldn't try to do anything. Because you were thirty-three and obviously you were an experienced man, you would know what to do to make me happy and you would look after me.”

“I do. And I will,” he said. He bent down and brought his mouth to hers. She moved into him, her shyness evaporating. He was already aroused. He held her away, and exclaimed, “Don't move.”

“Where are you going?” she asked as he rushed out of the bedroom.

“To lock the door of the suite,” he answered, and a moment later he was standing in front of her again.

She stepped forward and laid her head on his chest, put her arms around him. “Do you remember when I did this in Ceci's shop? I told you I wanted to make sure you were real.”

“Well, am I?”

“Oh yes, very real.” She stood back, looking up at him. “I know I've been a temptress, that I've driven you mad, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to make love to you so much, whenever I saw you, actually, and whatever time it was.”

“Do you think I didn't?” he asked softly, his dark eyes fixed on her, his brilliant gaze quizzical.

“No, I knew you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”

He couldn't wait any longer. He was fully aroused, his heart clattering in his chest. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pulled her to him, took off her peignoir and the filmy nightgown, slipped out of his robe.

Their eyes met and locked. They moved at the same time, stepped into each other's arms. He held her very tightly, she pressed her body against his, moved slightly and felt his hardness. Her heart quickened as heat rushed through, her desire for him flaring.

“I love you, James.”

“I love you, too.” Against her hair he said, “That bed we've needed since the day we met is over there. Let's not waste any more time.”

They lay down next to each other and the world exploded around them. Their hands were all over each other, their sexual desire, their need to be together a driving force between them. They couldn't wait to possess and be possessed. Their passion soared. He kissed her deeply, their tongues entwining, their hearts clattering in unison. He stroked her breasts; her hands roamed over him greedily; not an inch of him was left untouched by her.

He was experienced and deft. She was his eager pupil, giving herself up to him willingly, asking him to touch her, to arouse her any way he wished. He did. When his fingers found the golden silk between her legs, she gasped. He felt her relax eventually, and he knew he was giving her pleasure. And this aroused him even more.

Suddenly there was no time left for him. He slid his body on top of hers, took her to him swiftly and with some force, knowing this was the best way to ease any pain for her. She stiffened almost instantly, and gasped, but he paid no attention, went deeper. And when he heard her sighs of pleasure against his cheek he knew she was all right.

Her hands were on the nape of his neck, in his hair, sliding down his back. A moment later, she was gripping his shoulders, wrapping her long legs around him. Instantly they found their own rhythm.

He discovered she was as sensual as he was, and her eagerness to please him, to make love without any inhibitions, only served to inflame him more.

When she began to quiver, found his mouth with hers, and tightened her grip on his shoulders, he moved against her swiftly. She met his need, cried out with pleasure, said his name over and over again.

James thought he was falling through space … faster, faster, moving with her, giving himself to her without restraint. Her hands pressed the small of his back, and as she cried out yet again, he was burning up, then dissolving into her, and cried out himself, whispering her name.

James was still trembling as he lay on top of Dulcie, his face resting against hers. He knew he had not made love like this ever before, not with any other woman. It had not only been overwhelming physical pleasure, but he had loved Dulcie with his heart and soul and mind. He belonged to her, and she to him, and they were well matched. A sense of contentment he had never experienced flowed through him, and he knew it was because of her.

He moved, slipped off her.

She touched his face, almost tentatively. He noticed she looked anxious.

He frowned. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“I was just wondering if I was worth waiting for. Was I all right … in bed?”

He couldn't help it—he started to laugh. He took hold of her, brought her close, “Oh, my little temptress, my very sweet seductress, of course you weren't all right. Wrong word altogether. You were wonderful.”

She smiled, leaned closer, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “When can we do it again?”

“Not just yet,” he answered, stifling his laughter. He brought her into his arms, cradling her against him. “I didn't hurt you, did I, darling?”

“No. You made it fast, and I was fine.”

He pushed himself up on one elbow. Looking down into those glorious blue eyes, he said, “You are my first wife and my last. I just want you to know that. I told you once that I was playing for keeps, and I was. I am. I'm afraid you're stuck with me.”