Winter Wedding (20 page)

“An excellent idea. Sorry we disturbed you,” Allingcote replied very civilly, and led Clara out, closing the door behind them. “Was that a feather pillow he was using, or his preferred kind? I didn’t see a lady with him, did you?”

“We’re disgraced!” Clara gasped. Her voice was pitched low, and her face was scarlet.

“He’s drunk as a wheelbarrow; he won’t remember a thing. You didn’t tell me he has been at you with his pinches. Another victim for my violence list. I asked you to come in my carriage. Let it be a lesson to you. Now what did he say about another room...” He began looking down the hall.

“No! Have you no shame? I’m going back to the dance.”

“As well hang for a sheep as a lamb.” With a tight hold on her hand, he headed to another room, but Clara was adamant.

“I am not going in there with you, Ben.”

“Clara, we’re
two years
overdue for this.” His voice trembled with emotion. She clenched her lips and shook her head. “Oh very well. We might catch a few shillings of that guinea I wasted.” He allowed himself to be dragged back to the dance floor, to finish the long waltz, and then lay plans for the morrow.

A discussion with Lady Lucker revealed that her family and Clara would go to London the day following the next. Ben made some halfhearted hints that he could stay over the extra day and take Nel to London on the later day. An unencouraging silence from his aunt prompted him to follow his original course and leave the next day. He then sought out his mother and Maggie and coerced them into going to London with him. Clara was unclear why he should do this, when it had been their intention to return directly to Braemore. They offered no objection, however, and it was settled with many sly smiles from Maggie’s direction.

It was also arranged that Ben would call on his aunt and Clara in London the day they arrived. By repeated hints he talked Lady Lucker into leaving in the morning, not much after ten, which would get her to London in early afternoon. She had planned to arrive only in time for dinner, thus giving herself time to get her own house in order before leaving. When all the details were hammered out to Allingcote’s last whim, the gathering disbanded, and he turned to Clara.

“It is perfectly understood now that I go to London tomorrow, unload Nel, and call on you the next afternoon around three at Percy Lucker’s house in Belgrave Square. You won’t have any little surprises for me?”

“It is all arranged. I’ll be there.”

“If you let me down, tumbleweed, I’ll come after you, and all my empty threats of violence will be executed. Fur will fly. Possibly also bullets and knives and—be there!”

“I’ll be there, I promise.”

He directed a worried, ardent gaze on her, and as he gazed, the frown faded from his face. “Very well. I consider that a vow. And now at last you can go to bed and have that headache you’ve been rehearsing all day. I’ll get the leash on Nel and see she doesn’t make a bolt for the border with Herbert. Will you be up to see us off tomorrow?”

“What time do you plan to leave?”

“Not early. London’s only three hours away. In fact, I’ll stick around till afternoon if Aunt Charity doesn’t show me the door sooner.”

“I’ll see you before you go then. I never sleep till noon.”

“We’ll try and see if we can rout Max out of our room.” A soft smile entered his eyes and lifted the corners of his lips.

They were standing in the hall, and when he began looking toward that room with a certain light in his eyes, Clara thought it sad but wise to escape while she could. She ran up the stairs. When she got to the top, she turned and saw Ben gazing up after her, smiling bemusedly, like a man in a trance.

She was in a trancelike state herself as she undressed for bed. She was sleeping in Prissie’s room that night, the only chamber yet vacated. The bridal gown hung on the wall, giving rise to delightful thoughts of the future. She held it before her and looked in the mirror. She looked like a young girl again, a young girl very much in love.

Chapter Seventeen

Worn to the socket, Clara slept late the next morning. At ten forty-five she first opened her eyes to look about the strange room in which she slept, with the white bridal gown hanging on the wall. Whatever she had been dreaming, she had for a moment the awful feeling that she had been married and missed her own wedding. As memories washed over her, she laughed a soft, gurgling sound and bounded out of bed.

She was so happy that a song formed on her lips and she hummed as she tidied the bed. Ninnyhammer, she smiled to herself. No one has asked you to be his wife yet. But he had as well as asked, and the tumultuous joy in her breast was the response. She proceeded to make a toilette worthy of this day of days, knowing it would be subjected to a lover’s close scrutiny.

Her mirror told her the ravages of fatigue had been dissipated by her long rest. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes sparkling, and soon her curls were neatly brushed into their customary bun. Her gold gown that became her well, in spite of its long service, was enhanced with her late mother’s pearls; and with a luxurious sigh of sheer pleasure, Clara went tripping downstairs.

All her pains were for nought. Nel had arisen at nine, after staying up till one o’clock. She had decreed that she wished to leave for London at once, probably because Herbert Ormond had already left. Allingcote put her off till ten-thirty, then he ran out of excuses and gave in to Nel’s insistence.

“Ben said you would know what the plans are in any case,” Lady Lucker said vaguely.

Clara deduced that Ben had not told his aunt of the attachment between them and kept her silence on that score.

“Now we have a great deal to do, Clara. I would like to get all the dishes returned before we leave for London—all that are empty, for there are several not even touched. The roasts will keep till we return, and the cakes and what not. I shall take Mrs. Frieman’s dressed partridge with us for Uncle Percy. One dislikes to land in empty-handed. The petits fours will come in handy in London as well, but we can put them in a tin and return the plates.”

A lengthy discussion of this domestic nature followed, and before they parted to begin their duties, the post arrived.

“From London,” Lady Lucker exclaimed, glancing at the envelope. “Fortunately it is franked. It must be from Percy. He is about the only one who did not come to the wedding, but at his age—”

“Perhaps it is from Charles,” Clara said.

“No, it is not in his hand. I wonder what it can be. A belated message to Prissie, no doubt.”

With no premonition of any more serious message than that, Clara watched while Lady Lucker perused her note. Her hostess was neither smiling nor frowning as she put the note aside.

“Uncle Percy has a dreadful case of influenza, and the trip to London must be put off,” she announced.

Clara blinked dumbly, as if she had just been told the world was coming to an end.

“Truth to tell, I am half relieved,” Lady Lucker confided, thinking the forlorn face of her guest was on her hostess’s behalf. “The trip has served its purpose in getting rid of the others, who would otherwise hang about for weeks, you know. We have the house full of good food, and I really do not relish the trip in the cold. We shall not mention to the others that the trip is canceled. As soon as they leave, we can settle in as cozy as bugs in a rug and relax, after the strains of the wedding.”

It was foolish to feel the world was ending, only because of a little delay. But Clara could not suppress the sensation that an Arctic cloud had swept over Branelea, robbing her day of the promised sunshine. “But—but your sister, Lady Allingcote, is expecting you,” she said.

“Peg won’t be staying above a day or two herself. It was all Ben’s idea. He is never happy unless he is jauntering about somewhere or other. He has scarcely been at Braemore more than a month at a stretch since his papa’s death.”

Knowing now the reason for his jauntering, Clara made another effort to get her hostess off to London. “You could stay with Lady Allingcote. There is really no need to put off the trip only because Percy Lucker is unwell. Indeed, I imagine you would like to just drop by and see him, to help him if you could.”

“I wouldn’t go near him with a barge pole while he is infected. I daresay the whole of London is rife with flu. We are better off where we are. I cannot think what Peg is about, going there in the dead of winter.”

“You will notify her at least?” Clara asked, wondering if she could include a note to Allingcote in the missive.

“She will hear it from Percy’s servants. Ben is to drop by tomorrow, you recall, so there is no need to write. She will know it before the letter could reach her.”

“That is true,” Clara admitted, searching her mind for further bait.

“Well, I wonder how Prissie and Oglethorpe are making out,” the mother said, bringing the discussion of London to a close.

It was not so easily forgotten by Clara. What would Ben say when she once again failed to be where she was supposed to be—had promised, in fact had practically vowed, she would be?

As she worked, she canvased a dozen schemes of getting to London by herself, every one of them highly ineligible. Sir James was no ally; he would sooner be in his study with his collection than in heaven. There were half-a-dozen coaches leaving for London that very day, but Lady Lucker had loaded her down with chores.

She could not blithely announce she was leaving. In fact a mantle of secrecy cloaked the fact that Lady Lucker was not going to London, lest any of the guests decided to prolong their visit. For Clara to beg a drive in another carriage would be bound to raise suspicions.

And where could she stay if she did wedge her way into a coach? Sir Percy was ill. The Allingcotes had not invited her to go to them. She hadn’t enough money for a hotel, or any companion to lend her respectability. It would look so excessively odd in any case for her to dash off to London alone to stay in a hotel. It would cast a doubt on Lady Lucker’s hospitality.

No, it was impossible. She had not been in touch with any of her London friends or relatives lately. At the festive season they might very well be away visiting. There was Herbert—left that very morning! But a bachelor living in an apartment was of no use to her. She even thought of the Bertrams, Nel’s relatives. When she realized how far into the realms of fancy she had strayed, she called herself back to reality.

She was not going to London. She was staying at Branelea, and the only hope for the future was that Ben would learn, as soon as he went to Percy’s, that she was still at Branelea. It was unfortunate in the extreme, but it was unavoidable. She cheered herself with the thought that Lady Allingcote might invite her to join them in London, or possibly even at Braemore—that had been mentioned earlier.

There were guests leaving throughout the day, to keep things lively. Every time a coach left for London, Clara had to restrain the urge to throw herself into it. She would stand at the door, blinking back an unshed tear, as it bowled down the drive to begin its way to London.

* * * *

In London, Ben delivered Nel Muldoon to the Bertrams, whom he was happy to see were good, sensible people. He stayed for some time talking to them and was impressed with their fitness for the job they were undertaking. They were by no means Quakerishly strict; they spoke of parties and plays. Soon Nel and Mrs. Bertram were discussing gowns and modistes in a friendly manner.

Ben considered it a blessing that Mrs. Bertram was pretty herself. He persisted in his notion that a pretty lady would be less likely to take Nel in dislike. There was also enough difference in their ages that they would not be competing for the same beaux.

When the chaperon was heard to say, “I always wanted a daughter—but I wager she would not have been half as pretty as you,” Ben breathed a sigh of relief. He had little doubt that by nightfall Nel would be calling Mrs. Bertram “Mama,” for she was always happy to assume a new role. He met Herbert Ormond going up the walk as he came out. They met now as old friends. Really Ben liked him amazingly, all of a sudden.

He drove to his own house and dashed off a line to assure Anglin that his charge was delivered into safe hands. He then set the servants bustling about polishing and cleaning and cooking. All unaware of Sir Percy’s indisposition, Ben’s day was much happier than Clara’s.

The next morning he was up bright and early. He had to visit his man of business, had to send to Braemore for more servants, and pay a visit to Dunn’s caterers to discuss a wedding breakfast. He would hire a French chef for their sojourn in London, and a good French chef was not hired in a week. Every fifteen minutes he glanced at his watch, to see how soon he might call at Belgrave Square.

He was at Sir Percy’s door at three on the dot, to be confronted by the butler with the news that the company from Branelea was not coming after all. Sir Percy was unwell—the doctor was with him at that very moment. “But Miss Christopher is here,” Ben said. The butler’s doubting frown told him she had foiled him again.

“Ah, Miss Christopher. That would be Lady Lucker’s houseguest? No, milord, none of the party from Branelea has come.”

“You’re sure she’s not coming?”

“No one from Branelea is expected, sir.”

There was no point in further protestations. The butler already took him for a fool. “I might have known,” Ben said fatalistically, and walked away without another word, or any thought of violence at all. He returned to his own house and spoke to his mother.

“I am leaving for Branelea at once, Mama,” he said, and explained his reason.

“What a pity. It’s getting late, dear. Why do you not wait and go tomorrow? Why, she might come tomorrow herself, with one of Charity’s guests. That Mr. Ormond—”

“Mr. Ormond is already here. She’s not coming. I can be there not long after dark if I leave at once. I’ll have her here by midday tomorrow. Is her room ready?”

“Yes, Ben, everything is ready. We have given her the blue suite, and there are plenty of logs by the grate, and even flowers. Maggie bought some from a street peddler. But I wonder why Miss Christopher did not come with some of the others. Why, Maximilian traveled alone, as far as I know.”