Mrs. Galsworth accompanied Lady Darton to the front door, fluttering about her and thanking her for her condescension in coming to call.
Juliet, however, stayed behind and paced the small drawing room. Lady Darton condescended to be satisfied? She conceded that matters could be much worse? It was difficult, in Juliet’s opinion, to see how.
And she could not help but wonder if the entire Langford family—except James, of course—was this dreadfully starched up. To be sure, she had heard odd rumors about the brother who was a barrister and his wife, but she paid them little mind, knowing how false such things could be.
No, the odds were the entire Langford family was starched up and she would be found even more wanting than she was by her own family. Why had she ever agreed to this match? If only she could cry off!
A tiny corner of her heart, however, suggested that it would be equally acceptable if the ceremony were simply over and done with. At least then she and Mr. Langford would be allowed to be alone together.
Chapter 7
The night before his wedding, James found himself in his rooms surrounded by all three of his brothers, George, Philip, and even Harry home on leave. This quite naturally prompted Sir Thomas, who was there as well, to remind James that he had predicted Major Langford would return in time for the wedding.
Several bottles of wine had been opened and the conversation was lively. It was perhaps no surprise that by midnight the advice was flowing freely.
“You must treat her with the greatest respect,” George said pontifically. “Women do not feel as we do about, er, physical needs.”
Sir Thomas gave a snort of disbelief but refused to elaborate. It was Philip who said quietly, “You must understand that women are different creatures than we are. They look at matters rather differently and must be handled carefully. They must be humored.”
Sir Thomas quirked an eyebrow upward but still refused to speak. James turned to Harry.
“Have you any advice for me?” he asked, not troubling to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
Harry shrugged. “I should have advised you not to get entangled, but since you are, I defer to the greater wisdom of those who have trod the path before you.”
James took another deep drink of his wine then turned to Sir Thomas. “What, sir, do you advise?”
The barrister hesitated. Then he smiled. “Talk to your wife. Listen to what she has to say. Do not dismiss it out of hand simply because it is a different perspective than you would have chosen.”
“That shall be no hardship,” James replied with a secretive smile that greatly intrigued his brothers, though none quite dared to ask him what it meant. “Miss Galsworth has a mind that is exceptional. And fortunately she will understand my interests because she shares them.”
“Well of course she does,” George said, puzzled that James thought such a thing needed to be stated. “It is her duty to do so.”
Both Philip and Sir Thomas managed, though not entirely successfully, to smother guffaws. George looked affronted. “James,” he continued, defensively, “begin as you mean to go on. You must not allow Miss Galsworth to attempt to rule the roost or you shall regret it.”
“Is that what Athenia did?” Harry asked, his expression all innocence.
“Don’t be a fool!” George retorted.
With patent effort, Philip and Sir Thomas refrained from baiting George any further. For several moments there was silence and then James blurted out one of his fears.
“How do I make her happy?” he asked.
George gaped at him. Harry smothered laughter of his own. Sir Thomas, however, nodded approvingly and Philip gave him a curious smile.
When none of them answered him, James persisted. “How do I make my wife happy? Surely it is not such a difficult answer as all that.”
Harry cleared his throat. “If you mean how do you satisfy a woman in bed—?”
“Good God!” George exclaimed. “James is talking about his wife, not some street strumpet! Your bride,” he told his younger brother earnestly, “will not expect anything of the sort from you. She will do her duty and that is all either of you need worry about there.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” James said hastily. “But I do think it a shame if she cannot be happy in bed as well as out of bed.”
George turned a bright red.
In a careless tone Sir Thomas said, “Darton thinks that because Miss Galsworth is a lady she will be above such things. He may or may not be correct.”
“Indeed, he could be quite incorrect,” Philip chimed in, a look of patently false innocence upon his face.
James closed his eyes, then opened them. “Never mind the bedroom,” he said hastily. “No doubt Miss Galsworth and I shall manage that part. What about in other ways? How am I to make my wife happy?”
“Give her a generous allowance and a few extra fripperies from time to time?” George suggested.
Sir Thomas kept his face impassive, though his lips twitched once or twice as he replied, “I believe I already answered that question when I told you to listen to your bride. Ask Miss Galsworth what she wishes. No doubt she will tell you and all you need do is listen to know what will make her happy.”
Philip rubbed the side of his nose. “It may not be quite that simple,” he cautioned, “but it is an excellent place to start.”
Harry, who had been listening thoughtfully, now said, “The question is, will Miss Galsworth be able to make you happy, James?”
James stared down into his glass. His head buzzed with the oddest sensation and he found himself wondering just how much he had had to drink. Certainly several bottles lay empty on the table. In the end he decided it didn’t matter, for even had he been completely sober, his answer would have been the same.
He smiled at his brothers and there was a far-off gleam in his eyes. James could scarcely tell them about the night he and Juliet had spent together, working on his steam engine. Nor the fact that she was the only person he had ever told about why he began inventing mill machinery.
And yet, though he could tell his brothers none of that, James did say, softly, “Do you know, Harry, I rather think she will.”
At her home, Juliet was also receiving advice. Hers came from her mother. “You are not to show any interest in his outside interests.”
“But Mama, he likes that I took an interest in his engine.”
Mrs. Galsworth colored up. “I am not talking about engines!” she declared.
“But Mama,” Juliet persisted, more confused than ever, “what do you mean? Do you mean his other scientific interests? Or if he should be interested in art or music or some such thing?”
“No, that is not what I mean!” Mrs. Galsworth said, driven by exasperation to speak bluntly. “I am talking about women. Other women.”
“But is he not to have friends?” Juliet asked.
“Of course he will have female friends,” Mrs. Galsworth said carefully, still trying to handle things in a delicate manner. “It is just that they will not be females you ought ever to acknowledge much less tax him with.”
“But why can they not be my friends as well?”
“Do not be deliberately obtuse,” Mrs. Galsworth snapped. “I am not talking about women of our class! I am talking about opera dancers or light skirts or other disreputable creatures. You are to pretend they do not even exist, much less speak of them to Mr. Langford.”
Juliet twisted her hands together. A thousand daughters must have been given just such a talk on the night before their wedding, she thought. Why should it hurt so when it was her turn? But it did.
“Is he not to notice my male friends, then?” Juliet asked, determined to pretend there was nothing extraordinary about anything her mother was saying.
Now Mrs. Galsworth shrieked, positively shrieked. “You are not to have male friends,” she said. “Certainly not before you have given Mr. Langford an heir. Preferably two sons. And best not ever.”
Was that so? A tiny
tear trickled down Juliet’s cheek. Her mother pretended not to notice.
“It does not seem fair,” Juliet said in a small voice.
“Well, what an absurd notion!” her mother exclaimed. “Of course it is not fair. What has that to say to anything? It is the truth. That ought to be enough for you. Do you not pretend to be an intelligent, a scandalously intelligent, young woman? Well, then, I ought not to have to explain things any further. They ought to be self-evident to you.”
“Yes, Mama,” Juliet said, with a tiny sniff.
But she was not and had never been, much to her mother’s regret, a fainthearted creature. So now Juliet drew in a deep breath and then said, in a much firmer voice, “I shall simply have to make certain Mr. Langford has no desire to… to seek the company of other females.”
“Juliet!” Mrs. Galsworth said in a scandalized voice that held a hint of fear. “Whatever do you mean?”
She met her mother’s gaze steadily as she took another breath and said, “I mean that I must do whatever it is these other females do to attract men.”
Mrs. Galsworth felt a strong desire to faint. She knew, however, her duty, and she would not shirk it. “You are not ever to speak in such a way again!” she said. “The notion that you, a lady, should compete with… with Covent Garden wares! Why, if anyone should overhear you say such a thing, it would be the ruin of you, marriage or not! You must not say such a thing ever again. No, nor think it either.”
“But might not Mr. Langford like the notion?” Juliet asked hesitantly.
Mrs. Galsworth shook her head, dismay patent in her expression. “No! Indeed not, my dear! You cannot understand, of course, but a man wants a lady in his wife, not a wanton creature. If you tried to imitate them, you would only succeed in giving him a disgust of you! Promise me you will put the notion out of your mind. At once!” she commanded.
Juliet looked at her hands. They seemed such large, ungainly things. How could Mr. Langford wish to marry her? Nervously she twisted her hands together in her lap, and sighed yet once again. Was her mother right? She supposed she must be for she had, after all, so many years of experience. It was a most lowering thought.
“Well, Juliet? Did you hear me?” Mrs. Galsworth demanded.
“Yes, Mama,” she answered meekly.
Mrs. Galsworth did not trust this acquiescence, but what was she to do? In the morning Juliet was to be married to Mr. Langford. Well, then it would be his problem and not hers. She thanked God for that simple favor. And after all, this marriage was much better than any she had thought to expect for Juliet. No, instead of worrying, she ought to be grateful that anyone, much less the brother of Lord Darton, had chosen her clumsy, ungainly, most unfeminine daughter.
Before she could betray her thoughts, Mrs. Galsworth hastily rose to her feet and said, “You should go to sleep now, Juliet. Tomorrow you are to be married and you will wish to look your best.”
Then, with a proud glance at the wedding dress that hung by the looking glass, ready for morning, Mrs. Galsworth took her candle and left her daughter’s room.
Once she was gone, Juliet’s gaze strayed to precisely the same point as had her mother’s. It strayed to the gown covered with bows and little fabric nosegays and ruffles all around the neck and sleeve and hem. And a glint came into her eyes that would have greatly alarmed Mrs. Galsworth had she been present to see it.
“I may have to be married in the morning,” she muttered, “but I shall go as myself, not the ridiculous creature Mama has always tried to pretend I must be. And if Mr. Langford does not like it, well, he can cry off.”
With a grim determination that her parents knew all too well, Juliet moved toward the gown. She circled it twice, fingered the fabric a time or two, tugged experimentally at one of the bows, and then set to work in earnest. For once her sewing scissors were being turned to a purpose that Juliet could accept.
It was late when Juliet was at last satisfied. Her mother would hate what she had done, but Juliet would feel herself when she walked into the church on the morrow.
Carefully she blew out the candles in her room and climbed into bed. She did not expect to be able to sleep, but somehow, with the dress altered to be more what she wished, Juliet felt at peace. And she was dreaming long before anyone would have guessed it would be possible for her to do so.
Chapter 8
James rose, his head aching. His gaze fell on the remains of the previous evening’s celebration. His valet stood by, a long-suffering expression on his face.
“What is it, Woods?” James asked with a resigned sigh.
“You ought to have risen an hour ago,” the valet replied. “As it is, I calculate you shall barely have time to dress and eat before it is time for you to depart for the ceremony. Nor have you deigned to tell me where you intend to spend your wedding night or how long you will be gone on your wedding journey. I cannot pack for you until you do so.”
“Wedding night?” James echoed, a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Journey?”
The valet looked at a point above his employer’s head. “No doubt I have somehow fallen into your bad graces that you chose not to tell me. But the time is growing short, and if you are to be ready to leave on your wedding journey today, I must know how to pack for you. And whether you intend that I should accompany you. But perhaps you have already decided to replace me?”
“Replace you? I should think not!” James retorted in dismay. “No, by God, Woods, I simply forgot about a wedding journey. I’ve made no plans! What the devil am I to do now? And why didn’t anyone remind me before this?”
This last was muttered to himself and the valet was too shrewd to attempt to answer such an unanswerable question. Instead he unbent sufficiently to cough and suggest, “Perhaps, sir, I could make a reservation for you at a suitable establishment here in London and then you could decide where you wish to go after that.”
James felt as though his head were unpardonably thick this morning. “Why not simply bring her back here for tonight?” he asked.
It was Woods’s turn to gape. “It is your wedding night, sir!”
“Miss Galsworth won’t mind,” James said, beginning to move about the room. “She’s a sensible gel.”
“She may be a sensible young lady,” Woods countered, “but I should lay odds that her family would take it as a great insult if you did not treat her in a more respectful manner than to bring her back to your bachelor quarters on her wedding day.”
James sank onto the bed and held his aching head in his hands. “You are right, of course,” he said mournfully. “Very well, make whatever arrangements you think best. Just tell me what else I have forgotten to do.”
Woods regarded the ceiling with great interest. He coughed. “Have you, er, made any arrangements, sir, as to the establishment in which you and Mrs. Langford will reside after your, er, honeymoon? And have you hired a staff for whatever house you may have chosen?”
James glanced around. He did not even try, this time, to suggest that his current set of rooms would do. Instead he groaned.
“I have done none of that, curse you,” he growled to Woods. “Why did you say nothing of this before today? It’s a trifle late, don’t you think?”
The valet merely raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It was not my place to say so, sir. It would be for your friends or family to speak, if they thought it necessary.”
The man was right, of course, and that only made James curse again. “I suppose I shall have to either ask you to find something or,” he added hastily at the look of disdain on his valet’s face, “rather perhaps my man of business. He can look into the matter for me. I suppose I’d best write him to that effect before I even try to get dressed. There is no time to be lost!”
Woods merely bowed, his face impassive. James was not deceived. He had managed to fall dismally short of his valet’s expectations, and that did not set well on the morning of his wedding. It did not seem, he thought gloomily, a particularly auspi
cious beginning.
Later, as James hastily dressed for his wedding, he realized that any number of people around him, including his brother George, had tried to hint to him the need to address the matter of lodgings and servants and honeymoons and such. But he had not paid attention.
He could only hope that Woods could at least manage something suitable for tonight. But then, that was why he paid his valet twice the amount any other valet in London was paid. Because the man recollected all the things James was so prone to forget and he could manage at the last moment to retrieve matters when necessary.
Meanwhile, he was about to be married and it occurred to him that his bride, Miss Galsworth, might be feeling a trifle nervous as well. If so, it would be his duty to put her at ease.
———
Juliet was woken by the sound of her maid shrieking. Bleary, she opened her eyes and said, frowning, “What’s wrong, Margaret?”
“Your wedding gown, miss! Someone’s destroyed it!”
That brought Juliet fully awake. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up. She moved hastily to lock the door in case anyone came to see why the maid had shrieked. Juliet was not quite ready to face her family yet. It was bad enough to have to tell her maid, Margaret, the truth.
“I did it,” Juliet said quietly.
The maid looked at her with very wide eyes. Almost as though she thought her mistress had gone mad. And perhaps she had, Juliet mused silently.
Aloud she said, “I could not bear to wear it with all the fabric flowers and bows and ruffles, Margaret. Please don’t tell my mother. Let her see when it is too late for her to attempt to put them back on.”
The maid hesitated. “Mrs. Galsworth will blame me,” she said cautiously.
“I shall take the blame,” Juliet said firmly, “but I shall not go to my wedding dressed as though I were some dressmaker’s doll! Mr. Langford must take me as I am and I am plain, not the dainty creature Mama has always wanted for a daughter and I presume that he wanted for a wife.”
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