The Prince in the Tower
Page 10
“No one can take a punch like you, Lady Cavalier,” he murmured. The back of Kate's neck tingled. “A quality one looks for in marchionesses.”
Kate turned to him in joyous amazement. “Are you asking me to marry you?” She would die if he said no, she realized.
Edmund risked a kiss to her ear. Kate trembled.
“I’ve decided ‘tis much better to have you on my side than against.”
“Oh,” she said coolly, not willing to settle for crumbs. “I see.”
So he took her in his arms, bending her backwards (much at the risk of his battered ribs), kissing her with as much slow, hot thoroughness as his swollen lip would allow. It curled Kate’s toes, thrilled Lady Alice (for nothing could prevent a marriage after this sort of public compromise), and caused Miss Radish to wail anew.
Thus it was that the Lady Katherine Thoreau agreed meekly to becoming the next Marchioness of Granville.
***
EPILOGUE
Father Flannery, or Boris Rachmaninov, as he was more commonly known in the streets of St. Petersburg, not to mention the jails of St. Petersburg, could have been excommunicated for any number of reasons, including his greatest sin, that of breaking the seal of the confessional, had he actually been a priest. When it was discovered he was not much of anything save a slimy sneak thief, womanizer, and general piece of scum, the lay courts dealt with him swiftly, summarily, and with a heavy hand.
Miss Radish pled her belly, spending her time in Newgate until such time as her non-existent child was not born, and dully transported to Australia, where she never donned a wig again and did nice things for poor people.
In the aftermath of the scandal the likes of which had never before and would never again rock Oaksley with such magnitude, a great many couples at whose weddings, baptisms, and other sacraments Boris Rachmaninov had officiated, quietly remarried, rebaptized, and reconsecrated their beloved dead. The new priest, triple-checked for appropriate credentials by no less than three cardinals and two bishops of the Church, found himself landed with such a backlog of confessions he had to enlist the help of another priest from a neighboring parish.
The wedding was beautiful, they all said. So what if it was held hastily on a cold October day, the same day as the grand cavalier pageant. But before the grand spectacle, which made it, as the Countess of Malford said, only slightly less vulgar.
It was Lady Alice who insisted on a proper wedding, with the banns and a church ceremony, rather than a scrambling ‘do with a special license, or, heaven forbid, a dash to the border. The latter, especially, had great appeal for both the bride and groom simply for the drama of the occasion. But they both had obligations to the festival and it gave their bruises a bit of a chance to heal. So unattractive, a lovely woman going to the altar, her face black and blue from such disgraceful fighting, and what would people think? That her poor groom was responsible?
The day of the wedding was crisp, clear, and perfectt. And it was rather unfortunate that the preparations kept Lady Alice busy with the Ladies’ Aid Society, leaving Carolyn and Bertie, with smaller parts in the festival, free rein with the plans. Whenever the two, when struck by an unexpected fit of propriety, asked whether Katie would prefer amazing fireworks or boring Japanese lanterns, the answer was always, “Do what you think is best, my loves. You know what I like.” Naturally Katie would prefer fireworks, who wouldn’t, and such were duly ordered from the finest shop in London.
Edmund gladly put off the mien of Cousin Alphonse, and with it much of his wardrobe, save a few colorful waistcoats his bride insisted he keep, and his lacy parasol, which he gave to Meg. Being a sensible man, he hoped, he insisted on confining himself to a plain coat and subdued cravat for the wedding, much to his fiancé's displeasure. He insisted that to wear the costume of the Cavalier would be unfair to his bride, since it had been her costume first. Kate had grinned reluctantly, and gone away to be fitted for the lovely white muslin gown on which Lady Alice insisted.
As many of Edmund’s family as possible, whether out of genuine affection, the desire to suck up to the new head of the family, or outright curiosity, crammed into Bellevue’s fifty bedrooms. Others of society, prepared to be newly charmed by the bucolic pleasures of Oaksley, either on their way to London for the little Season, or leaving early for their Christmas holidays at their estates, descended upon the village, filling up every bedroom in Appleby Manor and Malford House, graciously thrown open for the occasion. Combined with the publicity over the capture of the counterfeiters and tourists come for the pageant, several hundred people were on hand as the Lady Katherine Thoreau graciously bestowed her hand in marriage to the Marquis of Granville.
The festivities began at St. Agatha’s with a short ceremony (“Papist,” informed the Countess of Malford to no one in particular during the service. “Half the village, you know, is a holdover from the Reformation.”), followed by a carriage ride down the street to the other side of the green at the ancient All Souls. Throngs of well-wishers lined the street, waving ribbons and handkerchiefs of grey as the happy couple retired to the tents erected on the field outside the green for a wedding breakfast.
Immediately on the stroke of one, only an hour later than scheduled, the pageant began and it was all a pageant should be. Inspired by the excitement of the wonderful day, Roundheads clashed furiously with Royalists, Mr. Harrison exhorted his son to keep on with the cause, causing many women in the audience to touch their handkerchief to their eyes and the men to clear their throats. Edmund, hastily changed from his wedding garments to his Cavalier suit, dallied with duchesses, bandied with barons, caused unending inconvenience for Roundheads, and was eventually, to the tears and cheers of the crowd, hanged, as Kate, in the role of the lascivious marchioness, wept.
After the pageant, the grounds of Bellevue were thrown open to the masses. Huge tents on the lawns sheltered the masses, while the families and friends gathered in the ballroom to eat lobster patties, dance, and toast the happy couple. (“I’ll have to go on the bridle-lay again in order to afford all this,” said Kate, rather happy with the idea. “Never again," said her groom. “Oh,” she said, disappointed. Then she brightened. “Perhaps Lord Sidmouth will give us another mission.” Edmund, alarmed, drew him close to her side and held her there all night, lest she escape from him to rob someone or catch a felon or try to fly to the moon.)
Outside, guests exulted in the masses of food, the Morris dancers, costumed performers still reliving their roles here and there about the lawns, and Oscar, The Amazing Prancing Pig. Then as the revelry quieted and the dusk deepened into night, the fireworks exploded into the black sky as the Marquis and Marchioness of Granville stole away in a carriage to begin their treacle moon.
Thus it is that when you visit the village of Oaksley today, you will find that 19 October is still celebrated with a pageant commemorating the community’s favorite son, the Lady and the Scamp offer wedding packages for those who wish to marry on what has become that traditional day for happy couples, and if you listen quite hard on a crisp, clear evening, you will hear the ancient echoes, “For King and for country!”
THE END