by Diane Gaston
‘I will make Phillipa change her mind,’ she told him. ‘And I’ll hold you to your proposal of marriage.’
‘Leave Phillipa be, ma’am.’ He spoke firmly. ‘She knows her own mind. Her wishes need to be respected.’
Lady Westleigh huffed. ‘She knows nothing. She is determined to hide herself away with nothing but a pianoforte. What sort of life is that for her?’
He held her gaze. ‘Give your daughter credit to know her own mind.’
She crossed her arms and raised her head defiantly. ‘I will do what is best for my daughter.’
He opened his mouth, ready to threaten to spread talk about her affair with the general, but what good would that do?
He lowered his voice. ‘Let go of this now.’ He bowed. ‘Good day to you, Lady Westleigh.’
He turned to walk away, but she called him back. ‘There is another matter I wish to discuss with you.’
He looked over his shoulder. ‘That is?’
‘You told my daughter a great deal of family business. It was not your place to do so.’ Her tone was scolding.
He faced her again. ‘I do not apologise for it. She deserved to know.’ This whole family sold Phillipa short.
‘It was not your place,’ she repeated, emphasising her words. ‘However...’ she paused, still giving him a haughty look ‘...tell me what else you told her.’
‘What else?’ He did not know what she meant.
She leaned forwards and her expression turned to worry. ‘Did you break your word to me? You gave me your word all those years ago in Brighton. Did you break it?’
‘Did I tell her the truth about her accident, do you mean?’ He held something over this woman’s head that was much bigger than an illicit affair, but he could not use it. ‘I did not break my word.’
Lady Westleigh leaned back in her chair and suddenly looked very old. ‘That is good. That is as it should be.’
‘Was it General Henson on the beach that day?’ Xavier asked.
She sat up straight. ‘Why? Why do you ask me that?’
‘Because I thought I remembered him as the man who was there,’ he lied. It was Phillipa who remembered him.
‘Do not say a word of this to her. Do you hear me?’ She avoided his question, but her manner gave him the answer. ‘You are honour-bound to keep your word.’
‘I will keep my word,’ he assured her. ‘But you should tell her of that night. She needs to know it.’
‘I’ll be the judge of what she needs to know.’ She waved him away. ‘Leave now. I will get a message to you if Phillipa comes to her senses.’
He did not argue further, merely bowed again and left.
Chapter Eleven
Xavier walked back to the Masquerade Club, quiet at this time of day. Cummings and MacEvoy were nowhere to be seen and only the sweet scent of baking, wafting up from kitchen, revealed anyone was in the house.
He walked through the rooms still disordered from the previous night’s gamblers. By the time the doors opened that night, every room would be cleaned and made ready for play. He straightened chairs here and there in the gaming room and made his way to the supper room.
All the plates, cutlery, and glasses had been cleared away the night before. Some of the tables were bare of their cloths, making the usually elegant room appear bereft.
Mimicking how he felt inside.
He felt the loss of Phillipa.
No longer would this room fill with melody. No longer would he hear Phillipa sing or the applause of others who recognised her worth. He glanced at the pianoforte. Her music still rested there, as if waiting for her to bring it to life.
He walked over to the instrument and gathered the sheets of music. Perhaps in time he could return them to her. In the meantime, he’d keep them safe.
* * *
August drifted to September and Xavier pressed on, helping with the Masquerade Club and checking Jeffers’s progress on the cabinetry shop.
Jeffers exceeded Xavier’s expectations. The soldier quickly found a storefront, a place with a workshop behind it and room for men to build furniture. Jeffers located the shop in Cheapside. It was a good location to sell furniture priced for the merchant class, rather than aiming for the elite of the ton. Jeffers procured the wood and in no time simple tables and chairs, and chests were on display in the front of the shop. Three other former soldiers who were skilled carpenters were hired. They’d all been maimed in the war. One man lost a leg, another an eye. The third reminded him of Phillipa, although the scars on his face came from burns suffered at Hougoumont. Jeffers was scarred, as well, but from Xavier’s knife the night of the attack. He, too, was a reminder.
This venture seemed so ensured of success that Xavier was on the lookout for more challenges. There were all sorts of goods that might be manufactured and sold. They’d already found men to start a candle shop and Jeffers was keeping an eye out for other soldiers who might be able to do skilled work.
These ventures functioned much like Rhys’s gaming house. The men ran the shops and he, like the Westleighs, provided the investment.
It was still not enough for Xavier.
He was restless.
Rhys had returned a fortnight after Phillipa’s last night at the Masquerade Club and Xavier told him about her having performed her music there. Once Ned knew, Rhys was bound to find out. He told everything, except about the attack, and Phillipa’s visions of General Henson. He told about Ned and Hugh discovering them. About his offer of marriage and her refusal.
‘But you did not trifle with her.’ Rhys did not accuse, merely stated a fact.
‘You know I would not.’ That was also a fact.
Rhys had leaned back in his chair, still regarding him. ‘Phillipa took a risk, coming here night after night. At least no harm came of it.’
Except to Xavier. And Phillipa.
‘I am not so certain,’ he’d admitted to Rhys. ‘Check on her for me, if you can, would you?’
Rhys had contact with the family, especially with Ned and Hugh, who kept an eye on the gaming house. He called upon Lady Westleigh with Lady Gale and Miss Gale to discuss the wedding. He’d never seen Phillipa, but when he enquired, Lady Westleigh always assured him she was in good health.
Ned and Hugh said the same thing.
Xavier never felt easy, though. He needed to see for himself.
He would get the chance at Rhys’s wedding, the double wedding with Ned and Miss Gale.
* * *
The day of the wedding came quickly, about three weeks after Rhys returned. Both Rhys and Ned procured special licences so that they could marry in the privacy of the Westleigh town house. Because of the scandal Lord Westleigh had created—and Lady Gale’s obvious condition—Lady Westleigh declared that the weddings should be as private and unobtrusive as possible. There would be no guests, only family.
Xavier was an exception. Rhys asked Xavier to stand up with him. Another exception was General Henson, who, according to Ned and Hugh, had become a fixture in the Westleigh home, constantly to be found at Lady Westleigh’s side.
Xavier knew Phillipa would be present at the wedding. He was eager to see her, to see for himself if she was in good health. If she was content. He also hoped to restore some of the bonhomie between them, to be friends again.
He missed her. He missed her more than he’d ever missed his family when he’d been off to war. He’d not expected this intensity.
Without her he had lost the music in his life.
* * *
The morning of the wedding Xavier and Rhys walked the distance to the Westleigh town house. At Lady Gale’s request Rhys had spent the night before at the Masquerade Club.
‘I spent so much time away from her, I could not see this one more night away,’ Rhys said
.
‘But it was what she wanted, was it not?’ Xavier responded.
‘That is so.’ Rhys smiled. ‘Which is enough to explain why we are walking across Mayfair this morning.’
‘Will this steam-engine venture take you away from her in the future?’ Xavier asked.
‘Undoubtedly.’ Rhys sounded regretful. ‘I am convinced it will secure our futures, however.’
Xavier was happy for Rhys. Soon he’d have a wife and a child and a business with a future. Quite a feat for a bastard son left alone on the streets to fend for himself.
And Xavier, whose upbringing had provided him everything he could want and a loving family to boot, had lost what he wanted most.
Phillipa.
Xavier turned off that train of thought. ‘I confess I am surprised you agreed to this double wedding. Do you feel so much a part of that family?’ Lord Westleigh had been Rhys’s father, but Rhys had never been accepted by the family, not until they needed his help to deliver them from financial ruin.
‘I no longer resent and despise them,’ Rhys admitted. ‘Lord Westleigh, perhaps, but not the others.’ They crossed Charles Street. ‘The wedding decision was Celia’s. Her stepdaughter wanted it and Celia was most anxious to please the girl. There’d been such a breach between them since—since the news of the baby.’
‘Miss Gale seems incredibly young, do you not think?’ Lady Gale’s stepdaughter could not be more than nineteen.
Rhys gaped at him. ‘And you are so old? You’re not yet thirty.’
Xavier felt old, however.
They reached the Westleigh town house and were admitted to the drawing room where they’d once waited together for the Westleighs’ ball to begin, where he’d danced with Phillipa. It also was the room where Phillipa had refused to marry him.
The furniture in the room had been placed against the wall so that a space was opened for the wedding ceremony. In a corner a trio of musicians were setting up. A nearby table held wine and glasses and vases of flowers stood on almost every other surface.
The butler poured them sherry, a drink not nearly strong enough for Xavier.
‘How are you faring?’ he asked Rhys after the butler left.
Rhys finished his sherry. ‘Eager to have it done. It has been a very long time since I have belonged to anyone.’
It reminded Xavier he ought to call upon his parents.
They would be shocked at what he was up to. Virtually becoming a shopkeeper. On good days his mind whirled with possibilities to employ other craftsmen. His goal was to employ as many former soldiers as he could. The fewer such men he could see on the street, the better.
How was Phillipa spending her time? Was she composing music?
He turned his thoughts away from her and from music he would never hear.
He examined the room. The last time he’d stood in this room he hadn’t noticed if Lady Westleigh had replaced the portrait of her husband that dominated this room with one of her own. But her portrait was certainly on display now. Unless he missed his guess, it was by Gainsborough. The artist had painted her against a wild landscape and a cloud-filled sky when she’d been young and beautiful.
He could see Phillipa in the image.
At that moment the door opened and Phillipa entered, wearing a lovely day dress of green-and-white stripes that shimmered in the light and accentuated her slim figure. In fact, she looked thinner than when he last saw her. Her hair was a cascade of curls that appeared to be held in place with a feather headpiece. One feather of the headpiece brushed her cheek and obscured her scar.
It did not hide the fact that she looked pale.
She hesitated when she saw the two of them, but recovered and briskly approached Rhys with a smile. ‘Once again I am the first in my family to greet you. You make a handsome bridegroom, Rhysdale.’
Rhys took her extended hands and kissed her cheek. ‘I am a happy one. It is good to see you, Phillipa.’
She turned to Xavier, but did not quite look at him directly. ‘Xavier. How nice of you to come.’
He bowed. ‘Phillipa.’
She looked ill! He wanted to ask why, but knew women better than to make such a remark on a day when one’s appearance was important.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. ‘Higgley, find her! If she has left, I shall be very vexed.’ Lady Westleigh entered, but turned back to the door. ‘Never mind, Higgley. She is here.’ She quickly surveyed Phillipa and gave a little approving nod.
Xavier felt Phillipa stiffen in response.
But Lady Westleigh did not see. Instead she put on a smile and swept over to Rhys. ‘Rhysdale, how good it is to see you. You look in excellent health. This is a very special day, is it not?’
Rhys bowed. ‘I am pleased you think it special on my behalf, my lady.’
She inclined her head towards Xavier. ‘Xavier,’ she said, adding a significant look in her daughter’s direction. What was that about?
He bowed. ‘My lady.’
The butler appeared at the door. ‘General Henson,’ he announced.
Lady Westleigh’s expression brightened. ‘Alistair!’
She stepped forwards to greet him. He took her hand and clasped it in a fond gesture. ‘My dear lady, what an honour it is to be invited to such a happy event.’
‘Nonsense, Alistair.’ She covered his hand with hers. ‘You know how I value your friendship. You must be at my side.’
Xavier glanced at Rhys, who returned a comprehending look. He’d told Rhys about the general and Lady Westleigh.
A visibly nervous Ned entered with the clergyman and introductions followed. The servants filed in and Lady Westleigh sent the butler out to tell Hugh and the brides that all was ready. The clergyman stood at the far side of the room, holding his Book of Common Prayer. The musicians started to play, a Haydn piece, one Phillipa played often on the pianoforte.
He glanced at her, but could not see her expression.
‘Stand by Reverend Peck, gentlemen.’ Lady Westleigh waved a finger at Rhys and Xavier. ‘The two of you on one side. Ned, you stand on the other. Quickly now, before they come in.’
The butler opened the door and the two brides walked in, escorted by Hugh.
Xavier watched Rhys’s face as Lady Gale—soon to be Mrs Rhysdale—approached. Rhys adored her so strongly, Xavier felt it in the air. If he reached up, he fancied he could touch it. He was happy for his friend and envious. There was no doubt in his mind that these two people each knew—and loved—the essence of the other.
The ceremony began.
‘Dearly Beloved. We are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation...’
Vows for Miss Gale and Ned went first, then Rhys and Lady Gale.
Rhys looked into his beloved’s eyes. ‘I, John, take thee, Celia, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death us do part...’
Xavier glanced over at Phillipa, whose gaze was averted, as if she were deep into her own thoughts. Was she thinking that this could have been her wedding?
He was.
Very quickly the minister came to the end, ‘I now pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost...’
With those words it was done. Rhys and Celia’s lives had changed. So had Ned’s and his wife.
All that was left were a few sonorous prayers and then the congratulations. Champagne was served and the musicians started playing again.
Xavier walked up to Rhys and his new wife. ‘You make my friend very happy, Madame Fortune.’ He used the name the patrons gave her when she had gambled at the Masquerade Club.
She laughed at that. ‘I th
ink you should call me Celia after all we’ve been through.’ She threaded her arm through her husband’s. ‘Or Mrs Rhysdale.’
Rhys put a hand on Xavier’s shoulder. ‘Call her Celia. She is too beautiful to be Mrs Rhysdale.’
General Henson’s loud voice filled the room. ‘This is a fine day. A fine day!’
Rhys leaned towards Xavier. ‘He is acting as if he is the man of the house.’
Xavier nodded. ‘Lady Westleigh looks ten years younger when she looks at him.’
‘Well, I am certainly not going to judge either one of them,’ Celia said, touching her abdomen. ‘We all must seize our happiness when we can.’
Xavier was willing to seize it, if he ever saw a chance for it.
At least he’d tried once.
Hugh came up to them, champagne glass in hand and a frown on his face. ‘I feel like planting him a facer.’ He inclined his head towards the general. ‘He’s quite taken over our mother.’
He moved on to speak to the butler before any of them could respond.
The servants left the room and Hugh returned to the wine table.
Xavier noticed Phillipa standing alone, listening to the music being played quietly in the corner.
He walked over to her. ‘Do they play well?’ he asked.
She looked surprised to see him. ‘Well enough.’ She turned back to the musicians.
‘The ceremony went well.’ He could not think of anything better to say.
‘Yes, it did.’ Her voice held little expression.
He listened to the music with her until the violinist, flautist and violoncellist finished their piece and turned to a new page of music.
She walked away just as the musicians began to play ‘I Serve a Worthy Lady’.
The butler announced the wedding breakfast.
Lady Westleigh sat at the head of the table. The general, of course, was at her side. Xavier was seated between Ned’s wife and Phillipa, which he thought was a cruel touch on Lady Westleigh’s part.
There was no speaking to the new Lady Neddington, who was too enthralled with her new husband, and Phillipa showed no signs of wishing to converse with him.
