Apple Blossom Bride

by Marina Oliver

  'You lucky devil,' James said, but before Eve could reply Sir Bernard had set the horses moving, and it was too late. Eve wondered if she were dreaming. She was going to London. She might go to parties, and balls, she might even dance!

  *

  CHAPTER 3

  The only time Eve had stayed away from home was when she visited Rachel and her new husband at his Worcestershire home. That had been just one day's journey, so the prospect of spending several days on the road and seeing towns she had read so much about was one she looked forward to with glee. The first night was spent in Cheltenham, and even Eve was thankful to get down from the carriage. The roads in Herefordshire were poor, made worse by the recent heavy rain, but Amelia, who had been to London on several previous occasions, assured her the roads from here on were much better.

  'It's because it's a spa and the quality travel on the road from London, and demand better surfaces,' she explained.

  It was dark when they reached the inn, but in the morning Eve was delighted with the elegant new terraces and would have liked to spend more time exploring them.

  'Not now, we have to be in Oxford tonight,' Sir Bernard said.

  'Oxford? Oh, will we see the college James is entered for?'

  'Yes, for most of them are in the town centre, but we will have to start early the next day so that we reach London before it is dark.'

  'And cross Hounslow Heath in the daylight,' Amelia said. 'That's where the highwaymen wait. And why the footmen carry firearms.'

  Eve shivered. 'Will they shoot any highwaymen? Kill them?'

  'Don't be afraid, we won't meet any,' Sir Bernard said, laughing.

  Eve was not sure whether she wanted to meet any. It would be exciting, of course, but she did not want to see even a highwayman killed.

  She forgot about them as the carriage went along the road from Cheltenham, and she enjoyed looking out at the new countryside. Oxford was not at all as she had imagined it. She hadn't expected the colleges to be so old, but as they drove past and she caught glimpses of the quadrangles through the gateways she spoke impulsively.

  'How I wish females could come here to study!' she said, when she and Amelia had been shown to the bedroom they were to share, and she was hanging out of the window for a last glimpse of the nearest college.

  Amelia laughed. 'They'd never permit that. And you hated your lessons.'

  'I hated having to read improving books, and studying only the poets and the history Papa approved of. Why did I have to learn all about the Greeks and the Romans, but he forbade me to read about the Egyptians? Or the civil war in England? And all that endless sewing and studying household economy. If I get married I'll have a housekeeper and she'll manage all that.'

  'But you'll have to supervise her, and check the household accounts.'

  'Then I'd best not get married.'

  'You'll want to when you meet the one man for you.'

  Eve looked at her friend's soulful expression. Was she thinking of the Earl? 'Do you believe there is only one man for you? What if you never meet him? If he lives in China?'

  Amelia laughed. 'I couldn't marry a Chinese!'

  'Then you'll have to take the best that offers. Do you expect to meet him this year in London?' Would Amelia confide in her if she and the Earl were to be betrothed? Though from what she said it didn't seem likely.

  'That's why they have the Season. So that the men looking for a wife can inspect all the new debutantes and if they like one, propose.'

  'It sounds like a cattle market.'

  'Well, how else can we meet enough men to make a choice? They call Almack's the Marriage Mart. But we have to go there if we can. It's very exclusive, and you only have vouchers if the Patronesses approve of you. But Caroline knows some of them, and I expect Rachel will get vouchers for you next year.'

  Eve was silent. There was so much she did not know, but these few weeks during the Little Season with Amelia would prepare her for the real one in the spring. She wasn't sure she wanted to be exhibited for the young men to inspect, but if she ever wanted to escape from the Rectory, and marriage with Nicholas, she would have to find a different husband. London would be her only chance.

  *

  The house in Grosvenor Square was always kept ready for Justin, and when he arrived late in the evening there was a meal ready for him. He had travelled post, in one day, without stopping, and wanted first, some food, then his bed. But there was a pile of paper on the desk in his study, and he had to deal with it first.

  The War Office had sent several memos, mainly to do with the supply situation now that Wellington and his army had crossed the Pyrenees and were in France. Was it still necessary to send supplies to the northern Spanish ports, or could they now use French ones?

  Justin sighed. Someone would have to investigate, probably travel to Bordeaux and assess the situation. It would not, he vowed, be himself.

  He dealt with the memos, then turned to the more personal notes. Invitations to balls, soirees, dinners, and other social occasions. They were mostly, he noticed, from mamas with young debutante daughters. He had been accustomed for ten years or more to be the target of match-making mamas, and though he was always a welcome guest, he had never shown any particular interest in any of the young ladies wheeled out for his inspection. That, however, did not deter either the mothers or the daughters. Swiftly he sorted the invitations into piles. His secretary, Robert Ferguson, could deal with them in the morning. He could send apologies for not attending those which had taken place during his absence, accept a few which came from special friends, and regretfully decline the rest.

  Finally he turned to the one Robert had not opened, from his brother Stephen. The boy rarely wrote unless he needed extra money, and in rural Herefordshire there was little for him to spend on. This time it was a plea to be taken away from the Rectory. 'The Reverend Ripon may be teaching me Latin and Greek, but I never seem to read anything but silly poems about the countryside or soppy love stories,' he complained. 'He won't give me anything about the Trojan wars, or the Roman Empire,' he added. 'Please, Justin, can't you find me someone else? And James won't stop saying he wants to go and be a soldier, and his father becomes all sarcastic in that gentle, hurt way he has, so that it's unbearable. I don't want to be a soldier, it's not that, just that it's all so tedious!'

  Justin felt for him. It had been Bernard who suggested the Reverend Ripon might cram Stephen for Oxford, as his own elder son James was due to go there at the same time, and Justin had been so busy he had accepted the recommendation without visiting the Rectory or meeting the Rector. This was something else Robert could see to, finding another tutor for Stephen.

  At last, stretching his aching limbs, he went to his bedroom, to find that his valet, the admirable Clement, had prepared a bath for him. The fire was burning brightly, the bathtub set before it, his nightgown laid out on the bed, and the water was just the right temperature.

  'How do you manage it?' he asked as he began to strip off his travelling clothes. 'You don't know when I'll be finished, but the water is always perfect.'

  Clement smiled. He'd been with the Earl since he was a boy.

  'Constant replenishments of hot water, my lord,' he said. 'I abstract one jugful and replace it with another, so it is always the correct temperature.'

  'And does not overflow. Have you seen these new bathrooms where there is a fixed bath, and even piped water? I wonder if it would be worth installing one here?'

  'It would involve a great deal of work in the house, my lord, and I doubt it would be more efficient than this.'

  'It would save the maids having to carry so many jugs of hot water up the stairs.'

  'Then what would they have to do?'

  Justin smiled, and sank into the water with a sigh of relief. The week at home had been a pleasant break, and tomorrow he would be confronted with all sorts of problems. The sooner this war was over and Napoleon either dead or imprisoned the better.

  *

 
It was dusk when they finally arrived in Albemarle St, turning in from Piccadilly. Eve had marvelled at the increasing amount of traffic as they came closer to London.

  'Why all these slow carts?' she demanded as once again the horses had to drop to a walk before they could find a gap to overtake.

  'Farm carts,' Sir Bernard explained. 'They are bringing produce in to the markets. It needs to be there before morning, when customers need it.'

  They had sent servants ahead of them to open up the house. Normally only a couple of caretakers lived there, Lady Montgomery explained, but it would all be ready for them, and a meal awaiting. They did not need to change tonight.

  Eve was shown up to a room on the third floor, next to Amelia's. She marvelled at the luxury, so different from her small bleak room at home, with the minimum furniture and a small, hard bed. This room overlooked a pleasant garden, and the bed was so soft she was tempted to stay on it instead ot making herself tidy to go downstairs.

  'Your trunk will be brought up and my maid will unpack it while we eat,' Amelia explained, and Eve wondered what the maid would think of her untidy, hasty packing. It was too late to worry, so after a quick wash she and Amelia went down to the drawing room, and within minutes had been called to the dining room.

  It was elegant, far more so than the house in the country, and Amelia told her that when the table was extended they could seat twenty persons.

  Lady Montgomery, overhearing, laughed. 'We live simply in the country,' she explained. 'In town, however, we need to entertain more.'

  Eve thought of her simple country gowns. They would not do for dining with Lady Montgomery's important guests. Somehow she had to contrive at least one fashionable evening gown. When dinner was over, and the two girls were told to go to bed for an early night after the journey, she dragged Amelia into her bedroom and sank down onto the bed.

  'What shall I do? Amelia, you know what my gowns are like! Look at them!' She pulled some onto the bed. 'They are suitable only for a country schoolgirl, far from fashionable, and ancient! I was only permitted to have white or this insipid, horrid pink. And my only evening gown is high-necked, and has long sleeves! Look! It's not at all like those you showed me in La Belle Assemblée! It might just as well be a morning gown.'

  Amelia picked up the gown Eve was thrusting towards her. 'Yes, I do see. You can't wear this.'

  'I suppose I can always have dinner in my room when your brother has guests.'

  'Of course you can't! Your father gave you some money. How much?' Amelia asked.

  'Fifty pounds! I've never even seen so much all at once. He must have made a mistake, thinking there was less there than there was!'

  Amelia shook her head. 'It's not enough to purchase even one evening gown, if you want to be fashionable. But we can go to Bedford House tomorrow, and we can buy some muslins and perhaps a length of sarsnet. And perhaps also some gauze to make an overskirt for one of these gowns. I think that won't cost a great deal. Then there or at one of the other linen drapers we can buy trimmings, ribbons and laces and flowers. Caroline's dressmaker can make you some gowns, and I'm sure we can change some of yours to make them more fashionable. We can lower the neckline, make the sleeves short, and perhaps add some flounces. And I have a new pelisse, so you could wear my old one.'

  'I don't have one at all! Just that old cloak.'

  Amelia was ticking off her fingers. 'You will need to buy some shoes, but Caroline will have an old reticule and some gloves she no longer wants. She has dozens of hats, too, she will give you one that we can trim to make it look different. By tomorrow evening you will have at least one gown.'

  'But – but, I can't expect your sister to engage her dressmaker for me. And she could not make a new gown so quickly.'

  'Why not? Caroline invited you to come, and she'll want you to look good. In fact, I know she has several gowns she no longer wears, and she would love you to have them. She always buys lots of new clothes when she comes to London. Tomorrow, we'll ask her.'

  Eve had a suspicion she ought not to accept such generosity, but the thought of appearing at one of Lady Montgomery's fashionable parties in an old, shabby gown made her swallow her instinctive rejection. Then she grinned. If they could alter her plain, old-fashioned gowns in the ways Amelia suggested, the Rector would be furious when she returned home. He'd call her a Jezebel or worse, though what could be worse she could not think. Then she determined to forget her father and his probable disapproval, and enjoy these few weeks as much as she could.

  *

  James sneaked into the Rector's study. His father had gone across to the church, and there was an opportunity to read his copy of The Times and catch up with what was happening on the continent. He didn't manage to read the accounts of the war every day, for his father often took the paper with him when he went out, to give to one of his parishioners, James supposed. So he had to fill in the gaps from the hints in later accounts, or even the letters. At last things seemed to be moving with the recent fall of San Sebastian, though it seemed some of the French troops had held out in a nearby castle which, so far as James had been able to judge, was surrounded by sea. James did not understand why it had been left to the Spanish to attack this last French possession, and he thought things would have been finished much sooner if the British army had been involved. But finally the stubborn French resistance had been dislodged, and soon the British would be crossing the Pyrenees, into France at last. The River Bidassoa was not far from San Sebastian, and no doubt Wellington would be crossing that soon.

  He was deep in the account when the Rector returned.

  'What are you doing in here?' he barked.

  'Just reading the paper, sir.'

  James did his best to fold the paper so that his father could not see what he'd been reading, but the Rector snatched it away from him.

  'Get out of here, and don't let me see you reading this again. I have told you, repeatedly, I will not permit you to join the army. You are under age, and even if you were not, you'd not have my blessing. You are going to Oxford, and then entering the Ministry.'

  James did not attempt to argue. They had said all they could many times, and he knew his father would not be moved. He could not understand his deep aversion to army life. It surely could not be fear that James would be injured or killed, for he was certain his father had no love for him. He thought of him, as he did his other children, as possessions, something to be kept and never given away. It was a wonder, now he came to think of it, that he had permitted Rachel to marry. Perhaps the fact that her husband was rich, with only daughters to inherit his wealth, had swayed him. Rachel might have a son who would inherit most of it, and if fortune favoured the Rector, the Viscount might die within a few years, before any son was old enough to take charge, and it would be natural that Rachel should come back to her childhood home and the protection of her father. James snorted in derision. The man was crazy for power! And Rachel had more sense, he was sure, than to return to the Rectory now she had obtained her freedom. If Eve, as he hoped, also managed to find a husband in London, one who did not care that she had no fortune herself, she would not return here. And he would have two sisters with their own homes, and both of them would welcome him when he came home on leave. Once he had escaped this prison, he meant never to return.

  *

  When Eve awoke the following morning, it was to find a neatly dressed maid bringing her a cup of chocolate. She had never had meals in bed unless she had been ill, and as she was normally in robust health that had been a very rare treat.

  'Shall I bring you breakfast, Miss?' the maid asked. 'Or will you go down to the breakfast room?'

  Eve gulped. She hadn't anticipated having to make such decisions. 'What does Amelia – Miss Amelia do?'

  'Oh, she goes down. I'll come and bring some hot water, then help you dress, and show you the way.'

  'Thank you. What is your name?'

  'Katie, Miss.'

  'Thank you, Katie.'

 
Eve breathed a huge sigh, and drank the chocolate. Her thoughts went to what on earth she ought to wear. She knew that ladies changed their gown several times a say, depending on what they were doing. They had morning gowns, walking gowns, driving gowns, afternoon gowns, evening gowns, and probably special gowns for breakfast, and for interviewing the cook about the day's meals, she thought rather hysterically. Which of her few old-fashioned gowns would be most appropriate?

  Fortunately, as she finished washing and was wondering what to wear Amelia appeared, carrying a warm-looking pelisse in a dark shade of green, trimmed with sable, a hat with dark green ribbons, and what looked like half a dozen gowns of different pastel shades.

  'I've been with Caroline,' she announced, dropping her burdens on the bed, 'and she has given me some of these. The rest are my old ones. They will do until we can have some new ones made for you. It's fortunate we are all the same height, and none of us is fat!'

  'You shouldn't!' Eve managed. 'You are all being generous enough by inviting me to London.'

  'Nonsense. You'll be company for me while Caroline visits her own friends, and Bernard is with his. And we don't want you to feel uncomfortable in those dreadfully old-fashioned gowns your father makes you wear.'

  Eve could not reply. There were tears in her eyes, and she hugged Amelia. 'You are such a good friend, and I do thank you, and Lady Montgomery.'

  'Good, then decide which of these you'll wear now, and after breakfast we'll be off to Bedford House. Bernard doesn't like us going by ourselves, so he's sending us in the carriage and one of the footmen will come with us to carry the parcels.'

  At Bedford House Eve had to exercise great restraint. There were fabrics in every conceivable shade, blues from the palest to a deep, almost purple, pinks that she found she could have worn, lilac, lavender, cream, lemon, and green. She wanted them all. In the end, when Amelia suggested some of her old gowns might be dyed, she chose a figured muslin, as she had never before had such a fabric, and another length of pale sea-green sarsnet, a beautiful silky fabric which shone in the reflected light.