Winter Wedding

by Joan Smith

  Clara felt piqued at having no other company herself than Major Standby and his scar. Since Nel was safely occupied with Ormond, she thought Ben might take up the empty chair beside her, but he made no move to do so. He knew it was empty; she saw him glance at it twice. Once he seemed to be pointing it out to Ormond, but neither of them was willing to leave Nel to the other.

  Not till the concert was over was there any move in her direction, and then it was Ormond who strolled over and chatted for ten minutes about the most trivial of social nothings, and about Miss Muldoon. Clara was not to go to the inn that night. Maggie had been given the job, so it seemed Clara was not to have a word with Ben at all. She happened to be glancing in his direction when he and Nel rose to go for their coats, and he took a detour toward her.

  “We haven’t had a chance to chat all evening, Miss Christopher.”

  Not having a chance was a strange way of putting it. She was not about to let him off with that. “Kind of you not to rob me of another opportunity to see Major Standby’s scar,” she said.

  “I had to discover what sort of gentleman Mr. Ormond is, as I hope to use him as Nel’s escort.”

  “My vouching for him was not sufficient?” she inquired coolly.

  “Men behave differently with different ladies.”

  “So I have noticed.”

  He just laughed. “You are out of sorts. Get a good sleep,” he said. “You are back on duty tomorrow night. I’ll take Nel out in the morning. Perhaps Ormond will want to replace me in the afternoon. Have you got any jobs lined up for your helper?”

  “If you refer to yourself, I cannot afford a lazy earl.”

  “We have agreed I am beyond price. It is only the perquisites of the position I am interested in. I like the company,” he said, with a dashing smile. “Good night, Miss Christopher.”

  He lounged away at his athletic pace. Looking at his retreating form, Clara thought she had never seen such an exasperating gentleman. Or one with such a well-shaped head. Not round like an orange, or pointed like a pineapple, not flat-backed like a Teutonic head but a nice shaped head. She was gazing after him bemusedly when Maggie accosted her. She was already dressed in her pelisse.

  “Has Ben been teasing you?” she asked.

  “No, not at all. It is your turn for the inn tonight, Maggie. Don’t let Nel cozen you she is hungry. She only wants to get downstairs for some reason. Early morning is the danger period. She slipped off on me around seven-thirty this morning.”

  “It’s all right. Ben says Moore hasn’t arrived yet.”

  Clara gave her a startled look. “Who is Moore?”

  Marguerite put her fingers over her mouth. “Oops! I think I’ve let the cat out of the bag. I thought Ben would have told you about Moore.”

  “But who is he?”

  “A handsome rogue,” Maggie laughed. “And I wager you can figure out the rest.”

  It did not take Clara long to figure out that Moore was involved in some troublesome romance with Nel. She was not entirely sorry to be missing out on a sleepless night at the inn when she learned it.

  Clara’s chamber on that night was the dressing room next to Lady Allingcote’s, vacated by Maggie. Lady Allingcote was already in bed with the adjoining door closed when Clara went up. Clara slept soundly and rose in the morning ready for another full day. She was not prepared for a new twist, however. Lady Allingcote made quite a point of sitting beside her at breakfast and engaging her in conversation. When Clara finished eating and rose to begin her chores, Lady Allingcote insisted on helping her make space for the wedding gifts in the blue parlor, where they were being displayed.

  The lady was outstandingly friendly, and also markedly inquisitive. Clearly some indication had been made to her to get to know Miss Christopher. Clara could not but wonder at the reason for it; could not help thinking it was Ben who had put her up to it. It made her nervous, and she felt she was not appearing to best advantage. She answered the questions put to her briefly, but did not contribute much voluntarily. All her usual store of small talk dried up. She had thought she could converse pleasantly with anyone, but found that with Ben’s mother eyeing her carefully, she had nothing to say. Her rootless life seemed suddenly shoddy.

  When the job was done, Lady Allingcote said, “When can you spare a few weeks to us at Braemore, Miss Christopher?”

  Clara was dumbfounded at the idea. Lady Allingcote seemed to think her style of living was even worse than it was, that she would move in with just any chance acquaintance. Her being with Lady Lucker was already an imposition—only Oglethorpe’s cousin. “I—I am to return to my aunt when she comes back from Greece, ma’am,” she said.

  “That’s nice. I hope she will spare you to us for a visit. Maggie is very eager to have you. Indeed we all are, Benjie and myself, too.”

  It came to Clara’s mind that Maggie always did as her brother asked. She had got on well with Maggie, but hardly so well that an invitation had been anticipated. “I really don’t know. I shall have to wait till Auntie is back,” she said, blushing pink as a rose. Her answer sounded ungracious to her own ears.

  “It won’t be too long, I hope. Sometime in January, if you can make it. I love to have company in January. It helps get through the dull winter. But we shan’t be too dull. Benjie will show you around. He will like to do it.” There was just some little significance in these last remarks, some inflection of voice that implied Benjie was at the bottom of it all. It was enough to turn Clara completely mute.

  Lady Allingcote smiled in contentment as she left the room. She was relieved to see Miss Christopher was a very nice young lady indeed. Not forthcoming, as she had feared, and while quite pretty, it was not a pair of eyes or a conning smile that had been the cause of her son’s command to “Make Miss Christopher come to us.” Odd Ben had never told her the lady’s name before. He had mentioned, “The girl from the Bellinghams’ “ from time to time over the past months. Maggie used to tease him about her.

  Lady Allingcote had been afraid she would find Ben’s mysterious lady to be a slightly older, slightly sharper version of Nel Muldoon. She had come to dread the day she must meet her, but she had met her, liked her, and been assured by Charity that she was a lovely young girl with no airs or graces about her, before she even knew she was Ben’s mysterious friend. Clara Christopher would do very well. Indeed if she had been found to do less well, no very strenuous objections would have been raised to a girl who might supplant Nel Muldoon in her son’s affections.

  Clara was happy to make her escape from this unwelcome bout of attention, but she required a little time to compose her thoughts. She went to her room, wondering if Ben had engineered the invitation and wondering whether she should accept it. She went downstairs half an hour later, eager for his return to Branelea, to see if he would add his own solicitations to his mother’s. He had not returned, nor had Maggie, who might have been subtly pressed for news.

  Clara was soon caught up in other chores, and when luncheon was announced, the three from the inn came in, red-cheeked from a walk in the country. No snow had fallen yet, but the air was uncomfortably brisk. It seemed hard that the innocent Allingcotes should be so inconvenienced because of Miss Muldoon. Only Nel expressed any displeasure with her morning, however, and when Ormond complimented her on her good color, she too let on she had enjoyed the exercise.

  In the afternoon, Clara was to go to the village for Lady Lucker. She decided that while she was about it, she would take her books back to the lending library. They were due that day, and no more than her hostess did she wish to disburse a penny when it might be avoided. When Nel heard of the outing, she pulled Clara off to a corner to hear a great secret. She would go with her, as she wanted to get Prissie a wedding gift. They had discussed it the evening before, which explained their five-minute talk without coming to blows.

  “You have been out all morning. Why didn’t you buy the present then?” Clara asked. She had hoped Allingcote might accompany her on the
outing and was not happy to have Nel’s company.

  “We didn’t walk in the village.”

  “Very well, but I’m leaving right away. You’d best get ready.”

  Clara sought out Allingcote to tell him the plan, hoping he would squash it. “Excellent,” he said. “I was hoping someone would think of something to entertain her, for I am busy myself.”

  “I wonder if Herbert would like to come with us,” Clara said casually.

  “He has gone to call on relatives living nearby,” he said with satisfaction. “Hearing there was a vicar in the house, Nel declined his invitation.” She hadn’t even the satisfaction of making him jealous. Herbert had asked Nel to go with him. “I am taking Mama to have Prissie’s silver tray engraved,” he continued, “and we must go to Woking to do it. Nel could come with us, but Mama particularly loathes her. She has managed to make herself unpopular in most quarters, poor girl.”

  “Including this quarter,” Clara said grimly. There was no satisfaction in the meeting: no getting rid of Nel, no Allingcote to accompany them, no mention of the visit to Braemore, no flirtation at all.

  His commiserating smile was the only ray of comfort. “You’ll be careful?”

  “Why, has Moore arrived?”

  He looked at her sharply. “Who let it out, Nel or Maggie?”

  “A little bird told me. You’d best give me his description, in case we run into him.”

  “If you see a brass-faced, black-haired, greasy hedgebird in high shirt points and nip-waisted jacket, driving an abominable spavin-backed pair of grays, that will be Moore.”

  “The village abounds in greasy hedgebirds. They are endemic to Brickworth. What is his build?”

  “Tall and gangly, wearing a jacket with padding to give him a set of shoulders. About twenty-five years of age. He leers a lot at all the ladies.”

  “He sounds appalling! What does she see in him?”

  “To be fair, the less demanding girls seem to tolerate him pretty well, but then Nel has no taste.”

  “I don’t know about that. She likes Herbert.”

  “Ormond is well enough, if you can stand his geniality.” He changed his tack when he realized he was being irrational. “All the ladies like Ormond, do they not? You, Maggie, and I have even seen the nose twitchers in gray bombazine giving him the eye. But in Maggie’s case it is his height that attracts her. She likes tall men, and like most statuesque ladies, is constantly pestered by ankle biters.”

  “I shall introduce her to my Major Standby. He is over six feet.”

  “Why not foster a friendship between her and Ormond? I have just told you she is thinking of falling in love with him. I think, that though you are too cautious to admit it, you have a secret passion for him yourself. His name keeps recurring in our conversations.”

  “She must wait till Nel is through with him. The line forms to the right. I shall keep Nel away as long as I can. I have to go to the library as well.”

  “You have a carriage? I mean Aunt Charity gives the use of hers?”

  “Certainly. The hired help is not so badly treated as you think.”

  “Good luck,” Allingcote said, and walked away.

  Clara met Nel on her way to the hall, outfitted for the trip in a beautiful deep blue pelisse, lined in sable. What an elegant little creature she was and smiling today, too, in good humor with the world. Till she opened her mouth she was bewitching. It was praise of her generosity in giving Prissie a set of crystal salt cellars with silver-plated spoons that engaged her tongue during the trip to the village. She kept looking about her. Clara now suspected it was Moore she was looking for, and not just any stray admirer. As she did not officially know about Moore, she said nothing, but she kept an eye out for the man described by Allingcote as they entered the village.

  Going to the village with Nel proved an experience Clara did not wish to repeat. Nel had to stop at every window to admire or disparage every item in it. She entered the shops to try on gloves, bonnets, and shawls she had no intention of buying. Ells of material were taken down from shelves and held up to her face to determine whether they suited her.

  Her beauty and flirtation created considerable stir among the male shoppers. She smiled at them all and turned around after they had passed to make sure they were looking back at her. She spoke in a loud, carrying voice, offering any comment that came to her about anyone, uncaring whether a passerby should hear herself called an old quiz or a dowd. She bought a ginger cake and ate it from her fingers, dropping fragments amidst the lace and ribbons, and in general made a vile nuisance of herself. She was finally dragged into the gift shop to buy the salt cellars, and from there they went on to return Clara’s books.

  At the library, an occurrence that provided some small pleasure took place. A gentleman of the first stare was perusing the stacks. As Nel did not immediately get a glimpse of him nor he of her, he began casting a few long eyes in Clara’s direction. By judicious peeps over the top of a novel, Clara saw that he was ravishingly handsome. Tall and well-formed, with black hair sitting on a head nearly as pleasing as Allingcote’s. He was elegantly outfitted in a coat of blue Bath cloth, wearing tan trousers, and carrying a coat over his arm.

  No word passed between the two for several moments, but as they worked their respective way down the stacks, they both arrived at the novels of Scott at the same time. Clara thought it was perhaps not quite by accident that his hand went out right after hers to select Guy Mannering. She was charmed by this ingenious and respectable bid for acquaintance. He gave her a bashful look and said, “Sorry. You were first.” His accent was obviously that of a gentleman.

  “I have already read it,” she smiled. “It is very good.”

  Despite his air of shyness, he was not slow to carry on and enlarge the opening. “Do you indeed recommend it, ma’am?” he asked, smiling to reveal perfect white teeth.

  She recommended it very highly, though she had not actually liked it much. Scott soon led to Byron. Byron, of course, might lead to any mischief. Before long, he had led to an introduction. The gentleman was a Captain Carruthers, recently retired from the Dragoons and about to set up housekeeping in the neighborhood. Clara had heard Lady Lucker mention some retired officer moving to the area. She volunteered that she herself was only a visitor and mentioned the wedding, as it occupied so large a part of her mind.

  The wedding called to mind Nel Muldoon, and Clara thought it a good idea to get the chit out of the library before her eyes should fall on the handsome captain. There would be no getting her out without a pitched battle once that had happened. She excused herself and went to find Nel down among the gothic novels of Mrs. Radcliffe, right where she thought she would be. The captain followed Clara down the aisle at a discreet distance, and when Clara and Nel went to the desk, Nel spotted him. It seemed like fate that the two should stop and stare at each other a long moment.

  Seldom must two such perfectly formed physical specimens come together. Nel’s rosebud lips parted to show her teeth. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped, but she said nothing. The captain, waiting his turn at the desk, turned to Nel and smiled his charming, shy smile. Some few words passed between them. Clara was full of apprehension, but really nothing could happen in the two minutes she stood talking with the librarian. Nel was in full view the whole time, and all that was happening was that the captain was showing Nel his book, perhaps saying that her friend had recommended it. The captain looked in her direction at least. Nel seemed to be on her best behavior to impress him.

  Clara took up her new books, bowed to Captain Carruthers, gathered up Nel, and left. “A very handsome gentleman,” she said to Nel. “A pity he had not come into the neighborhood sooner and he might have ended up at Prissie’s wedding.”

  “I never saw anyone so gorgeous!” Nel sighed. “Do you know him well, Miss Christopher?”

  “No, I never met him before.”

  “He said he has lived here a month. What a slow top you are! I should have had him call
ing on me long since, if I were you. I wish I were staying a little longer at Branelea. I wonder if Ben ...”

  “I shouldn’t think so,” Clara said firmly.

  They had been gone over two hours. By the time they reached home, it would be close to four. They went to the carriage and returned to Branelea.

  Chapter Eleven

  There was some little unpleasantness before dinner when Nel chose to present her wedding gift to Oglethorpe instead of the bride and did it during a moment when she found him alone in the blue parlor admiring his other new acquisitions.

  Prissie discovered them in the act of feeding each other imaginary spoonfuls of salt from the miniature spoons that accompanied the cellars. This activity was interrupted as soon as the bride arrived on the scene and snatched the spoon from his hand. She was only prevented from dashing the crystal cellar to the floor by her groom’s presence of mind in pointing out to her that the gift was exactly what she had wanted.

  The “Thank you so much” Prissie conferred on Miss Muldoon was chilly enough to cause goose bumps. With Oglethorpe reverted to his best behavior, Nel soon forsook them both and went in search of more amusing company.

  Clara learned of the “little contretemps” from Lady Lucker, who had it from Prissie within minutes of its occurrence. Clara took upon herself the task of preventing further “little contretemps,” before they should escalate to incidents requiring the services of a doctor. She watched Nel like a hawk. This was the very eve of the nuptials, and it was of the greatest importance that no rupture occur between the bridal couple at this late date.

  Nel required a deal of watching. She was even more mischievous than usual. Her blue eyes danced and an impish smile played over her lovely face. She looked half angel, half vixen, as she flirted outrageously with every man at the party. Herbert, Ben, Maximilian, and a dozen doddering old cousins were tickled pink with her ways.