A Charming Cavalryman for Clementine_A Historical Romance Novel Based on True Events

by Hanna Hamilton

  It was a fine late summer’s morning. The sun hung languidly in a clear blue sky. Occasional, small clouds floated lazily, not moving much, somehow deciding which way the near-non-existent wind would take them. The temperature was agreeable; the fresh scent of flowers in the air was too.

  Clementine had woken that morning at around eight, realizing that it would be the last day in her life that she would have a bed to herself. She could not have been happier about the prospect. Things had happened so quickly after that.

  Her mother had urged her on with her customary enthusiasm when it came to weddings. Clementine had wondered what her purpose would be in life, now that both of her daughters were in wedlock. She had even asked her mother when she could think of nothing. Her answer had made her gulp – her mother would focus all of her attention on their offspring when they arrived.

  Somehow the prospect of having babies still frightened her. Clementine, however, had had no time to reflect on the matter any longer. Before she knew it, she had been rushed through breakfast to begin the process of preparing her until she was staring at her reflection in the mirror. What she had seen was nothing short of a miraculous transformation.

  Clementine had scrutinized every little detail of her person disbelievingly. It had been the only rare moment that morning when her mother and sister had given her a few moments to reflect. While she did this, they had fussed over her dress and the other elements of her attire.

  On her head, she wore a simple wreath of rose blossoms intertwined with myrtle. Clementine had thought she looked young and pale, hovering between anxious and dreamy. It was the nerves that had come back to haunt her.

  She had stood still as she was carefully buttoned into her white satin dress, with a flounce of lace and a four-metre long train edged with more rose blossoms. Her hands had shaken slightly as her mother’s lady’s maid had pinned Indian diamonds to her ears. A necklace with the same gemstones looped around her neck by her sister.

  The pièce de résistance had been the sapphire brooch from Stirling on her breast. It was a family heirloom given to him by his now repentant father. She had held her foot out as the maid tied the ribbons of her delicate white satin slippers around her ankles. Her dress sat low on her shoulders, displaying her smooth ivory chest, and her blonde hair, parted severely in the middle, was looped into low buns on either side of her head.

  Her clothes had been carefully chosen to display her patriotism. It was all the rage at the moment because it was what the queen had done when she married Albert.

  The fabric of Clementine’s dress was from the Spitalfields, the historic centre of the silk industry in London. Forty lace-makers from Devon, in the country's southwest, had laboured on the wedding dress for months. Her gloves were stitched in London and made of English kid leather.

  Everything had gone to plan. She was on her way to the man she loved. Her father sat next to her in the carriage and her mother and sister opposite.

  “We are here,” said the Earl of Leighton. He smiled at his daughter encouragingly. They stepped out of the vehicle and approached the chapel with the flat-topped steeple.

  “Here we go, Clementine. Your man awaits.” She and her father waited outside while her mother and sister went inside to find their seats with the other attendants.

  “Are you ready, darling?”

  She nodded. “There is only one way to find out, Pater.”

  Her father chuckled. “You always did know how to say exactly the right thing, Clem. We better not keep the poor man waiting. He’s bound to be as nervous as you are.”

  “I am not nervous.”

  “Of course you are. I can see it in the way you twitch your nose every so often. It is all right to feel a tad apprehensive on your wedding day.” He smiled at her. “One, two, three…and off we go.”

  Clementine gulped when they walked past the heavy wooden door, entering the structure. The choir area at the front was beautifully lit by huge windows and contained some of the oldest misericords in England. These delightful wood-carved seats featured such scenes as a fox preaching to a flock of geese.

  The choir was separated from the nave by a finely carved 14th-century screen, depicting the family tree of Jesus surmounted by an Epiphany scene. A perpendicular chancel surrounded the altar.

  The stair turret featured graceful arcading on the ground floor, colonettes on the second, a trellis pattern on the third floor, and more blind arcading at the top. The Kenbridge chapel had three Saxon crypts underneath.

  The moment they came into view, the pipe organ began to play a tune. At the same time, all heads turned in their direction. Stirling was the last to look

  Walking down the aisle, Clementine couldn’t help sneaking furtive glances at the people sitting on the pews that filled the church all the way to where Stirling, Royce, Rory, the vicar and a selection of ushers stood. As she approached, he came into full view.

  Stirling looked so handsome in his midnight-blue double-breasted frock coat with the peaked lapels. The coat reached his knees, partially covering his grey breeches. Under his arm, he sported a top hat, which he promptly handed to Rory when he saw her. Other garments included a dark burgundy waistcoat, white shirt with cravat and shiny black boots that could have been used as a mirror.

  He seemed nervous on this day of days. Clementine could see the concentration etched onto his features. It was what he looked like when he read the newspaper. She wondered what was on his mind. She asked herself why men and women were so inherently different. While he worried last minute, Clementine had taken care of those sentiments days ago.

  It had however been a hard process getting through it – it had hit her unexpectedly, clandestinely, that horrid melancholy, that questioning that had not made any sense to her. She loved Stirling, then why was she having these morbid thoughts like someone sitting alone in a dark room? As with most young brides, she had felt great trepidation in the days before the wedding celebration.

  She had lain in her bed watching rain streak the dirt on the windows at her parents’ home in London, trying not to panic, doubts crawling through her mind. Hadn't she enjoyed the last two years of her life as an independent woman more than any others? That pure freedom was about to slip from her grasp.

  She knew that Stirling was the right man. He was honourable, brave and kind. Yet, she could still feel the pain when she had thought him lost in the storm. It had felt like a part of her being ripped out of her body. Sometimes, she dreamed of it. It was always the same: Stirling swirled round and round in an angry sea. The current formed a whirlpool that would suck him under.

  Clementine had always woken up after that. She would look around her room in an attempt to make sure she was not back at the Scutari Hospital where she had received the fateful news. Relief had always descended over her when she had realized that she was back in England. One thing still remained. Clementine knew that she could never go through that again.

  In moments like that when fear had threatened to overwhelm her, she had closed her eyes and thought of the prodigious preparations already taking place: cakes being baked, shoes polished, coats fitted, gardens trimmed, carriages cleaned, and large casks of Scottish whiskey, wine, champagne and carts piled high with food for the wedding feast being rolled along the streets to the great house.

  Questions had drummed persistently in her mind: what would life be like after making her vows? She even dreaded the thought of having children. The ways of a man and wife, alone together, seemed utterly mysterious to her. Was she good enough for Stirling? Or would his eye turn to other, more comely women in a few years’ time.

  Somehow, the reading of The Lustful Turk had not been enough to educate her. Were all men the same? Did they require strange things from their wives when they were alone with them? More importantly, would she be able to deliver and satisfy his desire? Would she want to? After all, she was her own person and a woman who had seen things – horrible things and survived.

  Those had been some of
the questions plaguing her mind and robbing her of her sleep. Clementine had even lost weight because of it. She had grown paler. Her father had worried that she would fall ill and the wedding rescheduled.

  However, Elizabeth had known exactly what was going on. In a moment of sisterly wisdom, she had calmed Clementine down with a few well-placed and well-meant words. She had admitted that she had felt the very same trepidation before her great day.

  It was an interesting turn of events for Clementine because her sister usually was the one seeking out advice. In this area, she was the one with the experience. Unlike Clementine, she was no virgin. She did not need to rely on literature found in their father’s library – Elizabeth had first-hand experience in the act of making love. The moment she had started to speak of it, Clementine had been enthralled.

  When she finally stood next to her man, she suddenly felt the angst leave her body. It was as if only being near him was sufficient to soothe her. The bride and groom smiled at each other carefully.

  Before them, the vicar, who emulated Friar Tuck in almost everything from his bulk to his bulbous red nose, acquired from too much alcohol consumption, began to welcome the congregation. His voice was deep and raspy, somehow pleasant to the ear. It wrapped itself around Clementine, drawing her into his religious world.

  “O God, who consecrated the bond of Marriage

  by so great a mystery

  that in the wedding covenant you foreshadow

  the Sacrament of Christ and his Church,

  grant, we pray, to these your servants,

  that what they receive in faith

  they may live out in deeds.

  Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

  who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

  one God, forever and ever.”

  When the clergyman finished, the organ took up note once more, heralding the advent of the opening hymn. Stirling smiled at his bride. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life – nothing could compare. Seeing her again after having been separated from her for days was the true gift. Gradually, he settled his busy mind and let the singing claim him.

  “Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound

  That saved a wretch like me

  I once was lost, but now am found

  T'was blind but now I see…”

  The entire congregation joined in. Clementine had to stifle a giggle when she heard Stirling’s deep baritone top even the vicar’s hearty tenors. He sung at the top of his voice. There was no tune to it, just a series of barks and gurgles. She did her best to out sing him with her soft sweet voice. Her attempts were in vain. It was like putting a parakeet up against crow.

  “T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear

  And Grace, my fears relieved

  How precious did that grace appear

  The hour I first believed

  Through many dangers, toils and snares

  We have already come.

  T'was grace that brought us safe thus far

  And grace will lead us home,

  And grace will lead us home

  Amazing grace, How Sweet the sound

  That saved a wretch like me

  I once was lost but now am found

  T'was blind but now I see

  Was blind, but now I see.”

  The pipe organ played the final note. On cue, the over three hundred people in the church sat down and slipped onto their knees on the wooden supports in preparation for prayer.

  Clementine and Stirling kneeled next to one another. Their lives were in the making – their future to be joined – love was all that mattered on this day.

  Once more, the vicar’s drone filled the airwaves, enhanced by the halls excellent acoustics:

  “Dear brothers and sisters,

  as we call to mind the special gift of grace and charity

  by which God has been pleased to crown and consecrate

  the love of our sister and our brother,

  let us commend them to the Lord.”

  Clementine found herself lost in the words. Her mind screamed at her. Time merged into one moment that felt like it lasted forever. The happiness rushing over her stuck, turned and whirled until embossed on her soul. Feeling a tear threaten to seep out of her eye and roll off her lashes, she gritted her teeth.

  Automatically, her mouth started moving, though it did not repeat the priest’s words – Clementine prayed for Stirling – she prayed that he would never leave her side again.

  “Graciously pour out upon this husband and wife, O Lord,

  the Spirit of your love,

  to make them one heart and one soul,

  so that nothing whatever may divide those you have joined

  and no harm come to those you have filled with your blessing.

  Through Christ our Lord – Amen.”

  The ceremony carried on with many more risings, sittings and kneeling. There were more psalms, readings, gospels and homilies. Finally, it was over. The address of statement and intentions and the exchange of consent were upon them.

  “Dearly beloved, you have come together into this house of the Church so that, in the presence of the Church’s minister and the community, your intention to enter into Marriage may be strengthened by the Lord with a sacred seal…”

  He touched both Clementine and Stirling on the heads with two outstretched fingers. “Stirling Malcolm Henry Tiberius Whitt Whittaker, son of Edward Whitt Whittaker, the eighth Duke of Kenbridge and Clementine Vesta Victoria Delaney, daughter of Clive Delaney, Earl of Leighton, have you come here to enter into Marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”

  “I have,” said Stirling without hesitation.

  Silence.

  As time oozed by like a crumb being dragged through molasses, the people in the church began to murmur. The scuffing of boots and shoes against the flagstones could be heard. The odd cough sounded cacophonous in the high-ceilinged structure. Clementine felt a nudge to her ribs. It was Stirling prodding her person. “Are you all right, my love?”

  Clementine nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I am only worried that this is too good to be true. What happens if you are taken from me again?”

  “My love, I’m not going anywhere.” Stirling smiled at her affectionately.

  “But you are a Colonel in the Hussars – you will be called to war again – I am sure of it.”

  For a moment, Stirling thought of his recent promotion. Lord Cardigan had presaged the act with his steely will. Also, it had not been long ago that he had been awarded the Victoria Cross for his bravery in battle. His father, Clementine, Royce, Elizabeth, Rory and Clementine’s family had all been present at the ceremony.

  “Yes, that may be, but we will always be together.” He kissed her on the forehead, making Friar Tuck tut. “Now, marry me, will you?”

  Clementine nodded. Heartbeats thumped angrily in her ribcage as fear overcame her. More time passed. She worried that no happiness such as the one she felt could remain. More time and then an epiphany.

  “I have,” tumbled out of her mouth. She loved Stirling and nothing, not even death, could take that away from her.

  Florence had once said, being in love was the easy part – loving somebody was not. She decided then that she would love the man beside her with all of her being. God had given him back to her despite thinking him dead and nearly threatening his life in the process.

  Like a hurricane, the minister exhaled a full rush of air. He promptly continued.

  “Are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honour each other for as long as you both shall live?” – the bride and groom both said “I am”.

  “Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?” – “I am” – “Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.”

  Cleme
ntine smiled as Stirling’s strong hand that was crisp and warm slipped into hers. She gave it an extra squeeze, sneaking a furtive glimpse at him in the process.

  “I, Stirling Malcolm Henry Tiberius Whitt Whittaker, son of Edward Whitt Whittaker, the eighth Duke of Kenbridge take thee, Clementine Vesta Victoria Delaney, daughter of Clive Delaney, Earl of Leighton, to be 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, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  A golden ring slipped on the fourth finger of her left hand. Clementine did not look down. Feeling it was enough to remind her that she was now his. She had to muster all of her resolve not to scream with joy. A quick glimpse at the wooden cross with the prostate figure of the Lord Jesus Christ adorning it, she knew that she was now his bride.