by Sophia James
Her uncle had been furious at first with her choice of groom but had, over the days leading up to the service, made a kind of peace with her that she had found endearing. Imelda Harcourt had simply washed her hands of the situation altogether and left London to stay with her sister in Bath.
‘You shall rue this decision for every day of your life, you silly girl, for every single dreadful day. Lord Berrick had a fortune whilst your husband-to-be is rumoured to be a whisker away from bankruptcy. Let us hope he does not fritter your money away as well.’
Those had been the last words between them, though Adelaide had returned to her room to find a book left upon her pillow and inscribed in the front page with Lady Harcourt’s name. Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, Addressed to a Young Lady was a well-used tome, and Lady Harcourt had marked the section on how to make a good marriage. Each paragraph had stressed the importance of wealth, family name and a spotless reputation.
Lord Wesley had stayed away for the most part. Oh, granted, he had made the obligatory call to her uncle, but the visitation had held only awkwardness, the uncomfortable dislike both men had of the other the resounding tone of the meeting.
Alec Ashfield had made it known from the start that he should have much preferred the suit of Frederick Lovelace for his niece and his questions about the financial soundness of the Wesley estate were both embarrassing and disconcerting.
Gabriel Hughes’s estate was in trouble and he made no effort at all to disguise the fact. The family seat had all but burned to the ground and the books of the surrounding farmland accounts were in disarray and confusion.
‘You have not been tending to the lands of your ancestors, Lord Wesley, but have instead been cavorting with the womenfolk of London town and gaining a reputation that is hardly salubrious.’
Adelaide thought the earl might argue the fact and was surprised when he remained silent.
‘You have the reputation of a flagrant womaniser and a spendthrift and that is discounting your penchant for clothing of a certain style and expense. My niece’s money shall not be available to you until you can prove you are a stable and faithful husband.’
Privately Adelaide had wondered if her uncle truly had the power to withhold any of her inheritance, for much of it was already in her own accounts. Still, under the interest of concord, she kept quiet and listened.
‘I do not covet Miss Ashfield’s fortune, sir, and my finances, whilst nowhere near as healthy as your niece’s, still hold a certain robustness. I have not been quite as indolent as you might paint me.’
‘My niece is not a woman who would welcome infidelity.’
‘I am glad of it.’
‘Or intemperate spending.’
Gabriel’s smile was quiet, giving Adelaide the impression that he was holding back his fury because this was her uncle and he did not wish for disharmony.
‘But as she is twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four, and her choice is obviously made, then I should have to honour that preference.’
‘Thank you, Lord Penbury.’ This time the Earl of Wesley actually sounded as though he meant it, but he had left straight afterwards, beating a hasty retreat for the front door before she had the chance to converse with him privately.
Christine Howard had also arrived each and every day for the past two weeks. The first visit had consisted mostly of draping various fabrics this way and that, but the second had brought a seamstress who had a quick and deft way with the needle.
‘Michelle Le Blanc is Paris trained, Adelaide, and she is one of the best there is. Her husband is a tailor with a firm in Regent Street and as that work is sometimes sporadic she is most appreciative of the extra hours.’
And before long a wedding gown had wound its way out of the light blue fabric, an over-cover of blue-and-green embroidery highlighting the flow of the cloth and a veil in the same thin silk attached to her hair with a band of yellow rosebuds.
Adelaide could barely believe she looked quite so...different. Gone was the girl with a poor taste in colour and design to be replaced by a woman who looked...unfamiliar, her hair flowing down her back and around her shoulders in an artful curl.
‘I knew blue would suit you with the colour of your eyes, but I had not quite expected...this.’ Christine looked almost tearful. ‘If Gabriel Hughes is the most admired male in all of London society, then you shall be his equal in the feminine stakes and none shall question his choice of bride when they see you.’
Crossing the room, Adelaide delved into a drawer of her armoire, bringing out a small box that she had wrapped in a golden ribbon. ‘This is for you, Christine. For all your help and generosity.’
When Christine Howard lifted the lid from the box she looked up with a frown. ‘Oh, I could not accept such a thing from you. It is far too much.’
The rich red ruby brooch was shaped in the form of a starburst, a number of diamonds alluding to the wake of its movement.
‘I saw it in a jeweller on Regent Street and thought of you. It cannot be returned.’
‘But it must have cost a small fortune...’
‘And since I have a very large one I shall not miss the loss. The man in the shop said it would bring love to the woman who wore it.’
Unexpectedly Christine burst into tears. ‘I had love once, but he was killed in Spain. I should not think to ever find the suchlike again.’
Dredging her mind for some words that might help Christine in her loss, Adelaide came up with a line from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets,
‘“All losses are restored and sorrows end.”’
‘Do you truly think they can, Adelaide? End, I mean.’
‘I do.’ Taking the brooch from Christine’s shaking fingers, Adelaide pinned it to her bodice. ‘And you should, too. There is only so much sadness a person is able to weather in life and you have most certainly had your share. Now it is time for a new direction, a different future. A better one.’
* * *
When Adelaide walked up the aisle towards Gabriel Hughes two days later she had no will at all to flee. Lord Wesley was attired in clothes that were almost stark, none of the lace and frills he favoured in society on show, and because of it he looked harder, more distant and larger.
He tipped his head as she joined him, though he did not offer his hand for comfort. The lace and silk of her dress glowed in the light, the full skirt falling in swathes to the floor, the silk almost alive in its movement.
An organ played somewhere close by, the music lilting and sombre. Two large vases of white roses stood to each side of the font. When she breathed in Adelaide could smell the scent of them and it calmed her.
This was the place her parents had been married in and her grandparents before that, the small chapel a reminder of history and permanence.
Her uncle held her elbow firmly and waited until the minister spoke, releasing her into the company of her husband-to-be only after she looked at him and nodded.
‘Who gives this woman to be wedded to this man?’
‘I do.’ Not said in quite the way she might have wished, a flat anger running under the sentiment. For a moment she thought that her uncle would not step away, but then he nodded his head and retreated.
The guests were not numerous, she had seen that as she came in. Her cousin Bertie sat on her side of the chapel with her uncle’s older sister. On Gabriel Hughes’s side Lucien, Christine, Francis, Amethyst and Daniel Wylde filled the front two rows. Gabriel’s mother was there, too, the grey of her hair matching the steely fabric in her gown.
His immediate family was as decimated as hers, Adelaide thought and stood straighter. She usually towered over other men, but with her husband-to-be she almost felt small. Through the gauze of her veil the room was muted, the others further away somehow, just her and Lord Wesley and the quiet voice of the minister as he took th
em through the vows.
‘Do you, Gabriel Stephen Lytton Hughes, take this woman, Adelaide Elizabeth Ashfield, as your lawfully wedded wife...?’
She had seen his names on the marriage contract, but to hear them said here was different. She knew so little about him: his family, his hopes, his truths, his past.
‘I do.’
There was no hesitation in his words, no underlying uncertainty. He gave his reply quickly as if he wanted the minister to get on with the vows and have them over.
It was some consolation.
The ring he placed on her finger was also a surprise. Of a Renaissance design and fashioned in gold, enamel and diamonds, the fragile band fitted perfectly. She wondered whom it had belonged to, but he did not linger in his touch or meet her gaze as the circle slid into place. His own hands were bare today, save for the ring she had placed there, no sign of the ornate silver-and-gold band he often wore. It was if she were marrying a stranger dressed in dark and sombre clothes, just a touch of fine linen at his sleeves and neck. None of the man in society on show with the frilly embroidered sleeves and the ornately creased cravats. Even his cufflinks were of plain dark onyx, the stone reflecting none of the light that seeped in through stained-glass windows.
His long hair had been fastened at his nape with a leather tie, the deep red and lighter browns dulled under a lotion that held it in place.
‘You may now kiss your bride.’
The minister’s direction cut through all her thoughts and brought Adelaide back into the moment. But Gabriel Hughes merely shook away the offer and turned. Catching the worried glance of Amethyst Wylde, Adelaide followed him out.
Could this union be a farce, a travesty, a reminder of all she had promised herself never to feel? It was as if at that moment Eloise and Jean stood just behind her and shook their heads in sorrow.
We told you so, but you would not listen.
Even the spectre of Kenneth Davis could be brought forth and imagined, crouched in the corner shadows with his innuendos and evil. She also wondered wildly what George Friar might make of her sudden betrothal when he knew of it and if that would create a further problem. Had she not promised to give him a reply to his proposal, after all?
‘Are you well?’ Her husband’s voice cut across dizziness.
‘I am fine, thank you.’ The formality of it all was disturbing. They were married, but they barely knew each other. Marry in haste and repent in leisure; the words of the ditty turned in her head again and again and again.
Gabriel Hughes’s voice cut through her lethargy. ‘My mother would like to meet you. She has just returned from staying with her sister in Bath. But be warned she can be...rather distracted, I am afraid.’
The dowager was a small lady, the corners of her lips turned down into deep creases.
‘Mama, may I present Lady Wesley. Adelaide, this is my mother, the Dowager Countess Wesley.’
The older lady’s hands were cold and she shook slightly, as though a draught cut through the warm room to land only on her, but the squeeze of ancient fingers was unmistakable as the dowager leaned forward.
‘I was more than surprised by this marriage, but Gabriel needs a friend and I hope it will be you. If it was, I could die happily as my daughter has been difficult and I never know quite what will happen with her—’
The earl cut his mother off. ‘Perhaps we might all go home to the town house now, Mama. I know Mrs Peacock has done herself proud with the wedding breakfast.’
* * *
The wedding meal was a large one, six courses and all served on generous trenchers themed with objects pertaining to a wedding, and when Gabriel stood to talk he kept things impersonal as he addressed the small gathering.
‘Thank you for coming and enjoying this day along with us and a special thanks to Lord Penbury for allowing me his niece’s hand in marriage.’
He turned then, his pale gaze running across her. ‘Thank you, too, Lady Wesley, for agreeing to marry me and I hope our union shall be a long and happy one.’
Raising his glass to her, he proposed a toast. ‘To Lady Adelaide Wesley.’
At least in strong drink some of the reasons for this marriage might be made less obvious, she thought, as she finished her glass, watching as a servant stepped forward to fill it up again. Her agreement to marry Gabriel Hughes was not quite running away from the worse alternatives presented, but at that moment it felt awfully akin to it.
Lord Wesley had not truly looked at her during the whole ceremony save when he had placed the ring on her finger and even that he managed to execute with only the briefest of contact.
He regretted this marriage, she was sure that he did. Oh, granted, her gown was wonderful, the blue bodice clinging about her waist and hips before flaring out on to a full skirt of colour.
Beneath the silk was a satin petticoat, sleek against the wisp of stockings. Christine Howard had dressed her hair in a style reminiscent of the old Grecian gods, fastening at the back of her head in ringlets and ribbons, a half veil attached on rose buds.
She felt beautiful. She did. But Gabriel Hughes had made no effort at all to touch her, even inadvertently.
No, rather he had spent the whole of the day moving away, creating distance, allowing others to stand between them and barely talking.
Even his mother had observed her in pity as the older woman had retired upstairs earlier and Amethyst Wylde had looked at Adelaide sternly as she had taken her hand on their leaving.
‘I hope that your union will be every bit as fulfilling as my own, but if you should ever need an ear to listen or a quiet place to talk you only need to send word.’
But.
The word qualified everything and the deep frown between Lady Montcliffe’s eyes saw to the rest.
And then everybody was gone, the busy work of servants the only noise left as her new husband drew her into a small salon to one side of his town house and closed the door.
‘I need to talk to you Adelaide. In private.’
Chapter Thirteen
He didn’t speak as he stood there, running one hand across the back of his neck as though easing an ache. When the silence lengthened she sought for words herself.
‘The flowers in your house are all beautiful.’
Another bunch of white hothouse roses stood on the table to one side of the room.
He glanced across at them and then back at her, clearly having other more important things on his mind. His eyes were so unusual, Adelaide thought, the gold of them traced in darker green around the edges. He had broken his nose at some point in his life, for the bridge of the bone was closer to the skin there, giving his beauty a more menacing air.
‘Thank you for marrying me.’ His words were quietly said.
‘You thought that I wouldn’t?’
‘I know you have heard many rumours about my past, so...’ He didn’t finish.
‘The ones that elevate you to a lover of some note?’
He laughed unexpectedly and the sound made things easier, less formal. ‘Well, perhaps not that one, but there are others.’
‘Mr George Friar made certain that I knew of a law case in which a woman of your acquaintance had been killed.’
‘I see. And he told you it was my fault?’
‘I do not think he likes you so...yes, he did. I have heard other things about you, too. It seems you are a man who inspires gossip.’
‘Yet still you married me, knowing this and despite all those who were lining up to court you?’
‘Well, that queue had shortened somewhat after the Whitely ball when you were hurt.’
Again he laughed, but she was tired of skirting around their situation.
‘My wedding ring fits perfectly.’ Looking down at her left hand, she straightened her fingers to where the R
enaissance gold glinted in the light. Could this marriage ever be the same?
‘It was a family heirloom of my grandmother’s. She gave it to me a long time ago and said I was to keep it safe for the wife I would choose. At the time I wasn’t sure I wanted a reminder of such permanence, for at seventeen you have such a notion of yourself that everyone else is excluded.’
Adelaide smiled. ‘The first time I ever saw you Lucy Carrigan told me that you were the most handsome man in all of society and that the place in which you lived had mirrors on all the walls. To look at yourself from every possible angle, she said, because you were so beautiful.’
‘I doubt you would have wanted anything else to do with me if that was the case.’
‘Yet there is some truth in what she was saying. Your clothes. Your manners. In society you are a man I barely recognise, but here...?’
The gold of his glance slid away and he turned towards the window.
‘I have lived in the shadows for a long time, Adelaide. Now I find myself wishing for something else entirely.’
‘The shadows?’ She wanted to know what he meant by that word. Brothels? Gambling halls? Drinking parlours?
His eyes lowered and met hers directly. ‘I work for the British Service as an Intelligence Officer and have done so since I was eighteen. My life has not all been indolence.’
Adelaide’s mouth dropped open. This was the very last thing she thought he might tell her and yet it all made perfect sense: a camouflage to disguise the truth.
‘You are allowed to confess to the doing of such a job?’
‘I couldn’t before, but as you are my wife now...’
‘So that was how you were hurt?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Your left hand is scarred on the top. It has the look of a bullet wound?’
He raised the appendage to survey the damage before frowning and looking away. ‘My mission for the British Service was to ferret out information that could be important. Great things that might change the course of history are hard to come by, but tiny clues and small pieces of information glued together can be as valuable.’
