“A good thing,” declared his sister with a wink. “We’ll have no runaway brides or grooms here.”
Fifi laughed. She’d had two letters last week, one from her Aunt Courtland and the other from Esme herself. Her aunt expressed her condolences about the death of Fifi’s mother and her sorrow she’d been unable to attend the final service at the churchyard. Her aunt’s surprise and pleasure at news that Fifi would marry Charlton was her delightful ending.
Esme’s letter was filled with her own condolences to Fifi, but it too included a note of congratulations. “I am so thrilled you have found joy with a man whom you respect.” Fifi had written in return to her cousin, the new Marchioness of Northington, that she was happy to hear news of their elopement and their reconciliation. “May you be as happy as I am,” Fifi had closed.
The countess filled other plates with the bounty from the kitchen and handed them around.
“Now, you will all of you indulge me as I must speak and you will not interrupt me until I declare I am done.”
Annalise worked in vain at hiding a smile.
Rory, on the other hand, sat forward. “What’s amiss?”
“Not a thing, not a thing. Now sit back, sir, and let me talk.”
His grey eyes shot to Fifi’s, but she took no alarm as he did. Why that was, she could not say, except that at this moment she sat, by invitation, next to the lady who would tomorrow become her mother-in-law.
The lady sat back, the look of her one of a queen in command. “I have three announcements. First, I am pleased to tell you that I’ve decided to take the air. A holiday. Appropriate as I haven’t done that in many years.”
Rory appeared alternately surprised, happy or mystified. “You always said you hated travel. The coaches were too lumpy. The roads too bumpy. And fellow travelers too—”
“Grumpy. Quite. I did.” She giggled. “But I’ve had an invitation from someone I…hmmm…admire.”
Annalise broke out laughing. “What she means to say, Rory, is—”
“Now do be quiet, Annalise.” She chastised her daughter with a grin. “I told all of you to remain silent until I’m finished!”
Rory crossed his arms. “I am.”
She nodded once. “Good. Now. Day after tomorrow, Annalise and I leave for London. We go to the Green Park house. Annalise remains while I journey on—”
Rory frowned at his sister. “You stay in London alone?”
“No, my dear worried brother, I’ve invited two friends of mine to come stay. All spinsters, like me. All acceptable companions.”
He whipped to his mother. “While you, Mama, go where?”
“Neither of you,” she said pointing from one child to another, “is very good at following my instructions. Only you, Fifi, are compliant.” The countess reached over and squeezed her hand.
Fifi’s gaze locked on Rory’s in glee.
“Where, Mama,” he insisted, “are you going?”
“Venice.”
“What?”
“I know. Sounds delicious, doesn’t it? I’ve always wanted to go.”
“You have?”
She scowled at him. “You are interrupting.”
He huffed and crossed his arms once more.
“I have an invitation from an old friend and now that the wars are done, I long to see the wonders of the Doge’s Palace and recline on a gondola in the canals. I wish to learn the secrets of creating their pastry, too. Don’t you think that a worthwhile endeavor, Fifi?”
“I do, Madame.” Joy bubbled inside Fifi like a babbling brook. The lady was changing, enjoying her life as Fifi had not seen of her when first they met. “I certainly do.”
“There, you see? A sensible woman! So, now. Here is the rest.”
“Do hurry.” Rory was not happy.
“Do be quiet, dear Charlton.”
She never called him Charlton. Fifi held back a snort.
Digging deep between the cushions of the grand settee, the countess withdrew a scarlet silken purse. “The night before I married the earl, he took me aside and gave me a gift. These,” she said as she took Fifi’s hand and opened her palm, “are for you. They are the sapphires of the countesses of Charlton. Given to the first earl’s wife after she survived a plague, they are by tradition given to the next countess upon the occasion her wedding. While they are most appropriate for a ball, I long to see you wear them now. Will you? For me?”
Fifi had no words. Overcome, she could only admire the forgiveness of the lady who smiled at her and pressed the warm silk bag into her hand. “I would be honored to wear them.”
“Good.” The countess popped up and urged Fifi up with a wiggle of her fingers. “Open the purse.”
Fifi could not believe the wonders of what slid into her hand. “Oh, my.” A heavy necklace of beveled blue stones sparkled like the heavens in her hand.
“Earbobs, too,” the countess added. “Shake them out.”
“Dear me.” Two long pendants of sapphires twinkled at her from her hand.
“Now give me the necklace and turn around.”
Fifi did as she was told and waited in wonder as the jewels nestled against her skin and warmed her with their welcome and their message of acceptance by the woman who had no reason to do so. No reason save love of her son. And of her family. And perhaps of her.
“Now. Come show us. Turn, do. Yes, yes. They complement your sweet eyes, my dear girl.” She cleared her throat of telltale tears. “What do you think of the soon-to-be new Countess of Charlton? Annalise? Rory?”
“Lovely,” said Annalise.
“Incomparable,” proclaimed Rory.
Fifi had to swallow her own tears. Putting a hand to the gems, she gazed at the countess. “I cannot thank you enough.”
“Every word of gratitude is always enough. For today. For the now. We take all we need from the moment, and live the best for the next one. My third announcement is that I am proud to welcome you to the family, Fiona Chastain. You make my son happy. You make my daughter laugh. You make me forget and forgive with your gentle ways.”
With that, her smile became a glorious declaration and she opened her arms to Fifi.
Minutes later, Annalise and her mother declared they would rest and dress for dinner, after which they’d go off to bed early because the vicar would arrive at eight thirty to conduct the wedding ceremony.
Alone with Fifi, Rory led her toward the wall mirror to view the jewels at her throat. “When you are ready, we’ll host a house party. We’’ll have your family, your friends. Mine, too. And you must wear these.”
She fingered the innumerable stones, their heat her assurance of a sublime future. “I will. With pride.”
“Come.”
He led her out of the room, along the hall and into the green salon. Though the garden doors, he led her to the veranda that faced his mother’s flower garden. There he took the large iron chair he’d taken to sitting in with her each night since they’d arrived at his home.
The first night they’d arrived, he had taken her here for a private talk. She had just admitted to him that she did not yet feel like a bride. She wanted to. Yearned to feel the exuberance of one about to marry the one she loved. But the death of her mother had taken the stuffing out of her.
“I wonder if we might wait for a week or two.”
He’d pulled her from the matching chair and taken her to his lap. There, he’d combed her hair from her cheeks, kissed her with reverence and agreed. More than.
“You will tell me when you are ready,” he said then.
And he had waited…patiently too.
Each night they’d sat here before dinner and afterward, she in his lap, his lips upon her hair, his arms around her, and in silent communion they’d allowed the sorrows and frights of her past and his to melt further into the infinity of the universe. In the mellow acceptance of the eternity of time, they’d simply breathed in the possibilities of a future together, at peace as one.
Chapter 18
Wednesday, May 29, 1816
Charlton Manor
The next morning, Fifi donned a new white sarsnet gown. She’d ordered it from the local Wells seamstress, asking that it be of simple cut, much as had been Princess Charlotte’s when she married May second. The dressmaker had happily produced it with speed. The dress, trimmed at neckline and hem in ruched blue ribbons because Rory wanted something on her gown to match her eyes, had been measured for her soon after her arrival. But today, the bodice was decidedly tighter. And her breasts were decidedly tender.
She quizzed her image in the cheval mirror. Was she…?
No. How could she be?
Oh, she could be! She most definitely could be…with child.
A hand went to her mouth.
But she laughed.
Rory and she had had only that one night together. Here at his home, they had not enjoyed themselves with each other. Her heart had not been inclined to passion in the midst of her grief. Her shedding of her old life, her old challenges and fears, had required the days of quietude. How fitting that now she was ready to become Rory’s wife and lover, that she should also suspect she would bear his child. And happily so.
She sailed downstairs on wings of promise.
The vicar arrived to the minute and the butler showed him into the green salon. The day was bright and sunny and when Fifi asked Rory if he would mind if they said their vows on the veranda, he beamed at her. In the rays of the sun with the breeze billowing through the trees and the scent of roses wafting close, they repeated their vows.
With the simplicity of the short ceremony, she was his wife. He, her husband.
The five of them adjourned to the dining room for a breakfast feast. Star was at Fifi’s heels.
“Have you decided what to pack?” Rory asked his mother and sister from his place at head of the table.
“I’m finished,” said Annalise. “I’d like new clothes for my London life.”
He playfully scolded her with his grey eyes narrowed.
“I am within my allowance, never fear.”
“From the books,” he said, “I detect you haven’t spent the half of it for the past three years.”
She shrugged. “I haven’t had a reason. So now I shall be a light of London society.”
“And you, Mama?”
“Yes, dear?” The woman lifted her glass, filled as it was for the third time this morning with white wine. “My maid is nearly done with my trunks. We are off at nine tomorrow.” She seemed to shiver in excitement.
Rory grinned at Fifi, then at his mother. “I was thinking about your story yesterday.”
“Oh?” She took a long draught. “Which story was that?”
“You told us you go to Venice.”
“I do indeed.”
“You said you accepted an invitation from someone you admire.”
“I do admire him.”
Rory went still. He checked his sister’s gaze and then his mother’s. “Him.”
“Yes, dear.”
He put down his fork and pursed his lips. Then he considered the ceiling and as Fifi began to chuckle, he asked, “Who is it?”
“A friend of your father’s.” She took a sip of her wine. “And mine.”
“His name?”
“He’s perfectly respectable, my dear.”
“You go alone with him?”
“His widowed sister will be along. His cousin, too. We are a party, darling.”
“A party,” Rory repeated, then in spite of himself he began to chuckle. “You won’t tell me his name?”
“The Duc d’Avergnon.”
“The Frenchman?”
“Yes, dear.”
“He recently was invited to return to his estates. During the war, he was—”
“A spy for us, yes,” his mother said with sensuous pleasure. “He has estates near Toul.”
Rory looked bewildered. “The new king says he may take them back. Will he? Why does he go to Venice?”
“Because I requested that we go, my dear.”
“You? Requested?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because it is a very long tory, Rory. I will tell it later…perhaps.” She winked at Fifi. “I wish we might enjoy the day.”
She refused to say more.
That night, when Rory and Fifi left their chair on the veranda, they retired to the master suite together. Forgoing maid and valet, each of them agreed to service the other this special night. So off they went, laughing like children, running up the stairs together.
His rooms had belonged to his father and mother, but had remained empty of inhabitants since his father’s death. He’d told Fifi he wished her to redecorate as she wished. She had not yet begun. But in the meantime, he’d authorized the purchase of a new bed for them.
One look at it and her eyes went wide. “My, my. I have not ever seen one so large.”
“Tall and wide. I thought it a fine dimension. I’ve had too much of rough nights in drafty tents or on rocky ground.” His gaze turned grim beyond the bed to fragments of his years at war.
He spoke rarely of those memories, yet she’d seen them cross his visage and kill his good humor. As he did so often for her, she did for him and went to embrace him and shoo away the ugliness. “From this day forward, we’ll be together here in warmth and comfort and love.”
He kissed her deeply, undressed her and adored her, as she did him.
The next morning, she rose first, scampering from the bed, her body tingling with the languid excitement of sexual repletion. Grinning, she spread wide the draperies to let in the bright sunshine of their future.
At once, he stood behind her, his arms binding her to his hard naked body. “That was a night to remember.”
“Ah, but I fear I am not who you married, dear sir.”
He turned her, looked her over with wickedness in his intent. “I dare say, this woman resembles Fiona Fletcher, the Countess of Charlton. Who is she, if not mine?”
“She is the woman whose life you have changed by your kindness and regard.”
“And I am the man whose life you have changed by your humor and your strength.”
Her throat clogged with love for him. So in love with her husband, she led him back to bed where, uninterrupted by obligations, by others or by old hatreds, they celebrated who they were together in body and soul, to mark a grand beginning.
Epilogue
Thursday, May 29, 1817
Charlton Manor
The last two guests walked out the front door and Fifi threw back her head to laugh and sail into the open arms of her husband.
“Happy anniversary, my darling.” He kissed her with gusto. “Shall we sit or retire?”
He meant should they go to the veranda and sit to dream and kiss awhile or go to bed and make love as they had last night for the first time in months. In answer, she rolled her eyes at him and regardless of the nearness of the butler and two footmen, she tugged her husband of one year up the stairs.
Rory chuckled at her enthusiasm. “I fear we have company again.”
At her heels were not only old Star, but the newest addition to their household. Midge, Fifi’s young hound from the kennel, was her prize from the card game they’d played last year at the Courtlands’ May Day Frolic.
“I will train Midge to be Randall’s companion.” Their son, all of three months old, slept in his cradle in the nursery at the end of the hall.
“Best of luck with that, my darling. She does not want to leave you for a minute.”
Inside their rooms, Fifi closed the door against the two dogs and thought about that. “You know I find her attention—and Star’s for that matter—intriguing. And sweet. I never had a pet. My father would not permit it. Certainly never in the house.”
She spoke less and less of her parents, her life here with Rory such day to that dark night of her youth.
“You have dozens now who love you and will not leave your side.�
�� He removed her spectacles and put them aside. With two fingers, he lifted her chin and with the other hand, touched the fire of her sapphire necklace. “My countess attracts anyone she meets. The tenants, the servants, the dogs in the kennel. Especially my mother, my sister, my fat baby son. But most of all, me.”
Rory often spoke of how she’d helped him survive the macabre nightmares that shot him up from deep sleep. How they lessened in number and violence. “Love has done that for me. Your love,” he claimed.
But Fifi had just as much for which to commend him. She had pure pleasure in her days, running the house, overseeing the health and welfare of their tenants, often writing to Mary who was married to Lord Bridges, and asking her advice on cultivating kitchen gardens and sharing that with all she knew.
Best of all she had the serenity of living with a man who was not prone to temper or moods, who showed her affection each time he looked at her and who treasured his newborn heir with devotion that inspired her.
She traced his lower lip with a fingertip. “I marvel at what you have done for me, my love.”
“Not much.”
“You are too humble, dear sir.” She toyed with his cravat and unraveled it, then swung away with it in her hand. She whirled upon the carpet, humming to a tune the band had played tonight in their ballroom. “You’ve taught me how to keep rhythm and dance!”
He crossed his arms, laughing. “And keeping time so well, I do add.”
She threw him a seductive glance. Then she sang a ditty she’d heard one afternoon as she visited the tenants in the row. “‘A chance for your love, sir. A chance for a kiss. I’d love you in summer, in heaven and bliss.’”
“I say, did you hear the next verse of that?”
“I did. Shall I give it a go? ‘I wonder if I could, Keep you in my bed? I’d give you a tumble, If you’d give me—’”
Roaring in laughter, he caught her up and hauled her over his shoulder, then strode with her to put her to the bed. There, he crawled up over her. “I love you, Fiona Fletcher.”
Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly: Four Weddings and a Frolic, Book 1 Page 13
