Amberley Chronicles Boxset II (Amberley Chronicles Box Sets Book 2)

by May Burnett

  “What I still find puzzling, after Wetherby’s explanation,” Sir Conrad frowned slightly, “is why you departed with him in such a hurry, without my aunt. It is so very irregular, that we must hope no word of it ever leaks out in England.”

  “Anthony had received a warning from an inside source, that they were planning to arrest us too,” Emily said. “That would have been even worse for our reputations. As a gentleman you can shrug such an experience off, but for a gently nurtured female it would spell instant ruin. An arrest is not easy to keep quiet.”

  “By Jove, that would have been terrible indeed. But I cannot for the life of me believe that the Austrians would have gone so far. You are ladies born, and were living in the house of your relative by marriage, a well-connected Count. That warning was probably from somebody trying to make mischief. Why, with one look anyone can see that you are innocent young girls, incapable of presenting the slightest danger to a government.”

  “Just so,” Margaret agreed with a strange expression on her face.

  “You may be right, Cousin, but it still seemed for the best to avoid the possible danger. The stupidity, malice and stubbornness of officialdom can never be overestimated.” Emily did not feel guilty at thus maligning the Austrian authorities, who after all had so nearly caught the spy. In her mind she included the English War Office in her condemnation, especially the officer who had placed them in this pickle.

  “There is no point in dwelling on recriminations,” Margaret said. “As it led to the marriage between your friend Wetherby and my sister, the affair had a good outcome overall, would you not say, Sir Conrad? And now that you are here, what advice or suggestions do you have, as our relative, for the immediate future?”

  Sir Conrad hesitated before replying. “Follow where fate leads you, back to England, clearly. Do you know where you will reside, Emily?”

  “I understand that Anthony owns a large house in London, and several residences in the countryside.”

  “Then you will undoubtedly spend the winter months in the capital. I shall see you there, and look forward to improving our friendship.”

  Emily did not have to look at her sister’s face to sympathize with her disappointment at this noncommittal answer. In Verona, Conrad had been far more eager to worship at Margaret’s feet. Had time cooled his passion and allowed prudent second thoughts to prevail? Possibly he wanted to keep his distance because he disapproved so strongly of their unconventional journey, that they were quite sunk in his estimation. If so, how would he have reacted to the truth about Margaret’s activities? Maybe her sister was right after all to tell him nothing. If Conrad wanted to act as a mere acquaintance, they did not owe him their confidence. And besides, would he even be able to keep his mouth shut? He was only twenty-four.

  Surely he would he go around London gossiping about them? Emily would hold her head high, secure in Anthony’s name and protection, with his ring upon her finger. Still, it might be awkward, especially for Margaret. What would Anthony’s sister, the Countess, think if such rumours came to her ears?

  Sir Conrad left after the correct half hour for a call.

  “Here I was worried sick for our cousin, about to put my own neck into a noose to save him, and now he is so cold and distant!” Margaret exclaimed furiously as soon as he was outside hearing distance. “He must never know the truth. Promise me, Emily.”

  “I promise he will not hear it from me. I did not much care for his manner either,” Emily said. “But remember that we have only known each other for a very short time, and for all our blood relationship, his father had cut us out of the family. Let us not expect too much of a young man who is only learning how to go on in the world.”

  “He thinks he can ignore and forget me? We will see about that. Mark my words, Emily, I will bring him to heel before we arrive in London.”

  “That assumes we shall be travelling together. We shall have to see what Anthony’s plans are.”

  “As his wife, you will have an influence on those plans. Conrad and Wetherby travelled together when they arrived in Verona. It would be only natural to continue the journey homewards as one large party.”

  Emily shook her head. “Anthony was single then. In matters of this kind, I shall defer to him, especially as we are only just marrying today! Besides, I do not approve of your plan to wed our cousin. Conrad is too staid, too conventional in his thinking. If he ever learns that you were spying for the War Office, he would feel grossly deceived, and could never appreciate what drove you to do it. A more flexible and understanding husband will suit you better.”

  “All very well, but do you see any such candidate for my hand? Where is that admirably understanding suitor you posit? Besides, I want to be my lady one day. If I get Conrad up to scratch, I would be Lady Bolland for the rest of my life. It sounds better than Miss Bellairs.”

  “I am not sure I agree,” Emily began, but was interrupted by a knock. Her maid bustled in with several large boxes.

  “We have no time to lose, Madame, this dress needs to be shortened before the ceremony! Please try it on right away. There was not enough time to look for matching shoes, I am afraid.”

  The sisters fell on the boxes with delight. The biggest contained a black velvet cloak trimmed and lined with warm fur. The broad hood would fit over most hats. There was a matching muff from the same fur, with a useful hidden pocket sewn into the soft lining.

  “This must have cost a fortune,” Emily said, stunned. “I have never possessed anything as expensive as this cloak and muff.”

  “Mr. Anthony sent the money to spend on your clothes,” the woman said. “There is quite a bit left. But the cloak is not as important as the dress today.”

  The second box yielded an elegant confection of ivory silk. Margaret passed her palm covetously over the softly glimmering folds.

  “Your taste is impeccable,” Emily complimented Signora Tarcassi. “In this I shall feel like a real bride. It is the most elegant garment I have owned in my whole life.”

  “That is not saying much,” Margaret commented, “but it is indeed a dress fit for a princess.”

  As her maid had surmised, the hem needed to be taken in by about an inch and a half. While Emily re-dressed after the pinning-up, with Margaret’s help, the woman began to work on the dress with amazing speed and dexterity.

  “You are so good at this, have you worked as a seamstress yourself?” Emily asked. “Now that we are safely in Switzerland, can you tell me why you agreed to come with Tsien on this unconventional journey of ours?”

  Signora Tarcassi did not look up from her task. “I have worked not only as a seamstress but as a modiste, designing clothes for ladies and for the theatre. I was employed by the Milan Opera House and dressed the singers and choir.”

  “That is an impressive achievement,” Emily said, surprised, “working for a simple woman like me must be quite a comedown. Why did you leave Milan?”

  “The reasons were not dissimilar to yours. I had stupidly involved myself in political affairs, because I believe in a united and free Italy; but unfortunately there was an informer in our cell.”

  “You were a revolutionary?”

  “That is one way to put it, though I favour change by peaceful means, if at all possible. Unfortunately the authorities do not distinguish between peaceful and violent agitation. The mere aspiration makes you a criminal in their eyes.”

  “How did you meet with Tsien?” Emily did not care tuppence if the woman was an Italian nationalist.

  “I was hiding with acquaintances, who told me that a rich foreign lady was looking to hire a fast coach for a trip northwards, to Switzerland. Just what I needed. Imagine my surprise when the ‘lady’ was a young man with Chinese features instead. We managed to strike a deal, however; it was safer for him to travel with somebody who spoke Italian without accent, and he hired me on your behalf.”

  Emily nodded. “Tsien is smart and looks ahead, just like my husband. Will you come to England with us
, or was that just a way to get out of Milan?”

  “I prefer to accompany you, Madame, though at some time in the future I may look for work in an English theatre that offers proper scope for my talents.”

  “Paris has an opera house too,” Margaret suggested.

  “I am very good, Miss, but I am not going to try and compete against my Parisian colleagues.”

  Margaret looked thoughtfully at the swiftly moving needle. “In your place, I would open an exclusive dress shop once we arrive in London.”

  “That takes more capital than I have available, unfortunately.”

  Emily wondered if her temporary maid had squandered her savings on nationalistic agitation – probably an expensive hobby horse. But likely her salary had been modest; even highly expert women’s work was rarely compensated as it should be. “That reminds me, we have to talk about your wages -,”

  “Your husband already took care of it, Madame. He is very generous.”

  Chapter 20

  Never try to outshine a bride on her wedding day.

  Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)

  As Emily left the Hotel des Abeilles, ivory silk hugged her curves above her waist, giving her a foretaste of what it would be like to be married to a rich man, able to dress in the first stare of fashion. Her black velvet cloak might hide the beautiful gown for the moment, but she eagerly looked forward to Anthony’s reaction when she took it off. The dress was so gorgeous that she might wear it again in Bankington; she would hardly find anything to equal it in England.

  Although the distance from their hotel to the Church was not at all great, Anthony had sent an elegant coach, gleaming with freshly painted lacquer in the fading afternoon light. Her new husband obviously believed in doing things with style.

  Margaret wore a new dress too, in a warm golden colour that flattered her darker hair and eyes. Not for the first time, Emily wondered why her sister looked so Italian despite her pure English pedigree. There had been admiration in Sir Conrad’s eyes when he saw Margaret, but all his compliments had been directed at her, the bride of the day.

  Sir Conrad and Margaret were her only family members in all of Switzerland. That was two more than Anthony had, she reminded herself. All his relations were in England, going about their business, quite unaware of what he was doing. She would be a complete surprise to them – pleasant or the opposite? Whatever their reaction, it should not be her fault if they did not get along. If Emily had been able to be conciliatory in the Casa Mardiglio she could do the same in her new home, if necessary.

  But then if her husband supported her as she trusted him to do, it might not be necessary. Rather than an unwanted poor relation, Emily would be the mistress of the house – several houses, it seemed. Her future in-laws would owe her courtesy and deference in her own sphere. Never again would she have to fear losing home and hearth, being driven into ignominious exile.

  “You are very quiet,” Sir Conrad said. “No second thoughts, I hope? Wetherby is a solid fellow. I expect you will do well enough together.”

  “No second thoughts,” Emily said stoutly. “I was merely thinking ahead, how his English relatives will receive me.”

  “Your husband is the head of his family, I understand. You have nothing to worry about.”

  The four matched greys drew to a stop outside a stone-built Church, unadorned and of modest proportions. Their liveried coachman saluted as they descended and entered the deserted interior.

  Not quite deserted, fortunately – there was Anthony waiting next to Tsien, dressed more elegantly than she had seen him since that ball in Verona.

  An elderly Vicar waited with him, and scrutinized her party with poorly hidden curiosity before turning back to Anthony. “Which of these pretty ladies is your bride?”

  “Miss Emily Bellairs, here.” Anthony held out his hand. Before taking it Emily slipped out of the cloak, and was satisfied to hear his breath hitch for a moment. Anthony’s eyes were alight with approval as they passed over her.

  “You are the loveliest bride I could have hoped for.” His voice was deep and sincere. “I am a very lucky man.”

  “Indeed,” Sir Conrad said, grinning. “Though Margaret will be just as dazzling on her wedding day.”

  Margaret blushed rosily, the picture of maidenly confusion.

  “If nobody else is coming, we might as well begin,” the vicar said. He fixed Emily with his world-weary blue eyes. His English had a strong accent but she could understand him easily enough. “You are a Protestant of the Church of England, Miss Bellairs?”

  “Yes,” she acknowledged.

  “And you are aware that this ceremony which only takes a few minutes is for life, irrevocable? I own I am a little apprehensive, as I am told that you are under age and without parent or guardian.”

  “My father is deceased, and my mother has already given her consent to the match,” Emily returned with spirit. “Besides, you see me flanked by my older sister and my cousin. There is nobody in the whole world with the right to object to the marriage.”

  “Very well,” the elderly priest conceded with a slight smile. “You seem to know your own mind, even if you are not yet of age.”

  She nodded. Why could the man not simply get on with the ceremony?

  “Thank you, my dear,” Anthony murmured, raising her bare hand to his lips and pressing a kiss on her sensitive skin. They stood side by side, the way they would go through life thereafter, she hoped.

  “Dearly beloved,” the Vicar began, discreetly consulting the English text from a cloth-bound book lying on the altar. Once again there was no mass, simply the wedding vows, similar to that earlier occasion in Verona. As before, both principals repeated their vows in firm voices, without hesitation of any kind.

  Emily was not surprised when Anthony produced a new ring. The one her grandmother had donated was adorned with a small ruby and had never felt right as a wedding ring. To her astonishment he had purchased two rings rather than one. She was called upon to slip the larger one on his finger, after receiving her own, which fit very well. Of course it did. Anthony had an excellent eye for detail.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the Vicar intoned. He did not wink, but there was something in his voice that denoted amusement.

  Anthony’s warm lips, familiar by now, pressed against hers possessively. She knew he was impatient to do more, though he did not betray the fact through word or gesture. Was she developing a sixth sense where he was concerned? And if so, was it mutual – could he also tell her moods and desires, without words? She was not entirely certain that this was desirable.

  Margaret hugged her, Sir Conrad and Tsien and her maid shook her hand, and Anthony put his arm round her waist.

  “I have ordered an early dinner for us all in my hotel,” he announced, “to celebrate.”

  “Just a moment,” the Vicar said, “you still have to sign here, the witnesses as well.”

  Margaret and Sir Conrad signed as witnesses, being the only other Protestants among their small group. They all had to write their names twice, once in the heavy parish book, and again on a separate parchment.

  “These are your marriage lines, Madame Wetherby – with my best wishes.” The Vicar handed the document to Emily.

  “I can keep it for you,” Margaret offered, but Emily felt reluctant to let it out of her possession; folded up, the paper just fit into the inside pocket of her muff.

  It was only a few steps but her new husband and Emily rode to the hotel in the gleaming coach, while the other four elected to walk. “Married at last,” Anthony said with deep satisfaction. “How do you feel, Emily?”

  “Strange, but happy. I am still the same person, though I am now Mrs Wetherby rather than Miss Emily Bellairs. It has not quite sunk in.”

  A momentary shadow crossed his face. “We will take care of that overnight, you should feel very married by tomorrow morning. About your married name, Emily, -“

  The carriage stopped and the ma
jor-domo of Anthony’s hotel opened the doors of their coach with a deep bow.

  “My fervent felicitations to you and Madame, Monsieur!” he said in French. “Your table is ready, in the private dining room, as ordered. Let me conduct you myself. What a beautiful bride, radiant as a newly opened blossom at dawn!”

  “Thank you,” Anthony murmured. Emily had to smile at such overblown compliments, as they followed the voluble man to a small but elegant room. The table had been set for six in gleaming silver and crystal, and French champagne was chilling in a silver bucket. The whole room was decorated like a bower in a multitude of white, pink and red roses.

  Emily looked around with big eyes, breathing in the sweet fragrance. The major-domo observed her complacently.

  “Where did you find so many fresh roses at the end of October?”

  “They are not as lovely or fresh as you, Madame.”

  “Thank you,” Anthony said again, drily.

  “Monsieur ordered them this morning. He was very particular. He must love you very much.”

  Love? That was a word they had never used. Theirs was a marriage of convenience with a basis of friendship and shared interests, but love?

  “I wonder where our guests are. They should have been here almost as quickly as we,” Anthony said lightly, bridging the momentary awkwardness.

  A moment later Margaret entered on Sir Conrad’s arm, followed by Tsien and Signora Tarcassi. Sir Conrad raised his brows at seeing their servants would share in the meal, but did not protest. Emily herself had no objections; she felt a stronger connection to her companions on that dangerous flight, irrespective of class or language barriers, than to her English cousin.

  “If you have to stay in a hotel on such a day, this one is better than most,” Sir Conrad commented, after duly admiring the décor. “How long are you going to enjoy your honeymoon here in Geneva?”

  Anthony looked at Emily. “I have no particular wish to linger more than two or three days in this picturesque city, but it shall be as Emily wishes. I would not want her to think she married a domestic tyrant.”