by May Burnett
“It is a good thing you have so many generous friends,” Emily said. “I suppose it is all part of having so many houses yourself, and being able to easily reciprocate such favours when needed.”
For all her youth, his Emily instinctively understood how society functioned. He should not be surprised.
“There is something in that,” Anthony acknowledged. “The less you need favours, the more likely you are to receive them, often without even asking.” The location of their final wedding presented difficulties, as a sizeable number of noble guests were determined to attend the event, and Bankington with its one humble inn did not offer suitable accommodation. Most guests would travel onwards to various destinations right after the wedding breakfast.
Their own party had arrived a few days ahead of their guests. Mrs Bellairs had spoken many times of her desire to call on old friends and neighbours, and invite them to attend the ceremony.
“We can stop at the butchers’ before we call on your friends, and settle your accounts here and now,” Anthony suggested. “Certainly by the time of the wedding, you must no longer have any debts in this neighbourhood.”
“Thank you, Anthony. You are the answer to a mother’s prayer,” Mrs Bellairs said, casting a fond look on him. It was downright embarrassing.
“I can send a servant to take care of these details,” he told Emily.
“No, I prefer your first suggestion. Let’s start with the butcher, right now - it will give me great satisfaction to confound Robards. You do have enough cash on you, Anthony?”
“More than enough.” Forewarned by Margaret, he had expected this kind of expense. “Here, you take the purse.” It was so heavy that she nearly dropped the leather pouch.
When they stopped at the butcher shop, Margaret and her mother elected to remain in the carriage, but Emily jumped out with a militant air, purse in hand. Anthony followed her inside.
“Miss Emily?” A huge, well-muscled man with a blood-stained apron gaped at her. “You are so elegant, I hardly knew ye! And all grown up, too!”
“Indeed,” Emily said, “but it is Lady Pell now, Robards. I come to settle our bill. Do you have the exact sum?”
“Bless my soul, I never expected to see a penny of that again. ‘Tis a day of miracles and wonders. Let me consult my account book.”
The butcher wiped his hands on a lnen towel before paging through a cloth-bound ledger. “Ah, there it is. Eighty-five pounds and sixpence.”
“Here,” Emily handed him a hundred pounds, “keep the difference, as interest. Good day to you, Robards.”
“And to you, Miss - I mean, my lady! Congratulations on your marriage!”
“We shall have another wedding on Saturday, here in the village Church,” Emily said. “You are welcome to attend, and so are any of our old acquaintances. Two o’clock.”
“My best wishes,” the butcher said respectfully. “Is that your husband, then?”
Anthony smiled. “Indeed I have that honour.”
After repeating this satisfactory transaction at three more stores, including the coal merchant, they finally called on the ladies’ former neighbours. One and all responded with stunned surprise to the unexpected reversal in the Bellairs family’s fortunes.
“I always say, one should never despair,” old Mrs Nobbling said sagely, as she poured tea for her guests. “Even in the darkest days, one may always encounter a sudden turn for the better. Or for the worse too, of course.” She added sugar to Mrs Bellairs’ cup. “You still take two lumps, Miriam?”
“Indeed. Fancy your remembering after all this time!”
Anthony was less impressed. From what Emily had told him, the neighbours in whose regard his mother-in-law was now basking had offered precious little aid when it was most needed. He kept his cynical reflections to himself. No use expecting people to be better and less selfish than they were.
The next call was to a large house that belonged to a Colonel and Mrs Dorringley. The lady of the house looked decidedly frosty until she heard Anthony’s and Emily’s title, then suddenly she was all smiles.
“What a delightful surprise, Miriam!” she said to Mrs Bellairs. “How clever of you to secure such a son-in-law, when you were stuck there among foreigners in Italy!”
Emily winced. Margaret looked tenser than usual, little wonder in the face of such tactlessness.
“We were very lucky,” Mrs Bellairs said complacently, either not noticing or ignoring her hostess’s sarcasm. “How are your own children, dear Caroline and Christopher?”
“Caroline is married to a Captain in the Ninth Dragoons. They are stationed in Tunbridge Wells.”
“And Christopher?” Emily smiled reminiscently. “I remember him stealing our apples when he was twelve, and I was only six. How he howled when he was beaten for it!”
“A charming scamp,” Mrs Bellairs said with a fond smile. Margaret was silent.
“He has been abroad for a time.” Mrs Dorringley cast an uneasy glance at Margaret.
“And is your son back now?” Anthony asked in a bored voice. If he was not very mistaken, this Christopher Dorringley must be the young man with whom Margaret had an understanding two years ago.
“Indeed, he returned some six months ago, and has opened a practice nearby.” She turned to Anthony. “My son insisted on studying medicine, though his father had set his heart on seeing him follow in his footsteps in the army.”
“The army needs physicians too,” Anthony said mildly. “In my view, patching up hurts is at least as useful as killing and wounding the enemy of the day.”
“If dear Christopher should wish to call upon us,” Mrs Bellairs said, unconscious of the hidden tension, “we are staying with Sir Paul Dellamere at Dellamere Manor in Rockwood, a mere half hour by carriage.”
“Pray tell your son not to exert himself unnecessarily,” Margaret said coldly, confirming Anthony’s suspicions. “A medical man will have many calls on his time.”
Emily regarded her sister with a frown. “For my part, I would not mind seeing such an old friend again. He must certainly attend the wedding on Saturday afternoon, if he is free, I mean.”
They took their leave within minutes, to continue the round of calls. Anthony could not talk about young Dorringley without alerting his mother-in-law and Emily, who clearly knew nothing. Yet what was there to say? After two years, whatever feelings had been bruised at the time were hopefully healed, or at least scarred over. Poor Margaret seemed to attract men of inconstant character.
The following afternoon they were taking tea in the Dellamere parlour with their host and hostess when a servant presented the card of Doctor Dorringley on a silver platter.
“That’s the new physician over in Bankington, isn’t it?” Lady Dellamere said. “What can he want? Nobody is ill here.”
“We have been acquainted with the family forever,” Mrs Bellairs said happily. “Do please admit him, Lady Dellamere, I would like to see young Christopher again.”
Their hostess nodded to the footman.
Margaret’s fingers were white where they grasped her delicate china cup.
The young man who entered a few moments later was tall and uncommonly good-looking, with dark locks and even features, currently pale and tense. He and Margaret would make a striking picture together.
“Christopher! You look very well indeed!” Mrs Bellairs was innocently welcoming. “How good of you to call on us.”
Dorringley bowed. “I had to come when I heard that you had returned to the area. My best wishes to you all – especially you, Emily, and your husband.”
“Thank you,” Anthony said coolly.
“Margaret - Miss Bellairs – as we are such old acquaintances, from childhood, would you permit me a few moments of private speech?”
“Oho!” Sir Paul cried, sitting up straighter. “Between an unmarried young lady and young man, that is hardly proper.”
“I do not mind,” Margaret said steadily. “Emily and Anthony can remain in the r
oom, within sight; then nobody can find anything to criticize.”
“That would be possible,” Lady Dellamere allowed, with a roguish smile at Mrs Bellairs. “We must suppose that such a request would not be lightly made. You can use the library; it is big enough to speak privately and yet within line of sight.”
Mrs Bellairs looked confused, but did not demur as the younger people went next door, following their hostess’s suggestion.
Anthony settled Emily on a Chesterfield, and leaned against the writing desk next to it. “I doubt this will take long,” he said in a low voice, keeping his eyes on Margaret and the young physician at the other end of the long room. Margaret was holding her head up proudly.
“I suspected there was something between them, from the way Margaret reacted to his mother yesterday,” Emily murmured. “You had guessed also?”
“It could hardly be missed.” He would not betray Margaret’s earlier confidence. “You had no idea?”
“No, and now I think on it, I am not sure it is a good thing. Had he truly loved her, he would not have let her go to Italy.”
“I agree.” They watched in silence as Dorringley made an impassioned speech to Margaret, going so far as trying to go down on his knees – Anthony gave him points for this willingness to look a fool in front of witnesses – but Margaret restrained him with a swift gesture.
The two young people talked a little more, before coming towards the door. Dorringley did not look happy, while Margaret appeared grimly satisfied.
“All done?” Emily asked brightly. “I shall not ask what it was about.”
“You might as well know,” Dorringley said bleakly. “Before you left for Italy, Margaret and I had an understanding. We were about to announce our engagement when your father died. I was still in Edinburgh, finishing my studies, when the news reached me.”
“And?” Emily regarded him critically. “The degree was more important than Margaret, I suppose?”
“No, of course not. I also received the news, from my m-, I mean, from a trusted family member, that Margaret had become engaged to a London gentleman, one of her father’s creditors. To my shame, I never investigated or doubted this intelligence. I was deeply depressed and went to study abroad for a year, to help me forget. Eventually I picked up the pieces and went on to gain my degree, the way one does. Life must go on.”
“Indeed,” Margaret agreed.
“Now I find that I have been deceived, and could have been happily married all this time, had I but swallowed my wounded pride and gone after Margaret. I can quite understand that she no longer wants anything to do with me.”
Anthony felt a twinge of pity. But Margaret would not have been happy with Mrs Dorringley as her mother-in-law, and this man was too young and callow for her, as Sir Conrad had been. “It clearly was not meant to be,” he said neutrally.
“We can still be friends,” Margaret said brightly.
Anthony was not surprised at the young man’s jolt, as though receiving a sudden stab in the gut. Served the fellow right, although a mother like that was already punishment enough… He would not feel sympathy.
Chapter 30
In books, marriage comes as the end. In life, it marks a new beginning.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, Vol. 2, by a Lady (1824)
The parish Church of Bankington had never held so many illustrious personages as on that Saturday afternoon. Not only was the bridegroom a marquess, there were another marquess and even a duke among the guests, with their ladies, three earls with their countesses, and any number of lesser titles. The locals, such as Robards the butcher, sat in the back observing everything with the kind of enjoyment they would give to a Christmas pantomime. There even was a heathen Chinese amongst the lords, wearing an embroidered blue velvet coat; a fine spectacle indeed.
The bride was wearing a new confection designed by Signora Tarcassi, even more splendid than the ivory gown Emily had worn in Geneva. At his wife’s suggestion, Anthony had loaned the Milanese modiste sufficient capital to open her own shop in nearby Bond Street, on condition that Lady Pell’s requirements would always be accorded the highest priority.
Not only Anthony had looked properly appreciative of the gown, there had been many admiring glances and even baited breaths when Emily appeared on Lord Amberley’s arm, in the absence of a father. Her father’s mortal remains were not far, Emily remembered with a pang – his simple grave was but a stone’s throw away, in the churchyard. Her mother, Margaret and she had visited it immediately after their arrival in the neighbourhood. Would he know of his daughter’s happiness in the afterlife, despite all his efforts to ruin them?
George looked very distinguished in the role, it had to be admitted. He could be a trifle stuffy at times, unlike his younger brother James, but was very good-hearted. Already she was getting fond of him and Marianne, just as Anthony had predicted. When she recalled how she had needlessly worried about her sister-in-law the Countess, she wanted to laugh.
Anna, Lady Molyneux, was of even higher rank as a future duchess, yet she too was becoming a good friend. That was another thing Emily had missed during the years abroad, though of course there had been her sister – but one needed likeminded friends too. Emily would cherish hers.
Large arrangements of rare flowers decorated the pews and altar, unheard-of in midwinter. The locals marvelled at this caprice of the aristocracy, especially that such care and expense should be lavished on young Emily Bellairs.
Yet so it was. It was her wish that had conjured this extravagant event. Being Anthony’s wife was like having a genie in a bottle: she only needed to speak a wish, and though heaven and earth might have to be moved, sooner or later it would be fulfilled.
Now that she had been a marchioness and wife for several weeks – months, if you started the count from Geneva – Emily was more than reconciled to her position, and no longer the least nervous or apprehensive. She was still discovering the myriad advantages of her new life.
The greatest of all was that Anthony was her husband. She would give up her title and possessions in a heartbeat, if it were a choice between them and him.
He made her happier than she had ever believed possible, and claimed that she also made him happy and contented. Who would have thought she possessed this power? But she could not deny the evidence of her own senses. The way his heart sped up and his eyes darkened when they rested on her could hardly be feigned.
Marianne and Rook were their witnesses this time. Marianne’s eldest daughter, seven-year-old Lady Verena, and her blonde cousin Violet Ellsworthy served as flower-girls. The children were unable to hide their excitement at Uncle Anthony’s wedding. Violet’s twin Roger was holding Lady Amelia, squirming like any lively two-year-old, while to his other side his younger brother George sat with amazing decorum for one so young.
It would not be long now till Anthony and she had a child of their own. Emily was going to surprise Anthony with the news that a little girl or boy was already on the way, after they got through this wedding, during their second wedding night.
“There is much to be said for a second or third wedding,” Anthony said in a low voice as they waited for the Vicar. “I am as happy as I was before, but no longer the least bit nervous.”
“You weren’t then, either. Not that I could see.”
“A little, that mad night in Verona. I realised my life would never be the same, but could not yet know that it was about to take a sharp turn for the better.”
The ancient organ’s chords prevented any further conversation.
There was a mass this time, with a long sermon on the importance of loyalty and trust – as though Anthony and she needed such admonitions! Maybe the Vicar’s advice would do some of the audience good. People like Christopher Dorringley, who had failed his love in her hour of need. Anthony would never do that, any more than Emily herself. What did it matter if he was a commoner or a Marquis? The point was that she had found a man she could trust, and love.
There had not been any talk of love in Verona, or even Geneva and London, but was it needed? Actions spoke far louder than words. She knew that Anthony had a strong affection for her, and he must know the same, as surely as they knew their names. That time he had nearly died in the Channel, she would not have felt as though her own life was about to end, had she not already loved him.
She would tell him tonight, when she told him about the baby growing in her womb.
They exchanged rings – the same ones as before – and signed the Parish Register with a flourish, old hands at doing this. There were sentimental sighs from the thronged pews. Her mother was crying openly, dashing at her eyes with a lace-rimmed cambric handkerchief.
It was over. Anthony turned to kiss her, with a twinkle in his green eyes. Why wait for tonight? Seize the day…
“I love you,” Emily whispered.
His smile was as warm as the sun on a summer day in Verona.
“And I adore you, Emily.”
It was the best kiss yet.
THE END
Margaret’s Turn
The Amberley Chronicles
May Burnett
Chapter 1
London, September 1826
A lady widely expected to achieve a brilliant match must dress the part, and a marchioness recovering her silhouette after presenting her lord with his heir required new gowns. Accordingly, Miss Margaret Bellairs and her younger sister Emily, Lady Pell, ventured forth from Pell House towards the exclusive establishment of Madame Tarcassi on Bond Street, confident that the Milanese modiste would enable them to remain at the pinnacle of fashion.
After nearly three hours of fittings and discussions the sisters emerged into the foggy afternoon. Their coachman had been patiently waiting with the carriage, walking the horses up and down a few times, happily conscious of his superiority to conveyances that did not sport the arms of a noble house on immaculately lacquered sides. The nearer of the two footmen tore the door open and placed the steps for his mistress, and the ladies climbed inside.
