by Mona Prevel
Althea held her breath, wondering if he would proceed further.
“Althea.”
She exhaled.
“Althea, it would give me infinite joy if you would consent to be my wife.”
Althea hesitated before giving him an answer. This would be the only moment given her to change her mind. To her surprise, Philippe’s eyes filled with a look of dread. He must truly care for me. The poor darling is terrified lest I refuse him. This is all it took.
She placed her other hand on his head. “I shall be honored to marry you, Philippe dear.”
He fumbled in his coat and took out a ring. Putting a firm grip on her hand, he slipped it on her finger. It was a heavy ring, the center stone a large, oval sapphire surrounded by diamonds. The setting slipped around to face her palm.
Philippe looked at her, his beautiful hazel eyes filled with regret “I am sorry about that We can get it made smaller the next time we go to London. It was the ring that Grandfather gave to my grandmother and, in turn, my father gave to my mother. I suppose it has become a tradition. I have nothing else to offer you.”
“Nor would I wish for anything else. Your ring is magnificent, fit for a queen.”
Althea said this with all honesty. The ring was magnificent. She marveled that her uncle had not sold it years ago. Then she realized that his pride would demand that a de Maligny bride should receive nothing less.
Philippe smiled, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Surprised, Althea ran her hand down the side of her face. The kiss was so brief she wondered if he had truly kissed her or whether it had been a figment of her imagination. He turned slightly, as if preparing for flight.
“Wait, Philippe. The other matters. Your grandfather discussed them with you?”
Philippe looked blank for a moment. “You mean my not managing Camberly for you? A trifle odd, but perhaps it is for the better. According to my maternal grandfather, when the time comes, taking care of the Bainbridge estate will be challenge enough for me.”
“And the wedding date?”
Philippe frowned. “To be quite frank, Althea, I rather hoped you would reconsider that. Dreadfully precipitous, I thought Smacks awfully close to being scandalous. Tongues are bound to wag.”
“I am sorry, Philippe. This wedding will take place on the last Saturday of the month, or not at all.”
Philippe frowned. “Very well, but it is deucedly inconvenient. I am expected in Bedfordshire the end of this week. I suppose I could stop at Doctor’s Commons for a license on my way back.” He snapped his fingers. “I can also spend Friday night at the house in Brighton and go straight to the church from there on that Saturday. That should work out quite well, I should think.”
“Yes, it should.”
“Excellent Then it is settled.”
Philippe made his bow and left the room before Althea could blink. It gave her pause for thought.
I always imagined that a proposal of marriage would be a wondrous thing, full of declarations of lifelong devotion and references to my beauty and virtue. The offer I received from John Soames was scarcely better, but at least he declared his love with ardent kisses, and if I am any judge, searing ardor. Then what does that swift little kiss from Philippe signify? I shall do well to be married in all haste, lest I run all over Camberly searching for John Soames.
Althea was awakened on her wedding morning by the sunlight streaming through her window. She had spent a restless night so with a groan she pulled the counterpane over her head and cuddled into a ball.
She had scarcely made herself comfortable when Lizzie bustled into the room. “Time for your bath, my lady,” she caroled.
Althea cringed. No one should be that cheerful first thing in the morning. It was to no avail. Lizzie pulled the bedclothes back.
Althea sat up and glared at her. “Are you quite mad, Lizzie? The sun has scarcely risen.”
“Dawn was a good hour ago. We should get started if we are going to make you look your most beautiful.”
Althea stared at Lizzie. Make me look my most beautiful? Then it came to her. This was the day she had promised to marry Philippe.
The anguish she had suffered the previous evening over her forthcoming nuptials came back to haunt her. Unable to sleep, she had forsaken her bed and had pulled back the curtains and stared out the window. Her gaze invariably strayed beyond the gardens to where the River Camber spilled out into the ocean.
Althea longed to see a lantern wave among the trees, and wondered how she would respond if it did happen. Would she watch until John Soames grew tired of holding it aloft, or would she toss her bonnet over the windmill and make a mad dash straight into his arms?
Suddenly the enormity of her transgression hit home. Great heavens, Althea Markham. On the very eve of your marriage to Philippe you are mooning over another man. It will not do—Philippe deserves better.
She had returned to her bed, convinced that she was dishonorable and not worthy to make her vows in front of the altar at St. Martin’s. As she meekly submitted to Lizzie’s ministrations, she could think of no extenuating circumstances to change the way she felt.
While Lizzie was vigorously toweling her hair dry, a servant from the kitchen carried in a tray of food and a pot of tea. Lizzie removed the domed covers to reveal a breakfast of toast and fruit “I thought something light would be wise,” Lizzie explained.
“Some tea, perhaps, but I could not eat a bite.”
“I am not surprised. This wedding business has all been so quick—you’ve scarcely had time to catch your breath. Lady Althea, I hope you have thought this through.”
Althea had not been called by that honorific since she had been made a countess. She remembered when they were little girls how Lizzie would call after her in a piping little voice: “Lady Althea, wait for me, you are running much too fast.”
Perhaps I still am.
Out loud she said, “Do not concern yourself, Lizzie. You worry too much.”
Lizzie proceeded to brush Althea’s hair a little too vigorously for comfort. Through her looking glass, Althea saw her maid’s mouth was clamped into a grim line. Althea feared that her slight rebuke had hurt Lizzie’s feelings. It was difficult maintaining a balance between servant and friend.
Lizzie did not utter another word until she had finished dressing Althea’s hair. Then, apparently success overriding her hurt feelings, with a triumphant flourish she said, “There, I’ve finished it. How do you like it, my lady?”
“You have magic in your fingers, Lizzie. I look positively regal.”
Lizzie beamed, her hurt feelings evidently soothed.
Celeste accompanied Althea on her carriage ride to the church. The marquis had opted to ride his horse, pleading, “Carriages ratde my bones too much these days.” It was to be a very private ceremony—no outsiders had been invited, not even the Swanns.
At the onset of the ride, Althea kept her hands tightly clasped in her lap, her gaze resolutely fixed ahead. Celeste gently broke her fingers loose.
“Relax, darling. There is nothing to fear. You are going to the church to be married, not to the guillotine.”
“Perhaps not, Mama.”
Althea held her breath, hoping her slip of the tongue had passed unnoticed. The shocked look on her mother’s face proved otherwise.
She grasped Althea’s arm. “Something is seriously amiss, and I insist on knowing what it is.”
Althea could not prevent her lower lip from quivering.
Celeste looked grim. “We are not going a step further until I get to the bottom of this.” She called out to the driver, “Stop the carriage, if you please.”
The man complied. The marquis caught up with them and leaned over, a questioning look on his face. Celeste waved him on. “It is nothing, Uncle dear. Just a little matter Althea and I neglected to discuss before we left home. Kindly proceed.”
Celeste turned to Althea. “Get out of the carriage and sta
rt walking. We have to speak in private.”
Althea felt very conspicuous walking along the road wearing a wedding veil adorned with the elaborate coronet of white silk roses Lizzie had fashioned for her. It was a relief when her mother said, “You may stop now. I should imagine this is far enough.”
She stroked Althea’s cheek. “Am I wrong in thinking that you are having second thoughts about this marriage?”
“Mama, I have done a dreadful thing.”
The words poured out like a torrent.
Celeste loosened Althea’s hold. “Slow down, child. You mean to tell me that our uncle is behind this marriage?”
“At first.”
Celeste clenched her fists. “That villain, I could choke him. But wait—I hardly think you would do anything at his behest” She gave Althea a penetrating look. “I am right about that, am I not?”
Althea looked away.
“It is clear that you are not in love with Philippe, so why in heaven’s name are you marrying him?”
Althea covered her face with her hands. “Oh dear, I feel so wretched.”
Celeste pulled Althea’s hands down from her face and held them in a firm grip. “Tell me, Althea. Tell me, my little cabbage—you have carried this burden long enough.”
Althea sighed. “Very well, Mama. In any case, I am tired of the whole matter. I agreed to marry Philippe because I was afraid I would weaken and marry someone absolutely beyond the pale.”
“And who might that be, chérie?”
“Your accomplice, John Soames.”
Celeste’s eyes widened. “Really? You are in love with John?”
Althea nodded. “One can only assume that I have taken leave of my senses.”
“Because you love a fine young man like John Soames?” she said gently. “I cannot agree.”
“For goodness’ sake, Mama, look what he does. Besides that, he may not love me at all. It could very well be my fortune that interests him.”
“There you wrong him, Althea. You have him confused with the sort of person one meets in our circle. He is far too idealistic to marry where his heart does not lie.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I just know. The things he has done for me, even to the point of risking his life. Not once would he accept a penny for his trouble.”
“But surely you are not suggesting that I marry him?”
“Of course not. That would have to be your decision. In any case, right now you have enough to think about. Do you really want to go through with this farce of a marriage with our cousin?”
“I am in a quandary. I thought that perhaps I would tell him the truth and let him decide what to do. After all, I want to hurt him as little as possible.”
Celeste rolled her eyes. “You know, my darling, I never thought I would be saying such a thing to you, but I fear you have an exaggerated sense of your own importance.”
Althea was confused. “I do not understand.”
“I mean that if you do not marry Philippe he will get over it. He will not die of grief. You worry about John Soames wishing to marry you for your fortune. Perhaps you should be more concerned about Philippe marrying you because his grandfather wants him to.”
“I should hate to believe that of Philippe.”
“Open your eyes, Althea. He shows you no affection whatsoever. I had put his odd behavior down to shyness, but good heavens, I have yet to see him hold your hand, or give you so much as a friendly pat, much less steal a kiss.”
“He kissed me when I accepted his proposal.”
“Tell me, Althea, was it a pleasant experience?”
“Pleasant? It was the same as any other time he has kissed me.”
Celeste looked bemused. “Those cousinly pecks on the cheek? Come now, darling, he had you alone. You said you would marry him. Were you not in the least surprised that he did not seize the chance to kiss you on the lips?”
“Mama, looking back, I cannot believe how dense I was. I convinced myself that only the lower orders allowed free rein to their passions.”
“You mean men like John Soames? Oh dear, I have neglected your education. Darling, if that were the case, our sort would have died out long ago.”
“In retrospect I suppose it does sound foolish. I just so desperately wanted everything to be right”
Celeste responded with a giggle. “John Soames’s kisses must have been exceptionally agreeable to have inspired that mad dash for the altar with the first gentleman you could find.”
Althea thought about those kisses and smiled. “Yes, Mama, they were wonderful.”
“Then it is agreed?”
“Hmmm?”
“Philippe has to be told that the marriage will not take place.”
Celeste signaled to the driver to bring the carriage forward, and they proceeded to St. Martin’s.
When they arrived at the church, they were surprised to see another carriage waidng outside in the care of an attendant wearing the green- and- gold livery of Philippe’s other grandfather, Baron Bainbridge.
Althea groaned. “Oh, dear. I had not counted on his grandparents being here. This is going to prove most difficult.”
Celeste squeezed her hand. “Stand your ground, darling. Remember, this is as much for Philippe’s sake as your own.”
As they entered the church vestibule, the baron came forward to greet them, the marquis following closely behind.
Althea managed a weak smile. “Lord Bainbridge. What a pleasant surprise.”
The baron looked sober. “I wish that were so. You see, Althea dear, it is my misfortune to be the bearer of bad news.”
Althea clutched her throat. “Philippe has been hurt.”
The baron shook his head. “I almost wish that were the case. It would be the only honorable reason for him not being here.”
He turned to the marquis. “Most of the responsibility for this debacle, sir, lies squarely at your door.”
On thus being attacked, the marquis seemed to sag, reminding Althea of a ragdoll that had lost some of its stuffing.
The baron turned his attention to Althea once more. “You see, two days ago Philippe eloped with a Miss Nancy Milford, the daughter of a friend of mine. He had every intention of honoring his promise to marry you on his arrival at Bainbridge, but according to the letter he left in his chamber, Miss Milford informed him that she was carrying his child.”
“How ironic,” Althea murmured, and to her own consternation began to laugh. She looked to her mother and shook her head, making a gesture that clearly stated she was helpless to do otherwise.
Celeste drew Althea into an embrace. “Ah chérie, this is one of life’s more delicious ironies. If nothing else, I should hope that this has taught you to leave the big problems in the lap of God.” Having said that, she, too, broke into laughter.
Philippe’s grandfathers exchanged baffled looks. Then the baron cleared his throat and with a look of deep concern, said, “I say, de Maligny, I would advise you to get your kinswomen home as quickly as possible and then summon a doctor. I fear this shocking affair has completely unhinged them.”
Chapter 13
John ran his hands over the books in the library, delighting in the texture of their rich leather bindings. Of all the rooms in the house he had inherited from his Aunt Gertrude, the library and its contents was his favorite.
He moved over to a huge, diamond-paned window and looked outside where a garden descended to a sandy beach in a series of terraces.
“Our own hanging gardens,” his aunt used to say. “I doubt Babylon’s were any more beautiful.”
Recalling her words filled John with a bittersweet sadness. “I hope they had a garden equally as lovely waiting for you in paradise, sweet lady,” he murmured.
Beyond the gardens, Camberly Bay made a sweeping arc to the left of the house. Several fishing boats dotted the harbor and in front of one of the cottages on the shore a fisherman
was mending his net.
John recalled the misery he had endured while occupying the neighboring cottage and shuddered. “Nothing you can say or do would induce me to repeat that nightmare, brother dear.”
“What nightmare might that be, old chap?”
John started at the sound of Marcus’s voice.
Marcus looked askance. “Try and pull yourself together. If you go around talking to yourself, people will think you have gone round the bend.”
John smiled, feeling a little sheepish at being caught at a disadvantage in front of his oh-so-suave older sibling.
“Where did you spring from? Reeves must be falling down on the job, leaving guests to wander about like that.”
“Do not blame Reeves. I told him I would announce myself. And besides, I am family, not company.”
Marcus joined him at the window. “I say, I do envy you your view. I have always admired the way all those towers and turrets of Camberly Hall rise above those trees across the bay.”
“That is the only part of the panorama that I would just as lief not be able to see.”
John regretted the outburst almost immediately. Marcus subjected him to a searching look. “I say, John. Cannot imagine why I did not see it right off the bat, but you look positively hag-ridden. Something happen that I should know about?”
“No. I was just reminiscing over some of the things that Aunt Gertrude used to say and do, and it saddened me.”
“You are bound to feel that way for a while. This place is full of memories. But that isn’t the reason for your dreadful appearance and you know it. I would say you have been spending a lot of time drowning your sorrows in spirits of some sort and it has to do with Camberly Hall—or more to the point, someone who lives there. The dowager is not your type, so it has to be her daughter. You are suffering from unrequited love for Althea Markham.”
“Try not to be so ridiculous. There is nothing between Althea Markham and me. She was married last Saturday, if you must know.”
“Must I?” Marcus replied, an arch expression on his face. “And how did you come to know of this?”
“Er—Reeves happened to mention it, I believe. It is hard to keep that sort of thing quiet in a village as small as Camberly.” John dropped his gaze to his shoes, shamefaced for having told a deliberate lie.
