Charlotte forced the most beautiful smile she could muster and flashed it at George in an effort to force him to ask for her hand. She knew her father and mother would return within the next few minutes and ruin everything, so she had little time for George’s dithering.
‘You were saying, George?’ she said as she affectionately stroked his hand.
George glanced down and watched her stroking his hand. He realised that now was the moment. He placed his other hand over hers and squeezed gently. Charlotte turned her hand and entwined her fingers in his, and let out a little sigh of pleasure.
‘Charlotte, my dear, will you marry me?’
‘Oh! Yes, George!’
‘Yes?’
“Yes, George. What did you want me to say? No!’
‘Oh no, my dear, I wanted a big yes from you.’
‘You have it, George.’
‘May I kiss you?’
‘Oh, yes please, George.’
George leaned over and kissed her lightly on her lips, and then again a little harder. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer.
She closed her eyes and let him kiss her. She was not sure what would happen next, but she held her breath while the kisses grew harder. She felt panic as the kiss lengthened, how long could she hold her breath?
At last George stopped kissing her and moved away. He sat with a lopsided grin on his face while he gazed, owl-like, at his future wife.
‘When shall we marry?’
‘A June wedding would be lovely, George.’
‘Don’t you think we are rushing it a little, my dear. It is already February and it may seem we have married in indecent haste.’
‘If we are to marry, George, dear, then let us marry. Why delay?’
‘I would like William to be my best man, but I am not sure when he will return.’
‘Then we may not be able to wait for William, George, dear, and I don’t want to delay any longer than we have to. I want you to be my husband and I do not want to wait for your son to join us. After all, William will have to fit his life around us. If he is at all concerned about you, dear, he would be one of your officers and not in command of someone else’s ship.’
The comment came out stronger than she meant. She was frightened that she might scare him away, after so much planning.
She suddenly turned on her womanly charms and played the defenseless little girl. It had always worked when she used it on her father, and George was no different.
She stroked George’s face, and said in a low voice, ‘We will have to discuss it with Mother. She will know best. I am all of a flutter, such an exciting time.’
‘Just as you say, dear, your mother will know best, and we should be guided by her. Please don’t fret yourself on such a happy day for us both.’
Charlotte smiled. She could see George was concerned that he had upset her. She had won a small point, and knew she would win more in the future.
‘You are a sweet man, George. I am so happy we will marry.’
‘Well, that was nice. Your mother has done herself proud with her new work,’ called out Donald Nicholson.
George and Charlotte jumped in surprise as Donald stumped his way up the garden steps, followed by his wife.
George blushed when Donald looked at them both and flopped down in the chair he had used before.
‘Well, Charlotte, is there anything your mother and I should know?’
‘Donald, Sarah,’ said George, and moved closer to Charlotte to hold her hands in his, ‘Charlotte has agreed to be my wife.’
‘Congratulations, George!’ said Donald, as he pulled himself back to his feet and offered his hand. ‘It is about time someone took the girl in hand. She needs a strong hand does Charlotte, and I am sure you are the man.’
‘Father, what do you mean, a strong hand indeed? You make it sound like George has bought a horse!’
‘Your father’s advice is always given whether one wants it or not,’ said Sarah, and kissed Charlotte on the cheek.
‘You may kiss me, George,’ said Sarah primly.
George leaned forward and gave his future mother-in-law a small peck of a kiss on her cheek. ‘I hope you are pleased, Sarah. You know I will look after her.’
‘I am, George, and I am sure you will.’
‘This calls for a celebration,’ said Donald, ‘I am sick of tea. It doesn’t have any body in it. Champagne is what we want. Sarah, my dear, can you get one of those girls to bring us a cold bottle in a bucket?’
A few minutes later a housemaid arrived with a tray, on which were four glasses and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.
‘Clear the tea away, girl, and put the tray down on the table. I will open it,’ said Donald. He pushed aside some of the tea dishes to make room.
With a flourish he picked the bottle from the ice bucket and uncorked the sparkling wine. It flowed down the side of the bottle as he filled the four glasses.
‘A toast, I think, my dear, to Charlotte and George!’
Donald and Sarah drank, and watched their child and George.
‘To you both and especially to Charlotte,’ George responded, raising his glass to each of them in turn. ‘I only wish William was here to share in my pleasure. I am sure you will grow to love him as I do, Charlotte, my dear.’
Charlotte sipped her drink and smiled at George. ‘I am sure we will get to know each other very well,’ she replied.
Chapter Sixteen
The Wedding
June 1806
Preparation for the wedding took on a life of its own. Conversation was always about what the bride and her mother would wear, what George should wear, who to invite, who not to invite. Donald insisted that some of the city councillors be invited, although George had only met some of them once, as well as friends, acquaintances and major political figures.
‘Good for the future, George, you never know the future!’ emphasised Donald, in an effort to win George over to his list of names, rather than Sarah’s.
Not since his wife died, many years before, had George been the centre of so much attention.
The weeks progressed, and he and Charlotte were invited to various social occasions. On many of these George did not know their host. Charlotte or Sarah and Donald knew everyone. They were fussed over and feted by some who hoped for an invitation to the wedding of the year, and by others to show they had already been invited and that the bride and groom were close friends. Eyebrows were raised at the age difference. Friends made allowances while those not invited made cutting remarks.
George was unhappy that he had not heard from William since he’d sailed.
When the great day arrived George sat at the long table in his dining room and sipped coffee. He stared at the breakfast food laid out and felt his stomach contract. A large brandy and coffee would settle his nervous disorder, but he decided against the alcohol in case people could smell the brandy on his breath.
The door opened and in walked Morgan Brookes, a distant cousin of George and apart from William, George’s only blood relative. George had asked Morgan to be his best man, as he couldn’t wait any longer for William. Morgan lived in Lancaster and traded in furniture to the Americas.
When Charlotte asked George for a list of guests that he wished to invite, he sat at his desk for a long time in an effort to think of a friend or a relative. Being an only child, and with both of his parents dead, brought home how lonely his life had become. He scribbled down the names of business friends and acquaintances. Suddenly he remembered Morgan. He had not seen him for some years. At least he would have one relative on his side of the church.
It was Charlotte’s idea to ask Morgan to be his best man.
‘I would prefer to wait until the last possible moment, my dear,’ he’d said, ‘just in case William returns in time.’
‘Nonsense, George, we cannot wait on the chance that William will return. You haven’t heard from him since he left. He could be anywhere, and because of
his new anti-slavery friends, he may not even wish to return to Liverpool.’
‘I am sure he wouldn’t just sail away and not let me know.’
‘How many letters did you receive during his time in the Navy?’
‘Things were different then. He was in a fighting ship with little chance of communicating on a regular basis, especially on blockade duty off a French port.’
‘Maybe, dearest, but the truth is you need a best man and time is short. I think the most suitable person is your cousin, Morgan. If William returns in time, perhaps you could ask Morgan to forego the honour in favour of William.’
‘I suppose so,’ said George reluctantly. ‘I am sure Morgan would understand, in the circumstances.’
‘I knew you would see sense in the end, my dear. You have to have a best man, and it would be easier if he were from your family. In the absence of William, Morgan has to be asked. Now please write to him and ask if he would do us the honour of attending as your best man.’
‘I really wanted William.’
‘I know, George, but he isn’t here, and we do need to finalise the plans for the wedding.’
‘Yes, you are right, as always,’ said George, leaning over to kiss Charlotte on the cheek.
‘Good morning, George!’ shouted Morgan, making his way to the sideboard to inspect the breakfast food. ‘Sleep well, Old Man? Your last night of freedom!’
‘I did sleep a little,’ said George in a quiet voice.
‘Nervous?’
‘A little, yes.’
‘Not to worry, all will be well by this evening. You will be married again. Oh! Sorry, George, didn’t mean to offend.’
‘I am over that now. She has been dead for over twenty years, and time heals.’
Morgan sat opposite George. The smell of his breakfast caused George’s stomach to give a growl of demand.
‘Went to the church yesterday just to make sure I knew what to expect,’ said Morgan.
‘Which church?’
‘Church of St James, the one at which you will be married this afternoon. You do know it is at St James?’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ snapped George.
‘Sorry, George, just wanted to make sure.’
The day dragged. The ceremony was scheduled for two o’clock. By one-thirty he was standing with Morgan at the top of Quarry Mount, near the sandstone church. Its large bell tower dominated the small mount. George inspected the arched entrance to the grounds and read the inscription over the arch. Built in 1775.
‘Morgan, wait here please. I want to walk off my nervousness,’ said George and strode away from Morgan to the top of the mound.
‘I’ll accompany you, Old Man,’ retorted his cousin.
George ignored Morgan and started to walk across the open ground to climb the last few feet of Quarry Hill. He wanted to be on his own. It was a beautiful day with hardly a cloud in the sky, a perfect summer’s day to marry.
He reached the top and peered over the edge of a man-made cliff. Below him he could see a large sandstone quarry, hidden from the road by the small mound on which he stood. The sandstone from the quarry supplied most of the construction material for the major buildings in Liverpool. He watched the people below. They were the size of ants as they worked on the quarry floor.
He turned away from the edge and breathed the clean air from the river. Glancing across to the church he saw Morgan wave frantically. Slowly he returned. Today was his wedding day. Nothing should mar his happiness, but why did he feel so sad?
‘It’s nearly time, George,’ shouted Morgan as George drew near.
The two men walked up the path into the church and stood at the front pew on the right-hand side. George watched the various guests arrive. Each had to decide on which side they were to sit.
The remainder of the day was a blur to George. He remembered being asked if he would take this woman, and when he looked at Charlotte he felt a desire to run madly from the church, but he didn’t, and gave the correct answers to the simple questions.
A warm breeze gently wafted the smell of the flowers tied to the ends of each pew.
At last the service was over and he and Charlotte were married. She looked lovely when she threw back the veil of her headdress to allow herself to be kissed by her new husband. He looked into eyes that sparkled with happiness.
Charlotte gazed at George and knew she had won. She knew that she would be the mistress of her home. No longer would she be required to do what her parents wanted. No longer would she be dragged around like a mare at auction. As the wife of a prominent Liverpool trader, she had a home to run. She had servants, power, and prestige in local society. Charlotte was very happy.
The only negative thought Charlotte had that day was about William. She was now his stepmother.
The wedding breakfast was at Donald Nicholson’s home. Alcohol flowed freely. Toast after toast was made to the new Mr and Mrs King, to His Majesty, to the guests, to the city of Liverpool, to the African trade.
Guests spilled out of the house into the garden. The evening retained some warmth of the day.
Eventually Charlotte became too tired for another dance, and too full of food and wine. It was unseemly for a lady to eat a hearty meal and her corset, which crushed her waist to produce an ample bosom, did not allow her to eat anything other than very small pickings. Her feet hurt after each male guest tried to dance with the new bride. She tried the Quadrille, twirled the two-step, until she could no longer keep cool by the use of her fan. She wanted to go home but she was home, in the only home she knew from childhood. She wanted to go to her new home to rest and sleep.
She knew that if she showed too much eagerness to leave, the guests would make lewd jokes. She was not looking forward to being alone with George. She was unsure of what would be required of her in the marriage bed. Her mother had tried to tell her, in a very embarrassed and not very useful way, what would be expected. Unfortunately, Charlotte could hardly make sense of it.
It was after eleven o’clock when George suggested they might leave for their own home.
‘Yes please, George. I am very tired and just want to go to sleep.’
‘Of course, my dear.’
Would she be too tired for him to claim a little of his conjugal rights. It occurred to him that perhaps he should wait until Charlotte became accustomed to the title of Mrs King. If he did not make an approach, Charlotte may think that he didn’t love her, or that he was upset with her desire to go home so soon.
Arm in arm they bade farewell to each of the guests, after thanking them for attending their wedding. Eventually they said their goodbyes to Donald and Sarah. Donald, a bit worse for too much wine, shook George’s hand over and over. Sarah cried. It was as if George was abducting her daughter and Sarah would not see her again.
The married couple climbed into the coach to loud cheers from the guests. Charlotte clung to his arm while she watched her mother shake a tear-sodden handkerchief towards them both. This brought Charlotte to tears. George put his arm around her shoulders in an effort to comfort her.
The coach swayed as it turned in to Kent Street, heading towards Charlotte’s new home.
Chapter Seventeen
The Wedding Night
Charlotte seemed surprised when George made to join her in the master bedroom. She opened the bedroom door and yawned as she turned to face him. He noticed the dark circles of fatigue under her eyes and felt a wave of love as he realised his desires had made him selfish. His thoughts had been on his own pleasure, without any consideration for Charlotte.
‘Perhaps you’re right, my dear, we are both very tired. I will sleep in the guest room.’
She gave him a smile of thanks.
George bent to kiss her on the lips, but she turned her head and presented her cheek.
‘Goodnight, my dear,’ whispered George.
‘Goodnight, George,’ she said. Almost as an afterthought, she said, ‘Thank you for today.’
‘My good
fortune, my dear, sleep well. You will feel better in the morning.’
‘Thank you,’ said Charlotte, and closed the door.
She leaned back on the door and glanced around. A large bed dominated the room. Flames from a fire danced in the grate and lit the wall opposite.
She lit a taper and passed the flame to a lamp over the fireplace.
Undressing slowly, she let her wedding dress lie where it fell. She stripped off the remainder of her clothes and slipped her nightdress over her head before sitting at the mirror to brush her hair. After a few strokes she stopped and climbed into bed. She was too tired to blow out the lamp.
A maid placed a tray of tea and hot water on the small table at the foot of the bed. The rattle of the crockery woke Charlotte. She peered around the room, puzzled, until the memory of the previous day returned. She was married and this must be her new home.
‘Don’t make so much noise!’
The maid tiptoed to the window and pulled open the heavy curtains to allow the light from a watery sun to enter the room.
‘What time is it?’
‘After ten, m’lady.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Don’t you remember, m’lady? My name is Beryl. Mr King hired me last week, before you were wed, so that I could be shown what you required and to take care of you.’
‘Oh! Yes, I remember now, we spoke a few days ago.’
‘Tha’s right, m’lady. Can I get you anything else?’
‘Run my bath.’
‘Yes, m’lady, shall I put these clothes away first?’ asked Beryl, picking up the expensive dress from the floor.
‘Pass me my tea. Do what you want with the clothes, and don’t ask so many questions. I don’t feel well.’
‘I’m sorry, m’lady.’ Beryl stroked the wedding dress in an effort to remove the creases. She placed it over a chair and picked up the rest of the clothes. ‘I’ll have these washed later today, m’lady.’
‘Do as you think fit. Bring me the tea and then leave me alone. Let me know when my bath is ready.’
‘Yes, m’lady.’ Beryl placed a cup of tea on the bedside table within Charlotte’s reach, bundled the underclothes under her arm and collected the wedding dress from the chair.
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