by Stella Riley
‘No. Papa will bring Mama and the girls to London for it – partly because he will see it is best for everyone and partly because Ralph’s letter gave him no excuse to refuse.’ She gave a small sardonic smile. ‘There’s a lot to be said for having an earl in the family. And if Papa doesn’t immediately understand that, Tilly and Flora will doubtless explain it in detail.’
‘But you’re not marrying him because he’s an earl,’ remarked Arabella. And after a tiny hesitation, ‘Tell me to mind my own business, if you wish … but I can’t help wondering if he abandons that chilly reserve of his when you’re alone together.’
There was a long silence. Then, ‘He – yes. I think you might say that he – he does.’
Watching the tell-tale colour blooming in her cousin’s face, Arabella said accusingly, ‘Lizzie Marsden! What have you done?’
‘Nothing!’
‘All right. What has he done? And don’t say nothing. It’s written all over you.’
Elizabeth, recalling those minutes of unchecked passion in Ralph’s arms, pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and said, ‘Let’s just say that, though the words are beyond him as yet, the feelings are – are not.’
‘That sounds very half-and-half,’ observed Arabella.
‘It isn’t. If you must know, when Ralph lets go of his usual restraint, the results are ... astonishing. Now – can we please leave it at that?’
‘Yes.’ And quickly, as the door opened, ‘If it means what I think it means, we’d better!’
‘I’m ready,’ announced Ellie, ‘and the boys have gone to find Sir Julian. So I’m going to stay here with you and keep my dress clean. That’s all right, isn’t it?’
* * *
Julian, meanwhile, was having a less enjoyable time. He had managed to take a bath in peace … but had barely pulled on his ancient chamber-robe when he found himself once again at the mercy of Rockliffe’s valet.
‘If your lordship will kindly sit,’ said Perkins in a tone that defied his lordship to do otherwise, ‘I will begin by shaving you.’
‘I’ve already shaved. And I don’t need --’
He was subjected to an unnervingly intense scrutiny.
‘I believe that we can improve upon that, my lord. It will take but a few minutes.’
Before Julian knew what was happening, he was in a chair and swathed in a towel. He attempted a mild objection … and got a mouthful of shaving-soap. Spitting it out, he prepared to let the annoying fellow do his worst.
‘Which coat will your lordship wear?’ asked the valet, plying the razor.
Wisely, Julian said nothing.
‘My lord? Which coat?’
Perkins winced as his wrist was suddenly trapped in a grip strengthened by two decades of harpsichord playing. Julian said, ‘Do you mind if we chat later? Preferably when you haven’t got a cut-throat near my face?’
Looking offended but having the sense to wait until his wrist was his own again, Perkins turned this set-back to his advantage. ‘Your lordship removed his coat during the concert. I sincerely hope you will not feel obliged to do so during your wedding ceremony?’
His lordship gritted his teeth and willed the man to shut up and go away.
He didn’t. He finished Julian’s second shave of the morning, wiped away the excess soap and smothered him in a hot towel. Julian promptly wrenched the thing off and got to his feet. The valet tutted reprovingly and, sighing faintly, said again, ‘Which coat?’
‘The brown one.’
More tutting. ‘It is not brown, my lord. It is bronze brocade and, if I may say so, the epitome of Mr Lassiter’s craft.’
Julian could feel himself beginning to unravel.
‘Fine. It’s a bronze work of art which I can put on myself. Moreover --’
But Perkins was having none of that. With steely and unshakeable resolve, he persisted until Julian was clad in shirt, breeches, gold-embroidered vest and cravat. Then he said, ‘And we will now attend to your lordship’s hair. I noticed that one lock has a distressing tendency to shake itself free. But --’
‘I know. I’m used to it.’
‘But we may correct this deficiency with the aid of a small hairpin.’
This, in Julian’s opinion, was an atrocity too far. Ducking out of the valet’s reach, he said, ‘No. You will leave my deficiencies alone. In fact, you will leave me alone.’
‘But my lord --’
‘No!’ snapped Julian, unaware that Tom and Rob stood in the doorway. ‘Just go!’
Tom walked forward, took the valet’s arm and began propelling him from the room.
‘I think you ought to do as he says, sir. Agitating him is never a good thing.’
‘That,’ returned Perkins grittily, ‘is very evident.’ And he stalked out.
Julian dropped into a chair. ‘Thank you. He was driving me demented.’
‘I noticed.’ Tom grinned. ‘You won’t be getting a valet yourself, then?’
‘Not if I can help it. And certainly not one who wants to put pins in my hair.’
‘He didn’t!’ said Rob, revolted.
‘He did.’
‘Like a girl?’
‘Yes.’ Feeling suddenly better, Julian grinned. ‘Do you think he does that to Rockliffe?’
* * *
Since the wedding was to be a small one, Adeline decided that the main drawing-room would be a pleasantly intimate setting and had decorated it accordingly. Baulked of grander designs, Rockliffe limited himself to engaging the concerto ensemble to play from the adjoining room and was touched but unsurprised when they refused payment, saying earnestly, ‘Anything for Mr Langham, your Grace. Anything at all.’
Descending the stairs to the strains of Mozart, Julian was about to visit its source when Max Brandon dropped a firm hand on his shoulder and said, ‘No. You can speak to them later.’
‘But it’s my concerto ensemble. I’d know the sound of that cello anywhere.’
‘I daresay. But this isn’t the time to get distracted. The guests are already arriving and you should be in your seat. Where’s Tom?’
‘Here.’ Tom ran down to join them. ‘Sorry. I was taking Rob to Miss Belle.’
‘Well, you’re in charge of the bridegroom now.’ Max grinned at him. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight. Do you remember what you have to do?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you’ve got the ring?’
Tom patted his pocket. ‘Right here.’
‘Good man.’ He turned to Julian and lifted one brow. ‘Nervous?’
‘No.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes,’ said Julian impatiently. ‘Arabella won’t run away or say ‘I don’t’ instead of ‘I do’. So what is there to be nervous about?’
‘Concert mood,’ Tom told Max laconically. ‘Just as well, really.’
Julian walked to his seat amongst smiles and good wishes. Both Paul and Sebastian had offered to stand up with him today but he had refused them in favour of giving the task to Tom … who, almost bursting with love and pride, walked beside him now, head held high.
When he was sure that everyone had arrived, Max sent a footman upstairs to summon Arabella. Flanked by Ellie and Rob clad in their best new clothes, he watched his little sister float down the stairs in a silvery-violet cloud, her face radiant with happiness. Feeling his throat tighten, he said, ‘A hand-maiden and a page-boy, Belle? Very smart!’ Then, unable to help himself, he pulled her into his arms and added, ‘You look beautiful, love. Julian’s a lucky man.’
She clung to him briefly. ‘He’s a good man, Max.’
‘I know that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be letting him have you.’ Releasing her to tuck her hand through his arm, he smiled at the children. ‘Ready?’
Rob grinned back and nodded vigorously. Ellie said, ‘We’ve been ready for ages!’
‘Excellent. Then let’s take Julian his bride – before he starts to worry.’
The music changed from Mozart to a Bach Pavane as A
rabella let her brother lead her slowly between the beaming faces of their friends and relatives. Ahead of them, near the waiting cleric, Julian turned to look at her, his initially solemn expression dissolving into a bone-melting smile … and then she was beside him, drowning in his eyes. The music stopped; there was a moment of pure silence; and then, ‘Dearly beloved,’ began the Reverend Sir Henry Brockhurst, sonorously … and the time of waiting was over.
Although he made his responses clearly and without hesitation, Julian was to remember little of the marriage service because everything in him was focussed on Arabella. At some point, he found himself entertaining the hazy notion that this moment had been pre-ordained; that she and Elizabeth had changed places because Fate knew that Julian Langham and Arabella Brandon belonged together. He liked that idea. But all he wanted now was to drink in the sight of her and the knowledge that, despite everything, she was now his … as he, body and soul, was hers.
He heard Sir Henry informing him that he could kiss his bride.
‘Finally,’ he muttered. And wrapping Arabella in his arms, captured her mouth with his – hungrily and for far longer than was proper.
Punctuated by a few teasing remarks, a ripple of indulgent laughter ran around the room and eventually caused Julian to remember where he was – if not to care very much that they had an audience. Touching Arabella’s cheek with light, slightly unsteady fingers, he whispered, ‘Are we really married – or did I dream it?’
She laughed up at him and brushed back the recalcitrant lock of hair that her enthusiastic response to his embrace had dislodged. ‘Well, if you dreamed it, so did I.’
‘It must be real, then.’ He let his arms fall away and took her hands in his to kiss each of them in turn. ‘In which case, I don’t mind waking up … because you’re here and I love you.’
From the next room, music began afresh and, over it, Rockliffe said mildly, ‘Perhaps, Lord and Lady Chalfont, you might finish your conversation later? Your guests are waiting to felicitate you … and the champagne is growing warm.’
‘We beg your pardon,’ grinned Julian, not sounding at all sorry. And Arabella said suddenly, ‘Listen! They’re playing my Rondo!’
‘They’re playing an approximation of your Rondo,’ agreed Julian, finally leading her back down the aisle, ‘which, considering they’ve only heard it twice, is no mean feat.’
The champagne was ice-cold and crisp. Rockliffe proposed a toast to the happiness of the newly-wedded pair; Max proposed one to Tom and Rob and Ellie – all of whom, he said, had performed their various roles to perfection; and the ensemble stopped playing long enough to congratulate Julian and raise a toast of their own to the bride. Then, after the usual round of congratulatory kisses and hand-shakes, everyone adjourned to the dining-room for the wedding-breakfast.
On one of the rare occasions when her attention strayed from Julian, Arabella noticed the new light in Ralph Sherbourne’s eyes when they rested on Elizabeth and the way his fingers seemed to gravitate to hers. Perhaps Lizzie’s right, she thought. Perhaps he does love her but hasn’t found a way of saying it yet. I hope so. I want her to be happy.
After the food, Max rose to thank the duke and duchess for hosting his sister’s wedding before formally welcoming his new brother-in-law to the family. Then he added wickedly, ‘Your turn, Julian. If it’s any help, you’re supposed to begin with the words My wife and I …’
There was some laughter, during which Julian found himself on his feet. He said, ‘My kind, clever and incredibly beautiful wife and I …’ And stopped, seemingly at a loss. Then, since everyone was smiling and waiting for him to continue, he added simply, ‘We just want to thank all of you for your good wishes and for sharing today with us. It – it has meant a great deal. I’d also like to thank his Grace for everything he’s done for me. And most of all, I want to thank Arabella for knowing all my failings but marrying me anyway.’ And he sank, with even greater gratitude, back into his seat.
More laughter and some applause, over which Rockliffe said, ‘And upon that happy note, ladies and gentlemen, I suggest we retire to the drawing-room where there will be tea for those who want it and something stronger for those who do not.’
Holding fast to Arabella’s hand, Julian whispered, ‘How long before we can slip away?’
‘Not long. As soon as we’ve spoken to the children?’
While most of the guests drifted towards the drawing-room, Rockliffe drew the bridal pair to one side and handed Julian three letters, saying, ‘These arrived this morning but I thought they could wait until now. Open them. I suspect they bring good news.’
The first was from the Duchess of Queensberry saying that she suggested deferring Julian’s concert until he had put together a new programme – at which point they would set a convenient date. The second was from Mr Spalding at the Pantheon, respectfully asking if Mr Langham would accept two further engagements. And the third was from the Controller of Vauxhall Gardens, begging Mr Langham to honour them by performing at the opening concert of the spring season.
Rockliffe murmured, ‘And so it begins. Do not be surprised if, in due course, you get invitations to perform in Paris. Word is already spreading.’
‘Paris,’ breathed Arabella, awed. ‘Oh Julian – just imagine it!’
‘I am,’ he agreed, for the first time uneasily aware of how his professional life might impact on his family. ‘But let’s not count on it happening.’
They sat down with the children in a quiet corner. Arabella said, ‘Max was right. You were all splendid today. I was very, very proud of you.’
‘So was I,’ agreed Julian. ‘Tom – I couldn’t have managed without you.’
Tom coloured. ‘You would have, sir. I reckon you can manage just about anything.’
‘Then you’ve got more faith in me than I have.’
‘Now you’re married to Miss Belle,’ said Ellie, snuggling up at Julian’s side, ‘does that mean she is our – our guardianess?’
Tom gave a crack of laugher and Julian had to bite his lip in order not to do the same.
‘Why is that funny?’ demanded Ellie. ‘If you were a prince and Miss Belle married you, she’d be a princess, wouldn’t she? So she must be a guardianess, mustn’t she?’
‘I suppose she must,’ said Julian a little unsteadily. ‘Though it might be better to find a different name for her, don’t you think?’ And turning to the younger boy before Ellie could speculate further, ‘You’ve been very patient, Rob – but once the excitement has died down, we’d better resume your music lessons. If you want to, that is?’
‘Yes, please. I want to learn more than anything.’
‘Then you shall. I’ll be playing the same music for the Queen that I played here, so I don’t need to work every hour God sends – which means that you and I can make up for lost time. And now,’ he concluded, rising and holding out his hand to Arabella, ‘if none of you mind, Miss Belle and I will say goodnight. We’ll see you tomorrow – but, in the meantime, be good for your Aunt Louisa and Max.’ He glanced at Tom and added dryly, ‘And you, young man, can take that look off your face.’
‘What look?’ asked Tom, sounding innocent but still smirking.
‘That one. You’re not old enough for it. Yet.’
* * *
Having escaped from their well-wishers and obtained directions, they strolled with their arms about each other to the suite of rooms the duchess had ordered to be made ready for them. Their first glimpse of the bedroom caused them to stop dead and stare for a moment … then Arabella dissolved into laughter.
‘Goodness! They’ve put us in the royal apartment. Just look at the coat of arms over the fireplace – and there’s another above the bed. This is absurd!’
‘That’s one word for it.’
She danced across the room, opening doors which led to a grand withdrawing-room and a dressing-room so large that their own clothes looked somewhat lonely. Then, skipping back to throw her arms about Julian’s neck,
‘But it has advantages. Only think … it’s on the far side of the house from the other guest rooms.’
‘I am thinking of it.’ He cuddled her close, finally giving free rein to the anticipation which had been humming inside him for several hours; anticipation of the night to come … when they would each give themselves to the other and become one. He said, ‘I’m thinking of a lot of other things as well. But there is no hurry. All day, I’ve been looking forward to being here with you …’ He paused, glancing dubiously at the quantities of gold leaf. ‘Well, perhaps not here, precisely, but somewhere … just you and me, alone together with no interruptions. So now I’d like to take a little while to savour it. What do you think?’
‘The same. Exactly the same, if you really want to know.’
‘Ah. Good. Not just me, then.’
Smiling, he bent his head and kissed her … a slow and tender gift that asked nothing but offered everything and which filled the world with unimagined sweetness. It was a kiss that spoke of mystery and delights to come. And responding to it, Arabella let him know that what he wanted … anything that he wanted … he could have.
After a time, he said, ‘Can I remove my coat now?’
‘Can I stop you?’ she retorted. ‘Can anybody?’ And then, sighing, ‘If only corsets were as easy to be rid of.’
‘Oh?’ Heat flared but he chose to ignore it. ‘I could … help, if you like.’
Arabella’s pulse tripped. ‘Since I can’t reach anything myself, you’ll have to … beginning with the gown.’
‘The gown? Yes. I think I knew that.’
Stepping back, he shed his coat and then set about untying her laces. Naturally, it was impossible to resist the soft skin of her nape or the place where her neck joined her shoulder … so he kissed both of those, then had to remind himself what he was supposed to be doing. His fingers wanted to hurry. His brain ordered them not to. But eventually the gown slid away, revealing uncharted inches of pearly-pink skin. His mouth went dry. Moistening it, he said huskily, ‘You are so beautiful. Do I … is it the corset now?’
