by Ella Edon
“This is the finest day of my life,” said Jonathan, sipping his morning tea and chewing on a piece of soggy toast.
“It certainly is,” said Margaret, smiling at her son.
“I am very much looking forward to this day too,” said Cecily. “For I have an announcement I should like to make at the reception afterward.”
“Really?” said Jonathan. “Don’t tell me you have wedding plans too. Finally.”
“Jonathan, you can really be a bore at times. For a man who is as excited as you are to be married, you certainly seem to have no desire to share the wealth.”
“Not a bit of it,” he declared. “It is only I believe I know what your announcement is to be.”
“Do you, though?” she said. “You think you know everything about me?”
“I fear I know very little about you, my dear Cecily. But I have noticed that my good friend D’Arcy has been very visible of late.”
“I assure you, my friend, that I am here for the sole purpose of helping you with your nuptials,” said D’Arcy, smiling roguishly.
“Well, it is most welcome, D’Arcy,” said Jonathan. “For both Peter Nunn and Simon Northridge have been terribly busy in their purported desire to score firsts at Oxford, and it takes a lot of effort to show up here in the Lincolnshire wilds.”
Margaret laughed heartily to see her children talking about such delightful subjects. “Children!” she said. “There is no need to argue about these things. A wedding reception is a delightful way to make an announcement as long as it is a happy one. You must know by now that D’Arcy is a frightfully selfless young man.”
Jonathan was shocked to hear his mother speak in such glowing terms of a young man who was so obviously courting Cecily. “Besides, Jonathan,” she went on with a smile. “I believe I am party to something to which you are ignorant, and it is to be a joyous announcement. Believe me.”
“I believe you, mother. I just want to focus on our wedding, not a future event, by your leave.”
“Johnny, I would never steal your thunder,” said Cecily. “Our announcement will be complimentary to your day. And today is all about you and Garance.”
“Thank you, Cecily,” said Jonathan, smiling at his beloved sister. He had heard the word ‘our’ and raised his eyebrows at D’Arcy over his cup of tea. “Now, I believe it is important to make sure my bride is ready for this ceremony, which may seem quite alien to her, for, although she speaks excellent English, we must remember that she is from a foreign culture, at which things are quite different.”
“Now what on earth makes you think I would neglect my maid of honor duties on a day like today?”
“So, you’ve seen her?”
“Indeed, I have, and she has been dressed since eight. I saw to that myself.”
“But the ceremony doesn’t start until noon.”
“True, but the blushing bride is somewhat excited.”
“And so is the gushing groom,” said Jonathan. “Do not mistake my calm demeanor for genuine calm, for I am as nervous as a kitten to get married to someone so wonderful. Indeed, I am a trifle nervous on her behalf. Things must be so strange for her.”
“I saw to her earlier, brother, and you need not worry. Garance is a strong and wonderful woman. And, of course, her parents are in one of the guest rooms, and she herself is in the finest guest room,” said Cecily.
“What could be strange to her?” asked Margaret, smearing marmalade on a cold piece of toast, and salting her porridge.
“That is one of the things that is most perplexing,” said Jonathan. “We simply cannot predict what will seem strange to her. These things are second nature to us, but to her, they are brand new.”
“What color dress will she wear?”
“I believe the tradition dictates it will be a pale green - a sign of fertility,” said D’Arcy.
“I see,” said Margaret. Although she spoke not another word, her voice betrayed a certain confusion, for the pale green dress was generally reserved for the young brides, and Garance was in her twenties, rather older than the average, and when one was an older bride, one was expected to wear brown.
“Do you find this problematic, mother?”
“Not a bit!” she said with emphasis. “I think Garance is entitled to wear whatever she wants. If she decides to wear a motley dress, I shall support her.”
“Well then,” said Jonathan, rising from his seat. “The next time you lay eyes upon me, I shall be making my vows to the woman I love.”
“You will have my blessing at that time,” said Margaret.
Jonathan left the dining area and proceeded to the lawn stretching out behind the manor. There Ponsonby was busy seeing to the final details. There was a large white tent set up on the lawn, and a vast area with seating for the many guests who would arrive by eleven-thirty. The ceremony was to take place at noon on the dot, and although he knew many things would happen to change that precise time, he was happy.
“Good morning, Ponsonby,” said Jonathan with a smile. “I see things are coming along well.”
“Indeed, they are, my Lord,” said Ponsonby. “We have had nothing but good luck for days. Even the weather is cooperating,” he said, looking at the clear blue sky.
“Pray it continues,” said Jonathan. “For a rain shower would be the end of this event!”
“Rest assured, there will be no such calamity, my Lord.”
And it was true. The day was glorious, and Jonathan was elated. However, he had no idea what Garance would look like despite what he told his mother.
“I confess I haven’t the slightest idea what to do with myself. What time is it, Ponsonby?” asked Jonathan, shifting from foot to foot, ignoring the fact that Ponsonby was clearly busy.
“My Lord, we are in a wee bit of a time crunch just at the moment. I believe it is nearly eleven,” said Ponsonby, holding up a drooping side of the white tent.
“I am desperately thirsty. Are there places for people to see to their natural needs?”
“Of course, there are, my Lord,” said Ponsonby. “That would be a frightful oversight.”
“I say, that would be grim,” he said. “Well, I shall go and make myself useful,” he said, spotting Peter Nunn and Simon Northridge trudging up the drive beside the house, carrying all manner of packages. “Halloo lads!” cried Jonathan. “Come around here and let’s make sure everything is quite perfect.”
At the stroke of noon, the large grandfather clock that stood in the hall clanged twelve times, and Garance stepped onto the stairs before the first echo had faded away. As she started on her way down the stairs, backlit by the brilliant sun, it became clear that her entire beautiful silver dress was translucent.
“Fear not, Garance!” cried Cecily, running up the stairs to catch up with her. “For your entire body is visible in the light and it is beautiful!”
Garance stopped midway down the stairs, turning to Cecily in shock, she said “Good Lord, Cecily. I cannot go like this! I must return and put on a slip or something else.”
“Nonsense, Garance, you look like a nubile and weddable treat!”
Garance began turning on the staircase, and, as she turned, her shoe, which was new and had not yet been broken in, twisted. She teetered, and was ready to fall. Cecily was admiring the shape of Garance and had not noticed she had begun to topple. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Camille appeared, and righted her without a single unnecessary move.
“Oh, my goodness!” said Cecily in alarm at the near calamity. “Camille! Where on earth did you come from?”
“I have the savoir-faire, mademoiselle. You should get yourself one of us. We prevent all these sorts of désastres.”
“Well, I am unsure I can go on after a fright like that,” said Cecily. She approached Garance who was still breathing heavily, her chest heaving in a very attractive way.
“Let us go together,” said Garance. “There is safety in numbers.”
And so, together the two ladies moved gingerly down t
he stairs. “Are you sure it is not too risqué?” said Garance.
“Let us see what Jonathan’s face reveals,” said Cecily.
Shortly after the stroke of noon finished chiming, Garance, Cecily, and little Elise stood before the French doors that led to the garden, and Nathan, the coachman and footman opened them with great fanfare. The music played by the wonderful orchestra of Cipriani Potter swelled, filling the entire grounds with the lush and wet sounds of what he called his “Romantic” music. Emotion in sound was how it felt to Garance. She saw, spread out in front of her, hundreds upon hundreds of people, most of whom she had never seen before, and there, at the end of the long aisle, which was being strewn with flowers by the little niece she had brought over from France, was Jonathan Anderson-Reese, Earl of Yarmouth, her intended. He was tall and handsome, his well-shaven face a contrast to almost everyone else. His blue eyes shone like azure gemstones at her, and she saw the smile playing across his face.
She also noted the look on Peter Nunn’s face, standing beside him. It was as though his eyes had popped out of his head and they jumped about three inches past his nose before they returned. Beside him stood D’Arcy Dancer, looking handsome and totally in control of the situation. He had observed Peter tottering and held him upright. She saw Simon Northridge standing awkwardly, but she attributed this to her nearly naked visage. But then she noticed something else: it was Peter who was staggering, and both Jonathan and D’Arcy were holding him up.
Alarmed, she could see that Cecily too was perturbed. She began walking slowly ahead of Garance, behind the little flower girl Elise, and suddenly she stopped and turned back to Garance. “What is going on there?” asked Cecily.
“I think Peter Nunn is swooning,” said Garance, with a look of bemusement. She had that quintessentially French ‘je ne sais quoi’ on her face, which disturbed Cecily. “C’est la vie” she said, smiling for the crowd who were admiring her and none of whom notice the poor staggering fool standing by the groom. In any case, she thought, no young man would be noticed when they stood beside her Adonis. And besides, D’Arcy Dancer had gripped Peter firmly so that, as rubbery as his legs were, he remained standing.
Jonathan and two hundred assembled guests - relatives and friends, as well as the Bishop of Lincolnshire, the Reverend Andrew Hardy, were all standing around in the lawn, smiling at one another, unsure what was to happen next. The Reverend Andrew Hardy was a tall, thin man with dark hair that was greying at the temples, and a gaunt look that made him look very holy. He wore a cassock, gown, and a cap that obscured his face, giving him an air of mystery. His Canterbury Cap was soft and somewhat floppy, dipping down over his eyes. He stood beside Jonathan at the altar that had been erected in the garden. Flowers bedecked the altar and all the backs of the chairs that had been put in place by the diligent Ponsonby and his servants.
Jonathan looked downright worried. Although he trusted that all would go well, he was still frightfully afraid something would go wrong. He looked at his pocket watch, noting it was exactly twelve o’clock. The guests were looking around expectantly, and the orchestra, headed by the wonderful Cipriani Potter, began playing merry country tunes.
Suddenly, at the rear of the manor, as the sound of the noontime clock chimes reverberated through the manor, Jonathan’s footman and coachman Nathan opened both French doors, and every head turned to see what would happen next. First, came a small child, the daughter of a distant relative of the bride. She was named Elise, and her golden hair glinted in the sun. She wore a dainty white dress and carried a basket of white flowers that resembled tiny little cups, called muguets. Elise strewed the flowers on her path up to the altar, offering a very pleasing smell.
Next came Cecily, wearing a beautiful pink Empire-waist gown, under which one could see very lovely green shoes. She wore a veil. Although this was not something that was usual for English weddings, Jonathan assumed it was a French affectation. Cecily was clearly smiling brightly under the veil, and she carried a bouquet of beautiful white gardenias that resembled white roses, in her hand. The assembled guests all gasped at her beauty. Jonathan, looking at the young lady who had once been his rough-and-tumble playmate, and was struck by how she had matured. Standing beside Jonathan, Peter Nunn gasped louder than any of them. He was stunned, clearly, and Jonathan, looking back at him, smiled knowingly. “What a stunning transformation,” he whispered to Peter.
“Not a bit of it. Cecily is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
“She is indeed!” said D’Arcy, touching Peter’s arm, and noticing that he was trembling. Perturbed, he looked at his fellow groomsman with alarm. Something was amiss. “I say, Peter, is everything alright?”
“Yes of course, old sock,” he said. “Quite well, quite well.”
D’Arcy noticed that Peter was gripping him very tightly, and realized that something needed to be done. He pulled him behind the groom, shook him, and looked deep in his eyes. “Listen here, mate,” he said. “I am not going to allow you to ruin a wedding!”
Peter looked at him with glassy eyes. “Why not?” he said acidly. “You will ruin mine.”
D’Arcy was aghast. He had no inkling that he and Peter were after the same girl. “What? You mean? Cecily?”
“Aye,” said Peter, a tear rolling down his face. “She is lost to me, and she is all yours.”
“I’m frightfully sorry, Peter,” said D’Arcy. “I had no idea.”
“We were to be married,” he said.
“Well, listen, bucko. As much as I’d love to continue this conversation, I shan’t have it now. So, buck up and let’s get on with it. Have we a deal?”
“Certainly,” he said, staggering to his feet.
“Steady there, Peter, old man,” whispered Simon. “Nothing to be worried about here.”
“Yes, of course,” whispered Peter as Cecily approached. But Peter was swaying back and forth, and it was clear things were not normal.
Jonathan, though, was distracted by the appearance of Garance. Although he had been led to believe she would be wearing green, he was surprised when she appeared in a shimmering silver gown, tight-fitting to her knees and flaring below. It had a lace bodice that accentuated her attractive bosom, and a veil covered her head, attached to a silver tiara. As she stepped into the sunlight, a long train came after her. It was made of a shimmering, glinting and glistening material in silver, dotted with some kind of tiny diamonds that caught the light and blinded the guests with beauty. In this train were woven tiny pale-yellow jasmine flowers. Garance walked slowly and with great dignity and she glowed with a beauty that drew gasps from the assembled guests.
Matching Cecily, but of a different color, she sported a pair of red velvet slippers, flat-heeled and pointed that drew attention to her dainty feet. Her sleeves were short, puffed, and ending before the elbow and bunched into a beautiful ruff. The sleeves too were made of a translucent material, a sort of lace. The very high waist was cinched below the bust with a pearl-encrusted silver chain that encircled her body, with the end hanging to her waist, ending in a small silver bell that tinkled gently as she moved through the lawn.
In her hands was a bouquet of pale pink flowers Jonathan could not identify. Later on, he learned she had chosen a flowering marjoram flower because of an ancient French wedding song called “Avec mes sabots” which told the story of a young peasant girl who was to be married to the King of France. She said she felt the way the girl in the song must have felt - love from Jonathan and a certain amount of questioning from many others. Of course, once Margaret and Cecily accepted her, they embraced her every whim in getting this wedding just perfect, which calmed her considerably.
Jonathan gazed on this stunning beauty who appeared before him and was astounded something so wonderful could happen to him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Wedding
The entire ceremony was like a dream for Garance and Jonathan. Afterwards, sitting in their bedroom, neither of them could remember
anything but what the other looked like. But during the ceremony, Garance knew she would have to speak at least a few words, and when she did, she said it in English and she said it with feeling.
She was feeling elated right through the event, and when the Bishop finally told Jonathan he could kiss the bride, she felt his strong and beautiful hands life the veil from her face, and his hands cradled her cheeks, kissing her with a passion that few would have known he possessed.
Peter Nunn, standing beside Jonathan, felt the heat of the day more than anyone else. He attributed it later to the burning shame he felt for not noticing that Cecily was in love with another. But whatever it was, he also knew he was unable to hold himself up and, just as Jonathan was about to kiss the bride, Peter toppled like a felled tree, landing in the grass. Even D’Arcy did not move to help him, and Simon rushed to his aid and helped him up, before the entire multitude of guests saw and laughed behind their hands.
