by Val Wood
It won’t make any difference, she thought. Charles’s friend Paul Constable is to be his best man and the ushers will be their friends. But she worried slightly that there would be more people on Charles’s side than on her own, and she would have liked to have her brother there.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ her mother said calmly when she mentioned the guest list. ‘It’s not about quantity, it’s about quality, and I’m sure that everyone on our side will be more than equal with those on the Dawleys’.’
Final fittings were being made on Beatrix’s wedding gown as March drew to a close. She had decided on white satin, following the example of the queen who had chosen white on her marriage to Prince Albert, and white was now the height of fashion. With it she would wear an overskirt of Nottingham lace, and a headdress of orange blossom with a trailing chiffon and lace veil.
She saw tears in her mother’s eyes when the seamstress came to do the final fitting and carefully pinned Beatrix into the dress. ‘You look – you are – beautiful, my dearest Beatrix,’ she said softly. ‘You will make a lovely bride. I hope the sun will shine on your happiness.’
Someone knocked on the door. The seamstress, with pins between her lips, looked up in alarm at Beatrix who was standing on a stool.
‘Yes?’ her mother queried.
‘A letter has come from Thomas,’ her husband boomed from the other side of the door.
‘You can’t come in,’ Mrs Fawcett called back. ‘It’s unlucky.’
‘Thought you’d like to know,’ he said. ‘He’s hoping to be here in time.’
‘Oh, hurray! Thank you, Papa. We’ll be down shortly; we’re a little tied up at the moment.’ Beatrix giggled. They had just over a week before the wedding day.
‘Do you think Thomas will wear his uniform,’ she asked her mother, ‘or will he wear a tailcoat?’
Her mother smiled. ‘He’ll want to show off,’ she said, ‘so he’ll wear his uniform if I know my son. But I’m glad he’ll be here and safe home.’
The three bride’s attendants were making their own arrangements regarding their gowns for the day. Beatrix knew that her two friends had good taste in clothes, and Sophia had written to say she would wear blue tiered silk and ask if Beatrix would like to see her gown. Eleanor was going to wear pale rose muslin with white sprigs and both would wear a circlet of flowers in their hair.
Beatrix had written back to say she would wait to see them in their finery on the day. She had no idea what Charles’s sister would be wearing, or even if she would travel with them to the church as she had been invited to do.
Her two friends arrived together at eight o’clock on the wedding morning, each with a maid to help them into their gowns. Beatrix and Dora helped Mrs Fawcett dress in her wedding outfit, a deep blue tastefully fitted gown with a slight train and bustle, which she preferred to the more fashionable hooped crinoline; a pale blue extravagant hat completed the ensemble.
As Mr Fawcett was struggling to fasten his cravat the doorbell rang, and Dora hurried downstairs as Beatrix whispered, ‘It will be Charles’s sister.’ But it wasn’t, it was Thomas, tired and travel-stained, but smiling because of arriving in time.
Beatrix’s father had hired two carriages, which drove up with the horses’ tails neatly braided and gaily bound by ribbons. Beatrix and her father were to travel together, with Dora in a new dress and jacket sitting in front with the driver. Unusually for Mr Fawcett, who rarely noticed what his wife or daughter wore, he complimented them both on looking splendid.
As his mother had predicted, after a quick wash, a blade over his chin, and a brush through his hair, Thomas was ready in his uniform to escort his mother and Beatrix’s attendants in the other carriage. He gazed at his sister as she came slowly downstairs into the hall where everyone was waiting, and for a moment didn’t say anything, but then he took her hand and kissed it. ‘You look beautiful, Beatrix,’ he murmured. ‘Your husband-in-waiting is a lucky lucky man.’
Some of their neighbours came out to watch and wave and call Good luck and Happy day, which surprised and pleased Beatrix as she barely knew them.
What I need, she thought as she and her father followed the other carriage, is good luck and a happy future, not just the one day. Does every bride feel as nervous as I do? Unsure of what is in front of me as I marry a man I don’t really know? Is Charles feeling the same? He doesn’t know my temperament, but perhaps I am easier to understand, being young and, I suppose, inexperienced.
But no, he won’t be nervous. He probably knows lots of females and had his choice of possible brides; I suppose I should feel elated that he chose me. But I’m still anxious.
Charles looked in the mirror, fastened his grey frock coat, adjusted his cravat and reached for his top hat from the hall stand. He’d had a few anxious days. To keep her out of the way, he had promised Maria a week in Paris, and only two nights earlier had arrived home from the bank and announced that he had been called to an important meeting in Scotland. Maria was furious; she had her portmanteau packed and ready.
‘Darling Maria, I’m so sorry. I’ll have to cancel the tickets, but we can go next month.’ He’d put his arms round her and kissed her cheek, but she’d pushed him away.
‘Where is this Scotoland place? Are there shops and places to eat? I will come with you.’
He’d laughed heartily. ‘It will take us days to get there by train and coach and then when we arrive there are mountains and lakes and – and goats. Lots of goats and sheep.’
‘No!’ She yelled at him. ‘Not goats—’
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take your friend Bianca? She can have my ticket and share your room; you’ll have fun with her, won’t you? You can shop, and the food is good in Paris, and you and I can go at another time.’
He had seen that the plan was appealing. She’d made a petulant moue, but soon brightened and shrugged her shoulders and he knew he was on safe ground.
‘Come on, let’s go and ask her right now, and then you’ll be able to look forward to it again.’
‘All right,’ she’d conceded. ‘But what do they eat in this Scotoland?’
‘Oh, erm – something called haggis,’ he said. ‘It’s a kind of meat pudding; sheep’s liver and brains, I think, and wrapped in the sheep’s stomach. I don’t think you’d like it. I think it’s a sheep’s stomach,’ he’d added thoughtfully. ‘Or it might be a pig’s!’
‘Disgusting!’ she shrieked. ‘Agh! You will be sick!’
And so the day before the wedding she had gone off with her friend Bianca, who was thrilled to be given such a treat. They’ll enjoy it, he convinced himself. They will spend money, eat and drink and flirt with handsome Parisians and teach them a thing or two. He had seen them off on the ship and hurried to his parents’ house to attend to last-minute things, including pacifying his sister who didn’t like anything in her vast wardrobe of expensive gowns but had refused to buy anything new.
That evening he met Paul and gave him the ring to look after. Paul wanted to know what he had done with Maria and laughed when he told him; then the two of them went out to a restaurant where there was sure to be good food and entertainment with desirable young women for company. Yet oddly enough, he couldn’t drum up any enthusiasm for the delights on offer. ‘I’m marrying someone in the morning,’ he told Paul as they sat drinking brandy after their meal. ‘I’d better save myself.’
‘Fine,’ Paul said. ‘I’m feeling greedy. Can I have your girl too?’
Charles had nodded moodily. ‘Help yourself. Just save enough energy to get to the church in the morning.’
‘What is so special about your bride-to-be … about Beatrix?’ Paul asked. ‘How does she stand out above all the others you considered?’
Charles shrugged. ‘I’m sick of the whole thing,’ he said. ‘I never wanted to get married in any case; I have a perfectly happy relationship with Maria, but I’ll lose the inheritance if I don’t marry and it’s worth a lot of money!’ He draine
d his glass and signalled for another. ‘I’m tired of flirty girls with no brains, but Beatrix …’ He paused. ‘Well, she’s different. She has sense, she’s incredibly beautiful but not aware of it, and I don’t think she’ll be afraid of money. But she’s not a spendthrift, she’ll be able to handle it; her father is a banker, after all. And,’ he smiled and tossed back the brandy, ‘she’s quite innocent, which is very appealing, and although she’s as slender as a wand she probably doesn’t realize that she has good childbearing hips.’
Grinning, he finished his brandy and ordered another, then paid the bill and headed home to his own house and empty bed where he slept until six.
He bathed and dressed, made and drank coffee, then slipped on his frock coat. ‘Right then,’ he muttered as he brushed his hair, taking a final glance in the mirror. ‘Best get on with it. I’m not sure what I’m getting into, but she’s a malleable young woman; it’s got to be worth the risk for the end prize. Master of my own estate and not reliant on my father, damn him! We just have to be sure of producing a son to make the inheritance secure.’
The bride’s carriage arrived at St George’s church just as the bells of the city began pealing as if all the churches in London were telling of Beatrix’s arrival; she felt that her legs would give out beneath her and she had to wait a few seconds before taking her father’s outstretched hand to assist her down.
Through the haze of her veil she saw her mother and brother and her bridesmaids, including Charles’s sister Anne, waiting at the door. She was pleased that she had chosen to hide her face beneath the veil, for she felt that her skin must be pale with nerves despite the slight blush of rouge that she had brushed over her cheekbones.
She shivered as she put her cold hand into her father’s warm one; she hadn’t held his hand since she was a little girl and was slightly comforted by the contact, despite knowing that he had brought her to this situation before she was ready. But it is too late now to change my mind.
‘Are you cold, Beatrix?’ he asked, looking down at her as they reached the door.
She nodded. ‘Nervous,’ she whispered, and he gently squeezed her fingers.
‘Half an hour and it will be done and you’ll be wed.’
She looked up at him and thought that the comment brought her little consolation. She lifted her head and straightened her shoulders, then watched her mother and Thomas disappear inside the church as her bridesmaids clustered around her. With Dora’s help they spread out the train of her skirts before Dora then went inside and waited behind the door and the bridesmaids moved down the aisle to the front where the groom and his best man were waiting, leaving Beatrix alone with her father.
‘All right, Papa,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s get on with it. For better or worse.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The church was full of flowers and Beatrix sensed her mother’s touch as the perfume of roses and lilies in huge vases suffused the church; the pews had dainty posies of violets tied to them with yellow and white ribbons. The organ music soared as she began her journey down the aisle, holding firmly to her father’s arm, and she heard choral music coming from somewhere hidden within the church.
Definitely my mother’s participation, putting her own good taste into the occasion, she thought, and wondered when she had had the time to arrange it without herself knowing. She slid her gaze towards her, giving her a loving smile as she passed, before lifting her head to see Charles half turned towards her.
He seemed taller as she stood beside him; taller than her father yet not quite the height of Thomas. She’d forgotten too how fair his hair was, and saw he had grown his sideburns thicker and longer, to the level of his cheekbones.
She saw him swallow and moisten his lips with the tip of his tongue. Strangely, he gazed at her as if she wasn’t the one he was expecting; a blink of his eyelids, as if he was startled, and then suddenly he smiled and held out his hand.
She gave her bouquet to Sophia, who beamed at her, and then, lifting her veil, she turned to him and put her hand in his.
You’re beautiful, he mouthed. Adorable, and she lowered her lashes.
She couldn’t have said whether the time was long or short; it seemed dreamlike and illusory as they exchanged their vows, said prayers, sang hymns, signed the register and she became Beatrix Emily Louisa Dawley, no longer Miss Fawcett.
They turned to walk together up the aisle, past people on either side who nodded or smiled, and some who seemed to view her with curious interest; and then they were outside and congratulations were given and she touched hands with people she didn’t know and dipped her knee to those who were older.
And then they were off, the congregation throwing rose petals and laughing and chatting as she and Charles were climbing into a carriage and pulling away towards the hotel where they would have their wedding breakfast. They waved and smiled and Beatrix saw her mother watching with an expression that she couldn’t quite comprehend; then, as if she had suddenly come awake, Mrs Fawcett lifted her head and turned to meet the earnest gaze of a tall man with thick silver hair standing close by, who was watching her and not the bride.
She saw her father next to Charles’s father; both were nodding and talking and she wondered if they were congratulating each other on a transaction well done, or discussing financial matters, or commenting on the weather.
Beatrix turned to look at Charles. He was leaning his head against the plush cushions with his eyes closed. He opened them, sensing that she had turned, and sighed. ‘Well, that went very well, didn’t it?’ he said. A remark that wasn’t exactly complimentary she thought; nor did it bring her joy.
‘Did it?’ she murmured. ‘Was it as you expected it to be … or not?’
He sat up, as if detecting some misgiving. ‘It was wonderful. You were wonderful.’ He took her hand. ‘You are very beautiful; so serene.’
‘I didn’t feel serene,’ she admitted. ‘I was very nervous.’
He reached to kiss her cheek. ‘So was I,’ he confessed. ‘But that’s over and done with. Now we can enjoy ourselves.’ He paused for a second, soothingly stroking her hand. ‘You might not guess it, Beatrix,’ he said, ‘but I am a very private person, and there will be people at our wedding breakfast who might question you on how we first met, and where, and – and so on. I would prefer it if you didn’t give them chapter and verse. Our circumstances have nothing to do with anyone else, and I don’t want anyone to think that our marriage was arranged. Can I rely on you not to disclose that? I’d much rather they were told that I fell in love with you the very first time I saw you.’ He leaned in and kissed her again. ‘Which of course is perfectly true. I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me otherwise.’
‘Of course you wouldn’t,’ she murmured. ‘You would hardly commit yourself to a lifetime with someone if you didn’t care for them, would you?’
She gazed at him and he looked back with a question in his eyes, as if he was not quite sure if his new wife was being ironic. Yet both knew that this was an agreement, a commitment entered into for a reason other than love; and Beatrix had yet to discover what that reason really was.
The hotel was close to Richmond Park, within sight of stately homes and beautiful countryside. Painted white, with a double oak door, it had clearly once been a very grand house. The windows were thrown open as it was such a lovely day, and a concierge was waiting to greet them.
Several other carriages arrived shortly after they did. Anne had decided to travel with her parents. The two other bridesmaids, the best man, one usher and Thomas travelled squashed together, disregarding the convention that young ladies shouldn’t travel unchaperoned with young men, and they laughed and chatted amiably.
Close behind them came Beatrix’s parents and two cousins on her mother’s side; following them were Charles’s parents, his sister and an aunt. Various other friends and relatives came along, but overall they numbered just under forty, which everyone agreed made a select party. Some guests had elected to stay un
til the next day, but Charles and Beatrix were travelling to another hotel for the night before moving on the following morning to a destination that Charles refused to reveal.
At the table after the meal there followed various toasts to the newly married pair with Paul, the best man, making jokes about Charles waiting until he was an old man before snatching up his beautiful young bride. Beatrix’s father didn’t seem to understand the humour and kept turning to his wife for explanations.
Beatrix glanced about her. Her friends Sophia and Nell looked lovely and flirted with all the young men, including her brother. Sophia remembered Thomas from when they were very young, but Nell didn’t, and Beatrix thought that her brother looked more handsome than any of the other men present. Then it occurred to her that the other male guests were all older than Thomas, more Charles’s age, and, since they were unaccompanied, were probably unmarried too.
None of them has snatched up Anne, she considered thoughtfully, but she doesn’t seem in the least interested in them; perhaps she prefers not to marry, for she is probably worth a fortune and will lose it all if she marries.
She observed everyone in turn as she drank her champagne and became more introspective as her glass was refilled. She knew only her own relatives and the few friends here, and although she had been introduced to everyone else she couldn’t remember their names or who they were. She looked across the tables, searching for the elegant man with the silver hair who had stood behind her mother outside the church, but she didn’t see him. He had been the smartest, most elegant male guest of all. I wonder who he was? A friend of Charles’s father? Or of my father? I didn’t see him greet anyone. He must have been in one of the back pews, for I didn’t notice him on the way in or out of church. A relative of my mother’s perhaps, but then why isn’t he here? I didn’t see the final guest list.
