A Companion in Joy

by Dorothy Mack

  One of the most uncomfortable effects of this unsuspected knowledge of her fiancé had been a regrettable tendency on Kate’s part to search the premises everywhere they went for a glimpse of an unknown but unquestionably beautiful woman with a distinctive, husky voice. Though much ashamed of her inability to put the matter behind her, at least with regard to the woman’s identity, Kate could not prevent herself from listening intently to each new feminine voice that came within her orbit. She also developed a violent and totally unreasonable antipathy to the colour combination of green and silver. Not for a moment did she doubt that Torvil continued to enjoy amorous interludes with his mistress during the period of his betrothal, and the knowledge affected her in the same way a burr under a saddle affected a horse.

  Although her thoughts seemed to have as much direction as a pinwheel in a breeze, Kate’s needle never stopped the mechanical in and out movement that was slowly reducing the pile of unhemmed linens. She knew she was suffering a fit of the dismals, as the crucial day was almost upon her when all chance of avoiding her fate would be past. Absurd to feel this way, of course, when the truth was that her fate had been sealed inevitably on the day she had accepted her mother’s arrangement. She realized half her problem was this living in limbo that people called an engagement. Once married, she would be under her own roof with all the privileges attending the married state. For the moment, she would not dwell on the responsibilities that would fall on her inexperienced shoulders as mistress of a good-sized establishment. She had always got along well with Mama’s servants, and she did not consider that her education in the practical arts had been deficient. In addition, for the first time in her adult memory, finances would present no problem. Torvil was making her what seemed a princely allowance, and as a wedding gift his grandfather, Lord Bartram, had offered the young couple a carte blanche to redecorate the delightful house he was lending them. Once she succeeded in overcoming this temporary lowness of spirits, she would begin to find much interest and enjoyment in her new life. She had to.

  At this point in her reverie, the most crucial element in her new life walked into the room. So absorbed was Kate in her own musings that she was not even aware that Emmett had opened the door. It was her mother’s voice welcoming Lord Torvil that jerked her back to awareness of her surroundings. She turned startled eyes to the man approaching them and summoned up a smile.

  “We did not look to see you today, Torvil. How do you do?”

  He made an easy reply and settled down to chat with Lady Langston. Kate continued her sewing after a brief apology for not setting it aside, but her attention, though covert, was upon her fiancé. It would be so much easier, she thought despairingly, to relegate him to the background if only he were not such a very compelling figure. His sculptured head, bent attentively toward her mother, was handsomely covered with crisp healthy hair that would wave despite his stern application of brushes. His skin looked burnished and taut over cheekbones that had already taken on a deeper colour from the spring sun. As usual, he lent distinction to well-tailored clothes while exuding an overwhelmingly masculine air.

  Looking up, he caught his fiancée’s brooding glance. “Where is young Deborah this afternoon? I miss her cheerful presence.”

  Kate coloured up, and it was Lady Langston who answered lightly, “Would you believe that she and Lord Sedgeley are at St. George’s this moment supervising the decorating of the altar?”

  Nicholas laughed in real amusement. “If I had not seen with my own eyes the devastating effect your daughters have on my father, ma’am, I would not, but having observed this rare phenomenon, I must accept your word for the most unlikely event I can envision. I can well believe, however, that Father will make life extremely difficult for the poor florists throughout the entire operation.”

  This sally produced a faint appreciative smile from the girl busily plying her needle, but she offered no comment.

  Lady Langston could cheerfully have shaken her daughter if it would have roused her from this ridiculous torpor. The constraint between the two young people was growing palpable. She tossed a bright suggestion into the small pool of silence that had swallowed up Torvil’s remark.

  “Kate, my dear, why don’t you take Nicholas into the main drawing room and show him the latest wedding gift that arrived this morning.”

  The viscount flashed his future mother-in-law a grateful look and rose from his chair with alacrity. Up till now, Kate had demonstrated a highly developed and maddening talent for avoiding his society.

  Kate, casting her mother a glance of burning reproach, saw the look exchanged between the conspirators and her lips tightened. She could not very well refuse without seeming rude but, perversely, she tried anyway.

  “Stay comfortable,” she replied with a sweet false smile for both of them. “I’ll get the gift and bring it to you here.”

  “No, dearest,” protested Lady Langston hastily, “it’s too heavy for you and you might break it. In any case, I have just remembered that I must speak to the cook immediately.” She rose swiftly and glided to the door, leaving behind one thoroughly annoyed girl and a blandly satisfied man.

  Conceding defeat, Kate joined her fiancé at the door he had opened for Lady Langston. Glancing sideways at him as she passed out of the room, she noted a gleam of humour in his dark eyes, and it sparked off a reluctant response in her. “Wait till you see this present,” she said with a glint of pure mischief. “I promise you, you will be much impressed.”

  He followed her into the main saloon where a good-sized object covered with a piece of cloth reposed on a Pembroke table.

  “Close your eyes,” Kate ordered unexpectedly.

  When the viscount had complied with this request, she whisked the cloth from the object. “Now, you may look,” she declaimed with dramatic emphasis.

  Nicholas stared in undisguised horror at the complicated and colourful creation of porcelain.

  “Good Lord! What is it?”

  “It’s an epergne of course, a centrepiece,” Kate answered, enjoying his expression of distaste while maintaining her own composure. “See all the little dishes held up by the waves? It’s from Lord and Lady Tremaine, and there are matching candlesticks.”

  “Ahaa! Aunt Henrietta! Now I begin to understand. She has never forgiven me for locking her pet pug in the still room once when I was seven.” He walked slowly around the table, examining the epergne from all angles. “I gather the furious figure cavorting with the dolphins on top is Neptune. There must be five hundred specimens of shells and seaweed scattered around the base. I can see I have underestimated the depths of Aunt Henrietta’s spite all these years. She must have searched the length and breadth of the nation to discover something so hideous.”

  “Oh, you don’t like it! I was sure you would find it most impressive.” Bitter disappointment dripped from Kate’s voice and Nicholas whirled to stare at her, to be reassured instantly by the rare and delightful sight of two beautiful amber eyes brim-full of laughter in a sparkling face. This is how she was meant to look, he thought with a pang. He was most willing to play her little game — anything to prolong this mood of camaraderie.

  “I’m impressed all right,” he said with mock solemnity and absolute truth.

  “The only problem is that I am not perfectly certain where to display it to advantage. I hoped you might have a suggestion.”

  “The attics? The cellar, perhaps? Or a nice dark cupboard? Take your pick.” Hands in his pockets, he leaned against the table and smiled at her.

  Kate chuckled but said seriously, “How odious of us to be poking fun when I am persuaded it was most kindly meant.” She replaced the covering cloth and twitched it into place. “It shall go to your father’s house tonight to be displayed with the other gifts.”

  As she prepared to lead the way out of the saloon, Nicholas said quickly, “Just a moment, Kate. I have something else for you.”

  “Another wedding gift?”

  He drew a jeweller’s
box from his pocket and closed the gap between them. “This is my gift to you. I wanted you to have it today so you might wear it tomorrow if you found it suitable.”

  Kate’s face had gone blank and she clasped her hands behind her back involuntarily. At the gesture something exploded inside Nicholas, but he preserved his calm and presently proceeded to open the box and take out a double strand of matched pearls. They hung from his fingers, gleaming softly.

  “Oooh!” The exclamation escaped Kate’s lips, but she made no move to take the necklace. She raised troubled eyes to his, which were now glittering.

  “Don’t you care for pearls? I thought all girls did, but if not, I’ll get you something else.” He spoke very carefully, keeping his temper in check.

  “Oh, no, they are absolutely beautiful. Any girl would love them; she could not help herself, but, Torvil, I wish you had not done this. It is so unnecessary and so extravagant and … and, after all, you have already given me this very lovely ring.” She knew she was babbling but seemed unable to stop. “I don’t feel I should accept them.”

  “Nonsense! It is my prerogative to give you things. This is the groom’s gift to his bride.” He put the pearls back into their case and put it into her hand.

  “But ours is not a … an ordinary marriage. There is no necessity for you to —”

  “Oh, yes, there is!” His strong white teeth snapped together audibly. “People expect the groom to make his bride a gift. You had better learn to accept it. And here’s another thing they expect,” he ground out, seizing her roughly by the soft flesh above the elbows and jerking her up against his long length. Before the stunned girl could make a move, he bent his head and pressed a bruising kiss upon her surprised mouth.

  “You’d best learn to accept that, too,” he growled, releasing her just as abruptly as he had grabbed her. At the door, he turned and with elaborate politeness said, “Don’t bother to show me out. I can find my way. À demain, chérie.”

  The girl holding the jeweller’s box remained standing rigidly where he had left her, until the sound of the softly closing door released her from the spell. Slowly she sagged against the table, and the proudly carried head bowed under the weight of her misery.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kate’s wedding day dawned blue and golden and late. She sat up in confusion as Deborah danced into the room behind Becky, who was carrying a tray containing a blue and white jasperware chocolate pot and two cups.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead, and look outside. You won’t have to worry about being a bride who gets rained on. It’s a gorgeous day!” While she spoke, Deb was arranging additional pillows behind her sister’s back while Becky disposed of the tray on a nearby table and went from the room.

  “If you marry in the month of May, you will surely rue the day,” chanted the figure among the pillows.

  Deborah looked up swiftly from pouring the chocolate and noted her sister’s unusual pallor. She achieved a light laugh. “Nonsense, nobody credits that ancient superstition any longer, but rain now is quite another matter.” She handed Kate a blue and white cup and perched herself on the foot of her sister’s bed in the fashion of eastern holy men. Neither girl said anything for a time while sipping slowly at the hot, fragrant brew, but Deborah was studying Kate from beneath a tangle of discreetly lowered lashes. Her sister did not appear to have slept well, and though she was pretending a deep interest in the contents of her cup, the level of the liquid did not noticeably decrease. The younger girl frowned down at her own cup. Deborah was most sincerely attached to her sister, and at first she had been appalled at the idea of an arranged marriage for Kate, but somehow, from the moment of first setting eyes on Nicholas, she had been convinced that everything would be well. He had seemed so perfect for Kate.

  She had waited impatiently to hear that Kate was satisfied with her fiancé, but as the time of the engagement passed she had become less convinced that things would arrange themselves happily. Just lately, Kate had become so strangely unlike the merry sister she knew, and she never voluntarily spoke of Nicholas at all. Though Deborah remained persuaded that Nicholas was the right man for her sister, she had on occasion intercepted an almost fierce look that he bent on Kate when he thought himself unobserved. A little chill passed through her slight frame, but she drained her cup defiantly and replaced it on the tray.

  “Finish quickly, dearest, for it will take me some little time to arrange your hair, though the added length does help it go back more smoothly.”

  From that moment Deborah took charge of a strangely subdued Kate and, with Becky’s able assistance, contrived to have them both ready by the time the carriage arrived. Lord Sedgeley had insisted on escorting Lady Langston to the church so there would be no danger of crumpling the bride’s gown, and they had already left by this time. As Lord Langston escorted his sister to the waiting carriage, she stopped short at sight of the four matched horses resplendent in white bridal rosettes. “Oh, Roger,” she murmured, more touched than she could express, “four creams and so beautifully matched. What a sweet thing to do. It looks so very regal.” She smiled tremulously and squeezed his arm in wordless affection.

  He was studiedly offhand. “Oh, well, it seemed the least I could do. If we’re going to do the thing at all, might as well do it in style. And you certainly merit the show,” he added, running a critical eye over her wedding finery. “I never realized before just how good looking you are,” with brotherly candour. “I like that lace thing on your head. In fact, you both do me great credit.”

  Deborah, adorable in palest pink satin with a white lace bodice, wrinkled her nose saucily at him as he helped her into the carriage. “Such lavish praise! I declare you’ll turn our heads if we’re not careful, won’t he, Kate?”

  “Quiet, minx!” He nipped her arm in a token pinch. “A little decorum, if you please.”

  Kate smiled at the byplay but said nothing. If her brother and sister eyed her white face and frightened eyes a bit anxiously, they refrained from commenting. In fact, they whiled away the short ride with a series of light-hearted admonitions on Roger’s part as to how his youngest sister was to conduct herself in company that brought forth some airy and lofty denials of his right to preach to her on Deborah’s behaviour. Kate remained utterly silent.

  The drive was all too short, but Roger and Deborah took comfort in the fact that some vestige of her normal colour had returned to Kate’s cheeks by the time they alighted. She was still a bit pale, but the raillery between her sister and brother had served to distract her attention, and the awful sensation of faintness that had nearly overcome her in the carriage had passed away. Outwardly composed, she was still trembling slightly, but with luck no one would notice.

  The first element that pierced her dazed composure on entering the church impinged, of all unlooked for things, on her sense of smell. A delicious fragrance rose to meet her as she approached the centre aisle, and she glanced in surprise and appreciation into Deborah’s expectant face. How dear of her sister to plan all of this loveliness! She had ample opportunity on her way down the aisle to comprehend the scope of her efforts on Kate’s behalf. Masses of graceful branches of orange blossom stood in tall green jars on either side of the altar. Arranged on white-covered stands of varying heights, they were grouped to give the impression of living trees, and the scent was heavenly. More formal arrangements of all white flowers graced the altar itself. But no, not quite all white. Here and there were pale pink blooms, carnations and peonies that dramatically highlighted the pure white. She focused all her attention on the flowers, unmindful of the dozens of faces that were following her progress down the aisle, all but unaware of the swelling tones of the organ filling the large church with music.

  As she neared the altar rail where the white-robed clergyman waited, she concentrated fiercely on his tall, grey-haired figure. Most desperately did she wish not to have to look at the man who would be her husband in a matter of minutes. With the same degree of desperation had she tried no
t to think about him last night or about that hateful and devastating kiss he had forced upon her. And, as on the previous day, her helpless brain failed utterly to censure her wayward thoughts or compel her senses. Inevitably, her reluctant glance was wrenched from the safe target of the impassive clergyman to the peril inherent in meeting the burning regard of her husband-to-be.

  But not for long.

  Her glance spun away as if ricocheting from the clash with that inflammable but unreadable force. Not again did she raise her eyes from her trembling hands, not when Nicholas’s large, brown hand took hers in an unexpectedly comforting clasp, not when they repeated the ancient vows — he in a clear firm tone and she in a whisper — not even when he paused briefly with the wedding ring poised over her thumb as the bishop intoned, “In the name of the Father,” over the index finger, “and of the Son” and over the middle finger, “and of the Holy Ghost” before sliding it gently onto her fourth finger. “Amen.” She kept her eyes on his cravat, willing herself not to flinch when it came time for the groom to kiss his bride. At the brief, butterfly-weight pressure of lips against hers, involuntarily she did look up to encounter an odd expression in the dark eyes. Apology? Concern? Tenderness? She was too overcome with confusion and light-headedness to trust her fleeting impressions. The moment passed, the warm pressure of his hand cuddling her chin was removed, leaving her with an inexplicable chill, and she found herself facing the congregation with her still trembling hand pressed firmly to her husband’s right arm by his left hand, while Deb restored her bouquet to her and made a quick adjustment of her short train.