“I know they’re both thieves, who should be in prison. They act as a team. They enter a jeweller’s shop with the announced purpose of ordering a special ring or expensive brooch. The unwitting shop owner opens his cabinets and drawers and allows them to examine a variety of stones with a loupe. Brandt pretends to notice movement in the back, suggesting he’s seen a street urchin lurking about. The trusting jeweller goes to check; and when he returns, an item or two from his inventory is stolen, and the men gone. But that isn’t the only charge laid at the doors of these men. Illegal gambling figures prominently in our records, along with three charges of assault against Brandt. All from young society women. Thanks to Brandt’s banker grandfather—also a Silver Spoon—he never once stood in the dock.”
Paul’s hands clenched. “Three assaults? If my father were here, even his patience would be tested!” he exclaimed. “Gentlemen, I cannot; nay, I will not allow Wychwright and his gang of predators the opportunity to harm Delia again.”
A knock sounded, and Baxter rose to answer. He spoke in whispers to the underbutler, and then turned back to the meeting. “Sirs, Mr. Priest has just received a telegram from Duke James.”
Cornelius handed the slip of paper to Haimsbury.
Charles smiled as he read the short message. “James says he and Archbishop Benson will arrive within the hour. If we’re to have a wedding, then we’ll need to adjourn and get ready. Paul, did you bring anything formal that a groom might wear?”
“Not really, unless Baxter packed something. Beth insists we keep things informal during family gatherings.”
“Then, we’ll look through mine. Baxter, you’re more familiar with my closet than I.”
The former butler stood. “Several choices might suffice Lord Aubrey’s needs, sir. If I may, I shall look through them.”
Kepelheim jumped to his feet, already making plans. “And I’ll fetch Mrs. Alcorn. If anything requires tailoring, she and I will make short work of it.”
Chapter Fifty
“Perhaps, something with a little more colour,” suggested Dolly. “Elizabeth, didn’t you once wear a lovely cap sleeve gown in iced pink satin? It had embroidered flowers along the bodice. You wore it for a spring dance, I think.”
The duchess watched from a comfortable chair near her bedchamber’s fireplace as a pale Cordelia Wychwright tried on dress after dress, coached by Victoria Stuart and Dolly Patterson-Smythe. Esther Alcorn helped the girl with hooks, buttons, and laces.
“A wee bit o’ colour would help bring out your eyes, my lady,” Alcorn suggested. “You’ve very pretty eyes.”
“I believe I wore that pink dress at your last soirée, Dolly,” Beth answered. “Esther, did Alicia pack away my older clothes when we returned from France?”
“She did, and I know just where it is,” Alcorn announced. “Let’s get you out of this one, my lady, and I’ll fetch it.”
Cordelia Wychwright moved as though lost in a dream. Alcorn unlaced the current dress (number five), a silvery satin affair with bows down the sleeves and a full bustle. Each time Delia paused for even a moment, Dolly dabbed her face with pearlescent powder to cover the girl’s facial bruises. A final hint of colour from the rouge pot helped to overcome the overly pale aspect of her cheeks.
“The pink gown will work much better with your light hair, my dear. Beth’s dark hair and eyes make her able to wear almost any colour, but you’re too fair for neutral shades. There, much better,” she announced. “You should see yourself in the mirror, Delia. My darling girl, you are beautiful!”
Tory fetched a tortoise shell mirror from the dressing table and held it before the young woman’s face. Cordelia stared at the reflection.
“Is that really me?” she asked, her blue-grey eyes wide.
“Dolly’s right,” Elizabeth assured her, “you are as lovely as springtime. Tory, I wonder if you and Dolly would help Alcorn look through my stored dresses? I’d like a moment to talk with Delia in private.”
“Yes, of course,” said Patterson-Smythe. “Come, Tory, Esther! We old ladies are extraneous to youth.”
Alcorn led the way, and soon the duchess was alone with her friend. “Sit for a minute, won’t you?” she asked Cordelia.
The girl obeyed, almost mechanically. She now wore a blue velvet dressing gown, embroidered with the Haimsbury-Branham crest. She took a needlepoint settee, close to the fire. She kept rubbing her arms, and it seemed that she shivered.
“I apologise for the cold. A house this size can prove difficult to heat, and gas fires seldom give the same warmth as coal or wood. I’m afraid it can make trying on clothes difficult. Would you like another cup of tea to warm you?”
“No, thank you.” She stared into the fire as though dreaming.
“Delia, do you want to marry my cousin?” Beth asked bluntly.
The girl’s chin lifted, and a flash of alertness sharpened her eyes. “Marry Paul? Of course, I do. It’s just...”
“Just what?”
“I’m not really sure he wants to marry me,” she whispered. “Why would he?”
Elizabeth left her chair and joined the guest on the plump sofa, taking Cordelia’s right hand. “My darling friend, you’re like ice! You’re not running a fever, are you?” Beth touched Wychwright’s forehead. “You’re cold all over, it seems, but your forehead’s cool.”
“Mama says I’m always cold.”
A Sinclair tartan blanket lay folded nearby, and Beth spread it across the girl’s lap. Delia quickly pulled it up to her chin as though trying to disappear.
“Is that better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Delia, you’re about to become my cousin, and I’m very glad about it. I only wish you could be happy, too.”
“But I want Paul to be happy!” she exclaimed. “He’ll be miserable if he marries me. My family’s hateful and filled with users, and they’ll try to use him! But I don’t know what else to do, Elizabeth. I’m terrified to go back home. Nor can I go to the house Father left me. Will knows how to find me there, and he’ll do it again—they’ll do it again! They’ll try to...! Try to...!” She couldn’t say the actual words ‘assault’ or ‘rape’, but instead fell into a heap of weeping.
Elizabeth pulled her close and allowed the girl to cry, stroking her hair like she might a child’s. “Rest assured that Paul loves you. I know the earl better than he knows himself, and I’ve watched him fall in love with you these past few weeks. I’m sure he’d already planned to propose. This merely advances it a little. So long as you love him, then there’s no reason why you cannot be very happy together.”
“But Paul loves you,” whispered Wychwright.
“Yes, but not in the way a husband loves a wife. He and I shall always have a special bond, but yours will be stronger. Just as mine is stronger with Charles. We all want your happiness, Delia. Can you be happy as Paul’s wife?”
“I want to be,” she answered hesitantly, her voice small. “I’m afraid—of tonight. And every night after. He’ll want to be with me, and the thought of it... Oh, I can’t, Beth! I can’t! I do love him, but I simply can’t do that!”
“I understand,” Beth answered soothingly. “Really, I do! I’ve had experiences that left me shaken to my soul. A man once tried to force me into... Into being with him, but despite that, Charles and I have a healthy relationship. And Paul is an exceedingly patient, compassionate man. He’s nothing like the men who hurt you. I know he’ll treat you with tenderness and respect. I can understand why you find it difficult to trust, but with time, you’ll see I’m right.”
“Must I sleep with him tonight? I just can’t imagine it, but he’ll be angry if I tell him and, I don’t know, he may hit me. Would you tell him for me?”
“Paul is not that sort of man, Delia. He would never harm a woman. Not for any reason. It’s simply not in his nature.”
She slowly relaxed, and Elizabeth began to pray softly in her thoughts. “Delia, would you rather sleep with me tonight?”
She pushed up, wiping her eyes. “No, I mustn’t do that. Charles wouldn’t like it. Is there another bed in Paul’s apartment?”
“Yes. I’ll have Ada MacKenzie put some of my clothes in there for you, along with personal linen, soaps, and perfume. She can be your lady’s maid, if you like. After Christmas, we’ll search for a permanent maid.”
“My own maid?” she asked in disbelief. “I’ve always shared one with Mama.”
“No more sharing for you, my dear Cousin! Paul is wealthy. He’ll hire any staff you want. And Aubrey House is a beautiful home. It was built at the same time as Queen Anne and by the same architect, so the layout and details are similar. If we’re able, we can all go to Briarcliff Castle next month. In the past, that was our Christmastide tradition. Branham, then Castle Drummond, then Briarcliff. We’ll see if Charles and Paul can get away from their current investigations and take us.”
“Paul is quite handsome,” Delia said, smiling a little.
“And he can be a great deal of fun,” Beth added. “He’s a very good dancer, and he plays the violin. Did you know that?”
The door opened to women talking. Alcorn carried an elegant opera gown. The bodice and skirt were of buttercup yellow satin, overlaid at the hips in a gauzy, white toile draping that tied behind, just over the ruffled bustle. The capped sleeves were trimmed in the same silk toile, and the high, ruffled neckline would cover the poor girl’s upper body bruises. A pair of opera gloves would conceal those on her forearms.
“Shall we see if this fits?” asked Alcorn.
Fifteen minutes later, Cordelia stood before a cheval mirror, admiring her butterfly transformation. “I’ve never worn anything like this. Oh, I feel like Cinderella in that story!” she told the ladies. “Really, I don’t deserve such happiness.”
Beth hugged her friend’s waist. “Of course you do. I’m very glad you decided to wear your hair down in the back. The ringlets show off the soft highlights in your hair. Here now,” she added, as she opened a large velvet box. “I cannot give you this, for it belongs to the Branham collection, but I hope you’ll wear it.”
Inside the hinged box lay a magnificent choker necklace made from three strands of pearls, finished along the top with a row of yellow diamonds. Below, a large teardrop pearl was delicately suspended from a yellow diamond bow. Cordelia had never seen such a beautiful design, and her hands trembled.
“This must have cost a fortune!” she cried. “Are you sure?”
“It was given to my great-great-great grandmother, Katherine DuBonnier, by King Louis XIV in appreciation for her help with a treaty twixt England and France.”
“But I can’t,” Delia objected. “It’s far too precious.”
“That is the point,” Beth explained as she clasped the choker round her friend’s throat. “It tells the world how very much you’re worth. Cordelia, you are priceless.”
Tory opened a box of her own. “I brought these with me out of habit, I think. These earrings belonged to my Grandmother Stuart. They are pearl and yellow diamond, and I want you to have them as a wedding gift.”
Delia began to cry. “You’re all so very good to me! I didn’t think families could be so loving. Except for Aunt Margaret, of course. She and Uncle Basil are very sweet.”
“I’m glad you think so, for they’re both here,” Victoria told the girl.
“They’re here? Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. Charles sent his new train to fetch them, and they arrived half an hour ago. Everyone’s assembled in the upper gallery to watch you become the Countess of Aubrey. Come now, we mustn’t keep your groom waiting, my dear. Are you ready?”
Cordelia nodded. “Yes, I think so. Will you hold my hand?” she asked the duchess.
“Of course, I will. Now, let’s go greet the man’s who about to become your husband.”
Chapter Fifty-One
The upper gallery of Branham Hall was quadrangular and served as a sort of interior cloister walk, formed from the central portion of the original house. The interior walls contained four doors each, north, south, east, and west, which led into state rooms, smoking parlours, and from these into primary wings. Beth had chosen to set the wedding in the east gallery, taking full advantage of the light of the setting sun, which cast pyramidal beams of white through the gallery’s arched windows.
Baxter and Kay had supervised the arrangement of fifty dining chairs, placed into rows with a wide aisle down the centre. Adele helped Dolly and Victoria add golden bells and white bows to the Christmas garlands, and a crimson runner drew the eye to the aisle. A piano had been moved from the ballroom, and Stanley played softly, joined by Riga on his cello.
Adele wore her best pink party dress, and her small shoes made a tapping sound as she entered the side parlour now used by her brother.
“Aren’t you dressed yet, Brother mine? You will be late for your wedding, and Cordelia will be very sad.”
Paul smiled at his beautiful sister. “Then, we shall blame Martin for it. He’s never satisfied with how I tie a cravat.”
The tailor added a pearl stickpin to the perfectly tied silk. “You form a knot as though hanging a criminal, Lord Aubrey. Really, for someone so graceful on the dance floor, you’d think you’d have more delicacy when it comes to your neckwear. There!” he said, triumphantly. “Della, your brother is quite handsome, thanks to me.” He placed his hands on Paul’s shoulders, fussing with the seams. “I wish I had the time to rework this coat. Charles’s shoulders are an inch broader than yours, but I doubt anyone will notice. Only another tailor would, I imagine.”
“An inch wider?” the earl echoed as he turned round. “It’s most likely fat from lack of training. We’ll soon fix that.”
“Perhaps, it’s just my naturally superior build,” Haimsbury teased. “Paul, you really do look splendid.”
The earl smiled. “Whether I do or not is immaterial to Archbishop Benton. He’ll marry us regardless, but your clothes do suit me, Cousin. I may steal Kepelheim from you.”
Martin laughed. “Once I’ve translated the cipher in Charles’s puzzle room, I shall have more hours for sewing,” he said, still fussing over the left sleeve. “There, all done! You are positively resplendent! I only wish your dear parents could be here to watch you take this step.”
“As do I,” Paul whispered.
The door opened, revealing the bright face of Duke James. “Are we ready? Everyone’s waiting.”
“Might we have a minute, James?” asked Haimsbury. “Martin, if you’d see Adele to her place?”
Taking the hint, Drummond led the others out and shut the door. Charles turned to his cousin. “Paul, not long ago, you stood with me in the vestry at Drummond Chapel and shared your heart. You admitted your eternal love for Beth but assured me that she no longer owned your heart. You’re my dearest friend in all the world. I have to know: do you have any doubts? Any lingering feelings for Elizabeth that could overshadow this marriage? Because, if you do, then I beg you call this off. Henry says Delia may have difficulty showing her affection—physical love, I mean. I know it’s none of my business, but...”
“I love her, Charles. I do!” Stuart interrupted. “I understand your concern, but it’s unnecessary. Perhaps, my love isn’t the same as yours for Beth, but it’s a deep and growing affection that will blossom. I’d already thought of proposing to her before all this happened. William’s assault only accelerated a plan already in my mind.”
“Yes, I realise that, but... Well, I’m thinking of her happiness as well as yours. If there is anything I can do to help, I’m here. James has said he could marry her. I beg you not to ruin your life and hers from any sense of chivalry.”
“Charles, I am content in my heart and my mind. When I proposed to her this
morning, a light entered her eyes that I’d never seen before—a light of hope and joy. I intend to do all in my power to keep that light shining. It’s true; I shall always love Beth, but...” He paused, tears now flowing. “Beth and I had a lovely talk last night, and she helped focus my thoughts. I believe the Lord wants this, Charles. He is in this decision. I know it! Delia’s lost her family through all this. Her father is dead, and her mother and brother have turned on her. Let us become her new family and a place of refuge.”
Charles smiled. “I’m proud of you, Paul. My cousin—my brother. And I love you.”
“And I love you. My cousin and brother. This is a day for celebration. Let’s do that, shall we?”
The two men embraced, wiping away tears. Mr. Stanley began to play a lively arrangement of Haydn’s Cello Concerto No. 1, and the earl and young duke entered the room.
To Paul, the ceremony felt wonderfully intimate. As he pledged his life and love to the petite eighteen-year-old, an overwhelming sense of belonging and responsibility took root in his heart. This was his wife; his mo bhean. Cordelia’s hands shook as he held them, but her eyes focused with more clarity than he’d seen in many days. By five o’clock, the newlyweds were toasting their commitment with friends and family, and by eleven, he would take her into his bed as the love of his life.
The shock of the assault in London had not subsided, but she agreed to sleep with him that night; nervous and very fearful. However, Paul did nothing more than hold her, whispering of his childhood in Scotland and sharing his hopes for the future. He made no demand for intimacy, beyond a sweet kiss now and then. Delia had never felt so loved, so cherished; confident in his promise to shield and adore her from that day forward.
As dawn broke over the chimneys of Branham that Christmas Day, Cordelia Stuart, Countess of Aubrey, pledged her whole heart to this patient, tender husband. For Paul’s affections had given her more healing than any physician’s medicine ever could.
Chapter Fifty-Two
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