Belinda nodded and obeyed. After a few anxious seconds, her sobs began to ease. I moved to sit behind her and began brushing her hair, taking long, easy strokes.
“Keep imagining that flower, Belinda. That’s it …”
She was beginning to breathe normally. The others watched anxiously.
“Now, I want you to think of yourself gliding up the aisle, a beautiful vision in white, on your father’s arm. And Georgy standing up at the front, smiling,” I continued, still brushing her hair. “Look at all the lovely flowers around you—lilies, is that right? And roses?” She nodded. “Of course. Lilies and roses everywhere. And there’s Georgy, smiling at you. And there you are, at his side, and he’s taking your hand, and you’re thinking, ‘This really is the most perfect day.’ And it is, Belinda. It’s a perfect day.”
She glanced back at me, eyes still wet, but no more tears brimming. “I so wanted a sunny day,” she whimpered. “I wanted us to be able to walk in the garden.”
“You’ll have the rest of your lives to walk around in Rakesburn’s garden,” I reassured her. “And anyway, who needs the sun today? You and Hampton can be each other’s sun.” Good lord, was I actually saying these words? Joyce was staring at me in absolute horror. But it worked: Belinda smiled. The room seemed to collectively exhale.
“So silly of me,” she mumbled, as that wet cloth finally materialized. I handed it to Belinda and she pressed it to her eyes and cheeks. “I must look a terrible mess.”
“You’ll be all right. A little powder and nobody will ever know,” I promised her, though it would probably take quite a lot of powder to fix what all that hysteria had done to her face. Hopefully the veil was a thick one.
Someone brought a cup of tea and a plate of toast.
“Eat that,” I ordered the bride, replacing the brush on the dressing table.
“Thank you so much, Astra,” she said, her face practically glowing with gratitude.
“What are friends for?” I chirped.
The bridesmaids took over, chattering happily as they pressed more tea and toast on her. Joyce and I took the opportunity to slip out and make our way downstairs.
“You have quite the touch,” Joyce commented. “Cee’s been rubbing off on you.”
“That was my mother, actually. I’ve been thinking about her a great deal lately.”
“Ahh, yes, of course. That’s to be expected. I feel like a ciggie—do you want one?”
“Oh yes.” What I really felt I needed was a stiff drink to firm up my jellied knees, but it was a bit early in the day. Instead, we stepped out onto the front portico and lit up.
Joyce shivered slightly as she leaned against one of the columns. “I wish the Duchess wasn’t so fierce about people not smoking inside,” she grumbled. “We’ll catch our deaths.” She turned to me with a probing look. “I heard you and Jeremy had a nice ride yesterday.”
“Did you indeed?”
“He had nothing but praise for your bridle paths. Such a gentleman.” She smiled wickedly. “Anything else you’d like to share? You may as well: I’ll just get it all out of David later, if you don’t.”
“He can’t tell you anything because there’s nothing to tell.” Not entirely true, of course, but Joyce was not the person to confide in about all that had happened yesterday. I exhaled a stream of smoke in the direction of the rain. “How are things with David?”
Joyce sighed. “Oh, up and down, as with everything. Belinda will discover soon enough that not all days are sunny in a marriage.” She shrugged. “You get through it.”
I frowned, concerned. “I hope so. If that’s what you want.”
“It is. Don’t mistake me. I do love him to bits. I just think that sometimes I have trouble telling him in a way he understands. We’ll smooth off each other’s edges and start fitting together better over time.” She dropped the finished cigarette, ground it out, and helped herself to another one. “The key to happiness, I think, is to always have a project, and to keep other people around so you don’t grate on each other too much. And on that note: What are your plans for the summer? You can come out to Wotting, if you like. We’ve got Laura coming, and I think I might rescue Cee from months with Millicent.”
“I might take you up on that.”
“Please do. And don’t forget, Midbourne isn’t far. I’m sure Jeremy could be persuaded to come around now and again.” Another suggestive look, which I refused to acknowledge. Joyce rolled her eyes. “Oh, be difficult, then.” She glanced at her watch. “Nearly time for us to be off to the church. Where are the men in my life?” She stamped out her second cigarette just as Porter’s Rolls Royce came splashing through the puddles toward Rakesburn. “Ahh, here they are. Do you need a ride, Astra?”
“I’d love one.” I certainly didn’t relish walking to the church in that rain.
The car stopped and David jumped out, dashing up the steps with an umbrella. “All is well?” he asked his wife.
“All’s well that ends well, thanks to Astra. We must always remember to have her around in a crisis.” She waved to her father, still seated in the back of the car.
“Is Miss Davies coming with?” he shouted, leaning forward to peek out the door.
“She is!” Joyce yelled back.
“One big happy family,” David remarked wryly, holding the umbrella over Joyce’s head as they made a run for the car.
Porter smiled greedily and patted the seat beside him. I managed to smile back as I unfurled my umbrella, reminding myself that, thankfully, it was a short drive.
The church near Rakesburn is enormous, nearly a cathedral. My father adored it, and we visited often. He’d relate, again and again, the story of the crusader knight who built it as a thanks for his safe homecoming. Somehow, I never tired of the history. Or of seeing Father brush his hands over the stones, face shining in wonder at the skill, care, and devotion that built such places.
Unfortunately, what you got in grandeur, you lost in warmth. We younger ladies, dressed in frothy floral chiffons, shivered in the creeping chill and longed for hot toddies. The matrons seemed to have got it right: many of them were wrapped up in furs. The lady standing in front of me on the way in was wearing a fox stole that still had the head. Its beady glass eyes seemed to glare in my direction.
Once again, the flowers were just short of completely overwhelming, and Joyce’s eyes started visibly watering as soon as we walked in. She mopped at her face with David’s handkerchief as the four of us were escorted to a pew.
Toby had yet to arrive, but Cecilia and her family had managed to slop their way through the floods and were seated a little farther up. Cee was watching the arrivals intently, and as soon as we sat, she hopped up and came scurrying over.
“How’s Belinda?” she asked. “The poor thing! Such terrible weather for a wedding! Of course I wanted to go to the house, but it took us ages to get here because of the roads, and by the time we arrived, it would have been too late. Is she all right?”
“She’ll make it down the aisle, never fear,” Joyce answered, her voice thickened by a stopped-up nose.
“Joyce, are you crying? Oh, you really have become a softy, haven’t you?” Cee reached over and patted Joyce on the shoulder.
A few pews up, a woman with Millicent’s hawkish face and Cecilia’s coloring stood and bellowed: “Cecilia May! Come back to your seat this instant!”
Millicent, seated beside the woman, turned and smirked.
Cee rolled her eyes. “We’ll talk afterward, dears.” She skittered back to her seat.
Other guests flowed in, complaining about ruined hats and shoes. Jeremy arrived with a handful of other gentlemen and smiled at us as he was led to the same pew as Cee and Millicent.
“I wonder how much Millicent paid that usher,” Joyce snorted.
Only moments before the organist burst into the wedding march, Toby materialized: limping, sodden, muddy to his knees, face even more thunderous than the skies outside.
I stare
d at him, aghast. “What on earth happened to you?”
“The Humber died,” he announced through clenched teeth.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Joyce hid a laugh behind David’s oversized handkerchief.
Toby looked like he would have happily bludgeoned us all with the nearest vase, but the wedding party began to move down the aisle, and his manners and better nature prevailed. Belinda floated past, resplendent in yards and yards of embroidered lace and a halo-like headpiece. She was smiling beatifically and not looking at all like she had spent most of the morning in tears (hurrah for face powder!). As she reached the groom, Hampton grinned just the way you want your husband to grin at you on your wedding day. He took her hand and things got under way.
A fine ceremony, and at last Hampton and Belinda were officially declared man and wife. I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding, in a great, hot rush.
Joyce shot me a questioning look. “What are you so nervous about?” she asked.
“I’m always nervous at weddings,” I lied. “I’ve seen too many films where someone intervenes at the last second, or the bride runs off.”
The bride and groom, smiling almost idiotically, made their way back up the aisle as the organist burst into a particularly exuberant song.
Outside, the men made a mad dash for the cars while the ladies huddled under the church porch until their chariots arrived. Toby took the front passenger seat in the Rolls, leaving me jammed next to Porter again as we splashed back to Rakesburn. There, poor Toby vanished upstairs to see if his clothes could be salvaged while the rest of us fell on the champagne. I spotted Freddie near the stairs, unsteadily raising a glass in my direction, and sighed. He would be no help at all. But maybe I could do something to save the company. I had to try, at least. So much depended on it.
“Mr. Porter,” I said, sidling up to the man as he reached for a second glass of champagne. “I wondered if I might have a word?”
He grinned. “Of course, Miss Davies. Here, have some more champagne. And have I said how lovely you look today?”
“You’re too kind, sir.” I took the second glass but didn’t drink it. “Well, sir, it’s about Vandemark Rubber.”
There it was: that freezing look. The hard, steely eyes that poor Beckworth had faced back at Gryden, merely for saying the word “business.” But what could I do?
I pressed on. “I know you hate talking about such matters at social events, but this is very important. Could you, perhaps, be persuaded to reconsider taking your business elsewhere?” I smiled sweetly at him. Laid a hand gently on his arm.
He looked down at me. No smiles now. His arm shifted away and my hand fell.
“There’s nothing to reconsider. My mind is made up,” he informed me in a voice as cool as his gaze. “It was a business decision. That company and the idiot who run it are both rotten. If you’re mixed up in it, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
He turned away as I felt a chilly wave crash over me. Freddie’s raucous laughter cut across the room and pounded into my skull. That idiot who runs it …
Porter turned back, a new expression on his face. Disgust. It was so pungent on him I nearly recoiled. “There’s a certain type of woman, Miss Davies, who uses her charms and wiles to get what she wants out of old men she thinks are easy prey,” he hissed, so low only I could hear him. “I’ve met many such women. I didn’t think you were one of them.” He snapped his glass down on the tray of a nearby footman. “Excuse me.” He lumbered away as Cecilia bounded in.
“Darlings!” she greeted us, hugging both Joyce and myself, failing to notice I was shocked stiff. “It was a lovely ceremony, wasn’t it? Despite the rain. But, you know, they say rain falls on the head of a happy bride.”
“They say all sorts of things, don’t they?” Joyce noted. “Cee, I like what you’ve done with your hair today.”
“Do you?” Cee patted her hair lightly (and indeed it was a flattering new style). “It’s a bit of a surprise, really. Millicent’s maid is looking after me this weekend, and usually she’s quite abysmal with hair, but she had an afternoon off yesterday and must have used the time to read some magazines or something, because, well—” she gestured to her head and giggled. “Between us, I think she’s in love. She’s been in an exceptionally jolly mood lately. Is there anything love can’t fix?”
An afternoon off yesterday …
My heart knocked uncomfortably. “Cee, does Millicent’s maid have red hair?”
“Lord, yes, ever so red! Millicent thinks she should do something about it, because she thinks it’s a bit flashy, but Collins seems determined to keep it. It’ll probably start going gray soon anyhow. Hello, Toby! You look better!”
I didn’t hear his response. My palms had gone clammy, and my stomach turned over. All I could hear was Alice, over and over again: “They seemed to be speaking quite intently. By the hedges, where they thought they couldn’t be seen.”
I needed to work my way through that, to ease the rising panic. (What had Reilly told her? Was it possible that my maid, a woman privy to some of the most personal details about my life, was spying on me? And passing that information along to Millicent?) But this was a wedding, I was in a crowd. There was no time.
Cee was giggling, chattering. “Ducky’s been so sweet ever since Paris. He started sending me a bouquet every week, and wonderful letters! Millicent looks like she’ll smoke at the ears whenever the flowers arrive.”
“Completely worthwhile, then,” said Joyce. “Remind me to congratulate him on a job well done next time I see him.”
Cee laughed. “You’re terrible, Joyce. Shall we go look at the gifts?” She hooked an arm around my waist and steered me toward the library. I let myself be moved because otherwise I’d have just stood frozen and pale, sweaty palmed and nauseous with anxiety. Toby noticed and gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head and tried to give myself something else to focus on.
Wedding presents! A lifetime’s worth of excess, gathered for all to see. Sets of china, paintings (old masters, new cubists), silver, dazzling necklaces and brooches and tiaras, matching desk sets in hand-tooled leather, priceless porcelain, Lalique vases, the keys to a Jaguar roadster (from the Arnold clan, according to the accompanying card). Records and a gramophone, silk sheets, new saddles, a globe with each country carved from semi-precious stone and capital cities marked by diamonds, rubies, and emeralds (from Porter, of course). One quick sweep of my hand probably could have ended my money woes forever. Each gift was accompanied by a small card indicating the giver, so we could all compare and bestow approval (or not) as we saw fit.
“Very nice,” Joyce declared, looking over my offering—a length of lace that had been in my family for at least two generations. “I’m sure Belinda will love it.” I tried to smile, though the scene with Porter, the revelation about Reilly, and the sight of the lace, which had been a wrench to give up, combined to make me feel like bursting into tears.
Toby eased over to me. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “You’re not getting all soppy over a wedding, are you?”
“No. I’ll tell you later,” I answered just before a voice in my other ear murmured:
“I do love your lace.”
I jumped a mile.
“Gosh, Jeremy, we should put a bell on you or something!” Joyce commented.
“What, and rob me of my element of surprise?” he said, laughing. I turned to glare at him, but the malice dissolved at the sight of his apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist,” he said.
“You’d better make it up to her,” said Joyce, winking at me.
“I am entirely at her service,” Jeremy declared.
I wished more than anything that I could take him at his word and do something shocking. Throw my arms around him, cry, and have him hold and reassure me that everything would be all right. But it wasn’t his job to make that happen; it was mine.
A footman appeared in the doorway, politely cleared his thr
oat to call everyone’s attention, and asked that we please return to the front hall.
“Oh, the speeches!” Cee squealed, shepherding us out of the library.
The wedding guests crowded around the base of the stairs, where the newlyweds and their parents stood, uniformly beaming. More glasses of champagne circulated, and once everyone was ready, the father of the bride launched into a long-winded speech heaping praise on “this glorious young couple, who represent all that is best in Britain today!” He thrust his glass triumphantly in the air, and the rest of us followed suit.
“To the bride and groom,” we all responded in unison.
I couldn’t help but exchange amused looks with Jeremy, standing beside me.
“Here’s to the best of Britain!” he murmured. “I’ve heard,” Jeremy continued as the crowd made its way to the dining room, “there’s to be dancing later on.”
“We must get our information from the same sources,” I said, trying to put my worries aside for the time being. We skirted the seven-tiered wedding cake and began scrutinizing the feast spread out along the dining table.
“May I ask for the first dance?” he asked, offering me some angels on horseback.
I declined the angels, realizing I had no appetite at all. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve already promised the first dance to the groom’s third cousin.” A shame: Theo wasn’t nearly as fine a dancer as Jeremy.
An exaggerated look of concern came over Jeremy’s face. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you, but poor Theo’s had a bit of an accident.”
“How awful! Will he be maimed for life, do you think? Will he ever walk again?”
Jeremy could no longer keep from smiling. “The doctors hope so. It seems some clumsy oaf may have stepped on poor Theo’s foot. Hard. Twice. Perhaps three times.”
A Bright Young Thing Page 18