by Jane Peart
Perhaps the future with Duncan Montrose would yield a richer, deeper experience than she had ever known before. In any case, she had decided this marriage was God’s will for her and, in obedience to Him and to her beloved aunt and uncle, she would do it.
Decisively Noramary placed her hand on Duncan’s arm and said very softly, “Yes, Duncan, I would be proud to be your wife.”
With those words Noramary was rewarded with a special look in Duncan’s eyes. It came to her with sweet surprise that Duncan felt a warmth for her that had nothing whatever to do with his prearranged agreement with the Barnwells!
chapter
6
THE WEDDING WAS SET for late September after the tobacco crop at Montclair was harvested and Duncan was free to come to Williamsburg for a few of the prenuptial festivities.
Although Noramary had wished for a small wedding, the Barnwells were too well-known, too highly respected to avoid a large guest list. Too, Betsy was anxious to offset any unfavorable gossip that might still be circulating about Winnie’s elopement by doing everything surrounding Noramary’s marriage to Duncan with dignity and decorum.
Noramary seemed peculiarly indifferent in the midst of the swirling activity surrounding her, but if Betsy was aware of it, she chose to ignore it. If Noramary seemed quieter, paler than usual, more passive, Betsy chalked it up to the normal apprehensions of any bride, but nonetheless sent up a frantic prayer: “Please, no last-minute problems. Just let me get her safely married—”
She suppressed any stirring of panic, reminding herself that Noramary, for all her fragile appearance, was a strong, sensible girl, and her word, once given, could be counted on.
Inevitably, however, a crisis did arise, and at a moment when Betsy least expected it and was least prepared to cope.
The week before the wedding, Noramary seemed to have regained her composure. She attended several parties, gone about her small household tasks with her usual sweet calm, then quite suddenly, the dam burst.
Two days before the wedding, a servant from Dr. Stedd’s brought a letter to Noramary, which she took up to her room to read, away from her aunt’s sharp eyes. Only a half-hour later, the seamstress arrived to make a last-minute fitting of the wedding gown. It was after the woman left and Betsy was helping Noramary down from the stool on which she had been standing to have the hem measured that Noramary burst into tears. Still in her lovely gown, she sank down on the rug, the creamy satin skirt billowing out around her.
“Whatever is the matter, child?” gasped Betsy.
Noramary could not answer.
“Dear child, whatever is the matter? Are you ill? In heaven’s name, tell me.” Betsy got down on her plump knees beside Noramary, patting the girl’s slim shoulder.
“Oh, Auntie, I’m sorry! But it’s just everything! This dress—”
’The dress? It’s lovely, dear. Don’t you like it? It’s French satin, Belgian lace—”
“No, no, the dress is beautiful! I was just thinking— everything was intended for someone else—hand-me-down wedding gown, hand-me-down bride, hand-me-down husband! Nothing really belongs to me, and I don’t really belong to anyone!”
Noramary’s face was buried in her hands and she continued to cry, while Betsy stood by, watching helplessly.
Betsy knew she must attempt to stop the storm before it became a full-blown hurricane. If Noramary were having any second thoughts about the wedding—nay, even worse, the marriage… she, Betsy, would just have to do something and do it quick!
At the back of her mind was the letter that was so recently delivered—the letter from Robert Stedd. That’s what had upset Noramary so. Well, she’d see about that! And Betsy set her chin determinedly.
Inwardly she strengthened her resolve to firmly support Noramary, to see that she kept her pledge to Duncan, fulfilled her promise. Noramary would be richly compensated for any sacrifice that her marriage to Duncan would require. She was, after all, becoming the mistress of a mansion, with servants and wealth, the wife of one of the most prominent men in this part of Virginia. There were certainly worse fates for most girls in her situation, a penniless orphan.
She patted Noramary’s quivering shoulders comfortingly and spoke in a cheerful tone of voice. “Now, now, my dear. You’re simply worn out with all the excitement. We’ll just stop now and have a nice cup of tea, and you can rest and tell me what’s bothering you.”
Betsy rang the needlepoint bell-pull by the fireplace, and soon Essie, the housemaid, stuck her head in its muslin mobcap around the edge of the door.
“Bring us some tea, Essie, and be quick about it. Miss Noramary is feeling a bit faint.”
She eased Noramary gently into one of the chairs and took a seat opposite her, peering with concern into Noramary’s sad face. The girl did look peaked, she thought. Violet shadows under the wide eyes indicated sleeplessness, the droop of the sensitive mouth bespoke melancholy. Betsy frowned anxiously.
“Now, what is it, Noramary? You can tell me.” “It’s about R-Robert,” Noramary whispered. Betsy’s blood chilled. Oh, not at this late date! Surely Noramary was not planning to back out of the agreement!
“I want you to do something for me, Aunt Betsy,” Noramary continued in a tremulous voice. “Something I cannot ask anyone else to do. Will you promise me, please?”
Oh dear! Betsy felt herself tense even as she impulsively responded, “Anything, child. You know all you need do is ask.”
Immediately she wondered if she had spoken too quickly, rashly agreeing to something it might be unwise to accomplish.
Noramary rose and went over to the small applewood chest, touched the hidden spring that released the catch to the secret drawer at its base, and brought out a packet of letters tied with a blue hair ribbon.
Noramary stood, holding them to her breast for a long moment, men hesitating a second longer, she opened a small wooden box on the top of the dresser, and brought out another envelope. Then she turned to face her aunt.
“These are all the letters Robert has ever written to me. A few years ago, maybe two, we began leaving them for each other in a hole in an old oak tree in the meadow. It was a kind of game at first. A secret hiding place that made it special.” She paused, biting her lip. “I’m not sure when we first began to know we… loved each other.”
Her eyes, bright with tears, regarded her aunt solemnly. “Did you know Robert and I loved each other, Aunt Betsy?”
“Well, of course, dear,” Betsy nodded, her chin bobbing, “we all love Robert. He’s always been like one of the family. Dr. Hugh has been our friend for years—”
“No, no, auntie!” Noramary shook her head, her dark silky hair falling about the pale oval of her face. “Robert and I loved each other differently. Maybe at first it was like brother and sister, but later… we wanted to marry, auntie. Of course, we were planning to wait until he finished college, until he came of age, received his inheritance, and went into practice with Dr. Stedd. And until Winnie ran away—” she stopped short. Two tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away with one hand and bravely went on. “But now, things are different. I’ve given my promise to Duncan and nothing can change mat. Robert will have to get over this—as I’m trying to do.”
With some effort Betsy got up from her knees and eased herself into a chair. Noramary came over, knelt beside her and put her head into her aunt’s lap. “Oh, auntie, forgive me for causing you grief, but I must ask you to do me this one small favor.…” She handed the packet of letters to Betsy. “I want you to keep all Robert’s letters for me. I tried to burn them, but I just couldn’t… they mean too much to me… it would be like cutting out part of my life.… Oh, auntie, I really loved Robert so. I shall always love him!”
Betsy’s generous heart contracted at the sob in Noramary’s voice. Her instant reaction was to gather her niece to her bosom and say, All right, Noramary, you don’t have to go through with it. We’ll call the wedding off… no matter that we’ll be disgraced, p
ossibly not able to hold up our heads ever again in Williamsburg society… never face Duncan Montrose. You can marry your Robert. Be happy, Noramary. Life is short… love, fleeting…”
But Betsy’s innate practicality prevented the impulsive words from being uttered. Much as she loved Noramary, she knew the wedding to Duncan must take place. The family’s reputation was at stake; with three other daughters to be married well, Noramary could not be allowed to jeopardize their chances. Who would risk betrothals into a family if two of its members broke their promises to a man of honor?
“You must promise me, auntie, that you will keep them safely, marked that they must be destroyed without being read after your death—or mine.”
“Oh, Noramary…” Dismay crept into Betsy’s voice.
“Promise,” Noramary insisted.
Betsy looked into the sad, lovely face of the girl beseeching her. It was such a beautiful face, a face Betsy had often felt eclipsed the ordinary prettiness of her own daughters. But its tragic expression now touched her sympathetic soul. If there were only some other way.… Then her common sense asserted itself once more. There was no other way. The marriage must take place as planned. She drew herself up and said firmly, “Of course, my dear, I promise.”
There was a tap at the bedroom door and after Betsy’s acknowledgment, Essie entered with a tray. Betsy poured Noramary a cup of the steaming hot, fragrant beverage and handed it to her.
“Now, drink every drop, Noramary, then lie down and have a nice rest. Things will seem much better later,” she soothed.
After Noramary finished her tea, Betsy helped her out of the “hand-me-down” wedding dress, thinking fleetingly that perhaps they should have had a completely new one made for Noramary, then led her over to the bed, fluffed the pillow under her head, drew the quilt over the still quivering shoulders, and murmured, “There, there, dear. Rest well, now.”
At the door, she paused and looked back at the small figure in the tall, canopied bed. Surely Noramary will be happy… if not happy, content, comfortable, provided for.… She’ll have a house of her own, servants, a husband of good family, of means.… I could not wish more for one of my own blood daughters. And almost unconsciously, as an afterthought, And may she forgive us… if she is not.
chapter
7
ON NORAMARY’S WEDDING DAY the sky was overcast with heavy clouds threatening rain.
When Betsy entered her niece’s bedroom quite early to bring her a breakfast tray of tea and toast, she found Noramary clad only in her nightgown, a thin shawl around her shoulders, huddled forlornly on the window seat, looking out into the gray morning.
A tiny flare of alarm rose in Betsy at the sight of Noramary’s woebegone figure. The possibility of rain and no sunshine bode ill for a wedding day! A vague premonition of something unpleasant stirred within her, a feeling she had tried to banish all morning with busyness.
“Come away from there at once, Noramary!” Betsy said sharply. “You’ll catch your death of cold. Bare feet, indeed! Where is your robe?”
She bustled about, setting down the tray, finding Noramary’s slippers, her warm wrapper. She held it out for Noramary to slip into, then poured a cup of steaming tea.
“Now drink this, dear. Then you must start to get dressed. Remember the ceremony is earlier than we had planned, since Duncan wants to reach Montclair before nightfall.…” Her voice trailed off anxiously as she observed her niece.
The girl was chalk-white and had to lift the teacup with both hands to bring it to her pale lips to drink. Her hands were shaking so that the cup rattled in its saucer when she set it back down. Oh, dear Lord, don’t let her have a fainting spell! Betsy prayed. Unconsciously she groped in her skirt pocket for the small bottle of smelling salts she kept handy.
Any further pursuit of what might be troubling Noramary was silenced by the briefest tap at the door. Laura’s head in curl-papers looked in. “Good morning, Noramary! Mama!” she sang out gaily. She danced in and bounced on the bed where Noramary was perched.
“Well, how is the happy bride?” asked Laura, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Not waiting for an answer, she turned to Betsy, declaring, “Oh, Mama, my dress is perfect! I absolutely adore it!”
“Very well, Laura, I’m glad you’re pleased,” said her mother with an air of dismissal. “Now run along and see that the other girls are up and dressing.”
Laura sighed, but hopped off the bed. “You’re lucky, Noramary,” she called out in parting. “Your hair’s naturally curly. My poor head is sore from sleeping in these!” She shook her paper-wrapped head with an expression of mock pain, contradicted by her happy little pirouette.
After Laura had skipped out the door, Betsy turned again to Noramary.
“I’ll go now. But I’ll be back to help you with your headdress and veil.” She turned to leave, but paused. “Are you sure you don’t want to have your hair powdered. After all, it is the vogue.…”
Noramary shook her head. “I’d rather not, auntie. There wouldn’t be time to wash it out before we start on our journey.”
“Yes, I suppose so. I wonder if it is a good idea to agree to an afternoon reception at the Camerons? It will give you such a later start for that long trip to Montclair. But they are such good friends of Duncan’s and so prominent, it would have been unseemly to refuse such a generous gesture… I suppose.”
The Cameron plantation bordered Montrose land on the James River, and both families had pioneered what had once been wilderness territory. Their fathers had been close friends and the friendship was a close and loyal one into the second generation. The Camerons also kept a townhouse in Williamsburg, where they stayed when James Cameron attended meetings of the House of Burgesses, of which he was a member. It was a large, impressive, pink brick house, where they were known to entertain lavishly. They had offered, rather insisted, on giving a festive party for the newlyweds after the wedding breakfast at the Barnwell home, to which only a limited number of friends had been invited. Jacqueline Cameron, James’s glamorous and young second wife, a beautiful French woman, had tactfully pointed out to Betsy that the Montrose family had many friends who might be offended even if they understood they could not be accommodated in the Barnwells’ smaller residence.
“We would consider it an honor,” she had told Betsy when she called on her a few weeks earlier to request that the Barnwells allow them to give the party specifically for their dear friend, Duncan, and his “lovely bride.” “Duncan is so dear to us, and we are happy he has made such an admirable choice in the beautiful Noramary.”
She had leaned close and, in a confidential voice, had told Betsy, “We have often been concerned for him, so magnificent a man to live alone. Your niece will make him very happy, we are sure.”
An hour later when Noramary descended the stairs, Uncle William, preening before the hall mirror, resplendent in a purple velvet knee-length coat, lavender brocaded vest, white silk stockings, shiny silver-buckled shoes, looked up and emitted a long “Ah-h-h. My, my Noramary, my dear. You’re a veritable picture!”
Noramary was touched by the soft look in his eyes, now somewhat brightened suspiciously. Uncle William had never been demonstrative, but his kindness really needed none. Noramary could see it in his expression as he gazed at her fondly. She felt a terrible tightness in her throat. He was the only father she had ever known, and, for the first time, she realized he regarded her as a daughter.
The tender moment lasted only briefly, then Betsy bustled out from the parlor, magnificent in mauve taffeta, elegantly bewigged, and wearing her pearls. She was pushing the two younger girls, Sally and Susann, ahead of her. At the sight of Noramary in her wedding finery, they all stopped, and the children rushed over to her.
“Oh, Noramary, how beautiful you are!” they exclaimed. She leaned down to gather them up in hugs when Betsy’s voice rang out in a warning. “Careful, girls, you’ll crush Noramary’s gown!”
“Oh, auntie, I don’t mind crushes l
ike these!” and she held each of them a second longer. Her younger cousins were especially dear to Noramary. They had been her charges upon her arrival in Virginia, when Sally was five and Susann only three. It had been one of her duties to take them to their dancing class, call for them at Miss Spencer’s Dance school, and put them to bed at night when Betsy was receiving visitors or was otherwise occupied. She had read many a Bible story to them, played with them, taught them songs, corrected their sums. Perhaps their care had made her feel most a part of the Barnwell family Now she held them close to her, experiencing the first real pang of homesickness.
Susann wriggled out of her embrace, spinning around holding out her yellow silk skirt, then making a deep curtsy. “Look, Noramary! Ain’t I elegant?”
“And look at me, Noramary!” chimed in Sally, turning so Noramary could admire her twin yellow dress. She tossed her head, setting her coppery-gold curls bobbing.
“You’re both sights to behold!” Noramary declared, clapping her hands.
“Enough of this! We must start or we’ll all be late, and Duncan will be wondering what’s become of us!” Betsy said briskly. “We’ll go on ahead, Noramary. You and William will follow in the other carriage. Where’s Laura, and where’s Noramary’s bouquet?” she asked no one in particular.
Almost as she spoke, Laura appeared, lovely in peach taffeta, holding the bridal bouquet.
There were several minutes of confusion and chatter as the ladies entered their carriage and pulled away. Then Uncle William solemnly offered his arm to Noramary and they went outside where the handsome gilt-trimmed carriage, hired for the occasion, stood waiting. A misty wind was blowing, and bending their heads against it, they allowed the liveried coachman to assist them.