Of course, if he sold the ruby from Gwalinpore – but he could never do that. The ring had been Ishana’s, and one day it would be Annabelle’s – her one link with her own mother.
Victoria reached the church a few minutes before the bride’s arrival, and Andrew missed his opportunity to hand her down from the vehicle when one of Nigel’s old friends hurried forward to greet her.
‘Your timing is perfect, my dear Mrs Latham.’ the fellow said. ‘Look, I can see Kitty’s carriage coming up the hill now, right on time! Nigel has been waiting in the church for thirty minutes already! What a splendid day this is, and it does my heart good to see you, looking so well. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen you in Srinagar. Been away in the hills? Come, m’dear, I think it’s time to take our places.’
She looked across to Andrew and smiled apologetically. ‘Good morning, Captain Wyndham.’ He returned her greeting and followed her into the church, taking the pew directly behind hers.
The scent of massed flowers filled the air and the notes of the organ swelled as Kitty, radiating happiness, walked down the aisle on the arm of her cousin, the forestry officer.
When she left the church as the wife of Nigel Pelham, the guests formed a semi-circle to watch while her dimpled smiles and Nigel’s proud stance were captured by the photographer he’d engaged. Victoria thought how delighted the family at Cloudhill would be to see this new version of the cousin they’d once called dreary.
A small reception was waiting for the wedding party at the forestry officer’s house half a mile away and, as soon as Kitty and Nigel had cut the cake, Victoria and Andrew quietly excused themselves and slipped away. He helped her into the carriage, tied the reins of his horse onto the back of it, and climbed in beside her.
‘I’m afraid I must dash back to the fort and play more games with the maharaja this afternoon, but right now you and I need a little time to ourselves. I have something important to say to you.’
He called for the driver to pull over in a shady spot beside the lake, then reached into his pocket for the gold embroidered silk pouch. He heard her sharp intake of breath when he opened it and held the ring gingerly in his fingers.
‘Oh, Andrew!’ When she slipped off her gloves, he saw that she was no longer wearing her wedding ring.
‘Victoria Latham, will you – would you—?’ Until five minutes ago he’d had an impressively romantic proposal rehearsed in his mind, but now the drumbeat of his heart drowned out the gallant words he’d stored in his head.
‘Oh, Andrew! Yes, yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you.’ She held out her left hand and he slipped the pretty little diamond onto her finger. ‘It’s lovely.’ Her voice caught. ‘It’s absolutely perfect.’
‘I hope the day will come when I’m in a position to give you something more impressive but—’
‘Stop this minute! You could give me the crown jewels, but they would never mean as much to me as this ring does.’ She held up her hand to examine it. ‘I love it. I love you.’ She reached behind his neck and pulled his head towards hers, to kiss him full on the lips.
‘Yes, Andrew, let’s marry very soon – just a private little ceremony with Nigel and Kitty there as our witnesses – though I’m sure you’d like to invite Sir Ian and Lady Phillips, too? Good. We don’t need flowers, or the organist, or the photographer – just the vicar, our signatures in the parish register, and a marriage certificate to show to my parents when they come to call.’
She gave a giggle at the thought of such an unlikely event ever taking place. ‘But, wait, actually, I do believe that they would approve of my marriage to you! After all, you are the son of a famous military hero General Gordon Wyndham!’
They both laughed at that and kissed again. And again.
Two days later, General Wyndham led his company from Srinagar with Mrs Beatrice Cooke looking very superior as she rode beside him. Mr Cooke had gone back to kill more mountain animals, but Mrs Cooke had suddenly discovered urgent business down on the plains that required her immediate attention, so she’d said. Gordon Wyndham offered to escort her all the way to Delhi. It would be no trouble – no trouble at all.
When Andrew visited the houseboat that evening, he gave an amusing description of his father’s departure. ‘Actually, I went to see him last night – to say farewell, and also to inform him of our engagement.’
When she winced, he gave a grin. ‘Don’t worry, Vicky, you’ll find that I can be quite civil at times. Besides, I wanted to brag, didn’t I? And until now I’ve never had much to brag about.’
‘So, what was his reaction to our engagement?’
‘Oddly, my father seemed to be singularly unimpressed by my visit and everything I told him. All he wanted to talk about was his latest trophy, Beatrice Cooke. Anyhow, the good news is that a telegram arrived today from Mardan, confirming my posting, as well as our family arrangements.’
She threw her arms around him. ‘Splendid! But how do we get there? Do we have to ride the whole way? How long will it take? When will we leave? And when can we be married?’
‘Well, the answer is – yes, we ride through the mountains and over the Indus River. It’s about a hundred and fifty miles as the crow flies, but once we get around Nanga Parbat, the country gets higher, so make sure you have a thick coat to wear. We should be there in two or three weeks, depending on the weather and the pack animals.’
‘Oh dear! How my poor body will ache after all that riding.’
‘Never fear, I’ll find a sturdy mountain horse for you and have it brought down to the begum’s coach house so you can learn to ride it before we set out.’ He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. ‘And, tomorrow, I’ll see the vicar about marrying us just before we set out for the Frontier. Perhaps two Saturdays from now?’
Annabelle, sensing that some change beyond her comprehension was in the air, became increasingly restless in the days that followed.
‘Sweetheart, very, very soon, you and I and your papa, and ayah, too, are all going to set off on a long ride over the mountains, so we must pack up all the things we want to take with us. Along the way, we’ll eat our dinners beside a camp-fire, and sleep in tents – you and ayah will have one tent, and Papa and I will have another. And when we get to Papa’s new fort, we’ll set up house with all the lovely rugs and cushions and pretty things that the begum is giving us.’
The begum also presented Victoria with a length of ivory silk and yards of lace for her wedding gown, and set her tailor to work on a design that she, herself, had drawn. Victoria wrote a long letter to Emily, describing every detail.
My only disappointment is that you and Martin can’t be here to see me wearing this utterly beautiful gown when Andrew and I are married. Oh, Emmie, I do love him so very much, and I know that you and Martin will love him, too, when we come home on leave in five years’ time. He’s like no man I’ve ever known. There’s a goodness about Andrew Wyndham that he either can’t or won’t reveal to the world at large, but I can see it, and so can Annabelle. I know that we’re going to be a truly happy family, wherever we are.
Andrew sent a message to Victoria saying that he’d found a well-behaved horse for her, though he warned that the mare was no great beauty. But she was a sure-footed animal, he said, and bred for rough mountain travel. He added that if Victoria had no objection to riding astride, he thought the saddle coming with it would suit her well.
When the begum heard that, she had her tailor make a divided skirt in a serviceable twill fabric, and the shoemaker was asked to stitch a pair of riding boots for both the memsahib and the baba-memsahib.
‘Come quickly, Annabelle, my new horse has arrived, so let’s go ashore to meet her,’ Victoria called, when word came that the animal was waiting. ‘We have to give her a name, too. Can you think of a pretty one?’
She took a small cake from a plate in the drawing room and, accompanied only by the Sikh, they were paddled to the bank where the begum’s syce was standing with the
reins of the saddled mare in his hands.
‘Is it a lady horse?’ Annabelle asked, as the shaggy-coated brown mare turned her head to inspect them. ‘Then her name is Ladyhorse.’
‘Thank you, that’s a lovely name.’ Victoria held out the cake and the mare’s velvet lips scooped it delicately from her palm. ‘Now, Ladyhorse, I know very little about riding you, so will you be very gentle with me when I’m on your back?’
The Sikh and Annabelle stood side by side, watching the syce hold the stirrup while the memsahib put her foot into it and heaved her right leg over the saddle. She felt balanced once astride the horse, and comfortable in her new divided skirt. Then, taking a nervous breath, she gathered the reins, touched her heels to the mare’s flanks, and it set off at a fast trot along the grassy bank.
The unfamiliar motion bounced her uncomfortably on the saddle, causing her to wobble precariously, and several times she came close to losing her balance and slipping off.
Both the Sikh and the syce began to run after the horse, calling directions which Victoria had no hope of comprehending. But she pulled on the reins and when the horse slowed, the men eventually caught up to her. They continued to run beside the saddle, using gestures to encourage her to rise to the trot and try to match the mare’s rhythm. It was some time before she began to master the movement, but by the end of the lesson, she had sufficient confidence to urge the mare into a gentle canter backwards and forwards along the bank, though she kept one hand clutched nervously onto the pommel.
The melon-seller sitting under the screen of willow tree branches lining the bank watched it all and readied himself. The child had been left unattended by the foolish servant while he ran off after the memsahib on the horse. The girl-child had been left to wander alone, and she was stopping every few steps to pluck something that caught her interest growing in the grass. Now she was coming in his direction and he felt his excitement rising. He looked quickly at the floor of the boat where the sack was waiting.
The memsahib had turned the animal back along the bank; the servants were still running beside her, and the moment to snatch the child and escape with her this day had vanished. But it was all happening as he knew it would. Those who guarded the child were growing careless, and his patience would soon be rewarded.
Andrew came as often as he could to help Victoria gain confidence on the horse. ‘Try to put in a little practice every day, if you can.’
‘Yes, I promise I will.’ He didn’t need to remind her that long days in the saddle were going to be torture if she didn’t prepare her body for the ordeal ahead.
The bustle on board the houseboat mounted as the time of departure drew closer. Boxes packed with rugs and furnishings which the begum insisted would brighten Victoria’s life on the frontier were nailed down and stacked to await the arrival of the pack horses.
The begum was also preparing to leave Srinagar after Victoria and Annabelle had gone.
‘It’s been more than four years since I last visited my cousins in Paris and for some time they’ve been urging me to come. Of course, it’s been a pleasure to have watched Annabelle growing up, but now that fortune has smiled on Andrew, little Miss Annabelle Wyndham will have you to guide her. I’m delighted for all three of you.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The day of the wedding was bright and cloudless, and the begum insisted that she, herself, would dress the bride in the glorious new ivory gown, and brush her hair into a soft, upswept style to display the sapphire ear-rings that were her gift to Victoria.
‘Think of me each time you wear these, my dear, and know that all my blessings go with you.’
Victoria kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you, madame – for everything. Oh, how I wish that I could have loved my own mother as I’ve come to love you. Do, please, write to me often, and I’ll send you news about all our adventures.’
The begum had declined their invitation to the wedding. ‘Thank you, but I made a vow forty years ago never again to set foot in that cantonment.’ Though she said it with a laugh, she remained adamant.
This morning, a string of pack horses had arrived on the bank, led by porters wearing the thick brown cloaks and caps of mountain tribes, with each man carrying a long-barrelled jezail musket slung over one shoulder.
Victoria’s impatience mounted as the hands of the clock continued to slide around the dial with agonizing slowness towards the time that she was due to stand beside Andrew in the church. Her smile became unstoppable. Every inch of her body was filled with the joy of anticipation.
Andrew was a man whom few people truly understood, and when she’d first come to know him, it had been hard to label the feelings he stirred in her. He was not a man to woo a lady with tender words or shallow flattery. But he’d permitted her to see beyond the uncompromising façade he presented to the world, and what she’d recognized deep inside him was love, pure and simple. A whole, untapped lifetime of it was now waiting for her, and tonight when they lay together she’d show him the first of the pleasures that she had in store for him.
Several shikaras were now plying to and fro between the houseboat and the shore with boxes of goods and provisions to be loaded onto the pack horses. They would go on ahead to set up the first camp in readiness for the sahib’s group when they rode in this evening.
The begum placed a veil of the finest lace over Victoria’s head. The moment for departure was drawing near, and in the midst of the bustle, a letter from England arrived. It was from the London solicitor, Mr Bartley-Symes, and contained the most recent statement of her growing fortune.
She tapped her foot in frustration. Obviously, her plans regarding the Fortitude Foundation hadn’t yet reached London when he wrote this to her. It was essential for everyone concerned to be perfectly clear about her intentions so that there would be no misunderstandings and delays. Her simple instructions had been for everything from Peter’s bequest – as well as every penny of future profit – to go straight into the Foundation.
There was no time now to sit down and send off a reply confirming this with Mr Bartley-Symes when she was shortly to walk down the aisle with Andrew. He still knew nothing about her plans, and she felt guilty to admit that. Time and again she’d considered discussing her ideas for the Foundation with him, but he’d always been so busy. And, besides, the legalities were still to be finalized and a committee hadn’t yet been formed to assess all the practicalities of finding a building—
Stop it! she scolded herself. It was nothing but pure cowardice that had stopped her from confiding in Andrew. Frankly, she did feel concern about his reaction if he should discover the current disparity in their fortunes. But once Peter’s money had been put to use by the Foundation and was no longer hers, of course, she’d have no hesitation in explaining everything about it to him.
She folded the attorney’s letter tightly and stuffed it into the little purse she was carrying on her wrist. Kitty had arranged a small reception at their house to toast the newlyweds after the wedding ceremony and she was sure to find a moment there to speak privately with Nigel and ask him to respond to the letter on her behalf.
When the time came for Victoria to leave for the church, the begum handed her a bouquet of cream roses that had been picked in the Shalimar Gardens at sunrise, and therefore – so legend said – carried a mystical significance.
Annabelle let everybody know how cross she was when she realized that she was not being taken to the wedding. The adults had discussed it, but in the end it had been Andrew who’d decided against it.
‘No, I want this to be our day, Victoria,’ he’d whispered into the warm curve of her neck. ‘We’ll have many other special days to share with Annabelle in the years ahead.’
She’d been incredibly touched by that.
Annabelle’s tantrum quickly ran its course when Victoria pulled a few blossoms from her bouquet and found a lace shawl to throw over the child’s head. ‘There you are, see, now you’re a bride, too. Give me a goodbye kiss, because I�
�m going off to find your papa, and I promise to bring him straight back here, along with your new mama. And do you know who that will be?’
Annabelle shook her head.
‘Belle, it’s going to be me! I’m going to be your new mama.’
‘My forever and forever mama?’ Her face broke into a smile.
‘Yes, my sweet. Forever and forever you’ll be my little girl and I’ll be your mama.’ She opened her arms and the child ran to be hugged. ‘We’ll play, and draw, and read books – and we must always talk to each other in English because that’s the only language I know.’
They waved to each other when Victoria boarded the begum’s shikara to be rowed to the steps on the shore where the beaming Sikh was waiting for her beside the carriage. The begum had decided that he should be the one to drive the bride to and from her wedding – and that he should be dressed for the grand occasion in a dazzling white uniform with an embroidered yellow silk sash across his chest. His huge moustache was heavily waxed to curl at each end, and just for this special occasion, he’d permitted a sparkling aigrette with tall feathers to be pinned to the front of his turban.
Annabelle and the begum continued to wave until the carriage carrying Victoria had gone from view. Then, while Annabelle and her ayah played with her dolls on the deck, the begum went to her writing table, smiling to herself as she took out a sheet of monogrammed paper and began a letter to Andrew.
This was something she had been planning to write for the last two years – a surprise that she wanted him to have before he set out to start a new life with Victoria as his wife – and mother to his daughter.
My dear Andrew
It has been my great joy to have had Annabelle as part of my life for the last three years, and I thank you for the privilege. From the day she came into my arms, I have loved your beautiful little daughter as my own, and I write this now to tell you that on her first birthday I made changes to my will to include Annabelle Wyndham amongst my beneficiaries.
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