The weather was chilly and overcast with a tang to the air and much whirling about of falling leaves that spoke of the coming of autumn; wherefore the wedding reception was held in the building known as West House. A small orchestra played in one corner of the ballroom, a delicious supper was set out in another corner, and when the meal was done there was dancing.
Everyone agreed that the bride was radiantly lovely in her gown of white satin with tiers of lace on the skirt of the under-dress and edging the decollete neckline. Jonathan led her out in the first country dance, his worshipful eyes bringing shy blushes to her cheeks. Very soon afterwards they slipped away and across the park to the fine house they would share with Jacob and Thorpe. Tonight, the only other occupant was Tilly, who giggled as she helped her mistress change into a nightdress that was a cloud of ivory silk and lace, and then giggled her way out of the house.
When the door closed behind her, another door opened, and Jonathan went to claim his bride.
Enchanted by the love in her eyes, he took her in his arms. His kiss left her breathless, but was more passionate than any she had known, so that in her innocence, she trembled. Smiling at her, he asked tenderly, "Don't you know yet how much I adore you, my beloved? Don't you know how I dreamed of this day—and this night, when we could be alone together?"
Shyly, she murmured, "And I also, darling, darling husband…"
With a blissful sigh, Jonathan blew out the single candle.
He had, however, omitted to close the door.
The sound of a small crash and a great deal of confusion and squawking drifted up the stairs.
Jennifer hid her face in her bridegroom's shoulder, but could not stifle her laughter.
Groaning, Jonathan left the warmth and promise of the four-poster, and crossed to the door. He did not slam it shut, as his bride had expected, but instead grumbled his way downstairs and into the parlour where hung a large and gilded birdcage.
"I suppose," he muttered, "you think you have every right to be rewarded."
"Bobby!" said Duster, adding a somewhat confused, "Take third glass!"
"Thank you—no." Jonathan busied himself with a package he'd left on the table. "Now…" he said. "I do not want to hear from you again tonight, you feathered marplot!" And he went eagerly up the stairs to his beautiful bride and the safe harbour of her love that was so deep and true, and that had been given to him when he had abandoned all hope of happiness.
He left behind a cosy parlour that was silent now.
Perhaps Duster was appeased, who shall say? But if there was any billing and cooing in the house that night, it did not come from the small blue bird in the large gilded cage—over which was spread a cover of purple velvet.
A Shadow's Bliss Page 32