Bething's Folly

by Barbara Metzger

  “But you have never seen me ride, Alexander, and I have no horse here in London.”

  “If you are not the finest horsewoman in London, the engagement is off.” His eyes were twinkling as he went on: “Mother enquired. Your new riding habit should be ready tomorrow, so should your engagement present.”

  “A horse? Oh, Alexander, is it truly? I have been missing the horses so, and I was going to speak to you about sending for Ginger. I suppose I must ride sidesaddle, mustn’t I?”

  Carleton pulled the horses to a stop and slowly turned to her, his eyes searching her face for the joke. Big brown eyes only stared up at him innocently, so he said, “Miss Bethingame, you would not—you could not—be considering riding astride here, in front of the entire ton, would you? Dear God, say you never thought of it.”

  “Never, Lord Carleton, never.” She batted her long brown eyelashes at him in the way of a silly flirt and they laughed together, then he kissed her, right there in front of the entire ton.

  Elizabeth’s new horse was wonderful, a large, spirited black mare to match Carleton’s Jupiter, so they named her Juno, after the goddess of beginnings, birth and marriage. If Elizabeth wasn’t the best horsewoman around, she decided after all the praise she won, at least she was the happiest.

  She was not so well pleased with the day of her presentation at Buckingham Palace. It was a hot, dreary affair, made sufferable only by knowing she would never have to do it again. There was so little time before she returned home for the wedding she felt it was a shame to waste the day standing around or making curtsies when she could be getting to know Carleton better.

  On their last evening in Town the Marquis took Elizabeth, Margaret and the Duchess to Vauxhall Gardens for the fireworks, hiring a boat to row them across the river for the best view. They met Milbrooke and Margaret’s captain, and some of the Duchess’s friends for a supper of oysters and lobster patties, then strolled around the gardens until it was time to leave.

  “The next time you are here it will be as a married woman,” Carleton told Elizabeth as he led her down a darkened pathway, the Duchess and her party some diplomatic yards behind.

  “And will it be as beautiful the second time, or does one grow tired of it?” she asked.

  “It will be more beautiful,” he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her tenderly.

  TWELVE

  The final week before the wedding was almost quiet for Elizabeth compared to her time in the city. Carleton was staying on to make sure the house was complete and would only arrive for the wedding dinner. There was tea with the Duchess and the local ladies, of course, and a pile of gifts to be acknowledged, but most of the details of the wedding itself were being handled by the staff at Carlyle. Elizabeth’s new clothes had all been left in London for delivery to the Grosvenor Square house, except for her travelling clothes and her wedding gown, which would arrive with Ellie at the end of the week, so she had no need to see about much packing, only a few personal items she wished to take. A distant relative had come to stay while Elizabeth was in London, so even Aunt Claudia was content without her company. Cousin Faye was a ludicrous mismatch to Lady Burke, being tall, thin, afraid of dogs and disdainful of men. She did, however, love a good card game, and the two were involved in endless rounds of piquet, betting sums neither would ever see. Elizabeth’s father’s rooms had been redecorated for the Marquis, but the housekeeper had seen it all completed, with the additional staff newly hired, and Jackson had the repairs to the barns and stables well in hand, besides the Pride’s training. Elizabeth really had very little to do, except worry.

  She was not sure the Marquis would ever want to leave London, where he was so gay and popular; he might decide he would rather stay at Carlyle Hall while they were in the country, with all its magnificent advantages, other than being his. They should have discussed these things more, but there had been so little time! They had not even been able to decide about a honeymoon trip because of the political uncertainty of the Continent. She knew she would be happiest to return here after the races outside London, if Carleton was with her, though she had no idea how he felt. That, of course, was her most distressing problem: Carleton had never said he loved her. He was happy in her company, she knew, but so was her dog! He was proud of her looks and pleased with her success, but this only gave her minor satisfaction, knowing the Marquis felt the same way about his new phaeton. No, he had never said in so many words that he was even glad to be marrying her. She would not be foolish enough to confess her love for him in this marriage of convenience while he, for all she knew, was still regretting the marriage altogether.

  While not exactly regretting the entire marriage, Carleton was bidding a sad farewell to his bachelor days. He saw his belongings carried to Grosvenor Square and his household installed there, along with additions Henrys had hired with Elizabeth’s approval. He’d moved to the Clarendon Hotel for two days where he, too, sat, worried over the future with a bottle of cognac for company. What if Elizabeth grew so fond of being the Storm of the Town that the country no longer interested her now that he had promised the Duke to take over some of the estate management? He knew she was caught up in her stables, but she had never known anything else. What if she lost her wonderful openness and became a typical shrew? Worst of all, in his mind, was the spectre of Elizabeth’s many admirers. The thought of all those men hanging around her bothered him; more, the idea that she might fall in love and someday accept an offer from one of them. Carleton did not consider himself a jealous man, but he had never had anything like Elizabeth to cherish, to wish to guard so carefully. God, he thought, his life could be hell! He only wished he had had the courage enough to tell the girl he loved her, to see if she’d accept him on his own, without all the negotiations. He hated the damned contract now, although he had been so insistent about it. He poured himself another glass, then had a few with Ferddie when he called before the bachelor party.

  The party was to begin at the hotel that night, and at Carleton’s expense, since he was the first defector from the bachelor-brotherhood ranks. His friends assembled for toast after toast—two days’ worth, from the hotel to the clubs to the taverns to the dives. They finally returned to the hotel at dawn, all who could stand.

  “Northwell, what day is it?”

  “It’s your wedding day. We’re celebrating it, ain’t we?”

  “No, it ain’t been yet, Carleton, it’s tomorrow.”

  “The wedding? Oh, Lord, I’ve got to get to Carlyle for the dinner. Ferddie, it’s time, we’ve got to go.”

  Milbrooke staggered to his feet, asking someone to lift him into the saddle. Northwell propped him up by the door while Carleton poured out one more glass.

  “A last toast, gentlemen.” They all groaned. “To ... to the name of my wife. I’ll kill any sonofabitch who dishonours it.”

  Once again Carleton was riding pell-mell for Carlyle, this time with Ferddie weaving in the saddle beside him. They arrived with scant time to change for dinner and greet the guests: his Carleton relatives, Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle, a few close neighbours and friends. He could only manage a weak smile for Elizabeth when she took one look at him at the door and said, “Heavens, Alexander, if you’d rather drink yourself to death than marry me, I’ll call it off.”

  “Nonsense, nonsense,” the Duke said, taking her arm. “They just got carried away. He’ll be fine by the wedding.”

  But the dinner lasted eternally, it seemed, with more toasts, and Uncle Aubry wanted to stay up, chatting over his port after the other guests had departed and Ferddie and the Duke had retired, so Carleton was anything but fine on his wedding day. His head ached so much his hair hurt and his eyes refused to meet the glare of his mirror. Ainsley did what he could, though Elizabeth’s Aunt Eunice still gave Carleton a disgusted look when they met on the way to the church.

  Elizabeth was waiting when her uncle arrived to collect her, so he never had to step down from the open carriage. He silently handed her the bouqu
et of daisies she was to carry with her mother’s bible. They were followed to the chapel by another carriage with Aunt Claudia and Cousin Faye, and others for Ellie, Nanny, Bessie, Jackson and the servants. Everyone filed into the tiny chapel except Elizabeth and her uncle, who remained in the carriage while she placed flowers on the graves of her parents in the churchyard. Then Margaret came out to join her and at last the organ music started.

  Elizabeth had only quick impressions of the chapel—the familiar faces smiling at her, the banks of flowers, Carleton standing stiffly at her side—before the ceremony was over and she was in the vestry, signing the licenses and contracts. Then she was caught up in warm embraces on her way to the carriage outside. The horses’ manes and tails had been braided with ribbons, the carriage was filled with flowers, the local villagers she’d known all her life were tossing rose petals and shouting their good wishes. It was quite a procession to Carlyle Hall, all the carriages, all the people lining the roads; there was no chance for even a few quiet words between the bride and groom. When they reached Carlyle, all of that household was waiting outside with speeches by the butler and the head grounds-keeper, and then the tenants. The breakfast followed, with cake and champagne, and a small band playing, and everyone laughing and shouting at once. Finally Elizabeth went upstairs with Margaret, where the Duchess’s woman helped her into her travelling outfit. Bessie had already been sent ahead with the baggage to the inn where the Carletons would spend their wedding night.

  “Here, Margaret,” Elizabeth said, handing over the lace veil. “You’ll be next, so take good care of it.”

  “I only hope I make such a beautiful bride!” The two girls hugged each other affectionately before Elizabeth descended the staircase, to more cheers, more flowers and another carriage ride.

  This time the carriage was the Duke’s own closed chaise, four-horse team, crest and all. Elizabeth waved out of the window until they were out of sight, then she leaned back on the pillows.

  “Well, at least we don’t have to do that again,” she said to her new husband as she turned to see why he was so quiet. He had finally found a comfortable place to rest his pounding head, against the soft pillows of the coach, and was fast asleep.

  Carleton was still asleep when they stopped to change horses, so Elizabeth declined lunch, directing the coachman to drive straight through to the Unicorn Inn, where the Marquis finally stirred and apologised.

  “You should have woken me. Lord, you must be famished. I am. Why don’t you go wash while I see how soon dinner can be served.”

  Bessie was waiting upstairs in the suite the innkeeper’s wife led Elizabeth to, so in no time at all she was ready to meet Carleton in the adjoining sitting room where a table had been set by the fireplace, amid candles and flowers. Champagne stood in buckets and Ainsley himself was waiting to serve them from covered dishes. They were both hungry; the food was excellent; Carleton’s headache was at least bearable, yet thoughts of the night ahead made conversation between them awkward.

  At last, the table cleared and the servants gone, Carleton leaned back in his chair. “It’s been a long day. Perhaps you would like to change out of your travelling clothes.” His one-sided smile said a great deal more than his words.

  Blushing, Elizabeth merely nodded before fleeing to her room. Carleton cursed himself for an ass, embarrassing her that way. Of course she was nervous; damn, wasn’t he? He’d never dealt with an innocent before or, good Lord, a wife of his own! Here he was, still more than a little foxed and bone-weary, and about to make love to a chit of a girl who ran away from him blushing. What did he know of her, after all? Maybe she still didn’t want to be married, especially to him. His hand trembled as he poured out another glass of champagne.

  What Elizabeth really wanted was a bath, after the dust of the carriage ride and the hectic morning, so she sent Bessie off to fetch serving girls with a tub and cans of hot water. When they were gone, she undressed and lay back in the scented water.

  “Here now, Miss Bitsy—your Ladyship, that is,” Bessie teased. “You don’t want to keep his Lordship waiting too long or he’ll be a-knockin’ the door down.”

  Elizabeth, wrapping warm towels around herself, laughed back and agreed to hurry. “But lock the door to the sitting room, Bessie, just in case. I don’t want him to see me yet.”

  Bessie locked the door before coming to unpin Elizabeth’s thick curls, brushing them out to fall softly around her shoulders. Then she held out the new negligee, gossamer-thin and lace-covered, admiring it again.

  “Now wouldn’t your uncle be pleased to know he paid for this?” Bessie giggled, and Elizabeth had to laugh out loud at the look she could just imagine on his face. Truly it was the most deliciously improper thing she had ever owned. She only hoped someone else would appreciate it.

  Carleton, meanwhile, had gone to his own room to remove his stiff cravat, wash and put on his long brocade robe instead of a waistcoat. When he returned to the sitting room, he could still hear laughter and sounds of activity from Elizabeth’s room so he pulled a chair closer to the fire and finished the bottle of champagne. He was gazing at the flames, thinking of how beautiful Elizabeth had looked in the chapel, how he was now a married man, how ... What with the warmth of the room, the full dinner and not being entirely recovered from the past three days and nights, his head dropped forward on his chest. Only when the glass dropped out of his hand with a crash did he jerk up with a start. The fire was well down. God, what a fool I am, he told himself furiously, shaking his head to clear it from the wine and the nap. A little befuddled, he wondered if Elizabeth was angry at his neglecting her, or relieved. There was only one way to find out, he thought, and shoved his chair back and strode over to the connecting door.

  Elizabeth was drowsing peacefully when she heard the glass break and the furniture move. The one candle she had left burning had gone out, so she could not tell how much time had passed. Startled awake, she groped for the matches when she heard Carleton’s hand at the door—which was locked. She jumped out of bed but could not find her robe as the door rattled fiercely. She was about to call out when Carleton’s angry words reached her through the door:

  “What happened, madam, didn’t this get written in your precious contract? Or was I too late and backward in my attentions to you? I should have known you would be like every other woman. You got what you wanted and the rest of the bargain be damned!”

  It took Elizabeth a while to fumble with the key in the dark. By the time she was in the sitting room, Carleton’s door was slamming and she could hear his footsteps stomping down the hallway. She tripped over his robe on the floor, pulling open the door he’d just slammed, but he was out of sight. She couldn’t go charging after him through the corridors of a public inn, not dressed in a flimsy nightdress, so she softly, quietly shut the door and walked back to the sitting room. She pulled his robe around her and curled in a chair by the dying fire to wait for his return. It was cold though, and her legs were getting cramped. There were no more logs for the fire and still he did not come back. Eventually she gave up and found her own soft bed, thinking that they would have something to laugh about over breakfast.

  Elizabeth slept late in the morning and she was annoyed. Bessie knew they had wanted to get an early start.

  “No, Miss El—my Lady. His Lordship himself said there was no hurry,” Bessie said while pulling the shades to let in the sunlight.

  “Oh, well could you ask his Lordship to meet me in the sitting room in half an hour? There’s been a misunderstanding, you see.” She laughed nervously.

  I’ll say there’s been a misunderstanding, Bessie said to herself, with the whole inn knowing his Lordship spent his wedding night in the public rooms, drinking himself lower than his boots. She started to fuss with Elizabeth’s dress, not wanting to meet her eyes. “There’s been a change of plans, ma’am. His Lordship’s ridden ahead with the baggage. He says we’re to follow whenever it’s convenient.”

  It was a very sm
all “oh” that echoed back from the bedclothes.

  The staff of the Grosvenor Square house was all lined up to greet the new mistress in the hall. Mr. Sebastian, Carleton’s secretary, made a polite speech expressing their hopes for her happiness in her new home. There were no toasts, cheers or flowers—no bridegroom either—only sympathetic looks for the pale young bride. Elizabeth changed, ate almost none of the cold luncheon provided for her, then lay down on her bed to rest and think. She had to see Carleton, but she could not search out the entire city for him, so there was nothing to do but wait, and listen to the servants tiptoeing past her room, most likely whispering about her. She went downstairs again and tapped on the door where Mr. Sebastian made his office.

  “My Lady.” He jumped up to hold the door for her. “What may I do for you?”

  “I ... I thought we might look over the wedding gifts. I ... I can begin some of the acknowledgements.”

  The small sitting room had been cleared to display the glittering masses of presents, silver and crystal mostly, with a Sevres vase in prominence on the mantle, a gift from Prinny himself. Elizabeth began to unwrap the newly delivered packages while a housemaid arranged the gifts sent up from the Folly. At first she enjoyed tearing away the silver paper—who doesn’t like to get presents?—until the third comfit dish. She was content after that to let the maid open the boxes, exclaiming over each pair of candlesticks, while Elizabeth read the cards before handing them over to Mr. Sebastian for careful recording. Elizabeth might not ever have heard of Lord and Lady Rathbone, but she was duty-bound to thank them for the hideous teapot and not for the equally terrible fireplace dog. Turning to leave the room when the latest gifts were all open, Elizabeth caught sight of an enormous flat parcel in white paper.

  “Whatever is that, Mr. Sebastian? At least it’s not another tea service. It looks like a painting.”