The loudest speaker, a fellow with a red checked vest, yelled, “What do you think of New York, Duke?”
Deciding it was better to say something innocuous rather than to ignore them entirely, Justin said, “A splendid city.”
Another reporter asked, “Any of your family coming to the wedding, Duke?”
“Unfortunately that isn’t possible.”
“Is it true that Sunny has the largest dowry of any American girl to marry a British lord?”
The sound of her name on the man’s lips made Justin glad that he wasn’t carrying a cane, for he might have broken it across the oaf’s head. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, tight-lipped, “for I have an engagement.”
“Are you going to visit Sunny now?” several chorused.
When Justin didn’t answer, one of the men grabbed his arm. Clamping onto his temper, Justin looked the reporter in the eye and said in the freezing accents honed by ten generations of nobility, “I beg your pardon?”
The man hastily stepped back. “Sorry, sir. No offense meant.”
Justin had almost reached the door when a skinny fellow jumped in front of him. “Are you in love with our Sunny, your dukeship, or are you only marrying her for the money?”
It had been a mistake to answer any questions at all, Justin realized; it only encouraged the creatures. “I realize that none of you are qualified to understand gentlemanly behavior,” he said icily, “so you will have to take my word for it that a gentleman never discusses a lady, and particularly not in the public press. Kindly get out of my way.”
The man said with a leer, “Just asking what the American public wants to know, Thorny.”
“The American public can go hang,” Justin snapped.
Before the reporters could commit any further impertinence, several members of the hotel staff belatedly came to Justin’s rescue. They swept the journalists aside and escorted him outside with profuse apologies and promises that such persons would never be allowed in the hotel again.
In a voice clipped by fury, Justin told the manager, “I hope that is true, because if there is another episode like this I shall move to quieter quarters.”
Temper simmering, he settled into the luxurious Vangelder carriage. The sooner this damned wedding was over and he could take his wife home, the better.
SUNNY WAS WAITING IN THE Vangelder drawing room. She came forward with her hands outstretched, and if her smile wasn’t quite as radiant as he would have liked, at least it was genuine.
“It’s good to see you, Sunny.” He caught her hands and studied her face hungrily. “You were right about the publicity surrounding the wedding. I’m afraid that I was just rather abrupt with some members of the press. Has it been hard on you?”
She made a face. “Though it’s been dreadful, I’m well protected here. But everyone in the household has been offered bribes to describe my trousseau.”
“Gold-lace garters with diamond-studded clasps?”
“You saw that?” she said ruefully. “It’s all so vulgar!”
She looked utterly charming. He was on the verge of kissing her when the door swung open. Justin looked up to see a tall, blond young man who had to be one of Sunny’s older brothers.
“I’m Charlie Vangelder,” the young man said cheerfully as he offered his hand. “Sorry not to meet you in Newport, Thornborough, but I was working on the railroad all summer. Have to learn how to run it when my uncle retires, you know.”
So much for being alone with his intended bride. Suppressing a sigh, Justin shook hands with his future brother-in-law. A moment later, Augusta Vangelder swooped in, followed by a dozen more people, and it became clear that the “quiet family dinner” was an occasion for numberless Vangelders to meet their new relation by marriage.
The only break was the half hour when Justin met with the Vangelder attorneys to sign the settlement papers. His solicitor had bargained well; the minute that Justin married Sunny, he would come into possession of five million dollars worth of railway stock with a guaranteed minimum income of two hundred thousand dollars a year.
There would also be a capital sum of another million dollars that Justin would receive outright, plus a separate income for Sunny’s personal use so that she would never have to be dependent on her husband’s goodwill for pin money. As an incentive for Justin to try to keep his wife happy, the stock would revert to the Vangelder family trust if the marriage ended in divorce.
Gavin would have been amused to know that the value of the Thornborough title had risen so quickly. May Russell would have brought only half as much to her marriage.
Impassively Justin scrawled his name over and over, hating every minute of it. He wished that he could marry Sunny without taking a penny of her family money, but that was impossible; without her wealth and his title, there would be no marriage.
As he signed the last paper, he wondered if Sunny would ever believe that he would have wanted her for his wife even if she had been a flower seller in Covent Garden.
WHEN HER DAUGHTER ENTERED the breakfast parlor, Augusta said, “Good morning, Sarah.” She took a dainty bite of buttered eggs. “There’s a letter here for you from England.”
Sunny tried unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn as she selected two muffins from the sideboard. The dinner party for Thornborough had gone on very late, and she had smiled at so many cousins that her jaw ached this morning.
She wished that she had had a few minutes alone with her future husband; she would have liked to tell him how much she had enjoyed his letters. She didn’t know if it had been a deliberate effort on his part, but his descriptions of life at Swindon Palace had made her future seem less alien. His dry wit had even managed to make her smile.
She slit open the envelope that lay by her plate and scanned the contents. “It’s from Lady Alexandra Aubrey, Thornborough’s youngest sister. A charming note welcoming me to the family.”
Uncomfortably Sunny remembered that Katie had said the girl had been nicknamed the Gargoylette. Her lips compressed as she returned the note to the envelope. The girl might be small, shy and seventeen, but she was the only Aubrey to write her brother’s bride, and Sunny looked forward to meeting her.
“Are you only going to have muffins for breakfast?” Augusta said with disapproval.
“After the dinner last night, it’s all I have room for.” Sunny broke and buttered one of the muffins, wondering why her mother had requested this private breakfast.
Expression determined, Augusta opened her mouth, then paused, as if changing her mind about what she meant to say. “Look at the morning paper. Thornborough was intemperate.”
Obediently Sunny lifted the newspaper, then blinked at the screaming headline. Duke Tells American Public to Go Hang!
“Oh, my,” she said weakly. The story beneath claimed that Thornborough had bodily threatened several journalists, then bullied the hotel manager in a blatant attempt to infringe on the American public’s constitutional right to a free press. “He mentioned yesterday that he’d been abrupt with some reporters, but surely this story is exaggerated.”
“No doubt, but someone should explain to Thornborough that it’s a mistake to pick fights with men who buy ink by the barrel.” Augusta neatly finished the last of her meal. “A good thing that he was in England until now. Heaven knows what trouble he would have gotten into if he had been here longer.”
Feeling oddly protective, Sunny said, “He’s a very private man. He must find this vulgar publicity deeply offensive.”
“Unfortunately, wealth and power always attract the interest of the masses.”
Sunny poured herself coffee without comment. Her mother might say that public attention was unfortunate, but she would not have liked to be ignored.
Augusta began pleating her linen napkin into narrow folds. “You must be wondering why I wanted to talk to you this morning,” she said with uncharacteristic constraint. “This will be difficult for both of us, but it’s a mother’s duty to explain to
her daughter what her…her conjugal duties will be.”
The muffin turned to sawdust in Sunny’s mouth. Though she didn’t want to discuss such a horribly embarrassing subject, there was no denying that information would be useful. Like all well-bred young ladies, her ignorance about marital intimacy was almost total.
Briskly Augusta explained the basics of male and female anatomy. Then, rather more slowly, she went on to describe exactly what a husband did to his wife.
Sunny choked on her coffee. “That’s disgusting!” she said after she stopped coughing. She had heard whispered hints and giggles about the mysterious something that happened between men and women in the marriage bed, but surely it couldn’t be what her mother was describing.
“It is disgusting,” Augusta agreed, “as low and animal as the mating of hogs. It’s also uncomfortable and sometimes painful. Perhaps someday scientific progress will find a better, more dignified way to make babies, but until then, women must suffer for the sins of Eve.”
She took a piece of toast and began crumbling it between nervous fingers. “Naturally women of refinement are repulsed by the marital act. Unfortunately, men enjoy it. If they didn’t, I suppose there would be no such thing as marriage. All a woman can do is lie there very quietly, without moving, so that the man will please himself quickly and leave her alone.”
Lie there and think of England, in other words. Sunny’s stomach turned. Had her tall, athletic father actually done such things to her delicate mother? Was this what Paul Curzon had wanted when he was kissing her? And dear God, must she really allow Thornborough such liberties? Her thighs squeezed together as her body rejected the thought of such an appalling violation.
Seeing her expression, Augusta said reassuringly, “A gentleman will not visit your bed more than once or twice a week. You also have the right to refuse your husband once you are with child, and for at least three months after you deliver.” She glanced down at the pile of crumbs she had created. “Last night, after the settlements were signed, I took the duke aside and reminded him that you are gently bred, and that I would not permit him to misuse you.”
“You spoke to Thornborough about this?” Sunny gasped, so humiliated that she wanted to crawl under the table and never come out. “How did he reply?”
“He gave me the oddest look, but said that he understood my concern for your welfare, and assured me that he would be mindful of your innocence.” Augusta gave a wintry smile. “It was very properly said. He is, after all, a gentleman.”
Sunny’s mind was a jumble of chaotic thoughts. The marriage bed sounded revolting—yet she had enjoyed Paul Curzon’s kisses, and kissing was supposed to be a prelude to doing it. Surely the women who carried on flagrant affairs wouldn’t do so if they found the whole business distasteful. Timidly she asked, “Do all women dislike the marital act?”
“I wish that I could say that was so, but there is no denying that there are some women of our order who are a disgrace to their sex—low-bred creatures who revel in their animal nature like barmaids. I know that you are not like that, but you will meet women who are.” Leaning forward, Augusta said earnestly, “I cannot emphasize enough that it is fatal to seem to take pleasure in a gentleman’s embrace. If you do, he will instantly lose all respect for you. A woman who acts like a prostitute will be treated like one. Always strive to maintain your dignity, Sarah—ultimately it is all that a lady has.”
With horror, Sunny remembered that when Paul had taken liberties, she had responded eagerly. Was that why he had made his degrading suggestion that she marry Thorn borough, then have an affair with him? She still thought his behavior despicable—but perhaps she had brought it on by her wantonness. Paul had seen her acting like a slut, so he had treated her like one. It was exactly what her mother was warning her about.
Apparently a woman who gave in to her animal nature also risked unleashing a man’s worst traits. That had been bad enough in the case of Paul Curzon, but Thornborough was going to be her husband; if he didn’t respect her, the marriage would be hellish.
Feeling ill, Sunny said, “I shall remember all you have said and I will strive to behave in a manner that you would approve.”
“I’m sure you will not disgrace your upbringing.” Augusta bit her lip, her usual confidence gone. “Oh, Sarah, I’m going to miss you dreadfully. You’ll be so far away.”
Sunny resisted the temptation to point out that her mother should have thought of that before accepting the proposal of a foreigner. “I’ll miss you, too. You must visit us at Swindon soon.”
Augusta shook her head. “Eventually, but not right away. I know that I’m a strong-minded woman, and I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your husband. Marriage is a difficult business, and you and he must have time together with as little interference as possible.”
At moments like this, Sunny loved her mother with painful intensity. It was true that Augusta was often domineering—yet her love for her children was very real. She was a woman of formidable energy; if she had a railroad or a bank to run, she might have been less absorbed in her daughter’s life.
“I’ll be fine,” Sunny said with determined optimism. “Thornborough is a gentleman, and I am a lady. I’m sure that we can contrive a civilized marriage between us.”
She wished that she was certain that was true.
CHAPTER FIVE
TEARS FLOWING DOWN HER face, Sunny stood patiently while her maid laced up her white brocade bridal corset. Then Antoinette dropped the wedding gown over her head. It was magnificent, with foaming layers of Brussels lace and billows of white satin spangled with seed pearls and silver thread. Augusta had been so confident of her daughter’s future triumph that she had ordered the gown from Worth when they visited Paris in March, before Sunny had ever set foot in London.
When the gown was fastened, Antoinette lifted the tulle veil and carefully draped it over the intricate coils of Sunny’s hair. As the gauzy fabric floated down to her knees, the bride bleakly wondered if it was dense enough to conceal her tears.
Antoinette secured the veil with a coronet of orange blossoms, saying soothingly, “Don’t fret, mademoiselle. Every girl is nervous on her wedding day. Monsieur le Duc is a fine gentleman, and he will make you very happy.”
Sunny’s shoulders began shaking with the force of her sobs. Antoinette frowned and gave her a handkerchief, muttering, “Madame Vangelder should not have gone ahead to the church. A girl needs her mother at a time like this.”
As Sunny wept into the crumpled muslin square, a knock sounded at the door. Antoinette answered and returned with a large white flower box. “For you, mademoiselle.”
“You can open it if you like,” Sunny said drearily.
Less jaded than her mistress, Antoinette opened the package, disclosing an exquisite orchid bouquet nestled in layers of tissue paper. “There is a card for you, mademoiselle.”
Sunny’s puffy eyes widened when she read, These flowers are from the Swindon greenhouse. If they are suitable, perhaps you might wish to carry them. Fondly, Justin.
Oblivious to the fate of her five-yard-long train, Sunny dropped into a chair and wept even harder.
“Oh, mam’zelle,” Antoinette said helplessly. “What about the orchids makes you weep? They are very lovely.”
“Yes, they are.” Sunny made a desperate effort to collect herself. “I was…touched by Thornborough’s thoughtfulness in having them sent all the way from England.”
Though it was not something she could say to her maid, she was even more moved by the fact that he was actually letting her choose whether or not to carry them. Every other detail of the wedding—the trousseau, the decorations, the extravagant reception—had been determined by her mother. Even the eight bridesmaids—including two Vangelder cousins, a Whitney, a Jay and an Astor—had been selected by Augusta for reasons of her own. Sunny had been swept along like a leaf in a torrent.
But Justin had given her a choice. Surely with such a considerate man, she co
uld be happy. Unsteadily she said, “I must look like a fright. Please bring me some cold water and a facecloth.” She glanced at the enormous bouquet Augusta had ordered. “You can set that aside. I will carry the orchids.”
“But…” After the beginning of a protest, the maid nodded. “Yes, mademoiselle. An excellent choice.”
As Antoinette went for the cold water, Sunny found herself wondering if the maid had ever endured the grotesquely undignified process of mating that Augusta had described. The thought almost sent her off in tears again.
For the last two days, at the most awkward moments, she had wondered the same thing about others: her brother Charlie, who was very fond of female company; the wife of the Anglican bishop who was going to perform the ceremony; Thornborough himself. Her morbid imaginings were turning her into a nervous wreck.
Antoinette returned with a basin of water and a cloth, then flipped the veil back over Sunny’s head so that her face was bare. “You must hurry, mademoiselle, or you will be late.”
As she sponged her stinging eyes with the cool, moist cloth, Sunny snapped, “They can all wait.”
THE DAY BECAME INCREASINGLY unreal. Fifth Avenue was lined on both sides with policemen assigned to prevent the thousands of spectators from breaking through. The wedding was to be at St. Thomas’s Anglican church. Though the Vangelders didn’t usually worship there, it was the only fashionable church with enough space for the seventy-voice choir Augusta had chosen.
Inside the church, huge arches of orange blossoms spanned the aisle, and banks of palms and chrysanthemums seemed to cover every vertical surface. Twenty-five excruciating minutes behind schedule, Sunny waited for her entrance, one icy hand clenched around her orchid bouquet and the other locked on her brother Charlie’s arm. Though she could not see the guests clearly in the dim light, every pew seemed to be filled.
The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories Page 5