An Eccentric Engagement

by Donna Lea Simpson

  “Then you’ll go to Sorrow?”

  “I will. She would be a great fool not to marry you. You’re a good man.”

  Bert, stunned, stood stock-still as Lord Newton passed him, clapping him on the shoulder in as great a show of affection as he had ever given, and then entered the house.

  • • •

  Sorrow paced up and down her room. Her gloves were in a damp heap on her dressing table and she was alone, having told her mother and Margaret that she needed a moment. There was a tap at the door and she turned, saying, “Come in.”

  Lord Newton entered.

  Involuntarily, she found herself thrusting her chin up and donning an expression of defiance. He wouldn’t like what she had to say.

  He cleared his throat and just barely entered the room. “Bertram told me—”

  “That I wouldn’t marry him without your approval.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’ve been sitting here thinking, and I will not let you ruin my day and our lives.”

  “But my dear—”

  “Don’t call me that, my lord, when it is quite clear to me that you neither like nor approve of me and my family,” Sorrow said. “But I won’t give him up, and if you reject him . . . reject us . . . then I will work that much harder to make him as happy as he deserves. I love him too much. I won’t let him go.”

  The viscount smiled. “I’m relieved to hear it, my dear. But really, there’s no need for such vehemence. You will become wrinkled if you frown so fiercely.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My whole life, Miss Marchand—may I call you Sorrow?—my whole life I have felt that the dignity of our family name was so great that I, and then Bertram when his time comes, must serve it, like serfs, you know. It required certain things of us, and one was to comport ourselves with great dignity. Another was to marry properly, a girl who would go along with our beliefs. I was misled by your mild London behavior to think you such a girl.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I have undergone a change, and begin to think I should turn things around and make my name and position serve me, not the other way around.”

  Sorrow felt a great weight slip from her shoulders. “Does this mean you approve?”

  “I suppose I do. At least I have said so to Bertram, though he was willing to badger me into approving just to convince you to marry him. He is in love with you, and I can’t say that I blame him. You are an adorable girl and a valuable addition to our family.”

  She flew at him on an impulse and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him so hard they both rocked backward. He laughed, at first stiffly, sounding like a creaky gate, and then in great whoops.

  “How lucky I am you are not a young lady to hold grudges.”

  “So, I can see I am either to be a groom this day or acquire a new stepmother. Which is it to be?”

  Sorrow peeked around the viscount and saw Bert standing just inside the door, lounging against the doorjamb. She would never have expected such dry wit from him, and realized she still had much to learn about Bertram Carlyle. And many years, if they were lucky, in which to do it. She felt a shiver of anticipation race down her spine.

  “Father, will you leave us alone for a minute?” he said, with an odd anticipatory gleam in his gray eyes.

  “No,” the viscount said, taking Sorrow’s arm and guiding her from the room. “You two will have time enough for all you want to say. But first, I will see you married.”

  • • •

  Most of the folks gathered for the breakfast tried to crowd into the tiny chapel, and there was much rustling and talking and laughter. The old house of worship had not seen service as a wedding chapel in many years, and most of the villagers had never seen the interior, so there was that to be discussed, too. Jacob danced the aisles while Billy laughed, and the brilliant sunlight streamed through the ancient stained glass windows, throwing colorful patterns over the congregation.

  Lord Newton would allow no one but himself to carry in Mr. Howard, who smiled through the entire ceremony, while Mrs. Marchand cried and Mr. Marchand tried not to. The solemnity of the vows was interrupted many times, and in many ways.

  Harriet Linton, Sorrow noticed, could not help but gasp when she saw Lord Newton’s new behavior. Tears sparkled in her eyes in the dim chapel light when he held Billy on his lap temporarily, so the boy could see the ceremony. It was too much of a change, Sorrow felt; she feared it. She mistrusted it. But it continued while toasts were made repeatedly, through the long riotous wedding breakfast that stretched late into the afternoon.

  But finally the day was done. Exhausted, Sorrow changed into a traveling dress, visited the old people, each in turn, and kissed Miss Chandler what she knew would be a last good-bye. A posy from Sorrow’s wedding bouquet adorned the old lady’s bedside table. She wept a few tears for the life slipping away while hers was beginning, then descended. Billy and Joshua, Letty, Nancy Smith, Mr. William . . . all had their moment with her. She spent a half hour alone with her father and mother, where the tears flowed freely, tears mingled with laughter and reminiscing. The Marchands would miss her, but knew with Bertram she would be all right.

  And finally, as the sky turned pink-gold and the brick of Spirit Garden a deep umber, she joined her husband in the carriage that was to carry them the short distance to Dover and their hotel for the first night of their marriage. The next day they would board a boat for Europe and their wedding trip.

  “Look,” Sorrow said as they pulled away from Spirit Garden, down the lane. “Your father has Mrs. Liston on his arm. Do you think—”

  “What? Do I think that my father and the widow would make a fine couple, if she’ll have him? And that perhaps she will be just as good for him as you are for me?”

  Sorrow, laughing, turned around in her seat and snuggled close to her new husband. “I think I’ll stop now, for you are far too adept at reading my mind. Or no . . . one more time. What am I thinking now?”

  Bertram slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “That we cannot get to the hotel in Dover nearly quickly enough.” He nuzzled her ear.

  She chuckled, a throaty murmur of sound. “Almost right, Mr. Carlyle. I was thanking your brilliant foresight in getting a closed carriage for the short trip, and wondering if the shades pull all the way down.”

  “Do you even have to ask?” Bert said, putting the answer to her question into action. The shades drawn, the carriage was pleasantly dim, and there were a few moments with no sound but the occasional giggle and some rather raspy breathing.

  “I hope Dover is not far,” Sorrow finally said.

  “I hope,” Bert fervently agreed.

  Excerpt

  In case you missed it, here’s an excerpt from

  A Lady’s Choice!

  For as long as she or anyone else can remember, the beautiful but cold Rachel Neville has always adhered strictly to society’s rules, and she is now reaping the rewards with an offer of marriage from an eminently suitable fiancé. Yet despite the secure future that lies ahead, Rachel is suddenly questioning her acquiescence to the strictures of the ton—and her future husband. Stranger still, she is preoccupied with thoughts of Colin Varens, a wholly unsuitable man whose proposals she has rejected several times.

  Colin can’t remember a time when his heartfelt declarations for Rachel weren’t being rebuffed, but the rough-and-tumble country gentleman has finally come to terms with the rejection—and Rachel’s betrothal—and has made peace with her as friends. But as he and Rachel spend more time together, he finds her once-haughty manner thawing into the warmth and vivaciousness that attracted him so many years ago, just as he is finding a growing strength and confidence of his own.

  As Rachel finds comfort in Colin’s strong embraces and the unfamiliar emotions simmering within, Colin must struggle with feelings he thought stifled once and for all and admit the hope he still carries in his heart. And as Rachel’s marria
ge draws near and both of them confront the reality of a life without the other, they will discover that the habits of a lifetime are not carved in stone, because a lady’s change of heart can change everything.

  Chapter One

  Rachel gazed steadily at her younger sister, Pamela, gloriously spring-like in her moss green wedding gown. Pamela sat at one end of the long table in the Haven House dining room with her new husband, Lord Strongwycke, at her side. Something was wrong with the picture. It was . . . misty. Rachel touched her eyes with one gloved hand and felt moisture seep through the fine silk of her gloves.

  She was crying. She swallowed hard around a knotted lump in her throat and looked to the left and to the right at her elegant fiancé, Lord Yarnell, and her grandmother, hoping no one had seen her mystifying descent into maudlin sentiment. It would not do to have anyone think her less than composed and ladylike.

  But Pamela was so utterly lovely, a vision in pale green silk with a circlet of ivory roses on her auburn curls and a glowing necklace of perfectly matched pearls around her slender neck. Rachel, mortified, felt the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks and drip unheeded from her chin. Her nose started to run, and she tried to sniffle without anyone noticing. What is wrong with me? she thought. Surely I do not envy my sister her husband?

  Someone was making a ribald toast. Heaven preserve them all, it was Grandmother, and the old lady was being crude again! No matter that the snowy-tressed grande dame was dressed elegantly in azure satin and diamonds, she still allowed her earthy wit free reign.

  It wasn’t seemly, what Grandmother was saying. It was something about the marital bed and . . . Rachel clutched her hands together under the lace-covered table and glanced once again at her fiancé, hoping he would not take offense. Yarnell was so very proper and stiff, formal in his manners. It was one of the things she had first admired in him. He would never make a scene or embarrass one with emotional outbursts.

  Not like—

  She glanced across the table at Sir Colin Varens, a family friend and neighbor of the viscount Lord Haven—Rachel’s older brother—and his family, north in Yorkshire. They had all known each other forever, but of late Rachel had been avoiding the baronet and his odd sister, Andromeda, especially since they had descended unexpectedly upon London in all their bucolic unsuitableness. At least now that she was engaged to be married he would not propose to her again, and that was a comfort.

  Colin cleared his throat noisily. “I, too, propose a toast,” he said, standing. He smiled down the long table at the newlyweds, his plain face registering all the joy of the occasion. “Here is to long life, long love, and hope for the future.”

  “Hear! Hear!” his sister said, her voice revealing her tipsy state as she raised her glass.

  “And here is to intelligent choices,” Grand said. “And good-looking, strong husbands and warm beds.”

  Pamela threw back her head and laughed, then gasped as her new husband did something naughty behind her back. There was general laughter, which even Belinda, Strongwycke’s young niece, joined in, although she looked a little bewildered. Rachel pinched her lips together and wondered when her family and friends would ever stop embarrassing her. She could see a similar look of disapproval on her mother’s face, across the table from her.

  “Kiss the bride, Strongwycke,” Colin hollered, winking across the table at the dowager.

  “Yes, kiss her! Give her something to think about!” Grandmother hammered on the table with her knobby, arthritic fist.

  The sun streamed in through a gap in the curtain and touched the couple, standing at the end of the table. Strongwycke gazed down at his slight bride and silence fell over the company. There was no mistaking the look on his handsome countenance. Tenderness, affection, joy—all were equally displayed, along with something else, something warmer and more intimate. As he took Pamela in his arms and pulled her close, kissing her mouth, Rachel felt again the pang of envy. They were so in love. She looked at her little sister’s beaming countenance. No one could mistake that for anything but the glow of adoration. She glanced once more at her groom-to-be, Lord Yarnell, and saw the rigid expression of distaste on his face.

  “This will all be over in a few minutes,” Rachel whispered, putting her hand over his on the table.

  He withdrew his gloved hand quickly. “I should hope so. I’m not accustomed to displays of this kind in public.”

  “They’re not always like this,” Rachel pleaded. “My family can be as circumspect as anyone, but this is a special occasion.”

  Yarnell humphed and fell silent.

  The meal and multitude of toasts following it were over at last, and everyone accompanied the bride and groom out the front door to their waiting carriage. They were going north, first to stop off and visit Pamela and Rachel’s newlywed brother Lord Haven, and his bride Jane, at Haven Court in Yorkshire—because of the suddenness of the marriage the viscount and his new wife had not had time to travel south for the ceremony—and then they were going on to Strongwycke’s home, Shadow Manor, in the Lakes District. At her special request, they were leaving behind his niece, Belinda, the headstrong girl who had been the catalyst of their meeting, to stay in London with Sir Colin Varens and his odd—but endearing to some people—sister, Andromeda. The girl, just thirteen, had become fast friends with Andromeda and was to stay with her new ally for a month while Strongwycke and Pamela had some time alone together.

  The gathered company all crowded through the narrow doorway into the late-spring sunshine of the London street in front of Haven House—a tall, narrow, ugly London townhome—descended the steps and stood on the walk outside as Pamela and Strongwycke clambered into his elegant traveling equipage.

  Pamela’s mother said a tearful farewell to her least favorite child, then Sir Colin and Andromeda said good-bye, shaking hands with both the bride and groom through the open window of the carriage. Belinda clung to her new aunt’s hands for the longest time, and unexpectedly burst into tears, running back into the house followed by a concerned Andromeda. Sir Colin reassured the couple that the child would be just fine, and followed his sister into the house.

  Pamela beckoned to Rachel, who reluctantly approached the carriage. She was glad Yarnell had opted to wait inside while everyone else said their good-byes to the new couple. It would never do for him to see his fiancée tear up as she had at the dinner table.

  “Look after Belinda, Rach,” Pamela said, leaning out the window and casting a worried glance up at the house. A carriage trundled by past Strongwycke’s carriage and the team shied.

  “Look after Belinda? I understood she was staying with Andromeda and Colin.”

  “She is, but I would just feel better if you would look in on her every once in a while and write to me. You’re so sensible . . . Andromeda is not always so. And she does have some odd ideas. I fear they’ll both get into trouble.”

  Rachel felt a budding warmth for her highly emotional little sister, and took her bare hand. It was so small, she reflected, looking down at it and the lovely pearl and diamond ring on her wedding finger. And yet Pamela had become a woman in their short London Season, finding a husband that any lady would envy in the Earl of Strongwycke. “I will do it for you, Pammy,” Rachel said, lifting the small hand and rubbing her own cheek with it. “Now go,” she said, releasing her sister’s hand. “Go and don’t worry about anything. Go and be happy!” The treacherous tears threatened again and Rachel blinked them back.

  “I will,” Pamela said, her voice trembling. She glanced over her shoulder at her handsome groom, waiting patiently and smiling at the two sisters. “I know I’ll be happy. I love him so much,” she whispered. She gazed back into her older sister’s eyes, and the green became misty with worry. “Oh, Rach, do anything rather than marry without love!” she exclaimed.

  Strongwycke murmured something to Pamela as he touched her shoulder, and she nodded, saying, “I know we have to go. I’m ready.” She reached out of the carriage one more time an
d squeezed her sister’s hand. “I mean it, Rach; do anything rather than marry without love.”

  Rachel remained silent, knowing her voice would be clogged with tears and unwilling to display her emotion so openly. The earl called to the driver, and the handsome team of grays started on their journey. Rachel stood alone on the pavement for a long few minutes, watching the carriage trundle down the street toward the road out of London, and north to their home. Brilliant sun gleamed off the lanterns and a fresh breeze riffled the plumed headdress on the horses. They turned the corner and were gone.

  Gone. Gone together to their new life. No little sister anymore, but a married woman, and likely, soon enough, mother of a cheery brood, judging by the glint in the earl’s eye. Just like that the child became a woman. It seemed only moments had passed since Pamela was racing across the moors and up and down the fells of Yorkshire in joyous abandon, but those days were gone forever.

  Rachel finally turned and stared up at the tall, dark house, one of a line of several tall, dark, narrow houses joined together and sharing walls. The façades, once clean stone, were now dark with coal smoke. She thought about her sister’s last words. Pamela just did not understand. Some people were made for love, and some people inspired it. Everyone loved Pamela. How could one not? She was funny and sweet and impetuous, good-natured, endearingly naïve.

  All the things Rachel was not. I am cold like ice and hard like diamonds, she thought, trying to derive comfort from that thought. She made her way up the steps into the front hall past the butler, who held the door open for her then closed it firmly and retreated to his other duties. Rachel stood in the gloomy hallway listening to the babble of cheerful noise as everyone, from the sounds of it, competed to make Belinda forget the touching scene they had just taken part in. Soon, the girl’s voice was raised in laughter.