Rafe tipped up her chin and kissed her very gently, then sat next to her on the bench. “Life would never be the same again if you’d have said no.” Coral looked at him and saw the mischievous look. “This has traveled a very long way to come to you,” he said, laying the velvet box on her knees.
“But, Rafe, you’ve already given me the most beautiful ring,” she protested. “It’s up at Mpingo in the safe. I don’t need —”
He pressed two fingers to her lips with one hand and carried her hand to his mouth with the other. “Shush, my sweet. That was long ago, in another life…”
Coral lifted the lid, and her breath caught in her throat, “Oh, Rafe,” she breathed as she uncovered the sapphire choker set with diamonds, a bracelet, a ring, and matching earrings, all resting on a velvet cushion. “These are fabulous.” She reached out a hand and held up a teardrop earring; it caught the sunshine and glittered with an explosion of rainbow colors. Coral was silent. “It’s too much,” she whispered. “I don’t deserve this, not after the way I —”
“My sweet little rosebud, these belonged to my great-grandmother, and after her to my grandmother. In different circumstances, they would have been handed down to my mother, as my father had no sisters, but I doubt she ever saw them. She had made a new life in Africa, and they have been locked away in the solicitor’s safe in Paris until they arrived by courier this morning.” Rafe ran a finger gently down Coral’s cheek. “I dearly want you to have them. One day you will give them to our eldest son’s wife. That is how heirlooms work, at least in the de Monfort family.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. She gazed up at him. “I feel we are already part of each other. I don’t want to ever be separated from you again.” She snuggled against him and put her head on his shoulder.
“Then we’ll have to make preparations for a wedding soon.” He chuckled softly, bending his head, his lips ardent on hers. He tightened his arms around her.
“Where will it be?” she said with excitement.
“Wherever you want it to be, my love. It is your day.” His hands now cradled her face.
“My family and friends are in England.”
“Then it will be in England, if that is what you wish.”
“No, I want it to be at Mpingo, here in Africa, where we met and where we fell in love. My mother and my friends, at least the ones who are worth it, will be only too pleased to visit Kenya. Anyhow, I don’t want a big wedding. I want something small and intimate and romantic.” She stopped suddenly, realizing that maybe she was being selfish, laying down the law like this without a thought to how he felt. She colored. “I’m sorry, perhaps you would like it to take place somewhere else? Where are your friends?”
“I have a few friends here, but I don’t need anybody if I’ve got you, my sweet.” He turned her in his arms to face him and drew her more deeply into his embrace, pressing his lips to her mouth, her temples, her cheeks, and her throat with infinite tenderness, almost reverently. “To me, you are the most precious jewel in the universe,” he whispered. “I will treasure you all my life. Now that I’ve found you, I will never let you go. Nothing else on earth counts.”
“Will we live at Whispering Palms?”
“I thought we might live at the Manoir de Monfort,” he said hesitantly. “No one has lived there since my grandparents passed away ten years ago. It is the family home, and it is dying of neglect. It is my heritage, and it will be our children’s one day. We owe it to them to keep it in good condition. Will you help me give it a new lease of life?”
“What will happen to Whispering Palms and to Mpingo?” Her voice was tinged with regret. “I thought you loved Africa.”
He shook his head, and a shadow passed briefly over his face. “The Africa I know is slowly disappearing, but we will come back every year if you wish, and we’ll spend time at Whispering Palms and at Mpingo. Besides, in France your career would have a greater opportunity to prosper. We can come over here for long, lazy holidays, two or three months at a time. That way we’ll have the best of both worlds.” A smile lit his features. “Does that suit my romantic rosebud?”
She smiled her confirmation. “Yes, that sounds reasonable.” Hand in hand, they strolled back to the house.
* * *
The marriage was to take place in August at Mpingo. Though they knew it would be hard, Coral and Rafe had mutually agreed to stay apart and have no communication for a month before the big day. He had business to attend in Paris, and she was fully engaged in the wedding preparations. Coral’s mother and Uncle Edward had flown out from England to help with the organization. The twins, who were to be flower girl and page, were to follow closer to the set date with their nanny. In a month’s time, the wedding bans had been published, guest lists had been drawn up, invitations had been sent, the dinner menu, music, and flowers chosen, and the grounds of Mpingo, as well as the house itself, had been brought up to scratch.
The ceremony was due to take place in the afternoon in a secluded place in the garden, which could easily seat the two hundred or so family and friends, some local and others who had flown from various parts of the world to celebrate the special event. Though a few of the guests would be staying at Mpingo and Whispering Palms, hotel rooms had been reserved and coaches booked to accommodate the remainder.
Lady Ranleigh was the epitome of English reserve, but even she could not help reveling in her daughter’s wedding preparations, and Coral had been delighted when her mother had produced her own mother’s wedding gown, which she herself had worn on her day. “I hope that when the time comes you will in turn give this to your daughter,” she said as she handed over the original Worth box in which the delicate dress lay between sheets of tissue paper, together with the cap veil, the dainty high-heeled shoes, and the satin casket that contained the matching jewelry.
As Aluna diligently finished buttoning the fifty-seventh minute pearl button that ran up the back of her gown, Coral surveyed herself critically in the cheval mirror that stood in the corner of the room. The long dress was an ethereal work of art that suited Coral so much, it looked like it had been created especially for her. Combining dreamy ecru chiffon with matching silk lace inserts, the skirt had an intricate cut and molded to her hips before falling with fluid grace in full folds to the ground. The silk lace motifs embellished with pearls and ton sur ton crystal beads depicted leaves, tendrils, and flowers in full bloom — a design of the utmost feminine allure.
“I hope he is a patient man,” muttered the old yaha, shaking her head. “These buttons will be hell to undo.”
At first, Aluna, ever protective and set in her ways, had still tried to put Coral off marrying the Frenchman, despite now knowing that Rafe was not the devil she had supposed. But as time went by and the preparations for the wedding were well on their way, the African woman had mellowed somewhat and warmed to the idea in the face of all the happiness and jollification around her, finally giving her blessing to her little malaika.
“Put this around your wrist. It will keep the evil spirits away,” she said gruffly, trying to hide her emotions as she handed Coral a white velvet ribbon to which was attached a small blue bead. “You make such a handsome couple that no doubt you will be inviting envy and jealousy.”
“Oh, Aluna, dear Aluna, thank you!” Coral’s voice choked as she fondly hugged her old yaha. “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. That completes the set. You’ve assured me a life of perfect happiness.”
“Do not hope for a life of perfect happiness, my child,” Aluna said gravely. “Live the happy moment fully by all means, but remember that happiness has its storms.”
“You are a born pessimist, Aluna. There you are lecturing me again, even on my wedding day,” Coral said with a laugh.
She twisted and turned, trying to examine the dress from every possible angle. The silk slip that lay next to her skin caressed her body with every movement. It made her yearn for Rafe’s touch, profoundly aware of the yawning e
mptiness inside her at his absence. Even though the month had passed in a flash, her thoughts had been full of him. She often wondered how he had been feeling while they were apart. Coral looked at the diamond ring he had given her, glittering with a thousand rainbow colors. Just one demonstration of his love: this morning on her breakfast tray, a love letter had been laid next to a rosebud. She had read the missive until she knew parts of it by heart. In a couple of hours, they would be reunited, and by tonight that union would be forever. Coral felt her insides melt. Her heart was singing.
“Miss Coral, would you please stand still for a while,” Aluna remonstrated as her dexterous fingers busied themselves with the young woman’s hair, hanging in spirals down her back. “I will not be able to string these pearls through your hair if you keep moving your head like a weather vane!”
Just then, Thomas and Lavinia burst into the room, laughing and pushing each other. The twins were also dressed in ecru silk clothes and looked like two little blond cherubs with their dimpled chubby faces and large blue eyes.
“Quiet, you two,” Aluna said, putting on her severe face. “Go and sit down there, on the sofa, like well-behaved children.”
Still giggling, the twins rushed out of the room as suddenly as they had come in.
Aluna turned her attention to the headdress. The hugging cloche cap was sophisticated and sleek. It was made of lace and had a slim band of pearl blossoms around the edge. The dramatic ten-foot-long veil was made of very delicate lace, designed to be held in place by little bouquets at each corner under the ears.
“Lavinia and Thomas need to hold this train up to keep it from dragging on the ground. It will get ruined in the garden,” the servant muttered. “Huh! Fancy giving that sort of responsibility to five-year-olds.”
Sandy, who was the only bridesmaid, came in just as Aluna was affixing the headpiece to Coral’s head. “Oh, Coral,” she gasped, “you look absolutely stunning! How exquisitely feminine.” Sandy circled Coral and chuckled. “Poor Rafe will have a job keeping his hands off you until tonight.”
Coral felt herself blushing. Rafe’s hands! She really did not want to think about Rafe’s hands just now. It was important that she remain cool and poised; recalling his palms roaming over her body was certainly not the sensible way forward. “You look wonderfully glamorous yourself,” she told her friend as she took in the bridesmaid’s raw ecru silk dress modeled on her own, with a bodice embellished with satin ribbon and a sculptured skirt broken above the hipline by bias-cut lace ruffles. “So very nineteen-twenties!”
“I’ve got your bouquet,” Sandy said, laying it gently on the table. It was the most beautiful waterfall bouquet of alabaster anthuriums with white orchids cascading down, their stems trailing with green foliage. Coral had chosen native exotic flowers in lieu of the more traditional roses and carnations, giving the last touch of romantic mystery to her outfit. “Don’t forget to throw it in my direction when the time comes — I want to be the next bride.” Sandy laughed. “Looking at the gardens downstairs and all the magnificent preparations has really made me broody.”
Lady Ranleigh came in with the casket of jewelry. “Oh, darling, let me look at you,” she said. “All brides are beautiful on their wedding day, but I think you look heavenly. I only hope Rafe realizes what a lucky man he is.”
“I’m very fortunate too, Mummy,” Coral reminded her, smiling sweetly. Her mother and Uncle Edward had met Rafe very briefly, only a few days before his departure to Paris. Though nothing was said directly to her, Coral had overheard her stepfather referring to him as a dark horse, and she sensed that they were both slightly worried about this union.
Lady Ranleigh took out the jewelry from the casket. First the long rope of pearls, which Coral wrapped several times around her neck, then the matching bracelet, and finally an exquisite pair of stud diamond earrings from which dangled a tear-shaped baroque pearl. Coral slipped on the matching dainty stilettos, adding a few inches to her height, and stared at herself in the mirror for the last time before going down for the ceremony. She had never thought herself glamorous, but today she was sparkling. She glanced at the dial on the diamond watch her mother had lent to her for this occasion; she was already twenty minutes late. She must not let Rafe wait any longer.
It was an ideal afternoon for a wedding. The sun had been hot and penetrating all day, but at this hour the August sky had deepened in blue as the air grew more fresh and cool.
The ceremony was to take place in Mpingo’s secret garden. Surrounded by a high wall of hedges, a narrow wooden gate marked its entrance and the beginning of the scented walk into the center of the enclosure. The dappled tunnel of classic arches, overgrown with white honeysuckle and delicate pink trumpet vines, led to the Roman-inspired pavilion at the center where the altar had been set up. Artifact containers were dotted around the enclosure, spilling over with a profusion of sweet-smelling white flowers and greenery, adding lush fragrance to the surroundings. Rows of chairs were placed for family and friends on either side of the arches in the temperate and peaceful shade of acacia trees. An organ had been borrowed from a second-hand shop in Mombasa and had been fittingly tuned for the occasion.
Coral stood at the gate for a few seconds with Uncle Edward while Sandy helped the twins as they tried to cope with the yards of delicate lace that made up the train of her veil. The signal was given, and the first rich notes of the wedding march rose in the silent air. Heads turned. On her stepfather’s arm, Coral started the slow walk down the bowered aisle on a carpet of rose petals, bathed in mottled light. An audible gasp resounded as the full cortege floated gently along the pathway. Coral was aware of the many smiling faces of her friends and family as she passed by. She was deeply moved by how many of them had traveled such a long way to wish her well.
At the end of the bowered walkway she could see Rafe, a tall lean figure, and his best man Frank Giles standing beside him halfway up the steps of the pavilion. Rafe was groomed to perfection in his tailored morning suit with a starched white shirt and a white tie. His hair had been trimmed, and his powerful bronzed features seemed even more striking than those etched on her memory. The breath caught in her throat as his ardent gaze scorched her with its golden appraisal. Even at this distance she was aware of the overwhelming physical magnetism between them. Her legs suddenly felt weak and wobbly, and her heart hammered so hard she gripped her stepfather’s arm to steady herself. Both Rafe and Frank beamed an encouraging smile her way.
At last she was there, at his side. Coral glanced up at him adoringly, echoing his own fervor as he feasted his eyes on his bride. For a few seconds, nothing seemed to count — people, place, or time — as they slipped into that world where it was just the two of them. He turned with that easy grace that so characterized him and took Coral’s arm.
“You look incredible. I’m so proud to become your husband, my darling.” His voice was a velvety murmur as they moved up the steps of the altar.
“Dear friends, we are gathered here today…”
The rest of the ceremony went by as in a dream. The vows and rings exchanged, the priest hesitated a few seconds before adding with a smile, “You may kiss the bride.”
Rafe turned, his dark head bent solemnly toward his bride’s uplifted face. “I love you,” he whispered as his lips moved slowly over hers, provoking an instinctive response. Their kiss deepened, and everything else fell into oblivion. The priest cleared his throat, and as the first few notes of the organ sounded, the couple sprang apart, slightly dazed and a little embarrassed. A loud cheer went up among the congregation as they turned toward their guests, arms linked together, and started back down the walk in the declining afternoon haze.
Rafe leaned in to whisper in Coral’s ear, and she felt him breathe in her scent like a man thirsting in the desert who had finally found water. “I can’t tell you how happy you have made me, rosebud. I’ve dreamed of you night and day for the past month. Every part of my mind, every nerve in my body has missed you and ach
ed for you, my darling. I can’t wait to be alone with you tonight.”
Coral thought she would melt as a hot rush of anticipation coursed through her, and she tried to steady herself to control her blushes.
Across the garden, the sun was setting, and the late August sky glowed gold and pink over Mpingo. As gray turned to an indigo twilight overhead, simultaneously the grounds around the house lit up with rainbow-colored lights, twinkling and glowing in the trees. People began to drift inside as music wafted from the house to welcome the wedding party, and the silky smooth voice of Andy Williams sang “Moon River” as waiters glided around with trays of champagne and canapés.
Hand in hand, Rafe and Coral moved among their guests. Everybody wanted to greet them, hug them, and wish them well. The reception flashed past in a whirlwind of laughter, hugs, congratulations, kisses, and toasts. They hardly tasted the splendid dinner as chilled champagne and speeches flowed, the cake was cut, and the bridal bouquet was flung. Soon there was the dancing. One of the Kenyan bands from the Golden Fish began to play a heady offering of Taarab music, the beautiful mixture of African, Arabic, and Indian harmonies blending together as the lute-like strains of the udj instrument bubbled along with tambourines and accordions to a wild and joyful drumbeat. Then everyone cheered as the musicians struck up a traditional Kenyan wedding song, “Leave Your Friends, Forget the Dances!” The singers whooped and hollered each line:
“Raphaël, you are now married. You should know, you are now an elder.
Coral! Coral is married. Know that you are now a wife.
The community has grown. Mambwa has slept.
Burning Embers Page 31