“Yes,” she said.
He watched her leave the room and turned back to the window. A family for a month. It was a sweet seductive thought. One he must not allow to take a hold on his feelings. After Sophia’s wedding she would be going home again. Back to Rushton. He must not let down the guard on his emotions during that month. It had taken him too many years to build it up.
6
IT WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE TO INVITE ALL THE TON, AS the duchess seemed to wish to do. Large as Clifton Court was, there was a limit to the number of guests who could be housed in its rooms. And the village church was not large. Members of the beau monde would not enjoy sitting outside in their carriages or standing in the churchyard while the marriage ceremony was in progress, the earl pointed out, because there was no room for them inside.
The guest list would have to be drawn up with care. All of the guests then staying at the house were willing and eager to stay or at least to come back again. Family had to come next and then close friends—those of Sophia, Lord Francis, the duke and duchess, the countess, and the earl.
The meeting of the interested parties lasted for all of two hours until, at last, the list was just the length it needed to be. Then Her Grace, Olivia, and Sophia spent the rest of the morning writing the invitations while the men went into the village to visit the rector.
After luncheon, the earl insisted that everyone take a rest from the wedding preparations in order to ride for a few hours and take a picnic tea on the hill north of the house.
“After all,” he assured the alarmed duchess, who insisted that there were not enough hours left in which to arrange everything satisfactorily, “we cannot have you and Olivia looking quite hagged on the wedding day, now can we? Rose? And I do assure you that I have a perfectly competent housekeeper and cook, who are even now making arrangements to ensure that we will not all starve. I have also sent for most of my staff from the London house to come.”
“And it is a beautiful day, my love,” the duke told her. “Far too lovely to be wasted on the hysterics indoors.”
“We are not having the hysterics, are we, Olivia?” Her Grace said. “We are merely busy.”
“Besides,” Lord Clifton said, “the other guests have been neglected quite shamelessly for half of the day. Olivia, can the time be spared?”
“We do need half an hour to finish the invitations,” she said. “And they really should be sent today, Marcus.”
“Half an hour it is, then,” he said. “Not one moment longer.”
And so while the afternoon was still early, they all rode out, hats shading their eyes from the brightness of the sun. They rode along the smooth miles of the park to the south of the house and back along the wooded banks of the river that formed the border of the park to the east. Cultivated acres stretched beyond it to the horizon. The river circled back around the house until, finally, the riders branched away from it toward the heather-covered hill a few miles north of the house. There carriages of food and footmen awaited them.
The ride had been a long one, even though the trees along the course of the river had shaded them from the worst of the sun’s heat. They all dismounted at the foot of the hill and set the horses free to graze on the grass there. Most of the guests were grateful for the blankets set down on a piece of level ground halfway up the hill and sank down onto them before accepting glasses of wine from the footmen.
“That is my riding done for this year,” Lady Wheatley said. “And it is more than I did last year at that.”
Several people laughed.
“I never feel quite right if I do not begin each morning with a three-mile ride,” Mrs. Biddeford said. “Though I do not have quite the energy of these children, I must confess.” She grimaced as she watched several of the young people and the earl and countess climb the remainder of the slope to stand on top of the hill.
“Dear Olivia,” the duchess said. “She is looking well, is she not? She seems not to have aged like some of us.”
“I am glad you said some, my love,” His Grace said with a chuckle, “or you would have mortally offended several ladies here, I do not doubt. Though you, too, look quite as youthful as you did on the day I married you.”
“William!” the duchess said scornfully and fanned her face with a napkin. “But how delightful it is to see them together again, is it not?”
“I never could quite understand what the problem was,” Lord Wheatley said. “I was always under the impression that it was a love match.”
“That is precisely what the problem was,” His Grace said.
SOPHIA, WHO HAD ridden with her friend Cynthia for much of the way, the two of them with their heads together wondering over the success of the original plan and discussing how best the mock betrothal was to be put an end to when the time came, found her hand being taken by Lord Francis when they dismounted.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Lacing my fingers with yours,” he said. “It looks far more intimate, Soph, than linking arms or merely holding hands. And while good manners would demand that we be with and converse with our friends during the ride, sentiment now dictates that we steal a few minutes together.” He smiled into her eyes and she smiled back.
“Mama and Papa have not been together all afternoon,” she said. “This is not going to work, Francis.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “After being away from their guests all morning, of course they would have felt obliged to mingle this afternoon as we did. They did well enough this morning.”
She brightened. “Cynthia said they came down to breakfast arm in arm,” she said. “Do you suppose that means …?” But she stopped and blushed scarlet.
“Probably not,” he said. “But they sat side by side in the library when they need not have done so, and they were both very insistent that the other’s friends be invited to the wedding.”
“Yes, they were, were they not?” she said. “Where are we going?”
“To the top of the hill,” he said. “Young lovers have boundless energy, you know.”
“No, I did not know,” she said. “But there is a rather splendid view from the top.”
“I know,” he said, grinning. “I remember.”
She looked at him blankly for a moment and then her look became indignant. “You were quite horrid,” she said. “I do not know why I even talked to you in town this spring.”
“Don’t you?” he said. “It is because I am a duke’s son and have fairly or unfairly acquired a reputation as something of a rake, Soph. An irresistible combination to the ladies, I have found. And yes, that does make me conceited, I must admit. I have saved you from having to say it yourself, you see.”
“You went fishing,” she said accusingly.
“I did,” he said. “With my brothers. Blissfully free of female companionship.”
“While I kept watch at the top of the hill for hours and hours,” she said.
“Oh, come now, Soph,” he said, “it could not have been for longer than two at the most. And we needed someone to keep watch, you know, while the rest of us went hunting poachers and highwaymen and brigands. You did a splendid job. You kept them all at bay so that we were able to enjoy a peaceful hour or two of fishing.”
“You were fortunate,” she said, “that I did not tell your father on that occasion. Or your brothers, either. They did not know what story you had told me to keep me away. Claude would have punched you in the nose.”
“A manly punishment at least,” he said. “Bertie would have spanked me, and my father would have walloped me. A subtle difference, you know—something to do with the weight of the hand. My father’s was invariably heavy.”
“You would have deserved it,” she said.
“Doubtless.” He grinned. “But you should be hoping fervently that I have not changed, Soph. I always managed to get rid of you, did I not? I must say, I felt uncomfortably hot under the collar when we called on the rector this morning and started to discuss banns and weddings a
nd such.”
“Did you?” Her eyes widened. “Papa has already sent for half the staff from the London house. Have you heard?”
He grimaced.
“Here we are at the top,” she said. “Oh, how lovely. There is a breeze. Look, Francis, half the others are coming up, too. I thought everyone was tired from the heat and the ride.”
“Ah, an audience,” he said, catching her about the waist with one arm, drawing her against him, and kissing her soundly before releasing her and taking her hand again.
“I told you not to do that again,” she said indignantly.
“Kiss you?” he said. “But we have probably restored the spirits of a dozen or so weary riders and climbers, Soph. And there is a play to be acted out, you know.”
“I meant that business with your tongue,” she said. “The breeze was just cooling me nicely. Now I feel hot again.”
“Soph!” he said. “Only a total innocent would say such a thing aloud and expect it to discourage me from trying again. If we are going to have to steal kisses, we might as well make them enjoyable, after all.”
“Enjoyable!” she exclaimed. “You may speak for yourself, Francis. For my part, I would as soon kiss …”
“I know,” he said. “Look who is coming up there to your left, Soph. And with arms linked. And talking with each other and seemingly oblivious to everyone else.”
She looked, saw her father and mother approaching, grabbed Francis’s arm, and squeezed it tightly.
“Oh,” she said, “it is working, I knew it would. I never doubted it for a moment. It will work, Francis, will it not?” She looked up anxiously into his face.
“I don’t see how it can fail, Soph,” he said, “with the weather cooperating so gloriously and you and me so deeply in love, and all the joy of a wedding beginning to catch everyone up in its excitement.”
“Oh, you are wonderful to say so,” she said, squeezing his arm again. “I could kiss you, Francis.”
“Once is enough for the time being,” he said. “And not too free with the wonderfuls if you please, Soph. I might start to think that you mean them and really start to feel choked by my cravat.”
Sophia turned with a bright smile to greet the group of friends who were reaching the summit of the hill and beginning to exclaim on the splendor of the view.
HE HAD GIVEN her the details of the visit to the rector. She had told him of some of the plans she had discussed with the duchess as they wrote the invitations.
“Was it a good idea to agree to let the wedding take place here?” she asked. “Rose seems a little disappointed that it is not to be at St. George’s.”
“It is what they both want,” he said. “And these large ton affairs can be cold, you know.”
“Yes,” she said. “I never regretted that we married here, Marcus. It was a wonderful wedding, was it not?”
“Yes,” he said. “But then I think a clay hut would have seemed wonderful to us on that particular day, Olivia.”
She could think of nothing more to say and indeed was embarrassed that she had spoken so freely and thoughtlessly. They did not need to speak of their own wedding. Doing so would only cast a blight on their daughter’s and make them anxious for her happiness again.
“You are content to invite only two friends from Rushton, Olivia?” he asked. “It seems not quite fair when I chose five of my close friends.”
“Emma and Clarence will be enough,” she said. “But I would be sorry if they could not come for Sophia’s wedding. Clarence said, after I had received your letter, that it was quite what was to be expected at her age. I suppose a mere friend can see more clearly than a parent that a child is growing up.”
“Yes,” he said. “I have not seen Clarence for many years. Or Miss Burnett, either.”
“Emma has never been far from home,” she said. “And Clarence has not for quite some time.”
She was breathless from climbing the hill and talking at the same time. He paused and drew her arm more closely against his side. It would be so easy, she thought, to relax into this new state of amity, to believe that their natural and mutual concern for their daughter was a totally binding force, to imagine that the truce they had agreed to was a permanent peace. It was a feeling she must hold firm against. She did not want to have to go home in a month’s time to fight all the old battles again.
But it was easy to remember just why she had been so happy with him, why she had loved him so much.
“I think perhaps we have done the right thing, don’t you?” he said. “None of our guests threw up their hands in amazement that we would allow the betrothal of so young a daughter. And the rector seemed to feel that it was the most natural thing in the world for Sophia to be getting married. They look good together. They look as if they belong together.”
“Yes.” Olivia looked to the top of the hill, where their daughter and Lord Francis stood close together in animated conversation, their fingers laced. “They have known each other all their lives. That must help. It is not as if they have just recently met and have had romance blind them to each other’s faults. They talk to each other a great deal. They seem to be friends, Marcus.”
“Do you remember this hill?” he asked.
They had walked there the day before their wedding, when they had been able to escape from the frenzied activities going on at the house. They had climbed right to the top, as they were doing now, and let the wind blow in their faces and wished that the following day were over already so that they could be married and alone together.
“I don’t care about the houseful of guests and the feasting and all the rest of it,” he had said. “I just want you, Livy.”
“And I you,” she had said, turning into his arms. “Tomorrow, Marc. It seems an eternity away.”
“Tomorrow,” he had whispered against her lips. “And then no more separations. Night or day. Never or ever, Livy, until death do us part.”
“I love you,” she had told him, and he had kissed her long and deeply while they were buffeted by the wind.
“I wonder if they feel as we did then,” he said, and she knew that he was thinking of the same memory. “I wonder if they feel their wedding to be a mere nuisance standing between them and eternal bliss.”
“But it was a wonderful day after all, was it not?” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “They will discover that, too.”
Before they could remember that they should not reminisce together, they were at the top of the hill, and the breeze greeted them—and their daughter. She had released Lord Francis’s hand and pushed her way between them, taking the arm of each.
“Is this not wonderful?” she said, her cheeks glowing from the wind and happiness. “Miles and miles of countryside to see, the lovely sunshine, the cool breeze, and the three of us together again. Is it not wonderful beyond belief?”
“Yes, wonderful, Sophia,” Olivia said, and found herself fighting tears for some reason.
“You are truly happy, Sophia?” her father asked. “You have not rushed into anything merely because you are eighteen and it seems the thing to do to marry?”
“I am truly happy, Papa,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I am betrothed to the most wonderful man in the world and the most wonderful parents in the world are here to help me celebrate. This is going to be the happiest month of my life so far. And then all the years ahead with Francis. We want you to spend Christmas with us—you and Francis’s parents, too, of course. And the New Year. Don’t we, Francis?”
Lord Francis had been laughing and joking with some of the other young people. He turned at the sound of his name. “Don’t we what?” he asked with a smile.
“Want Mama and Papa and your mother and father to spend Christmas with us,” she said. “And New Year. It is what we were talking about a few minutes ago when we were coming up the hill, is it not?”
“The very topic,” he said, smiling deep into her eyes. “And we were both agreed that by Christmas we will probab
ly be able to take our eyes off each other for long enough to entertain relatives. We will be disappointed if all four of our parents cannot be there.”
“Mama?” Sophia asked eagerly.
“We will have to see,” she said. “That is a long time in the future.”
“Papa?”
“I shall be there, Sophia,” he said quietly.
“Doubtless there will be numerous other occasions, too,” Lord Francis said. “Won’t there, Soph?” Somehow he had possessed himself of the hand that had been linked through her mother’s. “Perhaps for the christening of our first child in a year’s time or less.”
Olivia heard her daughter suck in her breath as Lord Francis smiled at her again and raised her hand to his lips. Good heavens, had they talked about such a thing already?
“It looks as if the food has been taken from the baskets,” Mr. Hathaway said loudly enough for all to hear. “And I feel as if I could devour it all myself.”
“You would not be so unsporting,” Rachel Biddeford said.
“Oh, yes, he would,” Sir Ridley said. “I think those of us who hope to eat a bite had better race for it.”
“Well, Soph,” Lord Francis said, “you must lift your skirt above the ankles and grasp my hand. I don’t intend to be the last to the chicken slices.”
And they were gone, all of the young people, laughing and shrieking and rushing down the hill.
The earl looked at his wife and smiled. “What was that we have been saying about their having grown up?” he said. “Were we like that at their age, Olivia?”
“Christmas,” she said soberly. “It is not really that far in the future, Marcus. Will Sophia be very disappointed, do you think, to have to entertain us separately? Surely she cannot expect everything to change just because she is marrying Lord Francis.”
“We will have to wait and see,” he said. “All we have agreed to is this month, Olivia. And we have done the right thing. She is very happy to have the three of us together again. Let us just live this month through, shall we, and worry about the rest when it is over?”
Mary Balogh Page 8