by Michelle Cox
She had given in to everything Mrs. Howard and Julia had wanted for the wedding—the dress, the menu, the flowers, the orchestra, the church, the guest list, the society-page interviews and photos, the honeymoon plans. All of these capitulations, plus the guilt she sometimes still felt about abandoning Ma and the kids, even though they were now amply provided for, as well as the knowledge that the boys were to be soon sent away, weighed very heavily on her at times.
Not surprising, then, something cracked inside of her now as she sat at the Exley dinner table being told that she also was expected to give up Mr. Hennessey, too. She decided at this moment that she would have a say in at least one decision regarding her own wedding, and this was going to be it. It seemed a trivial thing to take a stand with, but she grasped on to it tightly as the only thing left to her.
“No, grandfather,” she said quietly, causing all eyes to turn toward her in surprise. Her gaze as she said it was on her plate, but she looked across at him now. “I’ve asked Mr. Hennessey,” she said slowly, “and I’ll not change it now. He … he has been very good to me, and I won’t ask him to step down.”
“You can’t be serious,” Mr. Exley said with a smile, as if she had just uttered a charming quip, but when he saw the resoluteness in her face, any trace of amusement on his vanished. “That’s ridiculous,” he said calmly. “In the extreme.”
“Perhaps Mr. Exley is right, dear,” Mrs. Howard said eagerly, never liking the idea of Mr. Hennessey’s involvement in the first place. “It would be infinitely more appropriate for your grandfather to escort you.”
From the other end of the table, Randolph snickered.
“Mr. Hennessey,” Clive chimed in now, deliberately putting down his fork, but not without first shooting Randolph a scornful look, “is an honorable man, one whom I deeply respect and to whom, consequently, I went to ask for Henrietta’s hand, which is no small matter. In that way, he is the natural choice for who should take that final walk with her from her old life to her new. He was her protector when no one else was and has ever been a friend and father to her. He is infinitely appropriate, and we will have him, and would do so even if his only merit was merely being a whim of my future wife,” Clive said in a firm, commanding tone that beckoned no arguments.
“He’s right, Antonia,” Alcott put in. “It’s done now; leave it.”
Oldrich Exley, however, was not about to let it drop so easily. “That’s a very charming sentiment, young man, but you will find greater forces than that in the world, social standing being one of them, as you should very well know.”
“Come now, Father,” Gerard put in sternly, as if chastising a child, causing Henrietta, like Antonia, to wonder who was really the authority here. Why, for example, had Mr. Exley Sr. come to live with Gerard and Dorothy rather than the other way around? “You’ve said yourself that the Howards have the wedding well in hand,” Gerard was saying. “Perhaps it would be best to leave it with them.”
Mr. Exley Sr. inclined his head ever so slightly. “Very well. I’ll not stand in the way of my granddaughter’s wishes.” He looked across at her now and attempted, badly, to disguise his fury with a polite smile, but Henrietta, with a sinking heart, felt she may have just made an enemy. “I will say, I’m very disappointed,” he said curtly. “Very disappointed, indeed.”
Gerard turned his attention now to Clive. “Will you see any shooting in Derbyshire while you’re there?” he asked, smoothly attempting to steer the conversation in another direction.
The dialogue turned then to more benign topics until dessert was finally over and they eventually stood up, the ladies retiring to the drawing room while the men remained to discuss politics, most of them bored by the wedding plans that had dominated most of the dinner discourse. Henrietta badly wanted to go to Clive and kiss his cheek before she left the room with the women, but she knew it would be regarded as highly improper, so she settled for sending him a grateful look, which she hoped conveyed the depth of her love. And Clive, watching her go, indeed caught and understood it and responded in kind.
Chapter 3
With the big day nearly upon them now, it was decided that Henrietta would return to the house in Palmer Square for the remaining days leading up to the wedding. Tradition held that the wedding should have been conducted at St. Sylvester, as it was, after all, Henrietta’s home parish, but it had been agreed upon by all parties, even Ma, that that was out of the question considering Eugene’s unfortunate experience with Fr. Finnegan, though only Henrietta and Clive knew the whole of the story. Instead, the wedding was set to be held at Sacred Heart in Winnetka, the Howards’ parish, with the full pomp and circumstance that would be expected with the son of such a prestigious house.
Shortly after this had been decided, Clive and Henrietta had had, of course, to go and meet with the pastor of Sacred Heart, a Fr. Michaels, who, after a call from Mrs. Howard and very probably a large donation to the St. Vincent DePaul Society, was willing to waive the usual six-month waiting period once he was convinced that there was no extenuating circumstance that required haste, as in, for example, the expected “premature” arrival of a child upon the scene.
Henrietta had been dreadfully nervous to meet with the priest, though she wasn’t sure why, but she was immediately put at her ease upon their arrival at the rectory after Fr. Michaels made a joke about his cat asleep again on his favorite chair, as he led them through to his tiny office. He was a surprisingly young priest, with very bright blue eyes, and he had a kind, patient manner to him as he engaged them in a casual exchange of pleasantries and then listened with genuine interest to each of their stories. He carefully went through the rite of marriage, then, stopping every so often to ask questions and to explain what the Church required of married couples. When he finished, he gently closed the worn book before him and, clearing his throat a bit, asked them both if they felt they could honestly commit their lives to one another, considering a few of the more obvious obstacles he saw before them, namely the vast difference in their economic backgrounds and, might he add, age. Clive had taken Henrietta’s hand as he looked at her sitting beside him on the stiff, wooden chairs and said that indeed he could. Henrietta, too, had said she could, her heart clenching as she looked into his hazel eyes, despite the presence of Fr. Michael just across the desk from them. She wondered how many times a heart could melt and be reformed, only to be melted all over again.
Fr. Michaels had declared, then, with a glad smile, that he saw no reason for them not to enter into a marriage and had given them his blessing. Both Clive and Henrietta had broken into a smile as well, as if they had passed some sort of test. That, of course, was not true, but they both felt confirmed somehow in their decision, knowing that most of their family members, in actuality, whether they said it out loud or not, still did not approve.
Julia, however, was not one of them, and before Henrietta returned to the city, she insisted on taking her to lunch at The Laurel in Winnetka in lieu of a shower, which Aunt Agatha had been pressing for. Mrs. Howard had skillfully managed to dissuade Agatha, however, saying that there wasn’t time, really, for all of the aunts and relatives on the East Coast to come in, seeing as they would have to come in again so soon for the actual wedding, and that a big turnout for the wedding itself was infinitely more preferable. Agatha had had to agree with this wisdom, but she regretted a missed opportunity to be more involved with her new niece and offered to help with any of the wedding plans almost every time she spoke to Antonia. Aunt Dorothy, on the other hand, had retained a chilly distance.
Antonia was acutely aware of the delicate situation she found herself in, oddly playing, at times, the role of both the mother of the groom and the bride, seeking to tuck Henrietta’s embarrassing immediate family out of sight (remembering with shame Elsie’s appearance at the engagement party in a wool suit, for heaven’s sake), but finding this exceedingly difficult considering that, in the larger sense, they were, after all, Exleys. It was a strange conundrum to be i
n, but having begun the wedding plans, she was hesitant to give them up. Not wanting to commit a social faux pas in overstepping her bounds as merely the mother of the groom, however, she had gracefully relinquished certain small duties to Agatha, such as arranging for the wedding cake and the favors and ordering the programs for the church, but she had managed to keep control of most of the details herself, explaining that she did not want Henrietta to feel too overwhelmed by too many people too quickly. Agatha, clearly being the more submissive of the two friends, had reluctantly agreed. Both women were silently conscious of the fact that they were interlopers of a sort, as Henrietta’s mother should have been in charge of all of the planning for her daughter’s big day herself.
Antonia had uncomfortably approached Henrietta early on about her mother’s potential role, especially concerning the wedding dress at least, but Henrietta had given Antonia to believe that Ma would not be much help, and Antonia in that moment had genuinely felt sorry for Henrietta, having come to like her more and more, especially after her rather marvelous performance at the engagement party. She had proved that she had talent and that she was moldable, and Antonia was beginning to likewise see something of the spark that so attracted Clive. And in this way, she began to feel protective of her and also for this reason did not relish handing her over to the Exleys just yet, despite her and Alcott’s personal regard for John and Agatha.
Etiquette demanded, however, that Antonia at least attempt to involve Martha, so she had written to her on lavender-scented stationary just after the formal engagement had been listed in the society pages of the Tribune, in which she invited Martha to tea to discuss the wedding, but she had had no reply. She had not really expected one, but at least now she could proceed with little, if any, feelings of guilt, and had chosen Julia to be her faithful ally instead.
Julia could indeed be relied upon, despite the fact that as a girl she had flirted with—and, on more than one occasion, had seemed shockingly close to—abandoning the strict confines of the narrow society in which they both moved, but she had been ultimately made to see reason before it was too late. Julia, always headstrong and vocal in her opinions, had become decidedly less so since her marriage to Randolph Cunningham. Mrs. Howard again congratulated herself on their union, convinced that it was the calming influence of Randolph who had had a hand in taming the otherwise willful Julia. The marriage had been good for her, Antonia often noted with satisfaction, though Julia was decidedly less … what was the word? … carefree? … than she had once been, but that was natural, wasn’t it? Antonia reasoned. After all, Julia was a wife and a mother now, and there was no place for her old girlish exuberance. No, Julia, for all her rebellious speeches over the years, could now be relied upon to follow the rules and had proved herself immeasurably useful on a number of occasions, this ridiculously rushed wedding of Clive’s being a prime example. And, besides, though she didn’t like to admit it out loud, it gave Antonia a chance to see her daughter and her grandsons more often, the three of them spending much more time at Highbury this summer than Julia’s very busy social calendar normally allowed for.
The luncheon had been Antonia’s idea, but Julia had readily accepted this last assignment, wanting a chance, anyway, to give Henrietta a small gift and to offer, she had said, whatever last-minute advice might be needed. They had just been served dessert, and Julia chose this moment to hand Henrietta the beautifully wrapped box from Francesca’s, a most discriminating boutique downtown that had been previously unknown, of course, to Henrietta, but which, after living with the Howards for the last few months, had now become a quite familiar establishment.
“Oh, Julia! You shouldn’t have gotten me a gift!” Henrietta said, though she was, in truth, delighted.
Gifts had been pouring into the house for the new couple over the last month, the display of which on a massive table in the morning room was under the special jurisdiction of Billings. Henrietta had never heard of opening gifts before an event, much less displaying them, and had likewise been utterly unprepared for the amount of china, silver, and crystal that had already begun to overflow onto side tables and even onto the floor now. It scared her, actually, as she had no idea what to do with half of these new possessions or where to put them, causing the old doubts about her worthiness to someday be mistress of Highbury to hover close. She had also been utterly unprepared for the thank-yous that had to be written for each gift on brand-new stationary embossed with her and Clive’s future initials. For a half an hour each morning, she and Mrs. Howard dutifully sat down together in the morning room to work on them before Julia arrived for the day and other wedding tasks then took over. As it happened, before she had left for lunch this morning, Billings had quite been at his wits’ end and was considering moving the whole display to the much larger dining room, though he would of course need Mrs. Howard’s permission for so drastic a motion.
But Henrietta had not received any personal gifts as yet, besides, of course, the emerald-and-diamond engagement ring, the family heirloom that Clive had presented her with at the Burgess Club, as well as the family pearls he had given her on the night of the engagement party. She looked excitedly at the gift and gave Julia a grateful smile. “I should be giving you a gift for all the work you’ve done,” Henrietta said, and Julia pooh-poohed her with a wave of her hand.
Henrietta carefully opened the box, then, and drew out a long white silk dressing gown complete with a white faux fur and feathery collar and matching slippers.
“I know Mother’s prepared your trousseau for you, but I thought you might like to have something special for the honeymoon,” she said with a sly smile.
“Julia! It’s beautiful,” Henrietta exclaimed, though she blushed slightly at the garment’s obvious purpose. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“Not to worry, my dear. As your faithful bridesmaid—or matron, I should say—it is my duty to see you well prepared for your wedding night, even if the groom is my brother!” she laughed gaily.
Henrietta never stopped marveling at Julia’s obsequious good humor. She had had much time to observe Julia over the last few months, with her being at Highbury so often of late, and she found Julia to always be very light and gay, always up for a laugh. Likewise she seemed to adore her two boys, Randolph and Howard, though Henrietta noticed they spent most of their time in the care of their nanny, who was brought along on each occasion to tag after them. It was only when Julia’s husband, Randolph Sr., was around that she became just a bit more subdued and even on edge, though she hid it well, Henrietta had noticed. They seemed to make no pretense about the fact that theirs was a loveless relationship, and Henrietta remembered Clive’s words to her that their marriage was unfortunate. Henrietta had often wondered why they had gotten married in the first place; surely there had been love between them once upon a time? She had often been tempted to ask Julia about it, but it never seemed the right moment.
As she carefully placed the robe back in the box and set it to the side, Henrietta wondered if this might be her only chance to ask Julia about her marriage, now that they were blessedly away from the servants or Mrs. Howard or any other number of people that always seemed to be coming or going at the estate. Henrietta found it odd that in a place as large as Highbury, there seemed to be a definite lack of privacy, and it added to her anxiety. Would she ever be truly alone with Clive? she often wondered and pushed away the thoughts of the cottage that had again popped up in her mind.
“What … what was your wedding like, Julia?” Henrietta asked, deciding to go about it this way.
“Oh, the usual society wedding. Yours is small by comparison!” she laughed.
“No! Honestly?” Henrietta answered, still unsettled about the numbers that had confirmed.
“Yes, I think the final count for us was over four hundred. Very intimate!” she drawled.
“Was it at the Winnetka Yacht Club, as well?”
“Of course, darling. Except mine was in spring, so the flowers were enti
rely different. No one’s had a fall wedding for ages!” she said, finishing up her tea. “Several people think you’re expecting, you know,” Julia grinned at her from behind the rim of her teacup.
“Expecting!” Henrietta said, blushing very red now. “How dare they! It isn’t true!”
“Oh, don’t worry, darling. I know that, but the biddies need something to gossip about. You’ll soon prove them wrong,” Julia laughed, though Henrietta found it hard to join in despite the fact that Julia’s laugh was usually quite contagious.
“Had you … had you known Randolph long?” Henrietta asked, reaching for her own cup now.
“Not really,” Julia smiled thinly. “I met him at my coming-out ball. I danced with him at one point. He seemed rather dashing at the time.”