“Guidance? And just where is this guidance to come from?”
“From Harry, Maria, and me.”
Epilogue
Three brides, three grooms, and nearly four hundred guests—thirty of whom were from Christopher’s family. Repington Hall and Creassey had never hosted so many souls before. Even though both houses had many bedrooms, they could not accommodate the entire guest list and local hotels, taverns, and guest homes had to take the overflow.
It was as splendid a late October autumn day as one could wish for. The sky was a brilliant, clear sapphire-blue with cotton ball clouds fluffing by. The leaves were changing color—particularly in the orchard where the crab apples were turning a burning red and orange. There was no breeze, so the gathering guests did not need to bundle up to stay warm.
Each bride was being dressed separately, surrounded by those closest to them. Only Anna and Dorothy were deprived of each other’s assistance as would have normally been the situation.
“I miss having my sister with me,” Dorothy sighed as Christopher’s mother fussed in Dorothy’s dressing room.
“Now, dear, you know she cannot be with you this morning. But you two will soon be walking down the aisle together. And who is to be giving you away? Poor darlings, with your father gone… no mother, and not a single brother or uncle. My… my… But I am here my dear. Oh, there is a spot on the dress. You had better let me take care of that. I always carry a small pot of baking soda with me for just such a situation.” And she scurried to the basin and poured herself some water.
Maria had her own room in Repington Hall now that she and Percy were to reside here from today on. She would have loved to have Anna with her as she prepared to put on her bridal gown, but, of course, Anna was busy with her own dressing. If she could not have Anna, she would have loved if Harry could be by her side, but that was totally inappropriate.
She had to make do with her personal maid and Aunt Agatha—her mother, being confined to her wheelchair, was waiting in the great hall where the ceremony was to take place.
“My dear, you need more color on your cheeks. You look like a starving waif from Indochina. When I was in Singapore…”
“Not another of your travel stories just now, dear Aunt.”
“Of course, of course. Then how can I help?”
“You may take the dress out of the armoire and see that it is not creased.”
“Ah, yes… let me see now.” She went to the armoire and brought out the lovely white dress, with a field of white seed pearls sewn down the skirt and along the train. “Oh, what a beautiful dress. You are going to be a princess.”
Maria’s maid was fastening white jasmine in her hair and she was about ready to have the dress slipped over her head.
Anna was in her own room, which would not be hers for much longer as she would, from tonight on, be residing at Creassey with her beloved Harry. She sat at her dressing table and took a deep breath. What a journey it had been this past year. From two sisters and a father living a quiet and uneventful life to all of this!
But as happy as she was, she could not help but shed a few tears for her departing life. How she longed to have her father walking her and Dorothy down the aisle. Instead it had been decided to have Theodore Stewart do the honors. Not an unsuitable man, but not a substitute for their beloved father.
Anna was alone, with only her personal maid to assist her. It was so quiet. She would have loved to have Maria with her right now and Maria probably wanted her by her side today, too.
She could hear the many guests assembling in the great hall where the ceremonies were to be held. It was an exciting day, and she thought again of her beloved Harry. How suddenly they had come together. After years of being friends, they had become lovers. She would be leaving the home she had known all her life and would be living in another, not unfamiliar house.
She was ready. Anna stood up from her dressing table, resplendent in her bone-white satin gown with an overlay of the most delicate sheer creamy silk. She was wearing a tiered emerald and diamond necklace that had been her grandmother’s. Anna had wanted Dorothy to wear it, but Dorothy absolutely insisted the eldest sister should be the one to wear it.
There was a knock at her door and Warrick entered. “Miss Anna, it is time.”
Anna turned to him. “Warrick, I will be leaving after the wedding and I want you to promise me you will take good care of Mr. and Mrs. Garvey.”
“Of course, Lady Creassey.”
“Oh, Warrick, you are jumping the gun. I am not her Ladyship just yet.”
“But you will be shortly. I am just practicing calling you by your new title, ma’am. And yes, I shall make certain both Mr. and Mrs. Garvey are well pleased with our service. It is not as though either of them are strangers.”
“Thank you.” She picked up her bridal bouquet and was ready to step forward into her new life.
It was very noisy with so many guests talking while waiting for the ceremony to start. As Anna entered the great hall she saw the three grooms waiting at the altar, looking anxiously toward the back of the hall where the three brides had gathered.
Obviously, Harry was not available to walk Maria down the aisle, so Mr. Stewart had been assigned to usher all three brides to their grooms.
A full orchestra was situated to the side of the hall and when Mr. Stewart gave the signal, they began to play a triumphal march from one of Handel’s operas. The guests stood—many gasping at seeing three such lovely ladies.
Anna preceded Dorothy and Maria who had their arms linked with Theodore, beaming red-face and grinning at escorting three such beautiful brides.
The three grooms were also grinning as their brides approached.
The music ended, and each bride stood by her groom. The vicar, who had officiated at the Viscount’s funeral, was now happily marrying these three couples.
The vicar went through the marriage ceremony with each couple separately and, when it was over, he bid the grooms kiss the brides. The guests rose up in a spontaneous shout of congratulations and clapping.
The newly married couples could barely move back down the aisle, as well-wishers pushed forward to reach out and touch the magic couples as they passed by.
Dancing was ready to begin in a neighboring hall, while food and champagne were being served outside on the lawn—the weather being so mild—where pavilions had been set up with tables for dining.
Anna, Maria, and Dorothy gathered together at the back of the hall.
“Let me see yours,” Dorothy commanded her sister as she held out her hand with its new wedding band.
“They all look the same,” Anna said, also holding out her hand.
“Yes, but they are new to us.”
Maria hugged and kissed Anna’s cheek and said, “Thank you, dear Anna. Now we are truly sisters. None of this would have been possible for Percy and me without your gracious generosity.”
Anna smiled. “I am so happy I could help. I could not imagine marrying without you being as joyous as I am.”
The three grooms came to collect their brides.
“If you three married ladies are ready, they are waiting for us to open the dancing. Evidently, they cannot start without us,” Harry said, as he took Anna’s hand, leaned forward and kissed her again.
Christopher was accompanied by his mother, his father, and his two sisters, hanging onto his coat tails. “Come, dearest Dorothy. If I can rid myself of my clinging family, I bid you dance with me.”
“I would be delighted to, dear husband. For I can truly say that now. It is no longer just my fantasy.”
Christopher yanked at his coat to free himself from his giggling sisters and they headed toward the dance hall.
Maria looked at Percy and straightened his crooked cravat. “Can you believe this is to be our house now?”
He turned to examine the room. “I think I am going to need a map to find my way around. Or maybe we can tie a string to each other, so we never get lost.”
The three couples took an appreciative last look at one another before heading to the dance and the rest of their lives.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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A Pure Lady for the Broken Duke
Chapter 1
The London docks was no place for a gentleman. The putrid smells from the river permeated the cobblestones and the brick. Once thriving warehouses that crowded along the sides of the main streets were now dirty, run-down, locked and shuttered. The streets were poorly lit—if there was any street lighting at all. The filth, grime, and ash hovering in the air blackened every surface along these dark streets and alleyways. These conditions were not fit for man or beast, and there were no signs of any residences or pedestrians. Yes, this was no place for a gentleman to be seen. Not unless there was a bodyguard or several burly footmen by his side.
The gentleman carried only his walking stick and a hooded lantern to keep himself concealed. He picked his way along these cobbled streets. He raised the cover on the lantern now and then to look for some kind of street identification—but in this part of London, there were few if any street signs. His lantern reflected some of its light off the sooty windows casting a ghostly shadow across the few parked wagons.
The gentleman walked alone. He turned the corner and heard faint singing in the silent and eerie darkness. There must be a pub tucked away in some narrow side street.
He could not find what he was looking for, and the gentleman grumbled. He hurried his pace and soon the music from the pub drifted away. He could hear only his footsteps. Then he listened to the echo of two sets of footsteps running toward him. The gentleman stopped, raised the cover on his lantern, and turned to find the source.
Suddenly, the lantern was struck from his hand. Amidst the pitch black and moonless night, he felt two large muscular hands seize his shoulders. With a loud shriek, he fell to the cobbles. He heard the throaty sounds of a harsh voice.
“Aye, it be time, fine gentleman,” the thug said, “Barker wants ‘is money. All of it. Paid now. You understand?”
The gentleman struggled to free himself and crawl away. He felt another set of hands grab his free arm. With the foulest of breath, the second man whispered, “He means business, he does. And it is not just your sweet self who’ll suffer. But kith and kin. You understand me meaning?”
“I will do what I can. I am a little short just at the moment but with a day or two…”
“Tomorrow noon—or we guarantee you will regret it.”
The gentleman lay petrified on the ground. The larger goon kicked him in stomach while the other snatched up the lantern, and together they ran away. The gentleman struggled to his feet, and by feeling the contours of the buildings with his hand, he attempted to retreat to a safer place.
Her father made meat pies. Her mother baked the bread and Jenny made the cakes and fruit pies—six days a week every week of the year—even on the sacred Sundays leading up to the Christmas holidays when special breads, cakes, and pies were in great demand.
As the eldest child at two-and-twenty, Jenny Barnett was responsible for not only the baking but was expected also to help keep an eye on the younger children—Sally aged eleven; Robert at thirteen was already helping serve customers; and Claudia, seventeen, was being trained to start the morning dough, clean the pans and bowls, and prepare the bakery for the next day of baking.
But one thing their parents insisted on was the children’s education. Even though the younger children needed to be trained in the business, they were also required to have an education, and they spent part of each day at the local school.
It was not until the shop closed in the late afternoon—after all the goods were sold—that Jenny had any time to herself. Her two favorite activities were reading and taking walks around the beautiful Cotswold countryside—often with her friend, Helena Comerford. She was the daughter of Lord Comerford, who owned a large estate near the small town of Chatsworth in Gloucestershire, where Jenny and her family had their home and bakery.
Chatsworth was a typical Cotswold village with a population of about six hundred. The streets, the houses, the bridge, and the church were all constructed of the same sandy colored stone quarried from the surrounding hills, and the roofs were covered with locally sourced slate tiles. The main road entered from the east, and crossing the Camber River, exited to the southwest. The heart of Chatsworth was centered on the town square where the best shops were located—including the Barnett Bakery. There were very few side streets, so all the social activity was centered on the square where the daily market was held.
The houses were built against the street, with no front gardens, although some of the houses had managed to plant a few shrubs, bushes, or climbing roses to soften the front of the house and provide a modicum of privacy.
It was a sleepy village with only one constable and a volunteer fire brigade. The mayor was the village smithy.
Helena came into the shop just after Jenny had taken off her apron and was running her hand through her flour-dusted hair.
Helena burst out laughing. “Jenny, Jenny, what am I to do with you?”
Jenny turned to her friend and asked, “What? What did I do now?”
“Look at you. You look like you just fell out of a flour sack.”
“Well, I have just put in a full day’s work. What do you expect? It is not as though I am going to a ball.”
Helena went over and tried to tidy Jenny’s hair after running her hands through it to shake out most of the flour.
Without a doubt, Jenny was a very handsome young woman. She had raven black hair which set off her fair skin and blue eyes. She was tall and had refined looking features. But what everyone noticed first about Jenny were her sparkling, smiling eyes and her full generous mouth. Many a young man in town was anxious to make Jenny their young lady, but she was in no position to be thinking about romance just now. Her family needed her in the business. She so thoroughly enjoyed baking and was seriously thinking of becoming a pastry cook in some fine country home one day.
Helena stood back and cocked her head to see if she had made any improvement in Jenny’s appearance. “There,” Helena said, “You look much better.” But she scolded, “My dear Jenny, I have to say, you really do not take very good care of yourself. You are so beautiful, but you hide your beauty from the world by dressing like a ruffian. And your hair…”
“But these are my working clothes, Helena. You cannot expect me to dress up when I need to heave flour and sugar sacks and chop bushels of fruit all day long. Really… be reasonable.”
“But how are you ever going to find romance?”
Jenny sighed. “Oh, my dear friend, romance could not be further from my mind. You know what my ambition is—I want to be the pastry cook in a fine aristocratic house someday. And who knows, I might even bake a splendid cake or pie for the King.”
“Well your pastries are certainly a delight. All of Chatsworth flock to your doors each day begging for more.”
Helena was the same age as Jenny, but she was the complete opposite—while Jenny was dark, Helena was fair. She cut a fine figure in her form-fitting muslin dress with few adornments. Helena had naturally curly blonde hair which she wore charmingly pinned up—often with a few flowers woven in. She was more petite than Jenny, but her brightness shown in her pleasing smile an
d bright blue eyes.
Jenny went to the shop door and opened it. “I was hoping we might hike up to Randall’s Craig today. Is that too much for you?” Jenny asked.
“Not at all. But might I leave my shopping basket with you? I have a number of errands to perform this afternoon.”
“Let me take it upstairs. We will be locking the shop soon.” She turned and called into the shop, “I am leaving.”
Her father replied from the back, “Very well, my dear. Shall we see you at supper?”
“Yes, Father. I shall be home in time to help Mama.”
They left the bakery and went to the door, just to the left of the shop, which led to the family’s living quarters above the bakery.
“Wait here,” Jenny instructed, and she ran up the stairs and left Helena’s basket. She grabbed a shawl and ran back to the street.
“All ready,” she said, taking her friend’s arm and they headed off down the street and out of town.
The Scandalous Saga of the White Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 28