A Companion in Joy

by Dorothy Mack

  At first Cécile was inclined to be a bit difficult, and he was not enamoured of the triumphant little smile she did not trouble to hide. She also displayed an irritating curiosity concerning the personality, behaviour and physical attributes of his fiancée, which he was exceedingly loath to gratify. He forestalled any tendencies she might be entertaining toward holding a philosophical discussion about the state of his emotions by taking her in his arms. This argument had always proved effective in the past, and it did not fail him on this occasion. When he left Cécile several hours later, his usual equanimity was largely restored, and he had more or less relegated his intended bride to the negligible position he had once blithely assumed she would occupy in his emotional life.

  Unfortunately, as time passed, she refused to remain neatly compartmentalized. Kate would have been dismayed to learn that she was fast becoming an obsession with her fiancé, but such was indeed the case. Nicholas managed to visit Lady Montaigne twice more in the following fortnight, but on neither occasion did her beauty and abundant charms completely succeed in wiping from his mind a persistent image of the lovely, unreachable, and thoroughly maddening girl to whom he was betrothed. And then, less than ten days before his wedding, Lady Montaigne, with tears glistening in her large blue eyes, informed him that she was going to Yorkshire for a long delayed visit to her mother because she could not bear to be in town when he was married to another. Nicholas protested, but even in his own ears his protests rang rather weakly. It had not been a comfortable experience threading his way through a maze of social events as escort to his fiancée, keeping one eye and half his brain always on the alert to discover whether Cécile, who did indeed have the entrée everywhere, was among the invited guests. Once, when Cécile had indicated her intention of attending a rout party to which he had planned to escort Kate, he found himself formulating an excuse to change their destination that night. The altered plans had not presented any real difficulty, since Kate was in the habit of deferring to her mother or himself when it came to social engagements. Not that Nicholas was lulled into believing that she acted thusly because her nature was essentially persuadable; he was well aware that she simply did not give a damn where she went. Each event represented one more duty to fulfil and all were indifferently equal in her estimation.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It would have been a considerable consolation to Nicholas to learn that the period of their betrothal was fully as great a trial to Kate as to himself. Not having been acquainted with her before their contract was made, however, he had no way of knowing just how difficult she was finding the maintenance of her unnaturally emotionless behaviour, so he was denied the comfort of this knowledge. She was, of necessity, involved in the details of planning her wedding, and this experience did little to reduce the strain of the relationship between the affianced pair.

  Four weeks was not a particularly long period in which to plan the big society wedding the earl and Lady Langston favoured, though it was most generous compared with the mad scramble that had often occurred in the past century when matches were made and finalized in an aura of quite unnecessary haste and secrecy that appeared ridiculous from a modern vantage point. It was no longer fashionable to marry a couple secretly in the dressing room of the bridegroom’s mother while five hundred guests danced merrily in the ballroom, unaware that they had another cause for celebration than the ostensible reason for the ball. Over the past two decades or so, there had been a growing trend toward marrying in church with a number of friends and relatives present and then celebrating the event with a reception immediately following the ceremony to which a vast multitude was invited. Since marriages could not be solemnized except between the hours of 8:00 A.M. and noon, the reception that followed was referred to as a déjeuner, though breakfast was a singularly inappropriate term to apply to the elaborate feasts that had become de rigueur amongst the members of the ton.

  Like most other society brides, Kate would be married at St. George’s in Hanover Square. The earl had tactfully requested the privilege of hosting (and financing) the déjeuner on the grounds that his mansion could so much more comfortably accommodate the huge numbers of persons who would have been insulted to be overlooked on such a happy occasion. Although Gunter’s was hired to do the catering and would undoubtedly provide a cake, his lordship’s own chef, with the light of battle in his Gallic eye, had begged for the honour of creating the main bride cake for the viscount’s nuptials. None of this masterpiece of the confectioner’s art would be broken over the bride’s head as had been customary in bygone days and still occurred in some form in remote rural areas. This cake would be neatly boxed and sent off with each guest and to some who might not be able to attend in person “to dream on.”

  The traditional wedding favours of knots of white ribbon and artificial flowers for the guests were also being provided by his lordship, but he had graciously acceded to Deborah’s request that she be allowed to supervise the decoration of the altar with flowers for her sister’s wedding. Kate had been not a little amused at the way Deborah had captivated the allegedly forbidding earl on the two occasions when they had spent some time together. The pretty deference in the young girl’s manner could not be faulted, but she did rather tend to regard the earl in the light of an indulgent uncle. It was Lord Sedgeley’s unquestioning acceptance of this role that caused Kate to smile inwardly. She had been touched and vastly relieved to find his lordship’s reception of herself so warm-hearted and apparently sincere, especially since both his sons, without a word being spoken in his detriment, had left her with the impression that their father was a somewhat unapproachable figure. She was inclined to the view that the possession of a daughter or two might have made the earl more tolerant of his sons but readily conceded that she was not yet well enough acquainted with her prospective father-in-law to be entertaining opinions of such a personal nature. In any case, she was deeply grateful that the only difficult person she had to deal with was her fiancé — always excepting Lady Langston, and long experience had taught her how best to accomplish her own ends when acting in concert with her volatile mother. With the viscount, there was no such assurance of her ability to steer a safe course between the respect due to one who would soon be her lord and master and a rooted determination to achieve the greatest degree of emotional and actual independence from his necessary influence in her future life as might be possible in the circumstances.

  Her initial hope that the viscount’s involvement with his mistress, coupled with a natural resentment at being coerced into marriage, might work to her advantage in the pursuit of this aim had died a lingering death. It must be admitted that up to the present, her laboriously maintained pose of distant friendliness had at best merely served to irritate and annoy him. She could dismiss any possibility of doubt on this point. Though she fervently hoped the vague alarums of her intuition were groundless, the uneasy suspicion had moved into her mind and taken root there that Torvil was far from uninterested in her as a person. There was a keenness in his glance and an alertness in his manner when she was speaking that warned her he was not accepting her at face value. It had not been her intention to annoy him (at least she trusted not!), but annoy him she did, and as the date of their marriage drew near she began to fear that he saw her very existence as a challenge to something deep in his nature — some instinctive urge to dominate and possess. He did not yet understand her, but he was determined to reduce her to something comprehensible so that he might then dismiss her from such intense concentration and go his merry way. The really appalling thing was that she no longer felt sure that she understood herself either. As her wedding day approached, she was forced to admit that her masterly plan, so far from producing an attitude of casual acceptance of each other, had actually resulted in creating an atmosphere of tense awareness between the two. She knew that somehow she had failed to strike the correct chord. Though reasonably sure that her inability to relax and behave naturally in her fiancé’s company was at fault, she s
eemed powerless to correct the situation. She simply did not feel relaxed in the viscount’s presence; she was too aware of that masculine magnetism and too determined to remain unaffected by it to respond naturally to his overtures. He should not have another grovelling victim at his feet on whom to trample unconcernedly.

  She reviewed these unsatisfactory conclusions the day before her scheduled marriage as she frowned over a delicate pillow cover she was hemming. All three ladies had been working diligently on linens for Kate in the small gaps between social engagements, fittings for her hastily assembled wardrobe, and preparations for the wedding. Of course, there was no possibility of producing an adequate supply in such a limited period, but by unspoken agreement they were all bound that some of Kate’s finest household linens would be made by the Harmon ladies themselves.

  There had been less agreement though many words were spoken concerning Kate’s trousseau and other details of the wedding. From its inception, the young girl had regarded the contract as more a matter between Lady Langston and Lord Sedgeley than the two people whom it most nearly concerned. With an uncharacteristic docility, born of unhappiness, she had accepted others’ suggestions as to the time and place and style in which her nuptials would be celebrated, but Kate was not meek, and though she might be unhappy about the choice of bridegroom, she would have been an unnatural female indeed to remain indifferent to all the plans and decisions that were being made by others with respect to her future.

  The first indication that the elders would not have everything all their own way came when Kate flatly refused to have any other attendant bridemaiden than her sister. In recent years, it had become the fashion to enlist the services of as many as six or even eight unmarried friends or relatives to act as bridemaiden; consequently, it was an agony to Lady Langston to be compelled to limit the scope of her managerial talents, but Kate remained adamant. When pressed for reasons for this apostasy, she pinned her mother with a serious look and declared herself unfit for the continuous task of acting the happy bride for the benefit of a gaggle of gushing, envious, and, after a telling pause, talkative females. The absolute shock on her mother’s face confirmed what Kate had suspected. From a long established pattern of refusing to see what she did not wish to see, Lady Langston had convinced herself that her daughter had swiftly become reconciled to her arranged marriage and in fact was prepared to enjoy all the ceremonial trappings that went along with weddings. Reluctantly, tearfully, the mother of the bride conceded the wisdom of limiting the bridal party to her two daughters.

  Kate was more amenable to advice concerning the selection of her wedding gown. She had no decided preference for the traditional white and silver over the newer pure white costume, and quite willingly accompanied her mother and sister to several drapers’ establishments and modistes to look for a suitable fabric. When they discovered a length of white silk of cobweb delicacy, embroidered all over in silver with an exquisite design of acorns, leaves, and vines, all three ladies sighed with unanimous, radiant relief. Kate quailed at the exorbitant price tag attached to such a luxurious fabric, but Lady Langston did not turn a hair as she purchased it.

  From the way her mother was scattering orders for expensive additions to all their wardrobes, Kate had nightmare visions of Lord Sedgeley’s generous settlement being completely squandered on a costly celebration of a sham marriage. Thankfully, her mother was able to reassure her on this point. The terms of the settlement had included a lump sum for the payment of Lord Langston’s debts as well as providing five thousand pounds for Deborah’s marriage portion. Most of the money intended for the Harmon daughters had gone to pay debts that had accumulated before their father died so suddenly. To compound the family’s difficulties, certain unfortunate investments toward the end of his life had reduced old Lord Langston’s capital to such a degree that Broadwoods was more of a liability than an asset by the time Roger inherited it. It would take years of careful management and retrenchment if the estate was ever to recover from this blow. Roger had the assistance of an excellent man of business, but it was still an awesome responsibility for such an inexperienced young man.

  With the removal of her fears that their prenuptial spending might result in continued straitened circumstances, Kate was able to enjoy the novel experience and somewhat guilty pleasure of choosing costumes, hats, and accessories in the plural, if not quite without any regard to cost, then her thrifty nature and earlier training in habits of economy must be held accountable.

  Without doubt, practically every woman of her acquaintance would make it a point to call on the new bride once it was known that she was “at home” to visitors. Since the couple was not going away, she must assemble a suitable wardrobe in which to receive these visits before her wedding took place. There was always much interest in a bride’s trousseau amongst her women friends.

  She considered herself fortunate indeed to have the benefit of Lady Langston’s advice in this prodigious task, because her mother was noted for her sense of style. In only one instance did Kate have a strong enough preference to insist upon having her own way. She acquiesced readily to the design Lady Langston selected for her wedding gown, but vetoed her next suggestion of a wreath of artificial roses to wear upon her head in the current fashion for young brides.

  “Mama,” she said eagerly, “do you recall that beautiful shawl of Honiton lace that Papa gave you years ago? Well, if you should have no objection, I should like to wear this draped over a high comb in the manner of Spanish ladies.”

  Noting her daughter’s air of anxious expectancy, Lady Langston’s face softened immediately. Such a relief to find the child had at least one preference for what was, after all, the most important day in a girl’s life. Still, her reply was a trifle hesitant.

  “I do not think there would be a problem in the effect created with your dress, since it is essentially sleeveless and very simply styled, but this would be a departure from custom, my dear, and I am persuaded it would look more the thing if your hair was dressed in the Spanish mode, gathered at the back of your head. It might not be of a length sufficient to this purpose, and the style might not suit you.”

  “May we try, Mama, please?” begged Kate.

  Deborah’s clever fingers accomplished the task of drawing Kate’s heavy hair to the back, where she succeeded in anchoring it in a large, soft knot at the nape of her neck, not without some little difficulty, for the hair was, as feared, not quite long enough and was in addition a bit too curly to achieve the perfectly smooth effect desired.

  But, as the artiste said optimistically, “It will be a bit longer in three weeks, and the mantilla will conceal the shorter pieces on the top that have been pinned down.”

  The style itself was conceded by both ladies to be unexpectedly flattering in that it emphasized the perfect oval shape of Kate’s face and the purity of her delicate profile. They had found a high comb in the Pantheon Bazaar and, after unwrapping the lace shawl from its layers of silver paper, draped it carefully over this ornament, stepping back simultaneously for a better look. Kate, who had remained docilely seated throughout the long process, could not conceal her disappointment at the little silence that followed this action.

  “Oh, dear,” she sighed. “Doesn’t it become me?”

  “My dearest child, you look absolutely ravishing!” Lady Langston had tears in her eyes as she impulsively kissed her daughter’s cheek.

  Deborah hugged her sister fiercely to the imminent danger of the fragile lace. “Darling Kate, you will be the most beautiful bride of the season, and by far the most distinctive.” She seized Kate’s hand and tugged gently. “Stand up and come over to the long mirror. There! Doesn’t the mantilla give her added height and a lovely dignity, Mama? How fortunate that Nicholas is so tall. He will be excessively proud of you, Katie,” she had predicted gaily.

  Would Nicholas be proud of her, Kate wondered wryly, recalling this scene as she sat sewing quietly on the day before her marriage. Lately, he had paid her only t
he most perfunctory of compliments and only when her family or others were present, and yet she could not think that he had simply grown accustomed to her presence and was rather taking her for granted. His assessing glance each time they met was too keen for her to entertain such a comfortable notion. Though the idea seemed preposterous, her instinct told her that he actually begrudged her the conventional compliments that their engaged status seemed to demand. For a long moment she questioned the advisability of wearing the lovely mantilla, which, she conceded (not in a spirit of vanity, for Kate, dwelling in the shadow of two beauties all her life, had never much valued her own looks), did lend her an air of distinctive elegance if not actual beauty. She was serious in wondering if it might not be more politic to play down any attractions she might possess in setting the tone for future behaviour toward Torvil, but somehow all her feminine pride revolted at the thought of appearing at her wedding looking less than her best. And, she reminded herself hastily, neither her parent nor her sister would countenance a change in costume at this late date. Besides, Torvil had given his word not to press his claims as her husband. Most likely nothing she wore or did to herself would serve to inflame his senses in any case when he already possessed a beautiful mistress, whose favours he had no slightest intention of foregoing upon entering the married state. She had his own word for that.