The Cavendon Women

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  DeLacy began to laugh, and so did Miles, who said to his sister, “Ceci will get you into the right clothes, old thing.”

  “I know she will.” With a small smile, DeLacy said, “I didn’t want to be the only one here tonight not in one of your frocks. So I asked Daphne to lend me something.”

  “She picked the right one for you,” Cecily replied, and slipping her arm around DeLacy, she began to walk her to the pale green sitting room. She thought DeLacy looked too thin and her eyes were so filled with sadness.

  A sense of relief settled in Miles. They were going to be fast friends again, as they had been in childhood. DeLacy needed Cecily’s strength, just as he did. DeLacy had not been herself for some time. He thought she was depressed.

  The three of them paused at the entrance to the sitting room, and Miles said softly, “Aunt Lavinia’s aware she’s no longer in the inner circle, DeLacy.”

  Cecily nodded, and DeLacy said in a whisper, “She ought to have known better. She shouldn’t have said those things.”

  Leaning closer to Cecily, Miles said against her hair, “I have to talk to you later. Privately.”

  “What about? Tell me now,” she insisted.

  “I can’t. Oh, there’s Papa and Charlotte, coming down the hall.” As he spoke he drew Cecily and his sister away from the doorway and guided them inside the room.

  A moment later the earl and Charlotte Swann entered together, smiling and nodding to everyone as they moved forward, walking toward the indoor garden.

  There was total silence as the couple moved through the room. Miles thought he had never seen his father looking healthier or happier, and Charlotte was stunningly beautiful.

  “She looks gorgeous,” Miles said in a whisper. “And the gown is sensational.”

  Cecily gave him a knowing smile.

  The evening gown, made of crepe de chine, was a soft mauve color. It was extremely plain, but cut in the flowing princess line, and was elegance personified. It had a round neckline, and the narrow sleeves became bell-shaped from the elbow down. The dress was just above ankle length, showing elegant satin court shoes dyed mauve to match the gown. As with all of Cecily’s clothes, the cut said it all … couture at its best.

  Charlotte wore the famous Marmaduke pearls. These were large South Sea pearls of a lustrous white, each one carefully matched. It was a long single strand that sat perfectly on the dress. Her earrings were of pearls and diamonds.

  Cecily was filled with pride and satisfaction when she saw how the rest of the guests looked at Charlotte. With awe, she thought; they’re all awed by her. It was as if they had never seen her aunt before. And they hadn’t, in a way. Certainly not looking like this, with her glossy, luxuriant hair cropped in the latest fashionable style, her perfect complexion glowing in the lamplight. Cecily knew that the mauve color of the gown brought out the faint hint of lavender in Charlotte’s smoky gray-blue eyes.

  She’s going to be the next Countess of Mowbray, Cecily reminded herself. And she looks every inch the countess. Elegant, confident, and distinguished. Little did Cecily know everyone else in the room was thinking exactly the same thing.

  Twenty

  Daphne was troubled. Even though everything was going well, she felt on edge, still anxious that something might go wrong.

  Glancing around the pink dining room in the South Wing, seeing how lovely it looked, she chided herself silently for being silly. Anticipatory despair, she reminded herself, to be avoided at all cost.

  In the candlelight the room appeared to glow, and it had a warm and intimate feeling. The two tables were uniquely beautiful, as were the floral centerpieces.

  Delicious food and superb wines had been served with precision and elegance by Hanson and his footmen, and she could see how pleased her father looked. As for Charlotte, she was radiant; her face was serene, and there was a calmness about her that reflected her self-assurance.

  Daphne herself had placed the guests, and now she was wondering if she had made a few mistakes. No, she scolded herself, I haven’t. It was obvious everyone was enjoying themselves and getting along with their dinner partners.

  It struck Daphne then that perhaps this was one of the problems. Two of the men seemed rather friendly with two of the women. Her sister Diedre, seated at her table, was looking relaxed with handsome blond Paul Drummond at her side.

  Her eyes went to the other table. Mark Stanton seemed about to be devoured by her aunt Lavinia, an older woman, a widow losing her blond good looks. What could Mark possibly see in her? she wondered. As Daphne continued to gaze at them she saw they were oblivious to everyone else, caught up in each other. Well, well, well, she thought, there’s no accounting for taste. Who would have thought Lavinia still had it in her to entice a man like Mark.

  Now Daphne’s attention swung to Lavinia’s sister, Aunt Vanessa, her own favorite. Vanessa was truly gorgeous this evening in a pink chiffon dress, obviously designed by Cecily. It was the glow in her blue eyes that said it all. Vanessa was in love. And of course it’s serious, Daphne thought, and who wouldn’t be serious about Richard Bowers? Good-looking, a perfect gentleman, and obviously as liberal-minded as Vanessa. The moment he had spotted Howard Pinkerton in the pale green sitting room, Richard had gone over to speak with him, and to shake his hand. The two of them had chatted for a few minutes, and Howard had obviously felt extremely flattered to be sought out in this way.

  Her father had told her that Richard Bowers had a top job at Scotland Yard, was Eton and Cambridge educated. Although he had a law degree and could have been a barrister, he wanted to be in the justice system, hence his top job at Scotland Yard.

  But he’s not a cop on the beat, she thought, smiling to herself, just as Miles had pointed out earlier. She glanced at her brother, who was sitting between Vanessa and Diedre, and noticed that he only had eyes for Cecily, on the other side of the table.

  I want Miles to be happy, Daphne suddenly thought. I really do. Those two belong together, and surely Papa will understand that. After all, he’s about to marry Charlotte … breaking the old rules himself, setting a precedent in a way. And times had changed.

  But there was a genuine stumbling block, Daphne was aware of that. Clarissa. Miles had told her he was going to get a divorce, but Hugo and she believed Clarissa was more than likely going to be difficult, not as easy to handle as Miles thought. There might not be a divorce for years. If ever.

  Howard Pinkerton, who was sitting next to Daphne, said, “I was surprised to see Mr. Bowers here, Lady Daphne. I just wanted to say that we all look up to him at the Yard; he’s that kind of man, you know, a true leader. He inspires the men, and he’s known for his integrity.”

  “That’s wonderful to know,” Daphne responded, and suddenly looked at Miles, who had just risen. She also noticed Hanson standing in the doorway, flanked by the two footmen.

  “I would like everyone to come outside to the terrace,” Miles announced. “For a little entertainment.”

  * * *

  None of the guests had expected to see a fireworks display, and they were fascinated as the night sky exploded with Catherine wheels and sunbursts and rainbow colors. It was magical. All of the villagers had been invited to come to the park, and they were clapping and cheering along the paths below the terrace as the fanciful patterns erupted above them. It was a show that became more spectacular by the minute.

  Only Daphne noticed the two couples who slipped away discreetly. Diedre and Paul Drummond disappeared first, followed a few minutes later by Lavinia and Mark Stanton. Slipping her arm through Hugo’s, Daphne led him down the terrace. Once they were alone, she whispered, “Looks like there are two romances blossoming here.”

  Hugo glanced down at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”

  “Paul seems to have taken quite a liking Diedre, whilst Aunt Lavinia has gobbled up your cousin Mark.”

  Laughter filled the air, and then Hugo spluttered, “You can’t be serious, darling. Now come on, tell me it’s a jok
e.”

  “It’s true. And by the way, Howard Pinkerton gave Richard Bowers a great review. He said all the men at the Yard look up to him.”

  Hugo nodded. “He is that kind of chap, you know. I spotted it right away. He’s made of fine stuff, the type you know you can rely on in a crisis or a disaster.”

  * * *

  “So I’m definitely going to London on Tuesday,” Miles said, looking into Cecily’s eyes. “I aim to move quickly. I want to see Clarissa and work out the terms of the divorce.”

  “I hope she agrees,” Cecily answered, staring back at him. “You know she’s not in a hurry to give you your freedom.”

  “I’ve got to do it, Ceci. I must. The point is, will you have supper with me in London? I’ll be staying in town for several days.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation and then Cecily said, “Yes, I will, Miles.”

  He was so happy he grabbed hold of her and pulled her to him. Against her cheek, he said, “It’ll be like old times.”

  Cecily Swann did not answer. She was rendered speechless at this thought … old times indeed. Whatever was she going to do? She had no answer for herself. All she knew was that the barrier went up again. She must protect herself against heartbreak and pain. Miles had no control over Clarissa. Or his father. It was still the status quo, and she was aware of that. On the other hand, she did have control of her own life, her destiny.

  Twenty-one

  The matriarch of the Ingham family was the first guest to arrive. Charles had sent the car for her, and when Hartley pulled up outside the small church on the estate, Lady Gwendolyn saw the four groomsmen standing on the steps, each with a white rosebud in the buttonhole of his lapel and a huge smile on his face.

  It was Hugo who stepped forward, opened the car door, and helped her out. After greeting her warmly and kissing her on the cheek, he led his aunt up the few steps.

  Harry Swann, Mark Stanton, and Paul Drummond were the other groomsmen; hovering behind them was Miles, who was to be his father’s best man. Each of them had a special word of welcome for her, especially Harry, who continued to supervise the gardener who had taken over from him. She was very fond of Harry, knew him to be a young man of great competence, also dependable and loyal. She was happy he was working with Miles, helping to run the estate.

  Oh dear, all this blue, Lady Gwendolyn suddenly thought when she saw the bridesmaids waiting just inside the church. They were looking truly beautiful, each holding a posy of white and pink roses.

  The four Dees, and Daphne’s twelve-year-old daughter, Alicia, wore elegant dresses, all different in style but of the same delphinium blue, an Ingham favorite. And I’m wearing delphinium blue, too, she thought. Dear oh dear, and then she laughed to herself, thinking: Oh well, who cares? This is such a wondrous day.

  Lady Gwendolyn was thrilled that an Ingham was marrying a Swann at long last. This thought lingered as she walked down the aisle, arm in arm with Hugo.

  * * *

  Although Lady Gwendolyn had no way of knowing it, Charlotte Swann was thinking exactly the same thing about the Inghams and the Swanns at this moment in time.

  Charlotte stood in her newly decorated dressing room at Cavendon Hall, which she had not used before, waiting patiently as Cecily fastened the twenty-two buttons running down the back of her wedding gown.

  Her mind was centered on her marriage to Charles, due to take place very shortly. After more than one hundred seventy years of close ties between them, a Swann was marrying an Ingham for the first time. She knew only too well from the record books that there had been a lot of intermingling of the two families in that time, but never a wedding.

  Charles had been asking her to marry him for the last five years, constantly listing all of the reasons why they should take this step. They loved each other; he genuinely wanted her to be his wife; he had a pressing need to know she would be safe and protected in every way if she outlived him.

  She had always refused, understanding the ancient rules between the aristocracy and the other classes, and also she was aware of the many pitfalls such a union could create. It was only after his heart attack last year that she had finally succumbed to his endless pleading that they wed.

  He had succinctly pointed out, in no uncertain terms, that if he fell ill again, and perhaps became mentally impaired, his children would be in charge of him and his life. He had added that if he could not do his own thinking, he wanted her to be the one to do it. And no one else. He then reminded her that they had grown up together, understood each other completely, and looked at life in the same way. “You must become my wife; we must make it legal,” he had said in a most determined voice, and she had finally agreed they should get married.

  That would happen in about half an hour, and then they would start a new life together. They were both in their fifties, and she did not know how long they would have together. That did not matter. They would live each day to the fullest, and she would look after Charles, and endeavor to protect him as best she could.

  His constant anxiety about Cavendon Hall, the running of the estate, and the financial burdens of it were ever present and debilitating at times. This was one of the reasons she was glad he had agreed to remain abroad for three months, and not three weeks as everyone thought.

  Charlotte believed it would do him the world of good to be away from the pressure of business, the awful worries about DeLacy and Miles and their unhappy lives, and the absence of a grandson who would inherit the title from Miles and ensure the continuation of the Ingham line. And now there was the hideous problem of the missing jewels. When Charles had confided in her on Friday he had added that Daphne was going to deal with Felicity, and immediately she had been heartened, and also relieved.

  Despite her great beauty, and her appearance of fragility and femininity, Daphne was tough, had a backbone of steel. Charlotte was absolutely certain Daphne would win the battle with her mother. There was no doubt in her mind about that—

  “All right! The last button fastened!” Cecily exclaimed, interrupting Charlotte’s thoughts. “And now for the cape.”

  “Can I go and look at myself?” Charlotte asked, glancing at her great-niece.

  “No, no, not yet,” Cecily answered in a firm voice.

  At this moment the door of the dressing room opened, and Cecily’s mother, Alice, walked in, and stopped. She stood staring at Charlotte, surprise flashing across her face. “Oh my goodness! Don’t you look—”

  “Don’t say a word, Mam,” Cecily instructed, staring hard at Alice. “I want Aunt Charlotte to be just as surprised as you are.”

  Alice nodded, fully understanding what Cecily meant. Charlotte looked extraordinary, so beautiful in the wedding gown, Cecily wanted her Aunt Charlotte to see her transformation for herself.

  The gown was made of the palest of gray-blue silk crepe de chine, and although it was simple in style it was a marvel. It had no side seams, only one seam down the back, which would be hidden by a cape. Essentially, the gown was a long tube with a scooped-out neckline and long, narrow sleeves ending at the wrist.

  Alice knew that Cecily, wanting to be sure that the dress hung correctly, had sewn tiny lead pellets in the hem. Now she realized that the small weights worked to perfection. And they were invisible, because the crepe de chine gown was lined with silk. She’s clever, Alice thought, as always filled with pride in her daughter, often awed by her talent.

  Cecily said, “Mam, come and help me, will you please?” As she spoke she placed a matching pale blue crepe de chine cape on Charlotte’s shoulders.

  “Of course,” Alice replied, hurrying across the room.

  This was not a typical cape, full and flowing. Instead it was very narrow; Cecily called it “skinny.” It sat on the shoulders only, did not even edge out onto the collarbones, and it merely grazed the sleeves. The back of the cape hung straight down, and was extremely narrow.

  Looking at her mother, Cecily said, “I’ve used hooks and eyes. Obviously the
hooks are on the inside of the cape, the eyes on the shoulders of the gown. Here, take a look before we fasten it in place.”

  Within a second the cape was attached, and Cecily announced, “There you are, Aunt Charlotte! You’re ready to walk down the aisle. Now you can go and look at yourself. And don’t forget, you will feel the small weights in both the cape and the dress as you move, but they don’t show, I promise you.”

  “I trust you implicitly,” Charlotte answered, smiling at Cecily, and then she turned and slowly walked over to the cheval mirror at the other end of the dressing room.

  Charlotte was startled when she saw her reflection. She could not believe how she looked in the gown and cape. She had tried on both items of clothing in London, and had had several fittings, but the finished effect was extraordinary. The narrow gown and narrower cape made her look slimmer, taller, and pale gray-blue was a flattering color for her. The pieces were elegant couture at its best, and they told her why Cecily was a genius.

  As she stared at herself, wondering who she had suddenly become, Charlotte realized Cecily had been right to insist she use cosmetics. Her complexion was clear and translucent; she did look younger than she was, and had few wrinkles. But the touch of lip rouge on her mouth and mascara on her eyelashes enhanced her face.

  As for her hair, the cropped style suited her, was sleek and modern. Her only pieces of jewelry were a pair of small diamond studs in her ears, and the sapphire engagement ring Charles had given her before the dinner last night.

  “You’re not saying anything,” Alice said at last. “Don’t you like the way you look, Charlotte?”

  “I do, I do. I’m just astonished,” Charlotte replied with a small laugh.

  Cecily laughed with her. “You look beautiful, Aunt Charlotte, and now it’s time for us to leave for the church.”

  * * *

  Walter Swann had an expression on his face that was a mixture of astonishment and delight. His aunt, looking half her age, was a picture of elegance and grace, and he knew she would make every head turn in the church. As for his daughter, Cecily, she had taken her marvelous talent to yet another, even higher level. The pale blue gown and cape were incomparable, and his pride in these two Swann women knew no bounds.