“No, there is the best of good reasons
not
to. Everleigh is so jealous it would be more than my life is worth to try to see her. I have not the least desire to do so in any case—ever again.”
“But she is so beautiful, Clay. I don’t know how you can
not
love her.”
He grabbed her to him convulsively and tried to shower kisses on her face. She turned her head aside to hide the tears on her cheeks, and he could only reach her ear. “She is not half so beautiful as you,” he said into the ear, and resigned himself to doing no more than holding her in his arms. Till they were married, he must control his impulses.
At her door he said, “I love you very much, Ellie. Don’t let this business come between us.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and she ran up the stairs to her room to be alone in peace.
How could she doubt his words? His voice shook with emotion when he told her he loved her. Anyone might have fallen in love with Gloria’s beautiful face, and if Clay found herself twice as beautiful, he must love her very much indeed. One thing she was sure of: she loved him, as she would never love anyone else. Gloria was married, her husband fiendishly jealous. Whatever had been between Clay and the Rose would die a natural death when they were both married to jealous demons, for she acknowledged to herself that she was every bit as jealous as the Duke of Everleigh. She would have Clay, and if Gloria ever tried to get him away, she would scratch her beautiful blue eyes out of her head, and tell the Duke, too. On this outrageous thought she slept.
* * * *
The week between Claymore’s arrival in town and the marriage was to have been a period for them to become better acquainted. It turned into a gay social round with no time for anything but parties and fittings and shopping. They were frequently together, but they were seldom alone together. Mr. Wanderley and Abel came to town; various of Claymore’s relatives paid calls on the bride and held parties for the couple. When they hoped to slip away by themselves for half an hour,
Rex and Missie would suddenly decide that they, too, would love a turn in the park. George Hibbard had come for the wedding, and he and Wanda were frequent and unwelcome companions.
When Ellie read in the
Morning Observer
that the Everleighs had left for Brighton, she shoved Rose to the back of her mind. She heard on all sides what a fortunate creature she was, making such a fine match, and her fiancé so devoted to her. Even Wanda let up on her haranguing, determined to make herself beloved to the couple who had such a handsome London residence, with plenty of room for George and herself. With George at last present to compare favorably with the Marquis, she had no more to say than it was odd Ellie didn’t receive her engagement ring. Claymore did not find it possible, after a prolonged discussion with his man of business, to divert a thousand pounds to this purchase. Ellie appeared to have forgotten it, for she didn’t mention it to him again. There were presents to open, plans to make for a honeymoon, arrangements for a dresser for Ellie, for she presently shared one with Wanda, and a battle was pitched over this important point.
Miss Pritchard had “done” for both girls since they had begun putting their hair up, and they both laid claim to her continued services. Ellie carried the day by telling her mama Wanda was to remain practically at home among all their old friends, while she was to be launched among strangers, and must have one old friend with her.
“Yes indeed, and besides you are the
elder,”
her mother replied. Had she been the
younger
by ten minutes, that would have been the excuse. The
reason
was certainly not mentioned: that a daughter with the great fortune to nab a marquis might have whatever she wanted.
Miss Pritchard smiled happily, relieved that she must not state publicly that she wouldn’t do for Miss Wanda if she had to starve in a gutter first.
Miss Wanda’s beautiful nose was further disjointed by the discovery that a young lady making a grand match required a more valuable gift than one marrying a mere squire’s son. Silver wrought into every conceivable shape and form was hauled in for Ellie, and rather than expressing surprise that the relatives were so generous, it was stated that “you can’t go giving just anything to a
marquis.”
She was similarly told that Ellie, who would soon be coming into a settlement of twenty-five thousand pounds, must be outfitted in the first style
before
this time, for after all, she was marrying a
marquis.
“Next you will tell me she must have a bigger dowry than I, because she is marrying a
marquis,”
Wanda raged, and regretted her words when she saw the light of interest go on in her mother’s eyes. Mr. Wanderley scotched this idea, however, having already ordered a hundred tobacco plants, which required the enlargement of his greenhouse. Even Caroline, with an eye to her Chinese Chippendale stand and her harp, turned traitor and supported Ellie’s cause. In fact, it was only the recipient of all this largesse who stated in an unheeded voice that many of the wonders bestowed on her were neither necessary nor wanted, and that if
she
got six bonnets, Wanda ought to as well.
“You are forgetting we had all the expense of outfitting Wanda for her come-out this spring,” her mother said. “And she has still half a dozen gowns she hasn’t even worn. Who will see her, stuck out in the country anyway?”
“I don’t intend to remain stuck in the country!” Wanda fired back.
“You will if you don’t mind your manners,” her mother reminded her elliptically, and Wanda smiled grimly at her sister, who had snatched the Marquis right out from under her own nose, in the slyest manner imaginable.
The day for the wedding finally arrived. The gowns were prepared, the flowers on hand, their price and quality strongly derided by Adam, the church suitably trimmed with white lilies and white bows on the seats, the wedding feast prepared at Siderow House, the carriages washed and polished. Claymore House stood in readiness for the nuptial night, with
Homberly finally (to the bride’s mother’s relief) dispatched to Fenton Hotel, and far away in Somerset Claymore Hall was being turned out to receive its new mistress. This was to be the destination of their honeymoon. Everything but the engagement ring was taken care of. The wedding ring was purchased on credit, a circle of diamond chips set in a golden band. The party wended its way to St. George’s in Hanover Square, and the ceremony was performed with all due pomp and circumstance, crammed in between the weddings of Sir Geoffrey Haskin, Bart., and Captain Lawrence McMaster, for it was a very busy edifice at this time of the year.
It was agreed that the bride looked stunning, and the groom excessively handsome, and St. George’s had not seen so ideal a couple before, not since Sir Geoffrey and Miss Milne had entered its door an hour previously, and would never see such a sight again till the entry of Captain Lawrence McMaster and Miss Lanctot an hour later.
When the fateful words of the occasion were being enunciated in a low tone by the bride, Wanda reached out her hand and took ahold of George’s fingers. They exchanged a meaningful smile, and Wanda even squeezed out a tear. She hoped they would be very happy, and thought it a gross mistake for Ellie to have chosen the Spanish lace mantilla for a veil, for it stood up so very high, and made her look like a giant at a raree show.
She
would wear Mama’s, or perhaps the lovely one Caroline had worn. That would be her something old, and Caroline need not think she could palm it off as her wedding gift either, for she had given Ellie two sterling silver goblets, duplicates of which would look very handsome on the Hibbards’ fireplace shelf.
Joan worried whether she had reminded the housekeeper to clean the extra batch of silver that would be required, and was almost certain she had forgotten. She admired Ellie’s Spanish lace mantilla, such an original idea, though it made her look nearly as tall as Clay. Caroline, glancing across the aisle to the groom’s side of the church, wondered whether Lady Jane Blackmore wasn’t pregnant
again,
for her gown was hanging at a peculiar angle. Surely the baby wasn’t above four months, and she was already showing! If her own bambino proved to be a male, she would try not to have another for years and years. Lord, she hoped she wasn’t going to be sick! She overcame her nausea by the delightful notion of asking Ellie whether she would mind leaving the harp with her while she and Clay were in the country, for it would pass the time during the next few months when she couldn’t get about much. This settled, she set her inventive brain searching after an excuse to get the Chinese stand, temporarily.
Mrs. Wanderley dabbed at a tear and considered how long she ought to wait before going to visit Ellie in Somerset, and whether her husband would go with her, or must she make do with Abel. Lord, and not mention a word of it to the Homberlys, or Rex would tag along. Adam mentally toted up the price he would have to fork up for the wilting lilies, and regretted that he had not thought to provide flowers himself.
In less than an hour the ceremony was over, and the party repaired to Grosvenor Square for an afternoon of overeating, drinking, dancing and general revelry. Everyone complimented the young couple and insinuated with ingenuity that each was fortunate beyond just expectations in having snared the other. By way of complimenting them mutually, Rex, slightly bosky with wine, said, “Well, Clay, you said you was going to buy the prettiest girl in England to spite the Rose, and by Jove, you’ve done it.”
“That is not precisely what I said,” Clay replied, frowning heavily.
“The gist of it anyway. The morning you proposed to ... well, well, never mind that. Wasn’t supposed to mention it. Very nice wedding, Ellie. Your mother did you proud.” He shot a guilty glance at the groom, hunched his round shoulders in apology or desperation, and thought of a way to retrieve his slip into veracity. “Clay tell you about our little bonfire?” he asked genially, having found no opportunity to perform this office for his friend. “Burnt up all the Rose’s love letters. Whole slew of ‘em.”
“Yes, he told me,” she replied, torn between amusement and chagrin.
Rex said aside in a perfectly audible voice, “Glad to oblige you, Clay. Any time,” before stumbling off to tell Wanda she’d have to go some to beat this do.
Clay was naturally eager to avoid any further obligations Rex might wish to perform, and tried to keep out of his way, but alas, he was soon back. “Where’s Miss Simpson?” he demanded, in a voice becoming surly.
“Who is Miss Simpson?” Ellie asked.
“Who’s Miss Simpson? Well, if you ain’t a flat, Ellie. Miss Simpson’s the prettiest girl in London.”
“How does it come you didn’t marry
her,
Clay?” Ellie asked archly.
“ ‘Cause
I’m
going to marry her, that’s why,” Rex said. “She’s too tall for Clay. About as tall as you are today, with that lace scaffold you’ve got on your head. What in the deuce made you wear it? Wanda put you up to it to make a sight of you? Going to marry Miss Simpson. She’ll have to stoop a little. Daresay she won’t like it. Wanda didn’t.” He roamed off again, without waiting for any answers, in search of Miss Simpson, who was in Bath with her parents, receiving the attentions of a very
tall
Officer of the Guards.
“Poor
Rex is all about in his head,” Claymore was happy to inform his bride. “There is no making any sense of him when he’s in his cups.”
“He made pretty good sense to me,” Ellie said, then she turned abruptly away to receive yet more compliments from the Hibbards. She contrived to stay away from her husband for the next hour, till she should get her feelings under control. It was no easy matter, for he pursued her relentlessly, but at least they were not private, and he could hardly go into complicated explanations about having
bought
a bride at his wedding feast. Instead he consumed a great deal of wine to fortify his courage for the ordeal ahead of him. He was determined to get the subject of Gloria cleared away once and for all.
By the time the couple was waved from the door in a shower of rice and ensconced in Claymore’s carriage on their way home, he was as well foxed as Rex, and even Ellie had consumed more than she was accustomed to. Besides their reeling heads, they had their separate problems to consider, so that conversation was slight, and lovemaking nonexistent.
Clay struggled inadequately in his mind with words to explain how he had gone to Surrey seeking just any beautiful woman to marry him, and found there the girl of his dreams. Ellie, even more distracted, considered her nuptial night. She knew some unprecedented thing was going to happen to her, but had very little idea what. Her mama had told her ominously that “what was expected of her” on that night, and subsequent nights at her lord’s pleasure, was little enough price to pay for the privilege of being the Marchioness of Claymore. Joan might have been more explicit but for Mama’s comprehensive statement that she “had gone into all of that” and there was no point in throwing the poor girl into hysterics by harping on it. It was, strangely, Lady Tameson who had given her some hope by exclaiming with a titter that she feared she must be an
abandoned
creature, for she had come to enjoy it. Wanda, who was present on that interesting occasion, appeared to know more than her twin, for she, too, confided that she was looking forward to it.
Ellie could not bring herself to proclaim her ignorance before these two women of the world and was wallowing still in a sea of doubt and misconceptions. She had heard her Aunt Elaine once tell Joan that she had locked herself in the closet on her wedding night, and though she had laughed at the time, she was coming to think it a very good idea now. She pulled into her own corner of the coach and bit her lips in apprehension.
When Miss Pritchard, a spinster, of course, had arrayed her in her finest chiffon nightgown, brushed out her curls and said in a bracing accent, “Buck up, it won’t kill you,” Ellie was as prepared as she would ever be to receive her husband—or perhaps lock herself in the closet. A cursory examination revealed there was no lock on the closet, and besides she thought she would feel very foolish to be found crouching in amongst her suits and gowns. Before she had time to discover whether the spot under the bed was deep enough to conceal her, there was a tap on the door, and Claymore came in, fully clad she was happy to see, and carrying a tray with champagne and two glasses.