First Comes Marriage (4 page)

“What do you think?” her sister asked, shaking out the garment she had been working on and holding it up for Vanessa’s inspection.

It was Katherine’s primrose yellow evening gown, which had been looking slightly limp and tired when she wore it at Christmas. It was at least three years old. Now it sported shining blue ribbon sewn in two bands close to the hem and in one thin band around the edges of the short sleeves.

“Oh, very smart indeed,” Vanessa said. “It makes the dress look almost new again. Did you find the ribbon in Miss Plumtree’s shop?”

“I did,” Margaret said. “And a pretty penny it cost too. Cheaper than a new gown, however.”

“And did you buy some for yourself too?” Vanessa asked.

“No,” her sister said. “My blue gown is just fine as it is.”

Except that it was even older than Katherine’s yellow—and more faded. But Vanessa made no comment. Even the one length of ribbon was an extravagance that would have put a dent in Margaret’s purse.
Of course
she would not have spent so recklessly on herself.

“It is,” she agreed cheerfully. “And who notices your dresses anyway when the person inside them is so beautiful?”

Margaret laughed as she got to her feet to drape the dress over the back of an empty chair.

“And all of twenty-five years old,” she said. “Goodness, Nessie, where has the time gone?”

For Margaret it had gone in caring for her siblings. On being unswervingly unselfish in her devotion to them. She had rejected a number of marriage offers, including the one from Crispin Dew, Hedley’s older brother.

And so Crispin, who had always wanted to be a military officer, had gone off to war without her. That was four years ago. Vanessa was as sure as she could be that there had been an understanding between them before he left, but apart from a few messages in his letters to Hedley, Crispin had not communicated directly with Margaret in all that time. Nor had he been back home. One could say that he had not had any chance to come home with the country constantly at war as it was, and that it would have been improper anyway for a single gentleman to engage in a correspondence with a single lady. But even so, four years of near-silence was a very long time. Surely a really ardent lover would have found a way.

Crispin had not found one.

Vanessa strongly suspected that her sister was nursing a severely bruised heart. But it was one thing they never spoke of, close as they were.

“What will
you
be wearing this evening?” Margaret asked when her question was not answered. But how could one answer such a question? Where
did
time go?

“Mama-in-law wants me to wear my green,” Vanessa said.

“And will you?” Margaret settled in her chair again and for once sat with idle hands.

Vanessa shrugged and looked down at her gray wool dress. She had still not been able to persuade herself to leave off her mourning entirely.

“It might appear that I had forgotten him,” she said.

“And yet,” Margaret reminded her—as if she needed reminding, “Hedley bought you the green because he thought the color particularly suited you.”

He had bought it for the summer fete a year and a half ago. She had worn it only once—to sit beside his sickbed on that day while the revelries proceeded in the garden below.

He had died two days later.

“Perhaps I will wear it tonight,” she said. Or perhaps she would wear the lavender, which did not suit her at all but was at least half mourning.

“Here comes Kate,” Margaret said, looking through the window and smiling, “in more of a hurry than usual.”

Vanessa turned her head to see their youngest sister waving to them from the garden path.

A minute later she burst in upon them, having divested herself of her outdoor garments in the hallway.

“How was school today?” Margaret asked.

“Impossible!” Katherine declared. “Even the children are infected with excitement about this evening. Tom Hubbard stopped by to ask me for the opening set, but I had to say no because Jeremy Stoppard had already reserved it with me. I will dance the second set with Tom.”

“He will ask you again to marry him,” Vanessa warned.

“I suppose so,” Katherine agreed, sinking into the chair closest to the door. “I suppose he would die of shock if I were to say yes one of these times.”

“At least,” Margaret said, “he would die happy.”

They all laughed.

“But Tom brought startling news with him,” Katherine said. “There is a
viscount
staying at the inn. Have you ever heard the like?”

“At
our
inn?” Margaret asked her. “No, I never have. Whatever for?”

“Tom did not know,” Katherine said. “But I can imagine that he—the viscount, that is—will be the main topic of conversation this evening.”

“Goodness me, yes,” Vanessa agreed. “A viscount in Throckbridge! It may never be the same again. I wonder how he will enjoy the sounds of music and dancing above his head for half the night. It is to be hoped that he does not demand we stop.”

But Katherine had spotted her dress. She jumped to her feet with an exclamation of delight.

“Meg!” she cried. “Did
you
do this? How absolutely lovely it looks! I will be the envy of everyone tonight. Oh, you really ought not to have. The ribbon must have cost the earth. But I am so glad you did. Oh, thank you, thank you.”

She dashed across the room to hug Margaret, who beamed with pleasure.

“The ribbon caught my eye,” she said, “and I could not possibly leave the shop before I had bought a length of it.”

“You want me to believe it was an impulsive purchase?” Katherine said. “What a bouncer, Meg. You went there deliberately to look for some suitable trimming just because you wanted to do something nice for me. I know you of old.”

Margaret looked sheepish.

“Here comes Stephen,” Vanessa said, “in more of a hurry than Kate was.”

Their brother saw Vanessa looking out at him and grinned and waved a greeting. He was wearing his old riding clothes, she could see, and boots that looked as if they were in dire need of a good brushing. Sir Humphrey Dew allowed him to ride the horses from the Rundle stables whenever he wished, a favor Stephen had accepted gladly, but in return he insisted upon doing some work in the stables.

“I say,” he said, bursting into the parlor a minute later, smelling of horse, “have you heard the news?”

“Stephen.” Margaret looked pained. “Is that
manure
on one of your boots?”

The smell alone would have answered her question.

“Oh, dash it.” He looked down. “I thought I had cleaned it all off. I’ll do it right away. Have you heard about the viscount staying at the inn?”

“
I
told them,” Katherine said.

“Sir Humphrey has gone to bid him welcome,” Stephen told them.

“Oh,” Vanessa said with a slight grimace.

“I daresay,” Stephen said, “he will find out what the man is doing here. It is a strange thing, is it not?”

“I suppose,” Margaret said, “he is just passing through, poor man.”

“Lucky man,” Stephen said. “But whoever
passes through
Throckbridge?
From
where
to
where? And
why
?”

“Perhaps Papa-in-law will find out,” Vanessa said. “And perhaps he will not. But doubtless we will all live on even if our curiosity is never satisfied.”

“Perhaps,” Katherine said, clasping her hands to her bosom and batting her eyelids theatrically as she twirled once about, “he has heard of the Valentine’s ball and has come here to seek a bride.”

“Oh, Lord,” Stephen said. “Has Valentine’s Day turned you daft, Kate?”

He laughed and ducked away from the cushion she hurled at his head.

The parlor door opened again to admit Mrs. Thrush. She had Stephen’s best shirt over one arm.

“I have just ironed it, Mr. Stephen,” she told him as he thanked her and took it from her. “You take it up to your room immediately and lay it flat on your bed. I do not want to see it all creases again even before you put it on.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, winking at her. “I mean, yes, ma’am. I did not even realize it needed ironing.”

“No.” She clucked her tongue. “I don’t suppose you did. But if all the young girls are going to be swooning over you, as I daresay they will, you might as well be wearing a freshly ironed shirt. And
not
those boots. Phew! I’ll have you down scrubbing my floors with your own hands if you do not take them off and set them outside the door before you go upstairs.”

“The ironing was to be my next task,” Margaret said. “Thank you, Mrs. Thrush. Now I think it is time we all thought about getting ready for the assembly. Nessie, it is certainly time you went home before Lady Dew sends out a search party. Stephen, do get those disgusting boots out of this parlor. Mrs. Thrush, please make yourself a cup of tea and put your feet up for a while. You have been busy all day.”

“And you have been sitting around doing nothing, I suppose,” Mrs. Thrush retorted. “Oh, I must tell you all. Mrs. Harris knocked on the back door not five minutes since. There is a viscount staying at the inn. Sir Humphrey went to call on him there and has invited him to the assembly as his particular guest. What do you think of
that
?”

She looked a little surprised when they all burst out laughing, but then she joined them.

“Poor man,” she said. “He probably didn’t have any choice with Sir Humphrey. And I suppose it is just as well if he does go to the dance. The inn would be pretty noisy for anyone trying to get some rest.”

“There you are, Kate,” Stephen said. “If he has come looking for a bride, this is your chance.”

“Or Miss Margaret’s,” Mrs. Thrush said. “She is as pretty as a picture. It is time her prince came riding by.”

Margaret laughed.

“But this man is only a
viscount,
” she said, “and I absolutely insist upon waiting for a prince to ride by. Now move, everyone, or we are going to be late.”

She hugged Vanessa as her sister prepared to leave the room.

“Don’t change your mind about this evening,” she said. “Come, Nessie. Indeed, if you do not, I may well have to leave the inn and come to get you. It is time for you to enjoy life again.”

Vanessa walked alone back to Rundle Park, having refused Stephen’s offer to escort her. She was definitely going to the assembly, she thought, though she had not been
quite
sure about it even when she had arrived at the cottage. She was going. And despite herself—despite lingering grief for Hedley and a certain guilt over even
thinking
of enjoying herself again—she was looking forward to the evening with some eagerness. Dancing had always been one of her favorite activities, yet she had not danced for more than two years.

Was it selfish, heartless, to want to live again?

Her mother-in-law wanted her to go. So did her sisters-in-law. And Sir Humphrey—Hedley’s
father
—had even told her she must dance.

Would anyone offer to partner her, though?

Surely
someone
would.

She would dance if someone asked her.

Perhaps the viscount . . .

She chuckled aloud at the absurd thought as she turned onto the footpath that was a shortcut to the house.

Perhaps the viscount was ninety years old and bald and toothless.

And
married.

3

“I WISH,” Louisa Rotherhyde said as she stood with Vanessa in the assembly rooms watching all the late arrivals and nodding and smiling in greeting at any acquaintance—at
everyone,
in other words—who passed close to them, “Viscount Lyngate would turn out to be tall, blond, and handsome and no more than twenty-five years old and charming and amiable and not at all high in the instep. And I wish he would turn out to like dumpy, mousy-haired females of very modest fortunes—well, no fortune at all, in fact—and marginally agreeable manners and years to match his own. I suppose I need not wish that he were rich. Doubtless he is.”

Vanessa fanned her face and laughed.

“You are not dumpy,” she assured her friend. “And your hair is a pretty shade of light brown. Your manners are very agreeable indeed, and your character is your fortune. And you have a lovely smile. Hedley used to say so.”

“Bless his heart,” Louisa said. “But the viscount has a friend with him. Perhaps
he
will see fit to become passionately attached to me—if he should happen to be personable, that is. And it would help if he were in possession of a sizable fortune too. It is all very well, Nessie, to have dances and assemblies and dinners and parties and picnics galore, but one always sees exactly the same faces at every entertainment. Do you never wish for London and a Season and beaux and ... Ah, but of course you do not. You had Hedley. He was beautiful.”

“Yes, he was,” Vanessa agreed.

“Did Sir Humphrey describe Viscount Lyngate to you?” Louisa asked hopefully.

“He described him as an agreeable young gentleman,” Vanessa said. “But to Father-in-law anyone below the age of his own sixty-four years is young, and almost everyone is agreeable. He sees his own good nature in everyone. And no, Louisa, he did
not
describe the viscount’s looks. Gentlemen do not, you know. I do believe we are about to find out for ourselves, however.”

Her father-in-law had entered the assembly rooms, looking important in his genial way, his chest thrust out with pride, his palms rubbing together, his complexion ruddy with pleasure. Behind him were two gentlemen, and there was no doubting who they were. There were very rarely any strangers in Throckbridge. Of the few there had been in living memory, none—not a single one—had ever attended a dance at the assembly rooms and precious few had ever been to the annual summer ball at Rundle Park.

These two were strangers—
and
they were at the assembly.

And one of them, of course, was a
viscount
.

The one who stepped into the room first behind Sir Humphrey was of medium height and build, though there was perhaps a suggestion of portliness about his middle. He had brown hair that was short and neatly combed, and a face that was saved from ordinariness by the open, pleasing amiability with which he observed the scene about him. He looked as if he were genuinely glad to be here. He was conservatively dressed in a dark blue coat with gray breeches and white linen. While probably past the age of twenty-five, he certainly still qualified for the epithet
young
.