“Harwood informed me in no uncertain terms that it is their wish to be married at Kennington. Believe me. the man was quite definite about it.” The duke fiddled uneasily with the silver letter opener on his desk as he recalled Gareth’s exact words.
All her life Althea has asked for very little and worked very hard to live up to what was expected of her. It is time that those who demanded so much of her give her something in return.
There had been no mistaking the tone in the marquess’s voice. The duke, despite his exalted station, his years, and his illustrious lineage, had recognized the voice of command, and acquiesced.
“I will not be seen ...”
“And we shall make a journey to Kennington in order to see the thing properly done,” her husband continued, utterly ignoring his wife’s outraged expression.
Elsewhere in town, the news was received with precisely the mixed emotions that Gareth had predicted. “Congratulations, my dear. Of course I
knew
she was the one for you the moment she made her appearance. Nothing but an incomparable of incomparables would do for my only son. After all”—the Marchioness of Harwood turned to smiled coquettishly at Lord Battisford, who had come to escort her to the exhibition at the Royal Academy—”he is the son of one who was accounted something of an incomparable in her time. And certainly, the family and the fortune are all that one could wish for. I do trust, Gareth, that you have spoken to the duke about the settlements. In addition, her manners are excellent and her person most elegant. Not so elegant, perhaps, as some ...” The marchioness paused for a moment as the full implication of her own words sank in. “I do think, Batty, that perhaps we should settle our own affairs before the wedding. After all, one would not want any other joyous events to detract from the celebrations of the young people.”
“What? Oh, er, yes. Quite so. Whatever you say, my dear.” Lord Battisford wore the helpless smile of a man giving in to the inevitable. “I shall procure a special license immediately.”
Doing his best to stifle his amusement, Gareth offered the pair his congratulations and hurried off to Rundell and Bridge’s to order a simple band of gold. He smiled to himself as he sauntered along Great Marlborough Street. Who would have thought that the prospect of slipping a ring on a woman’s ringer would bring him, the Bachelor Marquess, so much joy?
The festivities celebrating the marriage of the Marquess of Harwood to Lady Althea Beauchamp, though simple, were abundant. Tenants and villagers from both Kennington and Harwood partook of the quantities of food laid out on trestle tables on the lawns behind Kennington, for Gareth had made sure that there were plenty of wagons to transport all the loyal folk who had served his family through its darkest period of financial reverse.
While the holiday atmosphere owed much to the fineness of the day and the never-ending supply of ale, roast beef, pigeon pies, and other delicacies too numerous to count, the people of Kennington and Harwood alike shared a genuine feeling of joy as they took part in the happiness of the two who had worked hard to ensure the comfort and prosperity of their respective estates. And more than one romantic young maid remarked as she observed the bride and the bridegroom sharing a secret smile every now and then that they looked just like the prince and princess in a fairy tale.
Not everyone, however, participated in this general spirit of festivity. Though she would never have admitted to agreeing with a single notion put forth by the new Lady Battisford, the Duchess of Clarendon and Gareth’s mother were alike in considering the entire thing to be a dreadfully rustic and most paltry affair indeed that could not be said to boast a single guest worth knowing, besides themselves, of course.
The rest of the crowd, unburdened by such delicate sensibilities, enjoyed themselves thoroughly, far into the evening, and it was a very groggy but happy throng that climbed aboard wagons returning to Harwood in the wake of the carriage that carried the happy couple.
Left standing on the steps of Kennington as the carriage rolled down the drive, the duke was astounded to perceive his mother being handed into a second carriage of her own. He strode over to the carriage window. “What is this, Mama? We have made arrangements for you to return to town with us in the morning.”
“Thank you, Henry, but I have been invited to join Althea and Gareth at Harwood.”
“Join Althea and Gareth? I have never heard of such an absurd notion. The proper place for the Dowager Duchess of Clarendon is at Clarendon or at Clarendon House when we are in town.”
“But, Henry, I do not enjoy myself at Clarendon or Clarendon House. I shall enjoy myself at Harwood. I find the company of Gareth and Althea both stimulating and amusing. However, you, Henry, I am sad to say, are an old stick, and your wife is a dead bore.” The dowager smiled triumphantly as she shut the window and the carriage rolled off down the drive leaving the duke to stare helplessly after it.
In the carriage ahead of her the bride and groom were sharing similar sentiments. Looking down at Althea nestled in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his shoulder, Gareth thought he had never seen her looking so relaxed. “Happy, my love?”
She tilted her head to smile up at him. “Yes, Gareth.”
“Good. From now on I intend to make your life so thoroughly enjoyable and interesting that you will not even think of spending a moment of it without me ever again.”
In memory of Melinda Helfer
Friend,
Mentor,
and
A Champion
For so many of us
Copyright © 2002 by Evelyn Richardson
Originally published by Signet (0451205529)
Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.