Authors: Eloisa James
E
die dreamed about dancing with Gowan. They were sweeping through a ballroom in larger and larger circles, in perfect step together. And then she stopped in the middle of a twirl, pulled his head to hers, kissed him.
And woke up feeling happy. It turned out she had slept through breakfast, so she practiced for a few hours until it was time for luncheon. When she made her way downstairs, she found Layla seated in the dining room, looking rather the worse for wear, but more cheerful than she had been in some time.
“Darling!” she cried. “Do join me. Jonas will be here presently.”
“I don’t want any details,” Edie stated, rounding the table.
“As if I would do something so uncouth,” Layla responded, waving her hand, and then dropping it onto her forehead with a muffled groan. “I have a terrible head, darling. You can’t imagine. You father and I were up—”
“I hope you managed to have a rational conversation?”
Layla giggled. “I wouldn’t remember. I don’t think so. Rabbits, darling. Rabbits!”
It was Edie’s considered opinion that rabbiting through the night, though it might be a good start, was not a sufficient way to heal a marital breach.
“Luckily for you,” Layla continued, “I can plan a wedding even if my head does feel as if it’s about to cleave in two. Not to mention going shopping: we must buy some presents for your new little daughter. Well, technically your half sister-in-law or something like that.”
Edie bit her lip.
Layla’s eyes softened. “You will be a wonderful mother to that poor little scrap, Edie. You’ll see. The moment you see her, your heart will melt.”
Layla’s heart melted at the sight of any child: she stopped at every perambulator to coo and admire. But Edie tended to hang back. Children were so small and looked so fragile, and she had no idea what to do with them, or what to say.
“We’ll pay a visit to Egbert’s Emporium this very afternoon,” Layla continued. “She’ll need a doll, of course. Perhaps a toy farmyard as well, and one of those new dissected maps of England.”
“A map of Scotland would be more appropriate,” Edie put in.
“England, Scotland, whatever. I saw the most adorable doll a few days ago. It came with three bonnets. If only I’d known, I would have bought it, but your father hadn’t mentioned Susannah to me.”
Edie had a good idea why the earl hadn’t told his wife. The very idea of orphaned little Susannah made tears well in Layla’s eyes, and her father had obviously chosen silence over a difficult conversation. She reached across the table and squeezed her stepmother’s hand. “You will visit, won’t you? Please?”
“Of course! I shall be the most indulgent auntie any child has ever imagined. I’ll warn you now that I intend to shower her with ribbons and slippers and all kinds of fripperies. Between us, we’ll make up for the fact she lost her mother. ”
At that moment the door opened and Edie’s father entered. Unlike his wife, he looked groomed as ever. Edie had the greatest difficulty imagining her father less than immaculately dressed, though, of course, she didn’t really care to pursue the image.
Once he was seated, and the first course was served, he announced, “I have come to a conclusion about your wedding ceremony, Edith.”
Edie nodded. She had made up her mind that she would refuse to wait four more months.
“The duke hopes to force my hand by purchasing the special license. Recognizing that fact does not mean that I am necessarily unsympathetic. Besides, rumors will do the damage, whether we wait four months or not. It’s most unfortunate that Lady Runcible was told of Kinross’s request.” He flicked a disapproving glance at his wife that told Edie she was right: rabbiting did not magically cure marital disruption.
Luckily, Layla had her head down on her arm and didn’t see his silent reprimand.
“I have decided that I will allow the marriage to happen in the very near future,” he pronounced. “The wedding party will be small, naturally. I shall ask the Bishop of Rochester to perform the rites; he and I were at school together.”
Edie found a smile growing on her face without conscious volition.
“However, I shall insist that the duke either stay in London with you for some months, or, if he must travel back and forth to Scotland, that he do so while you remain in the city. I intend to see to it that there be no question in anyone’s mind about whether the marriage had to be speedily effected due to a breach in proper behavior.”
“But what if Edie finds herself
enceinte
within a week or so?” Layla asked, raising her head. “Then it will make no difference whether she stays here or goes to Scotland.”
“I won’t,” Edie said hastily. “I’m sure that never happens.”
“It happened to your mother,” her father said, unforgivably.
Layla’s chin stayed admirably high. “The Duke of Kinross certainly seems remarkably virile.”
“I don’t know where we would stay in London!” Edie babbled, her heart racing in response to the tension around the dining room table. What would happen to them once she left? She had played the role of family peacemaker for most of her father’s marriage.
“The duke owns a large town house a short distance from here,” her father said, his tone as measured and cool as ever. “You will have to learn your husband’s holdings, Edith. He holds a castle and its accompanying lands in Scotland, and as well as two other estates at some distance from his country seat, one of which, in the Highlands, is the seat of his clan. He owns a house in Shropshire and the aforementioned town house here. And,” he added punctiliously, “there was mention of a small island off the coast of Italy.”
“That is so romantic,” Layla exclaimed. “Please say that you will invite me to your island, Edie.” In the wake of the vicious little exchange earlier, she couldn’t match her husband’s composure. Her voice shook a bit.
“Of course,” Edie cried. “If there’s a house on the island, we would love to have you join us.”
She felt a bit peculiar about all those estates. It seemed she was marrying a potentate. It wasn’t that she was displeased to find that her husband was wealthy, but she wasn’t overjoyed, either. She’d seen her father run ragged by the responsibilities inherent in managing his estate and various houses.
Without those responsibilities, the earl could have been one of the world’s most renowned musicians. She felt a prickling of sorrow for him at the thought. She’d grown up knowing that women had no chance of performing in public, but for her father, a choice must have presented itself, at some point.
Then, looking at his strong jaw, she was struck by the truth of it: there had never really been a choice. The earl would never have turned his back on his responsibilities. He was as trapped by his birth as she was by her sex.
If Gowan hadn’t inherited his own set of responsibilities, he would presumably have spent his life growing wheat. The idea didn’t have the same force as becoming a world-class musician, although it did have a certain bucolic charm.
“I shall inform the duke of my decision as regards the ceremony this afternoon,” her father said now.
“Since there won’t be enough time to have a wedding gown designed for you, you can wear mine,” Layla put in. “The fashion has not changed so very much since I wore it. We’ll have it taken in, a stitch or two here and there, and it will fit you perfectly.”
“Oh, Layla, that is such a generous offer.” Edie took her stepmother’s hand again, wishing with all her heart that things had been different. Layla had been keeping the gown for her own daughter . . . but had apparently abandoned that dream.
Even in the grip of adolescent charmlessness, Edie had been in awe of her new stepmother’s wedding gown. It was made of silk embroidered all over with pinpoint spangles so that it flowed like water, catching the light and lending its wearer an impossibly ethereal air. Layla had floated down the aisle, beaming at Edie’s father. The memory was unbearably poignant now.
“Edith will wear her mother’s wedding gown,” the earl stated, brushing aside the offer.
Layla flinched.
Edie scowled at him. “I didn’t know my mother left a gown.”
“Her gown and her jewels are to be given to you upon your wedding.”
“I see.” She gave Layla’s hand a squeeze under the table.
Her stepmother’s eyes had grown precariously shiny. She stood up and said simply, “I do believe that I drank too much champagne last night to enjoy this meal.”
Edie and her father finished eating in complete silence. She waited to see if he was going upstairs to talk to his wife, but instead he strode into the hallway calling for his cloak. A moment later, the front door opened and he was gone.
So Edie ran up the stairs and found Layla surrounded by maids—and three open trunks.
“I am leaving to pay a visit to my parents in Berwick-upon-Tweed.” Her face was the color of parchment, but she wasn’t crying. “Now that my father’s gout precludes visits to London, I must travel to them instead.”
Edie sank into a chair.
“The only thing I’m sorry about is missing your wedding,” Layla continued. “But for all I know, I wouldn’t be welcome in the presence of your mother’s dress.”
“Oh, Layla, no!” Edie cried.
Her stepmother’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears. “You know how much I love you. But the idea of standing in a church next to your father during a wedding, and pretending that he is anything other than indifferent to me . . . I can’t do it.”
“I understand,” Edie said, getting up to give her a hug. “I truly do.”
“My parents’ country house is close to the Scottish border, so I’ll pay you a visit before—if I return to London.” She swallowed hard.
Edie pulled her closer, her heart aching. She opened her mouth to say that her father would surely fetch his wife back home, and then closed it. It seemed quite likely that the earl wouldn’t bother.
“The important thing is that you, my darling, are going to be happy with that gorgeous Scotsman of yours,” Layla said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
Sure enough, when her father appeared at the dining room table that evening he remarked indifferently that there was nothing to do in a small town on the Scottish border. “My wife will find no frivolities to entertain herself, and she is sure to return posthaste. I see no reason to waste my time and energy following her.”
“If you could just be kinder to her,” Edie implored. “She adores you.”
“You know nothing of what you are saying!” her father snapped.
“I know that you love her, and yet you treat her as if she were a veritable concubine. As if the fact that
you
conduct yourself with such a high moral tone means that everyone must genuflect as you pass. I know that she loves—”
He didn’t wait for the rest of her analysis, but stood up and left the room. Edie sighed. Her father’s rudeness was a sign of extreme agitation, given that he considered manners to be next to godliness, or perhaps even above it.
The house was strangely silent without Layla’s husky bellow of laughter and fluting voice shouting outrageous comments.
At luncheon the following day, the earl’s face was more withdrawn than ever. For the first time in Edie’s memory, he shook his head when she asked if he wished to practice duets. When it was plain that he would not be persuaded, Edie retired to her room and played for hours, but the music sounded as hollow as her heart.
Gowan appeared in the late afternoon and suggested an immediate ceremony, employing a ducal tone that assumed compliance. Her father didn’t bristle, as he would have earlier. And then Gowan added that, as far as he was concerned, it was absurd to stay in London merely to satisfy gossipmongers, and that anyone who wanted to believe ribald rumors could go to the blazes. The earl didn’t argue over that, either. He simply capitulated to everything the duke demanded.
He managed to keep that wooden expression for days, until the morning of Edie’s wedding. Edie came down the stairs wearing Layla’s gown after all because, as it turned out, her mother’s gown had been eaten into ribbons by moths.
Edie was not given to immodesty, but she could see that Layla’s dress did her proud. All the tiny spangles caught the light and made her look as if she were wearing a gown fashioned from diamonds. Its small sleeves and form-fitting, deeply cut bodice shaped her breast, and fell into graceful folds around her hips. She wore her hair caught up with jewels, just as Layla had, though she wore her mother’s opals, rather than Layla’s pearls.
It was only then that her father’s stony façade cracked: he flinched, and there was a flash of something like agony on his face, but he bowed and stated, “Daughter, you look extremely well,” in that measured tone of his.
Even when they entered Westminster Abbey, her father showed no signs of regret that Layla was not at his side.
Edie, on the other hand, desperately wished Layla were there. What’s more, she hated the idea of leaving her father alone in an echoing house with nothing more than four cellos, no matter how much consolation he derived from playing them.
They had decided to eschew a reception of any sort, given Layla’s absence, so after the brief ceremony they returned to the earl’s house and shared a surprisingly cordial luncheon in which all three of them carefully avoided any mention of the countess.
Instead, Gowan and Lord Gilchrist had, to Edie’s mind, a very good time denouncing the British tax system, particularly efforts by certain astonishingly unsympathetic politicians to reintroduce a personal income tax—which would thereby defraud such innocent persons as the two noblemen at the table of their rightful profits. Edie found herself looking from her father to her husband and realizing that they truly had a great deal in common. It was an odd thought, and one she stored away to consider further.
In the late afternoon, after she had changed into an extremely chic new gown, and all her trunks and belongings had been whisked away by the duke’s men, the time came to say good-bye. Gowan stood waiting beside the carriage, flanked by so many liveried grooms that he looked like a member of the royal family.
She took her father’s hands and tried once more, “Please bring her back.”