Chapter 15
“It’s Lord Fernsby,” Amelia Broom said excitedly, spinning from the door. “He’s a package for you, Dani. It’s been sent by
Captain Bannock but the viscount has brought it to us. Shall I let him in?”
“Amelia Broom, come away from the door,” scolded Miriam. She was fussing with the hem of Dani’s wedding dress. “No one may
see the bride before the wedding. Are you mad?”
“But Lord Fernsby has something that Dani is meant to wear when she walks down the aisle,” Amelia insisted. “It’s been sent
from London. It only just arrived.”
Dani hadn’t been listening but now she looked up.
“I went three nights without sleep to sew this gown,” declared Miriam, “it’s finished now and Dani’s wearing it, isn’t she?
It wants for nothing. Not from London or anywhere else. There will be time for gifts after the wedding.”
Miriam gave a yank to the skirts and Dani reached a hand to the wall for steadiness.
A cat had followed Miriam to the church, and now it slunk a tight figure eight between them.
The fatigue of preparing for this day was colliding with nervousness about being married; Dani felt woozy but also tense.
And hopeful. She was so very hopeful about the wedding, and Eastwell Park, and Captain Bannock.
She stood in a shaft of sunlight beneath a high window so Miriam could examine the stitching on the hem of her gown. Miriam
was correct, the wedding dress had turned out beautifully. Miriam had sewn it herself but spared no expense on fabric or petticoats.
The fabric was silk, a weave so fine it flowed down her body like liquid. The color was unique; too muted to be purple, too
cool to be taupe. The singular, distinctive color of an antique rose. The skirts tumbled to the floor in a thousand gathers,
with tiny translucent crystals sewn to the ribbon above her waist, at her neckline, and on her sleeves. Cat hair clung to
the fabric, and this was, perhaps, Dani’s favorite detail. Miriam had outdone herself, and for the first time, Dani really
did feel like a princess.
Knock, knock, knock. The door rattled again. Amelia made a delighted squeak and leaned against it. “Another moment, please,” she sang. To Miriam,
she said, “I don’t think he can be dissuaded, Mrs. Dinwiddie.” More knocking. “With all due respect, Dani is a princess now,
and I think—”
“I don’t care if Dani is Queen Charlotte,” harrumphed Miriam, shoving up, “a woman I’ve known personally in this life, I’ll
remind you—and Her Majesty would agree—gentlemen are not welcome in this—”
“Ask him if he might pass the package through a crack in the door, Amelia?” Dani suggested. “Then we shall have the gift without
actually seeing the viscount.”
Amelia frowned. “But he will—”
“Just ask, will you, Amelia?”
“Right,” her friend said, bobbing a small curtsy. The curtsies had begun as soon as Amelia learned that Dani was a French princess, and no entreaty would cause her to stop.
“You are perfectly turned out,” Miriam was grumbling. “Nothing has been overlooked. It’s rude, honestly, to presume a bride
might require—”
“Here it is,” announced Amelia, turning from the door with a polished wooden box.
“And what is that, I ask?” Miriam complained. “Shoes, is it? I’ll not have this gown covered by a gilet or cape, I don’t care
if it has been sent from London. The finished gown speaks for itself, Dani. Layering will only complicate the design. And
how would the fabrics match? They would not match, that’s how.”
Dani ignored her, staring at the box. It was large but apparently light, as Amelia held it like she intended to slide it onto
a high shelf.
The crown, Dani thought. Bannock hadn’t made it up. Dani had seen the captain for only minutes at a time since their encounter in the
parish house, and never alone. Planning a wedding in five days, even a small one, involved a marathon of cleaning and cooking
and organizing. All the while, Dani had hired twenty-five servants to staff Eastwell Park and the captain brought on a dozen
workmen for the parish hall. Miriam had hired three seamstresses to sew wedding finery. The crown had been the last thing
on Dani’s mind.
“Set it down, Amelia Broom,” Miriam was scolding. “You’re bound to drop it on Dani’s head—or mine, more like.”
“But can you open it, Amelia?” Dani asked, tightening her gloves.
“Me? I couldn’t, Dani. ’Tis your gift,” her friend said.
“My fingers are stiff in the gloves,” Dani lied. She could see Miriam’s discomfort with the gift. “You do it.”
“Alright, if you insist,” said Amelia. She lowered the box to a tabletop, lifted her hands like she was casting a spell, and
raised the lid. She bent over her task, effectively blocking Dani’s view with her hat. Dani stooped, trying to see. Amelia
let out a reverent intake of breath and clasped her hands together.
“What is it?” Miriam demanded, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice.
“It’s a tiara,” whispered Amelia. “A crown. Fit for a princess. A jewel-encrusted crown.”
When Amelia finally stepped away, Dani caught her first glimpse. She saw satin packing, silver spines, winking stones. Amelia
moved away from the window and a beam of sunlight hit the box. The object inside shone. The geometrical headpiece wasn’t large, not overdone; it was a small, tight arc with hundreds of jewels. Dani saw garnets,
pink quartz, sapphires, and pearls. It was understated and luxurious at once; it neither overpowered nor could it be overlooked.
It took Dani’s breath away.
Meanwhile, Amelia gasped and panted like she was about to dive into a cold lake. Dani ignored her, leaning in to study the
piece more closely. Amelia began to hop. Dani tried to laugh, but she was so arrested by the beauty of the crown, her breath
came out in a puff. Meanwhile, Miriam leaned in.
“Well, I’ve never . . .” Miriam whispered.
“Can you believe it?” Dani whispered back.
Behind them, Amelia was saying, “Put it on, put it on, put it on. Now you’re a proper princess—put it on.”
Dani looked to Miriam. “Can you help me?”
“Must I fight Amelia Broom for the honor?”
“Oh no,” assured Dani. “I want . . . I want my mother to do it.”
Dani didn’t wait for an answer, she dropped into a chair and waited. The cat called Petunia leaped into her lap.
“Is it fragile?” Amelia asked.
Miriam gingerly lifted the twinkling crown from the box. “It is not unsubstantial. The finest ones have some weight to them.
No matter how delicate, the precious metal—and this one appears to be white gold—adds heft.”
“Imagine,” marveled Amelia, “your husband-to-be, presenting you with a jeweled crown on your wedding day.”
“It’s not from Captain Bannock,” said Dani, “well, he’s delivered it, obviously, but it came from France. It’s an Orleans
family heirloom.”
Miriam’s hands froze over Dani’s head. “It’s what?”
“Captain Bannock mentioned it last week. I’d forgotten to tell you,” said Dani.
And now Miriam frowned. She looked at the crown like it might soil her hands.
“It’s very pretty,” Dani ventured, “but it’s just a hat, isn’t it? In the end.”
“Just a hat?” exclaimed Amelia. “It’s part of the French crown jewels. Consider the age of it and the history. Think of the value to the royal family, not to mention the sheer price of the thing.
If it’s a hat, it’s a very precious one, indeed. Why, this crown may have graced the head of—”
“Can I trouble you with a favor, Amelia?” Dani cut in. “Will you look in on Whittle—make certain he has what he needs? And
ask your father when we should take up positions?”
“Papa said nine o’clock,” said Amelia. “Remember? I’ve asked three times and each time he said—”
“Amelia,” Dani said sharply, “will you make certain, just in case?”
“Right,” said her friend. “Making certain. Just in case.” She kissed Dani on both cheeks, bobbed a curtsy, and swept from
the room.
Dani and Miriam were left alone.
“Just like a rabbit, that one,” Miriam said, “bobbing up and then down; the curtsies and the bowing.”
Dani smiled at her in the mirror. “Amelia has waited all her life for proof that fairy tales can come true. It amuses her
to curtsy.”
“I knew this day would come,” sniffed Miriam.
“Miriam . . .”
“You’d inherit fine things and be treated like royalty.”
“This crown is trifling compared to the wedding gown made by your own hand.”
Her surrogate mother was shaking her head, sliding pins into Dani’s hair. “You needn’t diminish the significance to me. It’s
not every girl who receives a jeweled crown on her wedding day. But you were never just any girl, were you? Not to us. If
we could give you a crown, we would do.”
“How much more you’ve given me,” Dani said softly. Reaching up, she clasped Miriam’s wrist. “A life filled with love; the
example of how to get on in the world, to serve my neighbors; the daily security of a house, my every need freely given. This
is more valuable to me than any crown, Miriam. My love for you and Whittle will never change. No matter what I wear on my
head. Please do not think otherwise.”
Miriam didn’t answer, as Dani knew she would not.
Miriam Dinwiddie’s anxiety toward emotional conversations had taken them for a wild ride these last few weeks.
Miriam could not say the words, but Dani could.
Her mother needed to hear that Dani felt no loyalty to the country of France, or the family of her birth, to titles or even pretty crowns.
Amelia’s genuflecting aside, it couldn’t be said enough: Dani was a princess in name only.
“Dani?” called Amelia, popping her head through the door. “There’s someone here who’s asked to see you.”
“Amelia Broom, what now?” hissed Miriam. “For the love of God, a bride does not ‘see someone’ in the quiet moments before
her wedding. It is your job as attendant to protect and deflect on behalf of your friend. Protect and deflect, Amelia Broom. Do not bother Dani again with packages and callers.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Dinwiddie, but this felt too important to put off. I thought Dani should know, just in case. The timing is a
bit odd but—”