Chapter 7
Leicester
Long brown hair around her shoulders, Betts frowned at her reflection in the mirror.
The dress had turned out better than she had expected.
She had her mother’s veil to hand and would don it at the church.
However, her reflection did not please her.
She eyed the satin slippers on the bed. Those too she would put on at the church.
Beside it lay the fur lined cloak gifted her by Ladies Blythe and Bella Leigh.
A smile broke her frown for a moment until she turned back to the mirror.
She raised her hand and ran her fingertips over the three stranded choker of pearls and its pearl crusted blue topaz. One of eleven different pieces the duke had sent for her selection along with a personal note.
Each of these belonged to a Leigh bride. Neither Tellus, nor I could decide which would suit your tastes best. I should tell you that there were originally twelve pieces. However, as the first to marry in our generation it fell to my sister Blythe to choose first.
Tellus is the next to wed, hence you must choose from the remaining jewels. Once you decide, the piece is yours to keep. The family’s gift to you for the happiness you bring our brother. Your maid will return the remaining ten to me.”
With kind regards,
Leigh
She’d folded the note and put it in her escritoire but had taken most of the previous day to make her selection. She’d sent an innocuous note with the returned pieces, thanking His Grace for his kindness and generosity.
She wasn’t certain she would ever become accustomed to such luxuries or the comfort and level of service that most of the Leigh family took for granted. She wasn’t certain she wanted to become accustomed.
Her maid answered a knock at the door.
“Lady Cynedroit and Lady Bella, miss,” the maid announced.
Gowned, coiffed and ready with cloaks over their arms, the two rushed into the room.
“You’ve not had your hair dressed, yet.” Blythe exclaimed. “You do recall we are expected at the church at noon?”
“’Tis quarter before the hour now,” Bella added. “The drive alone will take more than a half an hour.”
“Then I shall be late,” Betts stated calmly, refusing to add to the panic.”
Her tranquil statement had the desired effect.
“Then we’d best get busy with your hair. Please fetch the hair dresser,” Blythe, Lady Cynedroit, instructed the maid.
“How can you be so calm? Bella queried. “I swear were I to be wed, I would be prostrate with nerves.”
“When the time comes, sister. I suspect you will be too eager for that sort of anxiety.”
“I swear Blythe you take all the fun out of imagining my future.”
Betts ignored the quibbling until the hairdresser arrived.
He minced into the room followed by a child of perhaps ten.
“If miss will sit, please.” Said the little man who affected an Italian accent. He gestured toward the low chair before the dressing table.
In the mirror Betts watched him examine her hair, picking up a few strands, pulling it away from her face.
“Hai dei capelli bellissimi, signorina.”
“I beg your pardon. I do not speak Italian.”
“He said you have beautiful hair,” Blythe translated.
Betts’ face heated. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure to serve you. What style do you wish?”
“I…I…ah…I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
“I thought you might not be certain. I have drawings.” Snapping his fingers, he turned to the boy. “Figliolo, perfavore i desgni.”
Four drawings of faceless women, each with a different hair style were placed before her on the dressing table.
Betts blinked. “They are lovely and, ah, very intricate.”
“I show you La Grecque,” he pointed to the first image. The others are in order, La Madonna, La Sévigné, and La Chinoise.”
The drawings were all lovely, but Betts could not imagine herself in such styles. She looked the hair dresser in the eye. “I do not wish to offend, sir. However, I prefer something simpler. Perhaps a chignon at my neck with no part on the crown.”
He smiled at her. “La signorina is…how do you say… most wise. Your face is perfect. You have no need of intricate tresses to distract from a weak chin or a lazy eye. Va bene, we begin.
She sat watching as he brushed and combed. She felt his fingers separating then weaving at her nape.
Not too much later he stepped back. “Basta. Abbiamo gle spilli?”
All three women looked at him in confusion.
“A bah, figlio, come si dice for cine in inglese?” He addressed his son.
“Hair pins, Papa.”
“Si, si. Have we pins for the hair?”
“Oh,” Bella spoke up as she fumbled in her reticule then pulled blue topaz encrusted hair pins. “I nearly forgot. Here.”
The hair dresser took them from her. Studied the chignon he had created then added the pins at strategic points. He took up a hand mirror, positioning it so Betts could see the chignon.
“Oh, my.” Her fingers went to her lips. “Thank you.”
“Prego, signorina. è stato un piacere. I leave you now.”
The boy began to gather up the tools and drawings.
“Wait.” Betts insisted. “I must pay you.”
“No, grazie, il duca mi ha già dato il mio compenso.”
She wanted to argue but the man was rapidly walking out the door followed by his son. There really was no time, given how late she was for her own wedding.
The maid answered the door once again. “Your Grace,” Betts heard the servant say before sinking into a low curtsey.
“You will forgive the intrusion, Miss Feddleston, sisters. I am come on a mission of mercy from Tellus.
“Oh, I am sorry,” Betts apologized, striding in the direction of her cloak. “We will leave immediately.”
His Grace of Leigh smiled. Tellus was afraid you had changed your mind.”
“She had not even had her hair dressed,” Bella piped up.
“A bride’s style is most important,” the duke acknowledged.
“No, no, your grace.” Betts added. “I was… simply…er… woolgathering and lost track of the time.”
“Quite understandable. You must become used to calling me Lovis, since you are to be my sister.”
Betts put fingers to lips.
The duke extended his arm. “Shall we to the church?”
“Yes, of course.” She snatched up her cloak then took his arm.
They had stepped into the hall when she halted. “Wait.”
The duke raised a brow in question.
“My…my prayer book. It was my mother’s and is all I have left of her. I must take it so I can feel she is blessing this union. ‘Tis why I decided not to carry a bouquet.”
“Then we must fetch the prayer book.”
They returned to her suite and she hurried to the bedside table. Opening the drawer she found it empty.
“Oh dear. It’s gone.” She turned to the duke. “I don’t know what to do?”
“Do you recall the last time you used the book?”
“I carry it with me always. I think, I might possibly have used it in the library. I wanted to check a reference and compare a phrase from your copy of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner with that in the prayer book.”
His Grace gestured to the maid. “Go to the library and find Miss Feddleston’s prayer book. Then meet us in the vestibule/foyer.”
The maid hurried away.
The duke took Betts’ cloak from her and settled it over her shoulders before fastening the clasp at her neck.
“Have you your veil?” Blythe asked.
“Yes, in my reticule.” Betts lifted the purse.
“Then let us leave. I gave the coachman orders to walk the horses close by so he could come as we left the house.” His Grace of Leigh said, offering his arm once more.
The prayer book in her hands, her soon to be sisters seated across from her and the duke by her side, the coach set off at a careful pace. Even though the snow had momentarily stopped, the road from Leigh Chase to St. Martin’s church was still treacherous.
The duke and his sisters spoke softly to each other.
Betts took little notice. Her surroundings faded and she saw with her mind’s eye Prescott’s smiling face.
“All will be well, my love.”
The silent words eased the regret in her heart. Prescott really would approve her union with his best friend.
She kept his image at the forefront of her thoughts until the coach stopped at the church steps. She made her way into the narthex on the duke’s arm then stepped into a small room with his sisters. There they arranged her veil. Bella took her reticule.
“I’ll hold this for you.”
“You’re sure you don’t want us to precede you as attendants?” Blythe asked.
Betts straightened and raised her chin. Prescott would want her to be joyful in this moment. “I am certain.”
“Then we will be off,” Blythe said.
“Lovis is just outside the door. He’ll wait until you are ready.” Bella closed the door as the two left.
Betts was alone.
“I will always love you. I will always be with you.” The mental image of Prescott whispered.
She could wait an eternity and never be ready to marry another man. She must do so, however. For herself, for her family. She squared her shoulders once more and opened the door to the narthex.
The duke offered his arm.
She took it and wordlessly they walked to the entrance of the nave.
They passed the uniformed ushers standing at the door of the nave. As she made her first step onto the carpeted aisle, the organist struck the first chords of Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, and the congregation stood.
The bishop waited before the altar in the center of the apse. To one side, stood Tellus and his brother Voltunus.
Her fingers trembled on the duke’s arm until he placed his free hand over hers and she was able to still herself.
She could not say how long it took to walk the full length of that aisle but all too soon she stood a few feet away from the bishop. “You are doing the right thing.”
She prayed that voice in her head spoke true.
The prelate began the ceremony. His Grace of Leigh stepped back. Tellus took her hand and led her closer. At his touch the voice in her head fell silent. She heard the bishop state clearly.
“…into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore, if any man can show any just cause …”