Chapter 5
Chapter five
The day of Edith’s wedding had finally arrived.
Margaret sat at the vanity table in her London room, reflecting on the time she had spent in this house.
For eight years she had lived with her cousin.
They had grown up together almost as sisters, and now this chapter of their lives was at an end.
She would miss her dear cousin, and all her light-hearted ways.
But Margaret was also eager to return to her childhood home, where she had spent joyously free summers.
She stared at herself in the mirror with a measure of bemused approval, happy her present duties required only her concentrated stillness after the many weeks of busy preparations for this day.
She smiled at the tiny blossoms nestled in her hair as the last curl was made and tucked into her elaborate coiffure by the attending lady’s maid.
“There,” announced the woman in the crisp black and white attire of her station.
Margaret rose from her seat to cast her eyes over the full splendor of her appearance, the rustling of her voluminous gown an auspicious sound after so long a time in silent contemplation.
“Pardon, Miss,” the call intruded into the room as one of the young daily servants appeared at the doorway. “But Mr. Henry Lennox has called for Miss Margaret.”
Margaret made her way down the staircase with concerned curiosity. “Is everything well? I thought you should be at the church by now,” she asked as soon as she saw Mr. Lennox, who stood below in the grand hall in an elegant morning coat.
“I’m on my way there right now. All is well.
I’m sorry to give you any alarm.” Henry watched her continued descent with an appreciative eye.
Her natural beauty and gracefulness were only enhanced by the grandeur of her embellished dress and elaborately styled hair.
He was certain she would look well in whatever she wore.
“I was sent to ensure all is well here at Harley Street,” he explained as she arrived in front of him. “My brother insisted I come here first. He is not at all calm this morning, as you may gather,” he added with a grin, a glimmer of humor in his eyes.
Margaret smiled in return. “I suppose it is only to be expected. Edith has also been in quite a flurry this morning. So many preparations have gone into this day!” she exclaimed softly with a wearied shake of her head.
“I wonder if it is worth all the worry. I believe I should like nothing more than to have a simple wedding, with only a few dear people in attendance. But you will think I am just feeling contrary after all the trouble I have been put to these past weeks.”
“No…no,” he stammered, captivated by the inquiring look in her eyes and pleasantly startled by her confiding such a wish with him. “A simpler affair accords with your character,” he returned, his voice warm with admiration. He felt the veil of friendship slipping from his practiced conduct.
Margaret cast her eyes downward. “I should go,” she mumbled, eager to escape the sudden uneasiness she felt under his gaze.
Before he could reply, they heard a high-pitched call from the upper halls. “Margaret?”
A look of shared sympathy passed between them at the sound of Edith’s anxious tone, and a knowing smile crept over each of their faces.
Henry nodded before his departure, and Margaret lifted her skirts to hurry up the stairs to attend to her cousin on her day of all days.
The front drawing room at ninety-six Harley Street had been transformed into an elegant dance hall for the occasion.
Spritely, cheerful music animated a host of young couples in the glittering light of chandeliers.
Heaps of delicately colored roses in wide crystal vases graced every available surface, and an impressive tiered cake stood at the back of the room, ready to mark the end of the festivities.
Henry Lennox had escaped the rounds of dancing for a time to divert himself more satisfactorily with conversation.
He was eager to speak more with the country vicar he had been introduced to just this morning.
He was pleasantly surprised to find that Reverend Hale was more able to discuss modern subjects of the day than he had readily expected of a man so secluded from the world.
Henry took a sip from the glass of champagne in his hand before directing the conversation to a matter of his own personal curiosity.
“I have heard much about your pastoral village. Is it truly a small parish?” he asked the Helstone vicar while his gaze strayed to the dancing figure of the vicar’s daughter across the peopled room.
“Indeed, it is,” Mr. Hale answered. His brow creased with some internal anxiety, and he let out a long breath of contained wistfulness.
“It’s an excellent place for a man to think, although I suppose those who enjoy city life may find it dull.
” He gestured at the crowded room. “But there’s no denying that it is beautiful.
As precious a piece of God’s earth as you could find anywhere in England. ”
And thus beauty breeds beauty, thought Henry as he continued to watch Margaret dance with another gentleman.
The solemnity of attending his brother’s wedding had pressed his mind to the consideration of choosing his own wife.
However uncomfortable he was with romantic notions, he found his interest settling more and more on one person.
Margaret returned to her father’s side, her face flushed from dancing.
“You look well pleased,” Henry remarked, a tug of jealousy straining his smile. “You must now acknowledge that your weeks of scurrying about making all the arrangements have been worth your effort.”
“For Edith’s sake, yes. However, I believe my mind has been set against grand weddings. I will be very glad to return to the quiet of country life, where I shall not be obliged to spend an afternoon at the haberdashers or the drapers. It’s very peaceful at home, isn’t it, papa?”
Mr. Hale gave his daughter a smile in response, but, strangely enough, he avoided meeting her gaze.
“I find it hard to imagine how you shall spend your days in the country,” Henry said, studying Margaret with a grin. “Surely you have some entertainment and society. Will you play croquet or bocce? Or have picnic gatherings?”
Margaret smiled politely, but shook her head.
“There exist none of those activities of which you speak, yet I am never bored. Simply taking a walk is always pleasant, and then of course there are many duties to fulfill in caring for the cottagers. I don’t believe you can understand until you were to come see it for yourself,” she added, seeing the look of doubt on his face.
His brow lifted in surprise at her last words, and hope rushed in to send his thoughts racing along byways of the future. He would make certain to visit Helstone before the year passed.
Margaret shed a few tears as the newlyweds’ carriage rolled away. Edith’s effusive waving and Aunt Shaw’s tearful response stirred within her the deep affection and appreciation she held for the years she had spent with her aunt and her cousin in their home.
As Margaret lay down to sleep that night, an air of finality permeated her thoughts as she fondly glanced around the room. She remembered with a bittersweet lurch of her heart how she had cried herself to sleep those first few nights when she had been brought to Harley Street.
She slept well, with the deep peace that follows the accomplishment of a long season’s work. And as the new day dawned, she awoke with a fresh energy of anticipation to return home.
Her father’s demeanor was not cheery, Margaret noted as they rode the train to Southampton. He stared vacantly out the window, his features sullen and still. He did not smile unless he caught her studying him.
The lines on his face were etched deeper than she recalled, and his hair now had hints of white throughout the gray.
But it was the manner in which his face seemed to sag in perpetual weariness that concerned Margaret the most as she watched him sleep, his head back against the carriage wall.
He had aged more than she had remembered.
But youth is never alert to the telltale signs of time, and she knew she had been unaware of its steady gain.
Perhaps there is some additional concern over her brother Frederick, she thought, which made her long all the more to be told the details concerning his permanent exile.
She wondered, too, if there lurked any darker reason for her mother’s absence at the wedding other than having no appropriate attire for the occasion.
Whatever the reason for her father’s weariness, she was glad she was coming home for good, so that she might be a comfort to her parents.
She turned her mind from any discomforting subjects and looked to absorb the beauty of the endless undulating green hillsides as the train pulled them ever farther from London.
Margaret was eager to disembark when they arrived at Southampton and took deep breaths of the salty air as someone loaded their baggage onto the coach that would take them on to Helstone.
This was her favorite part of the journey.
A rising sense of peace and happiness swelled within her as she recognized the various landmarks that heralded her arrival home: the giant oak by the bend in the road, a glimpse of the brook, the first outlying cottage of her father’s parish.
And when at last they arrived at the vicarage, Margaret could not contain a smile of wonder as she marveled anew at the glorious profusion of colors bursting from the gardens as she walked up the path to the old brick house which was itself only a sturdy centerpiece for nature’s display, enveloped as it was with blooming honeysuckle vines.