Finding Sunshine in the Garden
A LITTLE MORE than a fortnight passed before an announcement appeared in the Morning Chronicle that threw a clarifying light on what had actually occurred at the Adelphi.
(Such a thing would not have been published if a certain aunt had not insisted to her nephew that she wanted to see proof of his engagement in print.) The astonishing pronouncement revealed that the man who had proposed was not only a nobleman, but also a newly-licensed doctor!
It beggared belief, and London was vociferous with varying opinions on the propriety and preposterousness of the matter.
However, as he had promised, Alwyn gave none of these judgments any weight whatsoever.
Likewise, due to the remarkable manner in which he had proposed, Belinda paid them no heed.
The young lovers were giddy and grateful for all they had discovered, and continued to discover, about one another’s heart and mind.
They planned for a month-long stay at Castle Farrmore, once they were married, and then to move to London where he would work alongside Dr Felix as his colleague.
Mr Shrove had been instructed to search Marylebone for a townhouse that would comfortably accommodate them and a third resident, should Aunt Joan change her mind about living in town.
Since she was seen calling down from her box to the young man on stage, Mrs Ophelia Hartley had become quite popular. Droves came to call upon her at South Audley Street, and she eagerly threw her front door wide to welcome them.
As Miss Dora Hartley sat in the previously-quiet parlour, surrounded by nosy strangers, she pretended to know nothing of where or when the celebrated couple’s nuptials would take place.
On the morning of the wedding itself, Dora told her mother she wanted the carriage that they might visit the modiste together.
As Mrs Hartley was bustling herself into it, her daughter quietly told the coachman that he was to take them to St James’s Piccadilly, to the back entrance on Jermyn Street.
This clever maneuver ensured that none of Mrs Hartley’s new friends knew at which church a viscount would be marrying a commoner.
“What a good joke you played upon me, Dora darling!” Mrs Hartley said as they seated themselves in the pews.
However, she grew cross straight after as her daughter was determined to wear her spectacles throughout the ceremony.
At its end, they started over to Hertford Street, and Miss Hartley returned the offensive object to her reticule, not wanting her mother to pout throughout the wedding breakfast. This, too, was an exclusive affair, though perhaps still too peopled for the confines of Mr George Caspar’s townhouse.
What had seemed a sparse assembly in the church’s nave, could barely fit inside the parlour.
Six Eversons were there, along with the Caspars, of course, and their children.
(Upon hearing of their father’s apoplexy, Thaddeus, Nell, and her husband had immediately returned from the Continent.) Mr Alwyn’s aunt was also there, as well as a Dr Felix and his wife, who were the only other non-familial guests besides Dora and her mother.
A merry party of eighteen, they all chatted amiably as they feasted on the dainty delicacies that the Caspars’ cook had prepared.
Unable to sit in a quiet corner (as there were none), Dora grew increasingly embarrassed at how her mother rattled on and on to this person, then that one, about nothing that might be of genuine interest to any of them.
So, in spite of the general jubilation filling the room, she felt the urge to escape.
Leaving a plate of half-eaten cake behind, she went to a bookcase by the doorway and pretended to examine a novel, holding it very near her face.
When she sensed an opportunity to slip through the door undetected, she got out to the front hall, and promptly donned her spectacles.
With some guesswork at which way to go, she soon found herself outside in the back garden.
It was a chilly day with a fleet of voluminous clouds scudding overhead, casting large shadows, but Dora was pleased to breathe in the bracing air. She had left her pelisse inside, and was thankful for the occasional sunbeam breaking through to where she sat on a stone bench.
It only took a moment for her thoughts to settle once again on the fact that her father was determined to take them all home to Lancashire soon.
I ought to be grateful for the time I’ve had in town, she told herself. And we’re sure to come back before too long.
Her wistfulness idled at the sudden sound of someone whistling. A youth, hardly older than her brother, Davis, had just come through the back gate and was striding up the path, a melody warbling from his rounded lips.
Instinctively, Dora’s hand flew to her face. The hurried movement caught the boy’s eye, and he stopped just feet from her.
“Hello there,” he said, his face breaking into a grin.
Having not succeeded in removing her spectacles before he addressed her, Dora left them in place and replied warily, “Good morning.”
“Are you here for the wedding breakfast?” he asked, taking off his hat to run an open hand through straw-coloured hair.
“Yes, but it’s a bit crowded inside.”
“Ah, you like room to breathe, do you?” He laughed, but she did not feel it was at her expense. Dipping his head, he said, “I’m Theodore Sliger.”
He did not offer her his hand, she thought perhaps because they were alone together, so she just nodded in return as she gave her own name.
“I’m a friend of Mr Alwyn,” he went on. “Or I suppose I should say Lord Farrmore.”
He shook his head as if in disbelief.
“It goes beyond comprehension, doesn’t it?” Dora asked with a smile. Then with her mother’s words ringing in her ears — ‘That hideous frame of wire and glass!’ — she reached up to remove her spectacles.
“Oh, may I?” Mr Sliger asked, holding his hand out. “My sister has an old, fragile pair which I’ve fixed many times for her, so I’m always curious about the newer designs.”
Feeling as if she were handing him a snotty handkerchief, Dora released the frame into his grasp, and sat uneasily as he examined them from every angle, even trying them on for a brief moment.
“Thank you,” he said, when he finally handed them back. “Marvelous things, those. What a gift to have a pair. Ho! What’s this?”
He was looking somewhere above her head, then sprang atop the bench to stand and reach into the heights of a holly bush, for he was not a tall fellow.
“Oozing ulcer, that’s sharp!” He laughed, but continued to delve deep within the glossy leaves, albeit more prudently. In a moment, he withdrew something from the tangled branches.
“However did this get in there?” he wondered loudly. With a great flourish, he handed her an embroidery tambour, then plunked down on the bench beside her.
Holding the hoop close, for her face was bare again, Dora saw that the edges of the cloth were frayed, but the flowers stitched upon its front, all blue and purple, were pretty enough. Mr Sliger leaned in so closely to examine the oddity that she felt the waft of his warm breath on her wrist.
“It’s not the Bayeux Tapestry,” he quipped without moving an inch, “but someone worked long and hard on it. Might I leave it to you to discover who? I assume you are better acquainted with the ladies of this household than am I. But should you learn how it came to be caught in the holly, you must get word to me somehow, I beg you.”
Agreeing to his cheerful demands, Dora longed to think of something clever to say.
“Well, Miss Hartley, I suppose I ought to go inside and wish the happy couple well, but it was a pleasure to meet you out here in the garden.”
“Indeed, Mr Sliger.”
He stood, but stayed quite near to her a moment longer. Then, flashing a final winsome grin, he was gone, bounding up the steps into the house.
And Dora was left, squinting after him, hoping that someday she might sit and talk alone with him again.
***
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