~Twenty-seven~
One month later....
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, held the hand of his new bride tightly, as if some ill wind might steal her away at any moment.
Today was a day for happiness and new beginnings, but a pall of darkness seemed to linger, despite all efforts to put the past where it belonged.
It had been a most trying time after the unfortunate death of Gideon Marlborough, yet they had faced it together, ignoring all the gossips, and blatant disapproval from those whose interference would never be tolerated again.
The wedding, a small and private affair, was well attended by local families, who rightfully chose to ignore the London papers and the screaming headlines that compared the duel to that of the biblical Cain and Abel.
For as the truth came out, the duel between the brothers had very little to do with Miss Talmadge, but rather, a long-standing quarrel, fueled by years of competition, and the affections of Ariana Talmadge being the final tipping point.
However, seeing an opportunity that was not to be wasted, the young lady soon forgot her attachment to either Marlborough and made much of the attention, believing it made her all the more desirable.
Eventually, time would place the scandal into the forgotten past, but the new Countess of Matlock would remain a bone of contention.
It was one thing for a beautiful debutante to be passed over in favor of someone with greater fortune, but to have one’s own chaperone marry the most eligible bachelor of the season?
Well, that was beyond embarrassing, and resulted in a severance of the connection.
Even sadder, was the fact that of all Lord Matlock’s considerable relations, only the Darcys remained steadfast, whilst others, despite Richard Fitzwilliam’s rise in status, opted to place their loyalties with Lady Catherine.
Having departed as soon as arrangements could be made after the startling announcement of the engagement, none had heard a single word from the woman.
Only the curt, but polite excuses given to avoid attending the nuptials by others, suggested that her opinions had carried far.
“I never would have expected my Uncle Radcliff to take her side.” Matlock had insisted, crumpling the latest letter before tossing them into the fire.
“No, but much like my own choice of bride, Aunt Catherine does not approve. She may never accept Elizabeth, and now Moira. But in that, they have each other,” Darcy admitted, pleased that his wife had formed an instant friendship with the former Mrs. Blackpool, and no longer felt any remorse over his aunt’s feelings.
“That is unfortunate for her, and I suspect she will now be a very lonely person,” Matlock agreed.
Lady Catherine’s own daughter had also defied her mother’s wishes.
Anne had sent her congratulations, but the distance from her new husband’s living in Bath, made such travel impossible under such short notice.
Afterwards, they had not spoken of the tarnished family relations, but focused on what the future would hold. And now, the vows had been exchanged, sealing their fates to one another.
“Well, your ladyship, what will be your first order of business for this old heap?” he inquired.
As a wedding gift, Matlock had allocated generous funds to the long overdue refurbishment of Redbyrne to suit his new bride’s tastes, and when added to the trousseau of new clothes that did not include any shade of grey or purple, the transition would be complete.
Mourning, a necessary time to allow for grieving, had come to an end, and while Matlock did not expect Arthur Blackpool to ever be forgotten, nor would he allow a dead man to be a constant companion.
But now, clad in a soft rose pink, with yards of cream-colored lace, the Countess of Matlock appeared radiant, her happiness only outshone by that of her son.
“Might I call you Papa now?” Francis Blackpool had timidly asked when the vows had finally been exchanged.
“Nothing would make me happier,” Matlock replied, for in winning the boy’s mother, he had also gained a son.
*****
Whilst one might think now that all had ended remarkably well considering the circumstances, the idyll of newlyweds, children aside, was a dream state that was not shared by all. For lurking in the shadows, the rejected waited, biding time until opportunity arose once again.
Admittedly, Lady Gloriana Westlake had never wanted to marry, and definitely not the present Earl of Matlock.
Of the former heir, it had been a grand scheme of their fathers’.
One, to be rid of a spinster daughter, and the other, hoping that marriage and eventual children would settle the wildness of his son.
Or at least, provide the facade of respectability.
No, had she the freedom of choice, Gloriana would remain unwed, happily occupied in a fine London townhome where she might entertain all manner of interesting people, each sharing the mindset of having temporary liaisons, and once tired of one another, simply move on to the next.
A courtesan of sorts, but one without the need for money, of that, her fortune of thirty thousand would last a lifetime if she was careful.
But then, who truly wanted to live forever?
To grow old and tire, with wrinkled sagging skin and yellow teeth?
Of this, she already saw the early signs, despite the deep chestnut rinse that presently colored her hair.
Of that, she had to admit that Lady Catherine had been correct.
It was a most becoming shade, and far easier to hide the stubborn grey hairs.
But that was where the influence stopped, for when there was no halting the marriage between the Earl of Matlock and Moira Blackpool, the old woman had run back to Kent, abandoning Gloriana Westlake like an old shoe that had lost its mate.
She had been shamed, forsaken in favor of someone little better than a housemaid!
“It should have been me! I should be Countess of Matlock, not.... her!” her mind had wailed, allowing no one to hear her cries, and whisper in pity. All eyes were upon the radiant bride, Gloriana Westlake was but a pale shadow in comparison, not worthy of notice.
“Oh, but they will notice me.... soon.... everyone will be looking at me....”
Patience had never been one of her virtues, but patience was demanded now, as was a pleasant smile and declarations of congratulations.
Lady Matlock was a new bride in a strange place, soon to be alone once the well-wishers departed.
She would need a friend...one who understood a woman’s mind, understood in a way that no husband ever could.