Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
It was done. They were married. Winifred had a stepmother and the child’s future was secured, both emotionally and financially.
The wedding ceremony itself had passed in a blur for the Duke of Westall, as had the journey back to Scovell Hall for the wedding breakfast and the round of short speeches from Lord Scovell, the Duke of Redford as best man, and, of course, the groom himself.
Afterwards, having left Frances talking to his grandmother, it seemed Ambrose must run the gauntlet of well-wishers for a second time, the cheers and felicitations outside the church not having been enough.
“Congratulations, Your Grace. What a beautiful ceremony!”
“We wish you both joy, Your Grace. How happy your grandmother must be today!”
“A wife for you and a mother for Winifred – what a lucky man you are!”
Ambrose soon felt as though he must had shaken the hand of every single wedding guest several times. Perhaps he had. His face was also aching from its permanent smile.
At an eventual lull in the rush, the duke let out a long sigh and finally reached up to loosen the stock that had felt too tight at his throat all day, after being adjusted outside the church by his grandmother.
His eyes finally found and followed a slim figure in pale blue silk with a gauzy silvery overlay that made her look touched by moonlight. The sight of Lady Frances today made Ambrose think of that night on the balcony when he had kissed her under the silver of the real moon.
Her response had been so very sweet in spite of herself. Yet it had been a risk to make such a move and he could not guess when such an encounter might be repeated, or expanded. A hearty hand clapped him on the shoulder, interrupting such speculation.
“That was a long sigh, Ambrose. You’re not regretting your marriage already are you?
” asked Colin Pratt, Duke of Redford, merry with champagne and jollity as usual.
“I don’t see how you could be with such an elegant bride.
You looked almost like a street ruffian at the altar, standing beside that angel. ”
“Just because I don’t spend half my life in front of the looking glass and the other half being fitted for the latest fashions on Jermyn Street, does not make me a ruffian,” Ambrose returned, laughing.
“Touché,” admitted Colin with a shrug of shoulders in a perfectly cut suit. “But just look at your stock… Your valet must live on the edge of his nerves. There really are limits.”
“The new Duchess of Westall seems to approve of my appearance well enough,” Ambrose defended himself. “I shall bow to her judgement and not yours.”
“Looking forward to the wedding night, are you?” asked the Duke of Redford with a grin. “If you have any sense, you’ll sweep your new duchess away from here as quickly as possible and seek her approval in matters other than dress.”
“There is no hurry,” Ambrose demurred, his eyes turning again to Lady Frances, still talking to Lady Levene and Winifred, crouched down at ground level beside the child and showing her the flowers in her bridal bouquet.
To his surprise, when Frances stood again, Winifred took her hand quite happily and allowed her beloved great-grandmother to walk away and leave her there with her new stepmother. Usually, it would take several days for Winnie to become accustomed to a new acquaintance, if she ever did at all.
“No hurry? You look at her with such desire and there is no hurry?” Colin teased him.
“You mistake a look of admiration and gratitude for something baser, old friend,” Ambrose corrected him. “She is making great progress with Winnie and I should not wish to interrupt. In terms of a wedding night, I shall have to proceed slowly, in any case.”
“Really? When we met, Lady Frances did not strike me as the shrinking virgin type. She is virtuous, of course, but I also suspect you will find the knowledge and understanding of an intelligent woman of three-and-twenty sufficient to guarantee mutual satisfaction.”
The Duke of Westall gave another long, slow exhalation.
“It is not so simple a matter as it seems to be in your head, Colin. You imagine women are either naive and silly about sexual relations, or understanding and eager.”
“In my experience, yes, one or the other,” agreed the Duke of Redford affably.
“Not in mine. Tell me, where am I to begin with a woman who seems to understand such matters well enough, even to be capable of passion, but somehow opposed to her own enjoyment?”
“Be patient, Ambrose,” said his grandmother’s voice, the stalwart and vigorous old lady seeming to appear from nowhere, “and do fix that stock. It’s all awry again.”
The Duke of Redford collapsed in laughter, either at Euphemia Wilson’s comments, or the Duke of Westall’s reddening face on hearing them.
“I did warn you about the stock,” Colin tutted. “Lady Levene, may I fetch you more champagne while you rectify matters of dress with your grandson?”
“Thank you, young man,” agreed the old lady and then turned back to Ambrose, bidding him bend down to her level.
“Only if you don’t fasten it so tight this time, Grandmother,” Ambrose told her before acceding to her demands. “I do need to breathe, you know.”
Lady Levene’s nimble fingers quickly straightened and re-pinned the errant cloth, thankfully taking note of Ambrose’s wishes.
“Be patient with your bride,” she repeated herself as she worked. “Love often comes when you least expect it, and is worth waiting for. I should know, having been in love three times myself. Maybe four, if you count the stableboy I mooned over at fourteen.”
Ambrose laughed and stood up straight again when she released him.
“I am not looking for love, Grandmother. You know that and so does my wife. Understanding, liking and respect, certainly, but neither of us expects to fall in love.”
“If you say so, Grandson,” she returned with a rather impish grin for so venerable a lady. “Still, whatever else you do, be patient with that wife of yours. I think you will find her a treasure.”
Together now the looked across the room to where Winnie was now skipping happily with her new stepmother, the bridal bouquet given over to her small hands, and a tender expression on Frances’ face.
“Yes, I do believe I might,” Ambrose agreed.
Frances adjusted her hat in the mirror of one of Scovell Hall’s small sitting rooms and fastened the buttons of her jacket. This was the last hour she would spend under the roof of her childhood home as a member of the household.
Her baggage had already been taken to Westall Park the previous day and the Duke of Westall had already gone out to the carriages with his daughter and grandmother, understanding that Frances would want a few minutes alone to say goodbye to her family and old home.
She had already said a cheerful farewell to Beatrice, who looked forward only to visiting Westall Park as soon as possible, and a curt goodbye to her father, whom she hoped would be less keen to visit. Now Frances must seek out her mother.
“There you are!” gushed Helen Harcourt’s familiar voice, as the sitting room door opened. “I was just helping Great Aunt Caroline. Well, I’m glad I’ve caught you by yourself at last. There was something I wanted to say to you before you left…”
Looking at Helen Harcourt’s flustered face, Frances laughed aloud and kissed her mother on both cheeks.
“Have no concern, Mother. I am three-and-twenty and I know the facts of life well enough. Not that it really matters in this case.”
“Oh! I didn’t think…” reacted her mother, blushing and then joining in Frances’ laughter.
“No, that was not what I came to talk to you about, although your Great Aunt Caroline was deeply concerned that she ought. I had to ward her off. That was what occupied me when you were saying goodbye to your sister and father.”
“Then what is it? We will see each other again soon enough, I am sure. We need not take an earnest leave, Mother.”
“I wanted to talk to you about men, Frances, well, husbands particularly, and the mistakes they sometimes make. The Duke of Westall seems such a kind and well-intentioned man. I should hate to see the two of you ever fall out over something small.”
“We have scarcely had time to learn one another’s full names, never mind have an argument,” Frances returned, amused.
“I know,” sighed her mother. “But I would rather say this to you now when your head is cool. You might hear me more clearly than some day in the future when your blood is boiling and you’re too angry to think.”
“Dear Mother, why should I be so angry with my new husband?”
“Because everyone is only human, Frances, men and women both. He will make mistakes, as will you, and I know how unforgiving you can be. Do try to understand before you judge, my darling girl. Life would be very lonely indeed if we cut off all the people we loved over the smallest of differences.”
Now Frances sighed. Her mother was really talking about her attitude to her father.
Lady Scovell imagined that Frances had taken against him for some trivial reason or out of extended adolescent pique.
She could not tell her mother that Lord Scovell’s offense was far from trivial and that his wife was actually the person he had betrayed the most…
“I shall remember all that you say, Mother,” Frances replied solemnly and kissed her mother again, this time on the forehead. “Be assured that I intend the Duke of Westall and I to be the best of friends.”
And nothing more than friends, Frances added to herself…