Chapter 18
All The Colours of The Rainbow
To say that the Reverend Honeywell looked smug was to somewhat understate his expression.
Gideon laughed as the fellow shook his hand so heartily that the sleeves of his cassock billowed and flapped.
“Wonderful news, marvellous,” the fellow said, beaming at him. “It is too early for a drink to celebrate?”
“It’s eight in the morning, so I’m afraid so,” Gideon replied, unable to keep the stupid grin from his own face.
The reverend looked a little despondent but rallied as he returned to his seat behind the chaotically untidy desk in his study.
“Ah. A pity, a pity. Still, come back later and bring your lovely bride and we shall open a bottle of something splendid. I have just the thing for such a joyful occasion.”
“And you’re sure there’s no trouble in getting the common licence?”
Honeywell shook his head. “No. Not in the least. As the Dowager Duchess rightly suspected, I am the surrogate and I am well aware you have been resident in the town for some time, so I shall write it out this very moment and put it in your hands. You can be married as soon as you please, though it will be valid for three months.”
Gideon laughed, startled that it was so easy. He was still waiting for the inevitable objection—Oh, but you can’t marry her because—yet so far, there had been none.
Gideon waited patiently as the reverend negotiated the catastrophe that was his desk.
Gideon was so happy he didn’t even twitch when the man sent an avalanche of paperwork sliding onto the floor.
Instead, he simply bent and gathered them up, replacing them in a perfectly neat pile which seemed to glare reproachfully at the disaster strewn around it.
“There,” the reverend said with evident satisfaction as he liberally applied the pounce pot and covered what remained of the surface of his desk in fine powder.
He handed the paper to Gideon, who carefully folded it and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you.”
Honeywell nodded. “You will forgive an old man for telling you—I told you so—but did I not tell you that being loved by a good woman would change everything?”
Gideon smiled. “You did indeed, sir, but I’m afraid it was not only that. I know I may trust in your discretion, so I shall tell you I recently learned that the woman who I believed to be my mother—well, she isn’t.”
Honeywell studied him with interest. “I see! Well, a relief for you I do not doubt.”
“I feel as though an immense weight has been lifted, if you want the truth,” Gideon admitted. “As though I’ve been living underground for years and now I can see the sun for the first time. It’s… it’s been remarkably liberating.”
Honeywell nodded, but his expression was thoughtful now. “But your brother—”
Gideon shook his head, feeling a stab of guilt, which was senseless as he was not to blame, and yet somehow, he felt responsible for the taint of madness that still burdened Damian.
“Damian is my father’s legitimate heir, and the woman in the asylum is his mother. There is no doubt of that, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve not yet had the pleasure of meeting the viscount, for he is astonishingly adept at avoiding me,” Honeywell admitted, eyes glinting. “But I shall run him to ground, never fear.”
Gideon smiled at him. “I do not doubt it, and I pray you succeed. If anyone could use the benefit of your sage advice, it is my brother. But I must warn you, I was easy in comparison. You’ll have your work cut out trying to reform Damian.”
“Oh, but what is life without a little challenge?” Honeywell said, rubbing his hands together gleefully and returning an expression which Gideon could only describe as mischievous.
Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 11th August 1816
“Is it enough?” Cilly asked as she carefully pressed the cork into another vial of powdered pigment. She had lined them up side by side: yellow and green, bright red, and a vivid blue.
Hetty picked up one of the small glass jars and gave it a little shake, inspecting the yellow powder inside. “I think so. You’ve done a marvellous job, Cilly. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Consider it a wedding gift,” she added with a smile.
Hetty laughed but could not quite shake off the lingering shadow of guilt that haunted her every time she considered what would happen to Cilly once she was married.
“Father will be incandescent with rage,” she said quietly, though they had deliberately not spoken about him since Gideon had proposed yesterday.
Cilly shrugged. “Which will mean he will not speak to you—a terrible blow, I’m sure.
The worst you will get is a tirade via the post, enumerating all the ways in which you have let him down and destroyed the family honour.
He will probably explain in arctic terms that he washes his hands of you.
I suggest you put it in the fire without reading it. ”
Hetty nodded, suspecting this was an accurate description. “But what of you?”
“Me?” Cilly’s lips quirked into a smile.
“He has already devised the worst fate possible for me, what more can he do? I don’t doubt I would be hustled back to Ealdor and locked in my room if he had his way, but Grandmama will never allow that to happen.
No, I shall have my summer here and then—” Cilly looked out of the window, her gaze suddenly far away.
“And then what?” Hetty asked, though she knew well enough. Cilly would marry that horrid old man. “You have Mama’s money now, Cilly. Could you not—”
“Hush.” Cilly turned, her expression remarkably fierce. “You have arranged your future, Hetty. I shall do likewise. I beg you will not interfere.”
“But—”
“Please.”
Hetty frowned, gazing at Cilly with concern. There was something steely in her unusual golden eyes that made Hetty wonder if Cilly did have plans of her own.
“Very well,” she said, for her sister was a grown woman. If she wanted Hetty’s help or support, she knew she only had to say the word.
Cilly moved to her, resting her hands lightly on her arms and giving a little squeeze. “Thank you, love. Don’t worry for me. I shall do well enough. Now then, don’t you have a thief to catch?”
The Grand Hotel Building Site, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 11th August 1816
“Jenkins, stop scowling.”
“I’m walking behind you, my lady,” Jenkins objected, though Hetty remarked the guilty note in her voice.
Hetty paused her long strides, allowing Jenkins to catch up. “I can feel you scowling. I suspect I have scorch marks between my shoulder blades,” she muttered.
“Well, it ain’t proper,” Jenkins said with a sniff, for her maid had very definite ideas upon what was and was not proper. “And just look what happened the last time you went to that nasty, dirty building site, I ask you?”
“We had not been invited that day,” Hetty said, though she had already explained this several times. “Not only do we have an invitation this time, but we also have a big, burly footman to ensure I don’t start a riot. Don’t we, Thomas?”
“Yes, my lady,” the man replied cheerfully as he strode several discreet steps behind them.
Jenkins looked around and glowered at the footman, who returned a bland smile. Hetty had suspicions that Jenkins actually rather liked Thomas, which was why she gave him such a hard time. Ah, young love, she thought with an indulgent smile, amused by her own silliness.
They made their way to the gates where they were met by Mr Ludlow, who had obviously been looking out for them.
“A pleasure to welcome you, my lady,” he said, swiping off his hat and giving a hasty bow. “Mr Bramwell is in the office, if you’d like to come this way.”
Hetty followed the man, ignoring the way Jenkins narrowed her eyes at every passing workman, as if suspecting them of nefarious intentions just by breathing the same air as her mistress.
Ludlow escorted them safely to the temporary office without incident and waited until Gideon appeared.
Hetty’s heart did a joyful little dance in her chest at the sight of him.
He was dressed in his usual sombre dark grey with a matching waistcoat, but she noticed his cravat was tied with rather more care than usual.
In short, he looked perfectly, wonderfully marvellous, and she was in a very bad way indeed.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said politely, nodding at Mr Ludlow, who looked relieved by the unspoken permission to make his escape. After her last visit, she hardly blamed him.
She turned to Thomas and smiled. “Would you like to come in, Thomas?” she asked, belatedly realising she had not explained her plan to him.
Thomas, who was looking about with interest, shook his head. “If it’s no trouble, might I take a look about?”
Hetty glanced at Gideon, who nodded his approval.
“Certainly,” she said with relief. “Only don’t cause any trouble or we shall both be in the basket. I won’t be long though, so don’t go too far.”
Thomas grinned at her. “I won’t, my lady. Thank you.”
He strode off and Hetty turned back as Gideon offered her his hand. She took it with a smile, feeling suddenly a little shy as he helped her up the steps into the hut. This man would be her husband in a few short days. It was both remarkable and a little hard to believe.
She stepped inside, hearing Jenkins give a little sniff, which might have been approval at finding the space immaculately clean and well ordered. Gideon drew out a chair for her and one for Jenkins, further endearing himself to her, the clever fellow.
“Mr Ridley, may I make known to you my fiancée, Lady Henrietta Cleveland.”
Hetty turned her most dazzling smile upon Mr Ridley, aware he was Gideon’s chief suspect. “Mr Ridley, a pleasure. Mr Bramwell has told me what a help you are to him, always dotting those i’s and crossing those t’s.”
Mr Ridley preened a little in the light of her praise. “Why, thank you, my lady. I do my best to see that everything runs smoothly,” he replied, giving the impression that the site would fall to pieces if not for his hand on the tiller.