The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall Page 10

  “Of course. I’d forgotten. It will have to be shop bought, but tomorrow you must purchase a dress.” He turned back to walk on. “You’ll need a full trousseau of course. And you shall have one.”

  His offer surprised and delighted her.

  He led her up the steps of the folly. Vanessa couldn’t help remembering the night she heard Lovel making love here to some woman. She’d never worked out who that woman was, perhaps a girl from the village. They sat together on the chaise longue and watched a swan leaving ripples in its wake as it paddled smoothly toward the small island. It was peaceful, but she still felt tense, aware of his nearness.

  He turned her toward him. “You are happy to marry me? I know it’s for Blythe’s sake.”

  “I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t think it wise.” She couldn’t tell him that, although Blythe was her central concern, she had her own selfish reasons for marrying him, and it wasn’t to improve her position in the world. Foolishly, she was immensely attracted to him, and it made being close like this extremely difficult. She sighed. Dare she hope that love would enter into the bargain they’d made?

  “I want you to be happy too. Vanessa….” He paused and looked away over the water. “I am a man who requires little from a spouse. My profession is extremely important to me and takes a lot of my time. Will that worry you?”

  She swallowed the bitterness of disappointment. “No, Julian.”

  “You appear to be quite self-contained,” he said sounding relieved.

  But, she wasn’t. She wasn’t at all. She yearned for him to take her in his arms and kiss her. Now. Passionately.

  Instead, he stood and offered her his arm to assist her down the steps. “It will be dark soon, and it’s been a long day. You must be tired.”

  “Yes, a little,” Vanessa confessed. It was entirely reasonable he wanted a mother for Blythe. She would never demand too much from him. Such a man seldom made an ardent lover. He was undoubtedly a good man. What woman wouldn’t wish for such a husband? If he proved to be preoccupied and often away, although it wasn’t what she wished for, she wouldn’t allow it to bother her. It was in her nature to find contentment in simple things. And, of course, there was Blythe. She drew a surprised breath. Blythe was to be her daughter, and God willing, later on there would be more children. A dream she had thought would never come true. If only he had kissed her as if he really wished to.

  Later in her room, she became determined not to lapse into romantic dreams of love. This was more of a business arrangement. It was not a love match. Julian had made that perfectly clear. Surprised at the depth of her disappointment, she couldn’t resist envisaging how his lips would feel pressed to hers in a passionate kiss, and a moan escaped at the needy ache that resulted.

  The next day, Mrs. Royce took Vanessa on a tour of the house. There were so many rooms she hadn’t seen, all shuttered up with the curtains drawn, that her head felt befogged by the time they approached the long gallery linking the east and west wings. Like the rest of the house, this richly paneled room was shadowy, the row of long mullioned windows covered with heavy drapes.

  The housekeeper paused in front of Clara’s painting and gave the elaborate frame a flick with the cloth she had tucked at her waist. “This is Lady Falconbridge.”

  Vanessa could see a little of Blythe in the shape of her eyes and brow. Not wishing to admit to having already seen it, she said, “She was very beautiful.”

  Mrs. Royce folded her arms. “Beauty is as beauty does.”

  Vanessa suspected Mrs. Royce had no truck with beauty. Order, modesty, and cleanliness were more important to the housekeeper. She had certainly settled on the perfect profession to suit her nature. Clara seemed an extravagant creature, and no doubt, that was part of her charm, but to Mrs. Royce, extravagance of any kind was immoral. The artist, though, had been a master with a brush. Curious, Vanessa leant closer, trying to make out the artist’s signature in the gloom.

  “Shall we continue?” The housekeeper sounded irritated. “We have yet to discuss the linens.”

  It was an unusually ardent response for Mrs. Royce to make. She was quite able to purvey the full force of her feelings with one small gesture. “I think we can leave the linens for today, Mrs. Royce.”

  The housekeeper flushed. “I’m sorry, Miss Ashley. I didn’t wish to speak out of turn. It’s just that his lordship suffered so when Lady Falconbridge left him. After she died, I didn’t expect him to remarry. I’m so pleased that now.…” She blinked furiously.

  Surprised by her passionate declaration, Vanessa said, “Thank you, Mrs. Royce. I have seen how loyal you and the staff are. I think that will be all for now. Blythe will be waiting.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Royce said in her usual brisk tone. “You go right along, Miss Ashley.”

  Devastated, Vanessa hurried away. Clara had broken Julian’s heart. How could she compete with a beautiful woman who must still have a hold of him?

  She made her way to the schoolroom wing. Blythe bounded to her feet at the sight of her. “Can we ride your bicycle before lunch, Miss Ashley?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Perhaps Julian had been right. A transformation was taking place before her eyes. Vanessa felt a swift stab of protectiveness toward the child. She could only hope this would last through the difficult months ahead when Blythe would sorely miss her father.

  Accompanied by Mary, who was to be her new lady’s maid, Vanessa traveled in the carriage to Harrods in Brompton Road, Kensington, where Julian had an account. His instructions were to buy a full trousseau: underwear, footwear, nightwear, and several suitable outfits that would take her into society after they were wed. He intended to introduce her to his friends and associates. “Hats and things,” he’d said, waving a hand vaguely while expressing the wish to see her well-dressed.

  With Mary gasping at her side, Vanessa rode the new escalator to the top, where they were offered a little brandy to recover from the shock. Vanessa firmly refused the spirit, and Mary glumly followed her into the ladies’ department.

  Faced with rack upon rack of exquisite gowns, Vanessa faltered. She’d been given carte blanche to buy what she liked, but after growing up with barely a penny to spend on herself, she found it difficult. She determined to buy only what she would need for now. The saleslady who attended her, once made aware of Julian’s account, pulled out dress after dress to hold before her. Vanessa’s head began to swim.

  “Lady Falconbridge loved clothes,” Mary said at her elbow. “She had them made by a French couturier. And the famous Madam Colombin, in the Rue de la Tour- d’Auvergne created her fabulous hats.” The maid looked wistful. “Her French maid, Josephine, received some wonderful hand-me-downs.”

  “And you shall have mine, Mary, although they may not be quite as grand.”

  “Oh. Thank you, Miss Ashley.”

  “Her clothes must have been lovely.” Vanessa discarded the simple wool dress with a row of bead embroidery at the neck she was considering and moved along the rack, to discover a pale-yellow mousseline de soie ballgown. It was quite frivolous and terribly expensive. Quite the loveliest evening gown she’d ever seen. Silk roses with darker green leaves decorated the bodice, and the front panel was of delicate lace. A small elegant train spoke of her status as a young matron. “I believe I shall have this,” she said surprised at her boldness.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful, Miss Ashley.” Mary brightened perhaps at the prospect of better hand-me-downs.

  The saleslady removed the gown from the rack, holding the delicate material carefully in her arms. “If you’ll just step into the fitting room? It may require some alterations.”

  They arrived home with the carriage piled with parcels. Johnson instructed a servant to take them to her room while she went to fetch Blythe.

  “Sit down, Blythe. I have lots to show you,” Vanessa said when the child followed her in to her small bedroom.

  Vanessa laid out the dainty ivory gown adorned with French knots, em
broidered in featherstitch, light and silky in her hands. “This is my wedding dress.”

  Blythe curled up in the chair and giggled. “You mustn’t show Father before the wedding; it’s bad luck.”

  “Heavens, no. I’ll wear my mother’s pearls for something old.”

  “What about something new, something borrowed, and something blue, and a silver shilling in your shoe?” Blythe chanted.

  “I’ll pin a blue ribbon inside my hem,” Vanessa said. “I shall have to think about the rest.”

  “Your dress is new. You may borrow my butterfly pin father gave me,” Blythe said. “It is both blue and borrowed.”

  “Thank you, Blythe.” Touched, she squeezed the young girl’s hand. “I shall be most honored to wear it.”

  Vanessa shook out another gown. “I couldn’t resist this.” It was a high-collared, full-sleeved dress in the conventional style, but the pattern of oranges and leaves in clusters, woven into a black background of Spitalfields silk, was most unusual and striking. A dress like this gave her confidence. She could see herself entertaining and paying calls with aplomb in such a dress.

  “It goes with your hair,” Blythe said.

  “And a sable-colored wool cloak trimmed with bands of astrakhan and black chenille embroidery for when the weather grows cold. I think it’s very smart.”

  “Very smart,” Blythe echoed.

  “Do you like this?” The dress featured a ladybird-in-flight design in red floss silk. “Ladybirds are lucky. If one alights on your hand, you will soon receive new gloves.”

  “Bugs,” Blythe said with satisfaction. “Father will like it. I shall look for ladybirds in the garden.”

  Blythe put on a black hat and pulled the net veil over her face. She pranced before the mirror while Vanessa tried on the frivolous bonnet laden with tulle, flowers, and feathers. It complemented her wedding dress perfectly. Blythe opened more boxes, throwing tissue paper about. She pulled out two pairs of shoes, a buttoned black patent-leather, and a pair of cream glacé kid.

  Vanessa burrowed amongst her purchases spread out over her bed. “Of course, you must also have a new dress.” She held out a cream embroidered toile. “You should often wear a touch of blue, Blythe. See how the blue stitching matches your eyes.”

  Blythe gasped. “Oh, it’s perfect!”

  Vanessa smiled as the girl held it against herself in front of the mirror. She imagined how she would be when grown into a lovely young woman. She prayed she would be here to see it.

  Blythe spun around. “What shall I call you? Miss Ashley doesn’t seem right.”

  “What would you like to call me?”

  A shadow passed across Blythe’s eyes. “Not mother.”

  “Why not Nessa? My mother used to call me that.”

  “Nessa? Yes, I like that.”

  When Blythe returned to the nursery, Vanessa examined the rest. Nightdresses and undergarments trimmed with embroidery and ribbons, two petticoats, a pale blue wrapper, and a very fetching corset with roses on the panels trimmed with black lace. At the thought of wearing them in front of Julian, a wave of panic caused heat to rush to her face. But would he be interested enough to notice?

  The morning of the wedding, Vanessa stood beside Julian at the Registry Office on King’s Road, Chelsea. A dry, dusty sort of place in which to be married. She didn’t mind really although it was hard to summon the appropriate spiritual feeling and therefore the sense of legitimacy in the eyes of God one would gain from standing before an altar with a vicar presiding. Blythe, enchanting in her new dress, held Vanessa’s bouquet of lily of the valley, myrtle, and hothouse orange blossoms, a surprise gift from her husband-to-be. Behind them stood Julian’s friends and partners in the expedition, accompanied by their well-dressed wives. It was the first time Vanessa had met the fearfully elegant Lord and Lady Forster and Mr. and Mrs. Hewson Watmore.

  As the wedding vows were made, the whole affair took on the semblance of a dream. Vanessa focused on her handsome husband, dressed in a gray suit with a silk damask waistcoat and striped cravat. He turned to hand his gray silk top hat to Mr. Watmore then took hold of her hand and, at a prompt from the registrar, slipped a gold wedding band on her finger.

  She anxiously met his smiling blue gaze, suspecting he could read her like a book, and worried because her palms were moist. The touch of his cool lips on hers surprised her. Brief as it was, it set her heart beating wildly as she looked ahead to what would occur between them tonight.

  The bridal party moved on to Claridge’s Hotel. Sipping champagne in an elegant room with columns and gilt mirrors, Vanessa’s queasy stomach settled. She watched Julian from over the top of her glass, admiring his handsome profile. He and Watmore were deep in discussion, something about luggage bearers. Julian had a very determined chin. A frisson of apprehension galloped through her, and she took another large swallow. Watmore was now talking about the medical supplies necessary to treat snakebite and other ailments. Vanessa put down her glass and rose to her feet. Julian jumped up as if he’d just realized she was there.

  “I wish to be excused,” she said.

  “I’ll come with you.” Aurelia Forster rose and took her arm. Together, they strolled to the ladies’ retiring room.

  The mirror confirmed Vanessa’s worst fears. Her eyes looked like a startled hare’s, and her cheeks were closer to the color of tomatoes than apples.

  “This is all a bit sudden, isn’t it?” Lady Forster said sympathy in her gray eyes.

  Vanessa swallowed. “Yes. A bit.”

  “You have no need to worry.” She turned her attention to the mirror. Removing her violet-gray hat she patted her fair hair. “Has your mother prepared you for what to expect from marriage?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Vanessa’s breath hitched. “She passed away two years ago.”

  “I see.” The older woman met her gaze in the glass. “You are worried about tonight, no doubt. The marriage bed.”

  “A little.” Vanessa had many concerns but silently agreed that was the first hurdle to overcome. At the thought of Julian as a hurdle, she smothered a nervous giggle and tugged down a sleeve.

  Lady Forster laid a gloved hand on her arm. “You know what happens between a man and a woman?”

  Vanessa had a fair idea, and that was the trouble. She nodded.

  “Good. It might hurt a bit at first,” the lady said in an unruffled tone. “But it will all be over in a few minutes.” She shrugged. “Something we women must endure.”

  “Endure?” It came out as a croak.

  “But husbands give us so much more than a little discomfort now and then, do they not?” her ladyship replied. “Are you ready to return to the party?”

  Vanessa followed Lady Forster’s wide gray chiffon-covered hips from the withdrawing room, even more anxious now than before. Across the room, Blythe looked up from a dish of ice cream. Vanessa smiled reassuringly at her. Before they went in to dinner, the nursery maid would take Blythe home. It would have been better surely if Julian had waited until his return to consummate the marriage. She wondered if she might still be able to convince him of it.

  The men stood as she and Lady Forster approached the table. Julian assisted Vanessa into her chair then continued his conversation with his friend. She grew confident he might agree.

  Chapter Ten

  After an elegant repast of Galantine de veau and lobster, served with a variety of wines and followed by fabulous desserts along with more champagne, Vanessa and Julian left their guests to return to Falconbridge Hall. Vanessa felt ever so slightly tipsy. She laughed at the slippers tied to the back of the carriage.

  “It means that you are now your husband’s possession.” A humorous spark lit Julian’s eyes.

  “How old fashioned and quaint,” Vanessa said with a moue of disapproval.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m beginning to wonder how much like your mother you are.”

  “We shall have to see,” Vanessa said feeling remarkably self-assured.
Perhaps she was like her mother. She’d had little chance to find out. Making her way in life had been her main objective. It occurred to her that she was now in a position to try to make a difference in other women’s lives. It was a heady thought. “Would you mind if I was?”

  A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “We shall have to see, won’t we?”

  She laughed.

  The household staff waited to offer their congratulations. They had donned wedding favors—silver leaves and acorns for the men and a sprig of orange blossom and white ribbons for the ladies. She longed to speak to Julian privately, but they were whisked off to the servants’ hall for a piece of wedding cake and a celebratory glass of wine.

  If she drank more wine, she’d have to be carried up to bed. She took one sip, thanked everyone, and she left Julian discussing the finer points of pugilism with Johnson. She hurried upstairs wishing to see if Blythe was asleep.

  She was drifting off, a lamp casting soft shadows over the walls. “Hello, Nessa.” She yawned. “I waited for you.”

  Vanessa perched on the edge of the bed. “Hello, sleepy-head. Did you enjoy today?”

  “Oh yes. I liked the chocolate ice cream, ’specially.”

  “Mm. Me too.” Vanessa tucked wisps of black hair back from Blythe’s brow. “Have you said your prayers?”

  “Yes. I prayed Father would return safely from his trip. I prayed for you too.”

  “Thank you for adding me to your prayers.” She bent and kissed her forehead. “I always put you in mine. Sweet dreams.”

  “Goodnight, Nessa.”

  She was halfway to the door when Blythe called after her. “Are you my mother now, Nessa?”

  Her breath caught in her throat at the urgent plea. She turned. “I’d very much like to be.”

  “And you won’t leave me?”

  She approached the bed and gazed down at the pale little face, almost lost amidst the lace edged pillows. “No, sweetheart. I won’t leave you.”