“Why not? I’m sure you have become used to making all decisions on your own and have good reasons for them as well. Have you decided where we are to spend our honeymoon yet?”
She had been holding his arm as they left the vestry, but now Alexa had to fight back her instinct to turn on him with her nails and her loudest virago shriek, just to see what his reaction would be. How dared he resent her because she had shown herself to be strong?
She might have said as much, and more perhaps, if they had not been greeted by a hail of rice and confetti at that moment as the waiting crowd of the curious and the well-wishers pressed in about them, forcing politeness on them both, so that they stood almost back to back like duelists who had to interrupt their private quarrel to defend themselves from an enemy army.
“Where is this reception of yours being held?” Nicholas shot at her under his breath at one point, and through her fixed smile she whispered back, “At my...our house in Belgrave Square, of course!” wishing that her whispered words could have been darts instead.
“Such an exquisite gown, my dear.”
“Wish you both well.”
She hardly knew any of these people. Among strangers, mummers and actors, she had even become a stranger to herself; taking on the coloration of her surroundings and those who surrounded her like a chameleon. It didn’t seem possible or even quite real that she had, only a few moments ago, signed herself and the fortune that had been her independence into the keeping of her husband. How short a time it had taken to forget everything poor Harriet had tried to teach her, and Sir John, and... Harriet? Somewhere in that sea of anonymous, staring faces she must have seen, out of the corner of her eye, a woman who reminded her of Harriet but could not possibly be. Alexa became aware that she was being guided forward now by Nicholas’s hand on one arm and Mr. Jarvis’s on the other; and that a carriage was waiting for her, the horses restive in that crowd of people and other equipages. But all the same, she had to look again, her head turning as she pulled back slightly, her eyes widening and looking suddenly very black in her pale face.
It couldn’t be, but it was! How could she mistake that tall, angular figure or that somewhat forbidding face with lines pulling the mouth down at the corners to give it a perpetually caustic expression?
“Aunt Harry? Harriet? It is you, but why didn’t you write to me? Why did you not let me know that you were in London?”
“My dear Alexa,” Harriet said later in the familiarly acid tone that Alexa recalled so well, “I am surprised that you still persist in asking so many questions all at once! How on earth do you expect to get any answers?” And then, relenting slightly, she said rather gruffly, “I only meant to see you as a bride from a distance, you know. I suppose I should have been strong enough to resist the temptation.”
“And I cannot understand why you should say such a thing, when it was you who taught me to be, of all things, direct. It is wonderful that you are here, and especially at this time, but how is it possible that you are? Is there anything wrong? The last time we talked...”
“Ah yes. Since then Martin made a remarkable recovery and decided in the end... Well, there was a young Eurasian woman he had begun to see quite regularly, and after she had borne him a second child he married her. Naturally the household was hers to run, and her ways were different from mine; that was only to be expected! So...”
Poor Harriet. “Belle-Mere”? Her doing to bring Harriet here, probably, but whatever she had meant to achieve was of no account now. Everything had been taken care of already, including Alexa herself—-married into the family, no less. An advantageous and obviously sensible alliance that no one could take exception to, not even Harriet herself. Poetic justice, no less.
Still, it came as a surprise when Nicholas suggested offhandedly that perhaps Harriet might
care to come and stay with them in the country for a week or so, until they decided where in Europe they would spend the rest of the winter and the spring. In fact, he was sure his wife would be happy to have a female companion during the next few weeks, while he would probably be busy.
Busy? Alexa asked herself, and decided soon afterwards not to ask the question out loud. In any case, she did want to become reacquainted with Harriet, who had been responsible for her bringing up and much of her present philosophy as well. The strangest thing of all, she thought a little later, was the meeting between Harriet and the Marquess of Newbury. She had wondered belatedly if there might not be some resentment; some coldness or even anger because of Harriet’s part in the pretense that had sent them all to Ceylon. But instead, it was almost a shock to see them begin to talk as if there had not been so many years between their last meeting and this one.
“I cannot understand why you and your mother have suddenly decided to take such an interest in this...in the former Lady Travers,” the Marchioness of Newbury protested to her husband in a rather petulant voice. “And as to your actually offering to give her away, that in itself is bound to cause comment, you know. And now this so-called aunt of hers whom you happen to know so well...”
“There was a time, my dear Iris, when I might actually have been foolhardy enough to marry Harriet Howard if she had been less independent,” the Marquess said in his indifferent fashion. “However, she did not admire Byron as I did—an almost insurmountable barrier at that time.” He did not mention his passion for Victorine, which may or may not have arisen because of Harriet’s continued indifference; and Lady Iris did not pursue the subject, although she still harbored some resentment at being practically forced into coming up to London to attend Embry’s wedding to a young female who had contrived to throw everyone’s plans awry, besides being far too careless of her reputation. Almost unwillingly she found herself forced to wonder again if it could be possible that Embry’s new bride was rather too closely related to the Dowager Marchioness Adelina through one of her brothers. Although that might account for everything, of course. Sometimes it was better and far more comfortable not to know too much.
Harriet Howard, on the other hand, still saw Gavin, Marquess of Newbury, as the young man she had toyed with so many years ago when she had been too sure of him, and had regretted losing when it had been too late. And now, not knowing anything about him as he was, she was able to converse quite naturally with the man she remembered, not knowing anything about the man he had since become.
Altogether, the small private reception passed off very well, with everyone present setting out to be charmingly polite to everyone else. A success, they would all say later. Catered by Gunter’s, of course, and everything done in the best of taste, from the flower arrangements to the wines. Adelina, the Dowager Marchioness of Newbury, had seen to all those arrangements, while her son the Marquess had made up the guest list, which included some of the most distinguished and influential names and titles in the country. Even the old Duke of Wellington had made an appearance; and her Gracious Majesty the Queen had sent a gift accompanied by a personally written note offering her felicitations. No newly married couple could have asked for a more auspicious beginning to their life together; and no one observing Lord Embry and his radiantly smiling bride would have thought them anything but happy and exceptionally blessed by both fortune and circumstances, especially considering the unqualified support they had received from both the Marquess of Newbury and his formidable mother.
Fate, the Marquess thought. Kismet. His former masters the Turks had believed in the inevitable. Alexandra Victoria, his daughter by his girl-wife would be one day, as her mother should have been, the Marchioness of Newbury. And the old bitch-goddess, his belle-mere had been defeated at last. He did not trust her when she appeared to be so uncommonly obliging; but then he held the reins of power firmly in his grip now, and he could look forward to the pleasure of reminding her of that fact quite frequently. His mind toyed with the idea of retiring her to the country with a companion to watch over her who would be answerable only to him. Ah, how she would hate that!
And especially if that companion happened to be the outspoken Miss Harriet Howard. An interesting thought, and one he intended to pursue later. In the meantime, he allowed Lady Iris to babble on of her plans for Helen’s wedding next year, the grand reception they must hold for her, and the new wardrobe she would need in order that she might outshine every other fashionable young lady next season. “And personally,” Lady Iris went on, “I am really quite relieved that the dear child decided to break off her engagement to Embry. I have always thought that there was something rather wild and dissolute about him, you know. And not quite polished either, which is unfortunate, since he’s your heir. I can only hope for the sake of his bride that the thought of getting him on the rebound, so to speak, does not begin to rankle after a while! Although for Helen’s sake I cannot help but feel happy that she has decided on Worley, despite his age. He dotes on her, at least, and she will have everything in the world she desires, in addition to being a Countess. I am so glad that you gave your consent at once and that even your mother approves of the match.”
The Dowager Marchioness had hardly paid any attention to her daughter-in-law’s excited announcement of Helen’s engagement to the Earl of Worley, a man at least twenty years older than the girl. She had always been sure that Helen would marry well and suitably. No, it was this match, which had been forced on her, that occupied her full attention for the moment—even after she had returned to her own house. She had always been adept at reading people and finding out their weaknesses so that she could use them to her advantage. And in this case, for her own protection she meant to make an ally of the new Lady Embry, her granddaughter. Lovers! Ah yes, that was it. Encourage her to take lovers, find them for her, offer, understandingly, to provide her with alibis any time she needed them. And then... Why, there were so many delicious alternatives to be weighed and measured. But first Alexa must be put under obligation to her, must eventually come to need her help and connivance. And to that end, it might help to cultivate Harriet Howard, who must surely know more about Alexa than anyone else. After all, both Harriet and her weak fool of a brother were unquestionably in her debt, and a subtle reminder when Miss Howard came to tea the next day might prove helpful. Ah, if Gavin thought he could defeat her and break her so easily, he’d find in the end that he was mistaken. A man with a flawed character was always vulnerable, and he must be made to remember that she knew all his flaws, his weaknesses and his vices far too well.
Chapter 50
“Wedding nerves, same as all brides. That’s all it is. And I might add that I’m glad for all our sakes that there was a wedding after all.”
Mr. Bowles looked significantly at Bridget, who immediately took fire and snapped back: “Indeed, Mr. Bowles? I had never thought that there was any doubt that there’d be a wedding in the end. And don’t you dare try to tell me that’s the only reason that my poor Lady Alexa’s walking up and down her room by herself in her pretty green silk negligee while his Lordship’s already asleep in his own room, and on their wedding night, no less! It’s not natural, nor normal either; that’s what I was starting off to say. But you’re a man, of course, and I should have known better than to think you might understand.”
The fiercely partisan Bridget would have stayed to guard her mistress’s locked door if she had not been dismissed to her own room and to her own bed several hours before Alexa was able to fall asleep. She had hoped that he would come knocking at her door so that she could have the vindictive pleasure of ignoring him, half fearing and half expecting that he might decide to break her door down if she did not let him in. It must have been past midnight when she finally slept. And when she woke up it was past twelve in the afternoon, and she was lying on top of her bedcovers, curled up like an infant, and still alone.
It was Bridget who woke her, cheeks redder than usual from embarrassme
nt. Bridget who informed her that her husband had stayed in the library for two hours or more before retiring to his own room.
“His Lordship said... He told me you weren’t to be disturbed before noon, my lady. And I was to start packing for you, for the country...?”