A June Bride

Alessandra left the house with Miss Parker in tow, but Miss Parker was not to be seen by the time the trouble began. Alessandra had not intended to lose her chaperone, but then neither had she intended to wander from her group of acquaintances only to find herself quite alone on a back path.

It was an extraordinarily fine June day, the kind of day one often dreamed about but seldom saw in the heart of London so early in the summer. The breeze was clement, the sunshine dazzling, and birdsong filled the air. The park's flowers had opened their buds to the wonder of the day, not unlike the admiring faces of their human visitors, and so it could be completely blamed on the refinement of the day itself that Alessandra’s chaperone had failed to notice they had become separated.

For herself, Alessandra was not unduly upset. She knew she had only to circulate any number of times before she would find Miss Parker happily engaged over some petal or leaf with her pocket-sized magnifying glass in hand. She only hoped Miss Parker had not managed to be diverted behind a hedge, for Alessandra was petite of stature, with never a hope of seeing over high shrubberies. This troublesome thought having occurred to her, and after only a moment’s hesitation to see that she was indeed quite alone on this lesser-traveled path, she decided to climb somewhat inelegantly atop the nearby retaining wall, the better to gaze about for the missing Miss Parker.

***

Such was the lovely nature of this fine June morning that even Geoffrey Darringforth, eldest son of the earl of Chenmarth, who carried his father’s lesser title of Viscount Huntingsley, happened also to be strolling in the park.

It was not in the common way of things to see this gentleman walking the park, or indeed for him to be seen about London much at all. He had been sent a summons from his father, and though they were somewhat estranged, it was not in Geoffrey’s character to blatantly ignore a request for his presence. The ostensible reason for the summons was that he was to demonstrate his skill at managing the unwieldy combination of both estate books and how those said-same books might be viewed by town barristers. This being the case, plus the fact that nearly every living creature beyond the livestock had months past removed themselves from the delights of a wintery Kent, Geoffrey allowed himself to be persuaded to come to town.

He was probably the only participant in the day’s leisure who was less than satisfied with the beautiful day. Oh, it was grand to feel the sun on one’s face, and the air was that rare and perfect temperature that simply demands a saunter about in it, and he was young, and plump of pocket. He had no real worries, and actually after a fashion anticipated the challenge of demonstrating his knowledge to the barristers long in his family’s employ, but yet…there was something…oh,
melancholy
about the very picture of perfection that surrounded him. Geoffrey never cared much for art that showed divinely gorgeous people sitting about in exquisitely perfect dress and pose. He favored portraits of real faces, with lines in their skin and one or two hairs out of place, and
real
expressions on their faces, not those high and lofty expressions some artists portrayed so well.

Yet even as he thought idly about these things, his hands casually in his coat pockets as he wandered absently along, he laughed a little to himself. Surely the vague and unnamed feelings of discontent he knew so often lately had nothing to do with the fineness of the day, and he was a sad and sorry fellow for looking for imperfection while he stood amongst Eden. He chided himself silently for a moment, turning down a side path, not even taking note that he had chosen a path sure to be less traveled and therefore conducive to yet another bout of cheerless introspection.

At first he thought he had come into a part of the grounds that hosted a statue, but a second quick glance proved not only was the statue graced with a pale pink gown and dark, rich hair, but it was also capable of motion. His sudden appearance had obviously startled her, for she visibly jumped. He had only a moment more to realize this was someone he ought to recognize and whose name he ought to know, when she lost her obvious battle to maintain her balance and fell toward him, one arm wind-milling furiously as the other stretched out in hopes of breaking her fall.

She fell heavily onto his chest, knocking him back several paces, her one arm smacking him in the ear painfully. Together they did a strange little waltz, until, after a few very long moments, he managed to get a leg behind himself to thrust in the opposite direction, halting their tilting course abruptly.

There was a very audible rip, which they both responded to by pushing off one another to glance down at their own assorted bits of clothing. There was a price to be paid for the yet again sudden movement, for their horrified glances revealed that his booted foot was clearly standing on the hem of her silken dress, and another ripping sound pointed out that it was the bodice of her gown ultimately suffering the damage. It gaped open by more than a few inches, her chemise clearly revealed. She gave a curious sound that was a cross between a squeal and a moan, and breaking from the frozen stance of horror she had obtained, suddenly moved to cover the rend with her arms.

Bright blue eyes flew to his. Alessandra saw before her a tall and handsome gentleman, with eyes that were the most lovely dark brown, and which she suddenly knew would appear almost black in the proper lighting. Another flash crossed her mind, and she recognized the hair, too, that color that had caused the lad’s parents to quibble back and forth as to whether it was truly blond or brunette. He had grown to full maturity since last they had met—oh, ages ago—and his height struck her now as being rather remarkable, and the width of his shoulders had surely never been so broad before, but yet she knew him after just a moment’s wild stare at his straight nose and not-too-full mouth. “Geoffrey?” she whispered in mortified recognition.

“Alessandra?” he queried, not quite sure for a moment if it was she, or her older sister, the Hamilton girls being so alike. He knew only that he and she were somehow related, in some convoluted way cousins. No, this must be the younger one, Alessandra. When was the last time they had met? It must be three years ago. But how she had grown—in great good looks, if not in height. Her face was dominated by the sparkling blue eyes, surrounded as they were by luxurious dark, long lashes. Her hair had not lightened, had in fact darkened into a rich, full chestnut brown. The small, pert nose he recalled, and the bow mouth still had its dimple, and he found himself thinking that here at—what? eighteen years of age or so?—she was every bit as charming as she had shown promise of becoming when she was a child. He found himself wondering how he had ever managed to overlook her at the last family gathering, though he had to concede that the ensuing three years had undoubtedly made a great deal of difference. He would have been twenty then, and she fifteen. Now she was nothing less than striking, a fact which, strangely, he found himself thinking was due as much to the lively sparks in those eyes as to the gift of beauty itself.

“Step off my dress!” she wailed.

Belatedly he moved his foot, and she at once attempted to gather the slippery fabric together over her exposed underthings. Feeling at least partially responsible for the tear to her gown, his hands came up automatically, attempting fruitlessly to make right what had gone wrong. When the edges slipped from under her fingers, his own hands sought to gather up the fabric, a muddled and not-quite-formed thought in his mind being that surely between the both of them they could contrive to arrange the material over the gaping hole well enough to make a hasty escape from the park.

The scuffle of a boot and the swish of a skirt came to them, and both Alessandra and Geoffrey half-turned to see Lord and Lady Graham staring at them.

“What are you doing there?” Lord Graham snapped at Geoffrey.

“I—”

Graham lifted his cane, as if he were considering attacking. “I didn’t think you were this sort, Huntingsley.”

Lady Graham’s mouth was wide open, and her eyes started to roll back in her head.

“I say—!” Geoffrey cried, as it seemed Lord Graham had no idea his wife was about to collapse in a faint. Geoffrey began to step forward in an effort to catch the woman, but as he did so, letting go of Alessandra’s gown, the hole gaped wide open anew. His cousin moaned again, and crossed her arms over her exposed bosom once more. Lord Graham became suddenly aware of his wife’s condition when that lady slumped against him heavily.

“What manner of outrage is
this
in a public park?” Lord Graham demanded as the weight of his wife nearly sent him down in a sprawl. “I know you, young lady!” he added, staring accusingly over his prostrate wife’s head at Alessandra.

“Oh, Lord Graham. I tore my gown—”

“Tore it! I saw the ruffian there do it. Saw his hands all over you. And you letting him. Don’t try to tell me otherwise, you little tart.”

“Sir, I respectfully demand you recall those words.” Geoffrey stepped forward threateningly.

“He is my cousin!”

“I don’t care if he’s your husband. This kind of behavior does not belong in the King’s parks! I tell you, I ought to call the Watch.”

“Sir, this is all a simple mistake…” Geoffrey started to explain, but Lord Graham had finally turned his attention to his wife. “Margaret! Margaret? My dear, are you all right?”

Their voices had carried, and other couples began to gather on the smaller path. Geoffrey swore under his breath, and removed his coat. He placed it backwards around Alessandra’s shoulders, to cover her ripped gown.

Someone called for a litter; someone else called for hartshorn to revive Lady Graham, who was now stretched out on the pathway. Questions and calls of “what happened here?” flew back and forth, and Geoffrey gritted his teeth. The whole mad scene was not helped by Lord Graham’s strident demands for “decency in the parks,” and his claims that he was coming to see Alessandra’s father as soon as he could get his wife safely to home and a doctor’s care.

Geoffrey put his arm around Alessandra, the better to hold his coat over her, and escorted her past a gauntlet of ogling faces. “Which is your carriage?” he ground out as they came near to a park exit.

“The farthest one, there.” She indicated the direction with a nod of her head.

“Of course it is,” he said from between gritted teeth, and hurried her forward past another sea of gawking observers.

“To the house, if you please!” Geoffrey called to the driver curtly as they approached the vehicle.

“ ’Ere now, ’oo are you? What’s wif Miss Alessandra?” the driver demanded in return with a dark scowl.

“Tim, he’s my cousin. Lord Huntingsley. Surely you know him, Lady Chenmarth’s son?” she called from her seat to the driver. “It’s all right. Do as he says,” she soothed, easing the disapproving frown from her driver’s brow.

The driver grunted in recognition, and asked of Geoffrey, “Which ’ouse then? Yours, or ‘ers?”

“New Garden House, and hurry. There’s a quid in it for you,” Geoffrey snapped, climbing in beside Alessandra. As he settled them both on the squabs, he growled, “Thank heavens you brought a coach and not a phaeton.”

Alessandra blushed at the idea of riding in an open carriage, but then she suddenly thrust out a hand as though to somehow stop the coach, an alarmed look growing on her face anew. She had to quickly pull her hand back to catch his coat from slipping off her shoulders. “We’ll have to send Tim back to find Miss Parker,” she cried.

“Miss Parker?”

“My companion. Tim will know her.”

Geoffrey gave a curt nod. “I’ll see it’s done.”

Alessandra slumped back. “Oh, Geoffrey,” her voice rose but she kept it from becoming a wail. “However did that hideous scene ever happen?” she cried, her blue eyes wide with distress.

He gazed at her in return, seeking to control his own upset. A moment more of regarding her and it was clear she was not going to become hysterical, a fact which pleased him, however grimly.

“I’m afraid,” he said in a voice he forced into tones more calm than he felt, “that scene was as nothing compared with what is going to happen when Lord Graham comes to speak with your father.”

Alessandra stared as she let his words sink in, and after a moment he saw her eyes grow very wide indeed.