A June Bride (5 page)

The next night, after the bridal party had all shared a rather formal dinner, Emmeline slipped into her sister’s room. “I wanted to talk with you alone,” she said as her younger sister raised an inquiring face to see who had entered without bothering to knock.

“Oh?”

“I see you are putting the final stitches on the gown.” They had found some minor repairs needed to be done to the dress Emmeline had worn for her wedding, and Emmeline had clucked a little over how her once pale yellow best gown had darkened in but a few years—but all agreed the lace and satin would do.

“I want to look well tomorrow. Imagine me, a June bride,” Alessandra said, her cheeks pinkening just a little at the renewed thought that tomorrow she was to be married. What an incredible thought. Her marriage had not been even a thought less than a week ago, and yet tomorrow she must promise to live with a man for the rest of her life.

“You’ll be lovely. I daresay it is as well the fabric darkened a little, for that golden shade suits you well.”

Alessandra ducked her head, not quite willing to show her sister the self-indulgent pleasure she took at this transforming of herself into a bride. She caught a movement in the mirror across from where she sat on the bed, saw her own reflection out of the corner of her eye, took in the long, dark hair, saw what she thought of as the not-unpretty face, recognized the glow that she had seen in the faces of other brides. It was very exciting to be the center of attention, very titillating to think of starting on a whole new phase of life. And then she surprised herself when she realized she was trying to guess whether Geoffrey would notice how well she had managed to prepare for their hasty wedding day.

Her smile faded, though, as she remembered what Geoffrey had said to her tonight when he’d asked for a private moment. They’d slipped into her father’s library.

“I have made a promise, and it involves you,” he had said, his shoulders tight and his expression stern. He’d turned to kick at the fire, causing coals to shift, his back half to her. “I promised that if you ever desire a divorce, I will do everything I can to obtain one,” he said over his shoulder.

She’d stared, appalled.

“Divorce? What...? Why would you say such a thing? Divorce?” She’d said the word as though it was filthy, but then words had failed her altogether.

He’d turned to her, a sheepish look on his face. “I know. It’s outrageous. But I promised I would not bind you for the rest of your life, if you chose otherwise.” He held up a hand, stopping her intended protests. “It is neither my plan nor my desire. The thought of the scandal…” He shook his head, clearly disturbed. “But my word has been given, and you deserved to know of it.”

He’d departed after she’d given him a reluctant little nod of understanding—although she’d felt like she didn’t understand him at all. Who said such a thing to one’s intended, even if you were being forced to marry? Was she already found wanting? Or was there some deeper meaning to his unkind offer? But what?

Then she recalled he’d gone to see his mother earlier in the day. Had Lady Chenmarth rejected her?

Had the son taken the mother’s denunciation of his intended bride to heart, so much so he’d given Alessandra a way to set him free almost before they were bound? But what manner of freedom was a divorce, she thought angrily. Did he not understand how black a mark it was? How their names would be bandied in the scandalsheets? How the ugly, rare act would spoil future matrimonial hopes Alessandra might then harbor?

But…then again, he’d not said he wanted a divorce once they’d satisfied society’s demands by marrying. And that was another thing, why would he dance to another’s wedding tune if he meant to defy expectations so soon? Why not simply refuse her before the marriage? He’d said she could ask for a divorce, and he would work to achieve it. An odd offer, and yet one that had clearly grated on him.

But, yes, he’d gone to see his mama… A woman whose own marriage had been grievous. Perhaps there was more to the story. Perhaps his offer wasn’t as cold-hearted as it seemed. It is neither my plan nor my desire…

Alessandra rubbed her face, trying to hide any worry from Emmeline, whose smile had begun to slip, no doubt in response to Alessandra’s sudden silence.

“How is dear James?” Alessandra asked with a forced smile.

“He’s well. But, Lessie, I have a little secret,” Emmeline said in carefully hushed tones, taking advantage of their mother’s absence. There was a delighted glint in her gaze.

Alessandra shook off her doubts, her hands coming together in a gesture of petition as she cried, “Are you increasing?”

Emmeline could only nod, tears of happiness coming at once to her eyes.

Alessandra threw her arms around her. “Am I the first to know?” she cried. “Of course I am. Mama would be so happy she’d forget all about this wedding.”

“You are the first to know, after James of course,” her sister said, speaking of her husband.

“Oh, I am sure he is overjoyed.”

“He is,” Emmeline said, beaming brightly. She caught up her little sister’s hand, and chided her gently, “But not a word to anyone. I want you to shine all through your wedding day. There’s plenty of time for them to spoil me silly after that.”

“Emmy, I am so happy for you.”

“As I am for you. Lord Huntingsley is a good man. I wish you every happiness.”

Alessandra couldn’t keep her smile from slipping again. She half-shrugged and said, “Oh, we must see how things unfold.”

Emmeline put her head to one side, a shadow crossing her features.

“Do you want a girl or a boy?” Alessandra threw out.

“Two of each. But one at a time,” Emmeline said, still watching Alessandra’s face, but then she let herself be distracted. “In fact, it is on the topic of babies that I am here now.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You see, Mama will feel it is her solemn maternal duty to talk to you tonight, and fill your head with a bunch of fanciful, illogical, scatterwitted comments concerning the way it is between a man and his wife.”

Will there be a wedding bed for Geoffrey and me? Or are we already estranged? Yet he had said, But my word has been given, as if the idea of divorce had not originated with him.

“Lessie?”

 Alessandra shook off her fretting. “I am not entirely unaware of…things,” she murmured.

“I know. ’Twas I who taught you most of what you already know, goose, but I wanted to be quite sure you understood, because I guarantee that if you do not, then Mama will manage to quite confuse you,” Emmeline said with a crooked smile that spoke of her own experience with their mother.

“Oh, I don’t think—” Alessandra had meant to say “that it’s necessary,” but Emmeline interrupted. “It cannot hurt you to listen to me, can it?”

“No, I suppose not,” Alessandra said meekly, realizing she did not really want to explain to her sister that there might not be any “blessed union,” not with Geoffrey. Perhaps he’d want to exercise husbandly rights, perhaps not. Perhaps for awhile. Or until a child was begotten. She supposed she should listen, just in case she was mistaken, or she ever felt she could step aside from her upbringing and actually take a lover. A twisty feeling seemed to bind the breath in her lungs at the very thought of such an unfaithful thing.

She leaned forward, newly determined to glean whatever bits of wisdom her sister had to share about the physical union of man and woman.

“Mama will tell you that you should never open your eyes…,” Emmeline began.

***

“…And be sure you never open your eyes. You would not want him to think you have anything of the wanton about you,” her mother said, breathing a sigh of relief that she had at last come to the end of her motherly speech.

“Yes, Mama,” Alessandra murmured. She raised a hand to her mouth as though to cover a cough, but despite her worries she hid a smile. Emmeline and Mama’s accounts had been as far apart in meaning and substance as chickens were from pigs.

She stood, turning her back to her mother, crossing to look out the window of her room looking down into the kitchen gardens and across the yard that led directly into the stables. It was growing very late, so that moon shadows crisscrossed the neat bricks below.

Peculiar, this giddiness of planning a wedding, combined with complete uncertainty as to that marriage’s longevity. How long would their union last? Would they stay together a few weeks, then live in separate houses? Or would they live together sometimes? If they maintained the marriage, surely at some time Geoffrey would demand an heir from her? Alessandra cringed inside, never having before pondered bedding a man who wanted the product of her body but had no interest in her affections.

Her heart began to pound. Could she do this? Was it better to face society’s censure over exposed undergarments, or a life-long separation, or—she shied from the word she could scarce believe he’d thrown at her—a termination of the marriage?

Could she sometimes lie with him? Could she bear it, if it was naught but hollowness and duty? What was this strange quaking in her limbs? Was it fear?  Longing for other choices? Was it anger?

Her lips drawn grimly tight, she contemplated Emmeline’s and Mama’s separate accountings: Mama had made love-making sound like a grim task that resulted in the joy of offspring and family harmony, whereas Emmeline’s version had sounded rather a bit like an adventure, an exploration of the heart: yours and his. Emmeline and James were very evidently in love. And thought it was a quieter thing, true, Alessandra had always known her parents loved, too.

Did every bride spend a few minutes of their wedding morning thinking about casting sick on the carpet?

Stomach churning, she admitted it to herself: no, she could not lie with any man without love. Of that she was sure. Not for the rest of her life.

Still… Might it be worse to never experience physical love? Children?

“Mama?”

“Yes, my dear?” Her mother crossed to stand behind her, wrapping an arm around her petite daughter’s waist over the nightwrap she wore.

She glanced up into her mother’s caring face, and away again. “Geoffrey and I do not love each other, except perhaps a bit, as cousins. How can we ever make a life together?”

Her mother paused for a moment, then began to plait her daughter’s hair. “You’ll hardly be the first couple to little know each other. You’ll find a way to go on peacefully enough, with a bit of effort and patience.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“You are not worried?”

“For your happiness? Not a bit, my dear girl.” So saying, her mother tied the string on her plait, tucked her into bed, kissed her fondly on the forehead and bade her a good night’s sleep. “Bright and early tomorrow morning, you’ll be a bride!” she called as she pulled the door shut.

As if she needed reminding, Alessandra thought with a dark scowl.

She thought about her mother’s words, her promise that she would find a way to go on with Geoffrey, and she wondered if she would, or if she would end up a part of one of those couples for whom everyone quietly felt sorry. She did not know much, but she did know she could not be a part of anything like that without becoming very hurt, very bitter.

So then, what would be worse? To be left entirely alone with no kind of intimacy at all, or to be only loved in a physical way? Would she and Geoffrey ever find a way to be together? And if they did, how much of themselves would they have to give away to achieve a semblance of togetherness?

“Oh dear, he is wearing gray. Lady Chenmarth distinctly told me Huntingsley was going to wear dark blue.”

“Mama,” Emmeline chided, rolling her eyes at her little sister as if to say “ignore her.”

Alessandra peeked around the corner of the doors leading from the antechamber into the church, just long enough to try and take a quick peek at her groom. There was a confusion of males near the altar. She saw Elias, Geoffrey’s best man, and another groomsman, Mr. Ebey, whom she had met at the formal betrothal dinner last night. Geoffrey had introduced him as a fellow classmate and good friend from Cambridge. She saw her own little brother, Oliver, so sweet in his finery, though he would not have appreciated being called “sweet” at what he thought of as the advanced age of thirteen. She saw her father, motioning silently and with great exaggeration at someone for some purpose she could not divine, but she could not make out Geoffrey in the moment her head was allowed to show around the door.

“Get back!” Emmeline hissed sternly, pulling her back by the arm. “No one is supposed to see the bride before the ceremony. I’ll look.”

She did so, and returned to the bride’s side to report, “He looks quite dashing. Gray is fine, probably better than dark blue. Blue can be so somber. This is a wedding, after all, Mama.”

“But I ordered that dark blue linen be laid for the luncheon,” Mama almost wailed.

“Perhaps I could change into my blue sarcenet for the luncheon?” Alessandra suggested.

“Why, yes, of course. Although it is not strictly new. I would have liked to order something made up, of the latest mode. But I think if I get out Aunt Agatha’s sapphires for you, that would do very nicely. You can save your new rose gown for the going-away trip.”

“Going-away trip?” Alessandra echoed faintly. It had not occurred to her that she might be traveling. It had never been mentioned.

Her mother was the picture of guilt. “Well... I...! Never mind about that now. Oh, there is the music. Where is your father?”

That fellow came scurrying down the aisle of the church, his gray-streaked hair flying a little in the rush of air he created. He had his son Oliver in hand, and immediately sent that fellow forward with his mother on his arm. He himself had just enough time to catch his breath and to gather up his daughter’s hand on his arm before it was their turn to step out into the aisle.

“I was making sure the groom was here. And sober,” he whispered in an aside to Alessandra.

“Never say he is drunk!” Alessandra whispered in alarm. Every head, and there were a surprising many on such short notice, that had not already turned in their direction, did so now at the sharp sound.

“No, no, not at all. Just making sure, don’t you know. It wouldn’t be the first time at a wedding like this.” He whispered one last admonition, “Smile!”

She responded at once, for it was easy to do. She always smiled like a fool when she was nervous.

***

Geoffrey looked down the aisle at his approaching bride, for a moment stunned by her transformation. Her lustrous hair had been pulled back and bound into a chignon behind the Juliet cap she wore. Her face, always pretty, was now positively stunning, as her high cheekbones and the ideal angle of her jaw line were exposed. Her long dark lashes, framing her glittering blue eyes, were made all the more colorful by the golden hue of the satin gown with its overlay of lace. He saw her lips were the perfect pink of a rosebud, very flattering to her complexion. He had never really thought about the fact he was at least a head taller than she, but now, in her bridal gown, her diminutive size was brought home to him. He noted, though, that the gown revealed a figure of womanly proportions: breasts that were high and well-rounded, and a diminutive waist that led the eye on to hips of just the right dimensions for comely balance.

He frowned quickly to himself, chastising himself for making these assessments, and turned his eyes away to stare fixedly toward a stained-glass window set in the side wall.

***

When her father stepped away from her at the altar, Alessandra thought for a panicky moment that her legs were going to go out from under her. Then Geoffrey’s arm was there, and she was forced to cling to him as though he were a lifeline.

Together they kneeled before the vicar. She was ashamed to think Geoffrey must be able to feel her trembling, but there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She couldn’t even raise her eyes to meet his. What was she doing here? Why was she marrying him? Wasn’t this all just a farce? Who was this man, so apparently unruffled, kneeling beside her before God and this entire assembly? Her thoughts chased each other around in her head, until suddenly she realized she was being addressed.

“…Do you, Alessandra Hamilton, promise to love, honor, and obey your husband, Geoffrey, until death do you part?” the vicar intoned with his eyes fixed on the good book before him. When she did not answer at once, he looked up over the bible and the pince-nez balanced on his nose, and harumphed.

Alessandra stared back at the vicar, until finally her eyes, as if of their own volition, raised to meet Geoffrey’s. His face was arranged along somber lines, but there was a light of amusement and comprehension in the back of his eyes. His other hand came down on hers where she held his arm and he squeezed gently. As if he’d never said “divorce.”  As if he were saying, “Remember what we agreed: to love, honor, and obey as best we may, respectful of one another.” He was calm, he was assured; she must emulate him in that.

In fact, he was dashedly handsome. She had always known her cousin was good-looking, but here, today, in a man’s wedding finery, his cravat starched and arranged in clever folds, his rich brown eyes complemented by the gray morning coat and the gray and white waistcoat he sported, she saw he was decidedly attractive.

The vicar cleared his throat again.

Alessandra recalled herself. Her voice barely quivering, she answered, “I do.”

There were a series of sobs from those who had come to observe the impetuous wedding, and only a few noticed that one of them came from Jacqueline Bremcott.

Alessandra repeated all the phrases every young girl had memorized by heart by the time she was ten: “in sickness and in health”; “for richer, for poorer”; “for better, for worse.” Geoffrey was then asked the same questions, and answered each also, “I do.”

“You may kiss the bride,” the vicar said, beaming down at them as he snapped the bible closed.

Geoffrey rose to his feet and pulled Alessandra up after him by both hands. He leaned forward and kissed her quickly, his lips striking her on the side of the mouth instead of directly on her lips.

One part of Alessandra heard her mother blowing her nose and murmuring, “My baby. My baby,” Another part heard her father telling someone, “All done up then, and didn’t cost me a fortune to pop her off, neither.” And yet another part of her could do nothing but stand there and marvel at the sensation that tingled at the corner of her mouth.

A tug on her arm persuaded her to move, and she came out of her daze to realize Geoffrey was trying to lead her from the church.

“There’s to be a reception,” she said to him, and then winced at her own inanity.

“At the house. Yes, I know. Are you well?” His hand slid under her elbow, the better to steady her.

“Oh, yes, quite well.” She shook her head, as though to clear it, and managed a smile. “How are we to get there?” The look he gave her said she was still saying inane things, but he answered, “The carriage. Your father provided one for us. His party will be brought back with some of the others.”

“Oh, the carriage,” she said, her smile growing even brighter to cover up the fact she had almost said, “Alone? Just the two of us?” I’ve thought about bedding, but somehow not about being alone together. She just kept from shaking her head in amazement at herself.

He stopped in the antechamber, and she was grateful when she felt the cool stones of a wall pressed against her back; they would help her stay upright.

“Are you going to be well if I leave you here for a moment? I really should slip a little something to the vicar. I doubt anyone else will recall to do so.” He looked at her keenly, but then a flood of well-wishers surrounded them, coming suddenly from the interior church. He seemed to assume she would be taken care of, and so he disappeared back the way they had just come.

“You look so lovely, my dear, truly you do,” someone close by said.

By the time Geoffrey returned, ushered through the press by a swell of good wishes, Alessandra had regained some of her equilibrium. It had helped to have everyone tell her she was beautiful, to fuss over her, and since they all knew exactly why the precipitate wedding had gone forth, tactfully no one asked awkward questions.

“Shall we go?” Geoffrey said, taking her hand and pulling her through the crowd without really waiting for an answer. “Back to New Garden House, everyone, for luncheon and champagne,” he called out, and was promptly cheered by all the men and not some few of the ladies.

***

After the first paralyzing shock had worn off, Alessandra had found it was easy enough to smile her fool’s smile. She and her groom were toasted and teased, petted and pampered. Her glass was kept filled with champagne, a drink she’d never had before and knew had to be smuggled goods. Papa was not above obtaining the odd luxury here or there. She finally had to ask that her glass be taken away altogether, else she would become inebriated at her own wedding. Her plate was filled and brought to her where she sat just to Geoffrey’s right at one end of the main dining table. All the young bucks tried to outdo one another in the extravagance of their compliments, for a new bride could be safely flirted with. Aunt Agatha’s jewels flashed on Alessandra’s throat and in her hair, and a fine gold wedding band graced her left hand. If there had been an atmosphere of scandal or disharmony when first the hasty wedding was announced, it had evaporated since. Everywhere she looked there were smiling faces and happy laughter.

Other than her own mostly pushed-aside misgivings, one sour note touched the day. Once the newlyweds had risen from dining, they went around to each of the attendees. Geoffrey stopped before two ladies Alessandra did not immediately recognize. She would have thought nothing of a pause, except this one went on rather long—and did Geoffrey and the younger of the ladies exchange a distinct gaze into one another’s eyes? The moment passed just as Alessandra glanced up at Geoffrey, who introduced them. “Alessandra, I believe you know Lady Bremcott and Miss Jacqueline Bremcott. Lady Bremcott, Miss Bremcott, my wife, Lady Huntingsley.”

Good heavens. I am Viscountess Huntingsley now. Perhaps one day to be the Countess of Chenmarth…?

And, yes, I recognize the younger lady now… Like the Hamiltons, in years past the Bremcotts had been visitors to the Chenmarth estates. Alessandra had played with a young Jacqueline on more than one occasion. “How lovely to see you again,” she said, finally having seen the girl in the woman.

The two ladies murmured their felicitations. “Such a lovely wedding. Your mother must be proud to have put it together so...cleverly,” Lady Bremcott said.

“Why, thank you,” Alessandra said, her smile failing at the censure she could not miss. She lifted her chin. “I shall tell her you approve.”

A singular eyebrow rose above Lady Bremcott’s austere expression, but she offered no further comment.

Jacqueline Bremcott instead offered her gloved hand. “You must be good to my dear...to Geoffrey. He is the finest fellow, and deserves the very best.” She raised her green eyes and gazed frankly at him, this time quite unmistakably. She kept her eyes on his, even as she leaned in to plant a saluting kiss on a surprised Alessandra’s cheek. Just as quickly, she did the same to Geoffrey, on both cheeks, where two touches of pink spread. His expression had gone strangely set. “I know you will wish to be an obedient wife, for his sake,” Miss Bremcott told Alessandra, even though she did not shift her gaze from Geoffrey.

Alessandra knew a sudden urge to also tiptoe up against her husband for two quick cheek kisses, though she’d had no such thought a minute ago.

“I shall do my best,” she said, bringing a thin smile to her lips.

Jacqueline responded merely, “Ah, yes.”

The two younger women looked at each other steadily. Alessandra saw the delicate figure before her, the rich gown of watered cream and peach silk, the tasteful, subtle inclusion of diamond-studded combs in the curly coiffure that was all the latest rage. She saw the dainty features forming a more than merely attractive face, and suddenly Alessandra felt she had neglected to ask Geoffrey something quite important, something that it had not occurred to her to ask until this very moment.

The two Bremcotts made their excuses, and then once again Alessandra was pulled into a whirl of congratulations and merrymaking, so that she all but forgot about the two ladies until quite some time later.