A Sisterly Regard (25 page)

* * * *

The wedding service took place just before noon, with a festive
breakfast following. Cousin Godfrey Stevens performed the service. He
had agreed to do so with reservations, admitting he did not like the
hurried nature of Chloe's nuptials.

Chloe made a lovely bride. She was clad in the pink gown she
had worn on her first visit to Almack's. Its soft color called attention to the
slight blush in her cheeks. Her head was crowned with white roses,
matching those she in her wedding bouquet. Phaedra wore palest yellow
with a golden overskirt. She carried a posy of white roses with gold
streamers.

The ceremony was over quickly. Wilderlake kissed his bride's
lips for the first time. It was a gentle kiss, for which Chloe was grateful.
She was suddenly shy with this man she barely knew. When they drew
apart, Chloe turned to her father and kissed him, then embraced her
sister.

As the sisters hugged one another, she saw her mother and
Wilderlake's, each standing alone, both with tears streaming down their
cheeks. Chloe was overcome. She flew into her mother's arms. "Do not
cry Mama, please. I am so happy and so should you be." She kissed her
mother's cheek, then turned to the other woman. Shyly she put her arms
around her husband's mother. "Oh, ma'am, I shall make him happy, I
promise. Please do not cry."

"Why do women always cry at weddings?" Papa held out a glass
of champagne. "Here, my lady, drink up. This is a happy occasion. Chloe,
get some champagne. Everybody, have some champagne," he
roared.

Even the Duchess laughed. "Your husband must have been
sampling the champagne, Isabella," she said. "Or is it just that he's relieved
to have her off his hands?"

"A bit of both, I think," Mama replied. "George, do calm down
and let us toast the newlyweds."

Papa led the company in a toast to Lord and Lady Wilderlake.
Chloe beamed. It was the first time she had been called Lady Wilderlake.
The Duchess held up her glass.

"Never could see the sense in the men getting to make all the
toasts. Phaedra, here's to your wedding next."

Everyone laughed as Phaedra's face grew hot.

"Hear! Hear!" Mr. Farwell contributed. "Too bad it was not a
double wedding."

Phaedra gaped at him. He returned it with a wink. Had he
already drunk too much?

Chloe's laughter interrupted her musings. "But she has not
received an offer. How could it have been a double wedding?"

"Never mind, gel," the Duchess said. "Your sister will be wed
sooner than you think. Now where is that breakfast you promised me? I
am sharp set,"

They all trooped into the dining room where a lavish spread had
been set out. Everyone but the newlyweds filled their plates more than
once. Phaedra noticed that both Chloe and Wilderlake picked at their
food, moving it about on their plates but consuming little.

* * * *

Finally the last toast was drunk, to Wilderlake's great relief.
Although he had only sipped at his glass with each salute, he was
lightheaded and queasy.

Chloe and her mother went upstairs together. Miss Phaedra
engaged Wilderlake's mother in conversation, and Lord Gifford teased
Lady Mary Follansbee. The Duchess and the Reverend Mr. Stevens began
a good-natured argument about the role of the clergy in politics.
Wilderlake paced, until Reggie caught his arm and led him out of the
room and to the library.

"Here, man, you look ill. Nervous?"

"Reggie, I am scared stiff. We are only going as far as Claridge's.
What am I to do?"

"Only one thing to do on your wedding night. Bed the
girl."

"But..." He felt himself flush. "Reggie, I don't know... I mean...
Damme. How can I say it?"

"Herne, are you virgin?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my God! But you've been on the Town. How could you
be?"

"I was determined not to follow in my father's footsteps, so I
avoided the cyprians. And there was never an opportunity at home. I just
never did," he admitted, feeling the fool.

Reggie laughed. "And now you two innocents will come
together, neither of you knowing how to go on. This is rich. Well, Herne,
it is too late for lessons. You will have to muddle through somehow.
There, I hear them coming downstairs. Go to meet your fate. I wish you
luck." He continued to chuckle as they went back into the corridor.

Wilderlake felt the little food he had consumed congeal in his
belly.

Chloe halted halfway down the stairs, holding her wedding
bouquet. She looked at her sister and Lady Mary. "May the best girl win,"
she called, and threw it. Lady Mary made no attempt to catch the flowers,
and they nearly fell to the floor before Phaedra put out a hand to catch
them.

"Folks would say you don't want a husband, gel, from that poor
catch," the Duchess remarked, under cover of the laughter.

"I am not sure I do," Phaedra told her softly.

"Well, you'll get one, want him or no," Her Grace
replied.

Phaedra did not reply, for her sister had come to the foot of the
stairs and was saying farewell to her family. All too soon the newlyweds
had departed in a hail of rice. The Duchess's party followed them in a few
moments, and shortly thereafter Mr. Farwell took Wilderlake's mother
away. The remaining Hazelbournes were left alone.

Lady Gifford collapsed into a chair. "I never want to go through
another day like this again in my life." The family had returned to the
parlor after seeing the wedding guests on their way. "More than once I felt
myself on the verge of saying something unkind to someone."

"Like 'why do you not all go away and leave me alone,' perhaps,
Mama," Phaedra teased.

"Exactly like that. I am so tired, and it was such an effort to
smile and say the correct things."

"Then why do you not go and rest until dinner?" Cousin Louisa
suggested.

"No, I cannot. There is one more task..." She closed her eyes
for a moment. "Would you excuse us, Cousin Louisa? Phaedra, come into
your papa's study, if you will."

Phaedra was mystified. What on earth had her mother to say to
her that would not wait until later? "Mama, you should rest."

"No, Phaedra," Papa said. "Now. Want to get this over
with."

She was alarmed as well as mystified at her father's words. What
could be so serious that Mama's well-being did not take precedence? She
followed her parents into the study, where Mama seated herself in a
comfortable chair. Papa did not sit, but paced back and forth between the
fireplace and the desk. Phaedra stood uncertainly near the door, waiting
for the silence to be broken.

Finally her father cleared his throat. "Sit, girl, sit. You look like
a frightened colt, standing there."

She perched on the edge of an armchair.

"Your mother wants me to say this, though I think she'd do
better at it. But still and all, it's my duty. Well, then Phaedra. Ah...you
see..."

"George, say it, straight out!" There was an unusual sharpness to
Mama's voice.

"Very well.
Ahem.
Reginald Farwell has asked for your
hand. Told him it was up to you, but gave him my permission to ask you."
His words came out in a rush and he scowled as he spoke.

Phaedra gaped.

"Say something, girl. Don't just sit there with your eyes boggling
out of your face."

"Hush, George. Give her time to take it in."

Her mind spun. She could not move. Finally her thoughts
stopped tumbling over and over and sorted themselves into a fantastical
sort of sense.
Reginald Farwell has asked for your hand.
Reginald
Farwell has asked for
your
hand.
Reginald Farwell
has
asked
for your hand.
Reginald Farwell...

No!

She burst into tears. Mama came to kneel on the floor beside the
chair and embraced her.

"Hush, my dear, hush," her mother crooned. "If the notion
makes you so unhappy, you need only refuse him. Hush, now. Calm
yourself." She continued in this vein for some minutes until Phaedra
gained a measure of control over her wayward emotions.

"George, please ask Edgemont to fetch some tea."

Papa snorted. "Tea! Nothing restorative about that. She needs
stronger medicine."

Phaedra heard the sound of glass clinking on glass. In a moment,
Mama held a fragile snifter to her lips.

"Sip this, my dear, slowly. It will make you feel better. No," she
said as Phaedra tried to pull away from the strong fumes, "take it. Just a
few sips. There. Now sit quietly until you feel more calm." She moved
back onto the sofa and accepted a glass for herself.

Phaedra was aware of a warm sensation in her midriff within a
few moments of drinking the brandy. She took several deep, shuddering
breaths. Her thoughts were no longer going 'round in circles, but instead
seemed to be mired in something sticky, for they would not move through
her mind.

"Mama," she said in a croaky voice. She cleared her throat.
"Mama, did Papa really say that Reggie--that Mr. Farwell..."

"Yes, love, he wants to marry you. Is the thought so repugnant
to you?"

"I was sure no one would ever offer for me. They were all
hanging after Chloe. Are you sure he asked for me?"

"He did, by name," Papa said. "Happened on the way to find
Chloe. Told me that he'd been thinkin' on it for a couple of weeks."

"There must be some mistake."

"No mistake. He wants you."

"Why are you so convinced it is a mistake?" Mama said. "Mr.
Farwell always seemed to prefer your company to that of Chloe's,"

"We forever argue when we are together. Or he lectures me
about my 'intellectual pretensions'. I was sure he held me in
dislike."

"Likes you well enough to want to marry you," Papa said.

She knotted her hands in her skirt, twisted. When Mama
reached to soothe, she let go, lest she damage the fragile muslin. "Mama, I
cannot marry him. I do not love him. He is nothing but a fashionable
fribble, a fop. How I could live as he does, going from one fete to another,
spending most of the year at house or hunting parties or in London?"
Again Mama caught her hand, to the benefit of her gown. "We would not
suit, not at all. We have nothing in common. Nothing."

"He told your father that he had come to care for you, because
of your kind heart and your sensible outlook." Mama tilted her head up
with one finger under her chin. "Phaedra, are you sure? He seems a nice
enough young man, and he says he cares for you."

She shook her head. The reason for Mr. Farwell's offer had just
occurred to her, but she did not wish to speak of it to her parents. They
were upset enough over Chloe's recent escapades. "Quite sure. I am
sorry, Papa, for I know you wish me to marry, but I do not love him." She
would never admit that her words had engendered a sinking sensation in
her middle.

"Balderdash, girl. You would learn to."

"I doubt it. But even if I thought there was a possibility that I
might, I would not wish to take the chance. I want a marriage like yours
and Mama's, and will not settle for less, even if it means I shall never
marry."

"Well if you won't have him, you won't, and that's that," Papa
said, with regret thick in his tone. "Too bad. Got to like him while we
were looking for Chloe. Competent young man, even if he dresses like a
fop."

"You must be mistaken, Papa. Reginald Farwell is a useless,
hedonistic, snobbish clothes horse. His only competence is in being a
decorative addition to a ballroom or a drawing room." Phaedra could not
understand how her father could have received such a misleading
impression of Reg...of Mr. Farwell..

Mama spoke before Papa. "Enough, Phaedra. You are still
overset. Go to your room now, and rest. We will inform Mr. Farwell
tomorrow that you do not wish to consider his suit."

"Oh, would you, please, Mama? I do not even wish to see him.
Not now." She yawned. "I think I will rest, for I did not sleep well last
night. I am sorry to disappoint you, Papa. I truly do not wish to be a
burden upon you." She left the room hurriedly, needing solitude to
contemplate this latest information.

* * * *

"Well, wife?" Lord Gifford said, after they were alone. "You
were right. She doesn't want him."

Isabella shook her head at him, more a gesture of
disappointment than disagreement. "I knew she would not have him, not
at first. He has given her no time to learn to know him, and he has
managed to offend her nearly every time they have spoken. I myself am
not sure that I would wish her to marry someone like Mr. Farwell. Their
interests are far too divergent. I wonder what he sees in her?"

"Told you. He likes her kind heart and her sensible outlook. At
least that's what he told me."

"That is not enough to base a marriage upon." She raised a hand
when he opened his mouth to argue the point. "No George, you know it is
not. There must be joy in each other's company, not merely admiration of
character. You know, I do not always admire your character, my dear, but
you always bring me joy."

Lord Gifford finally ceased his pacing and sat beside her, putting
his arm about her shoulder. "While I, my love, always admire yours, as
well as having joy in your company." He nuzzled her neck. "Confound the
girl! How many offers does she expect to receive, that she can refuse this
one with hardly a thought?"

Isabella shivered, but pushed him gently away. She had to
convince him that Phaedra knew her own mind. "She will probably
receive several. Phaedra is a delightful person in her own right,
particularly when she does not stand in Chloe's shadow."

"Offers from elderly widows, artists, penniless writers, more
than likely," he snorted.

"Not if I have my way. I will not allow her to forego all of
Society's entertainments, no matter how she pleads. We brought her to
Town to be seen by eligible gentlemen, and I will continue to ensure that
she is."