A Sisterly Regard (36 page)

"Your feelings for him bear a great resemblance to love, my
dear. That's all right, then," she said, patting Phaedra's shoulder. "Do try
to sleep a while. Your eyes are quite red and swollen. It would not do for
you to appear until you are looking more the thing." She pulled Phaedra's
slippers from her feet and spread a light blanket over her. "I will have
Ellen wake you in time to dress before you meet with Mr. Farwell, for
you must formally accept him, you know. I will send him to you in the
blue salon shortly before dinner. Sleep well, my dear."

Surprisingly, Phaedra fell into a deep slumber almost
immediately. When Ellen woke her, she felt wonderful. Her confusion
had been replaced by a calm certainty. She knew the right choice to make
and she would make it without a qualm.

Only a slight redness about her eyes remained of her emotional
storm. A few minutes under a cold compress erased even that. She was
soon dressed in the ice yellow gown she had first worn to Almack's, and
went to meet Reggie with only a small twinge of doubt.

Reggie was waiting in the blue salon, immersed in pessimistic
thoughts, when the door opened.

"Reggie?" came a hesitant voice from beyond it.

"Here," he answered, dreading the coming interview. He was
certain it would be full of tears and recriminations.

"Yes."

"I said I am here, Phaedra. Do come in."

"I cannot until you reply." She was standing out of sight, no
matter how he craned his neck to peer through the door.

"I did reply. I told you I was in here."

"That is the wrong reply."

"Well then, what the devil is the right one? Will you come in
here where I can see you?"

"I did not ask a question, I gave an answer. The answer is Yes."
Was that a giggle?
Impossible.

He stood abruptly and started to the door.

"If you come out here, I will run away. You must reply."

Feeling as if he had somehow fallen into bedlam, he said, in his
most foppish tone, "What, ma'am, was the question?"

"The same one you asked earlier."

"Damn it, woman, will you have done?" He threw himself back
into his chair. "I am in no mood to play silly games. Tell me what you
wish me to say, and I will say it."

Again the giggle.

As if the sun had suddenly burst from behind a black cloud,
Reggie knew what words she wanted. "I love you, Phaedra. Will you be
my wife?"

She came running in the door and threw herself into his arms.
The face she lifted to his was rosy, but there was no mistaking the love
glowing from her eyes.

"I knew you would understand, Reggie, if you would only try.
Yes, I do love you, and yes I will marry you. When can we do it?"

"Soon, my love. Very soon," he said softly, as he leaned down
to kiss her lips.

Many kisses later, Lady Gifford knocked on the door and
reminded them that the dinner bell had run long since.

To his great surprise, no one at the table commented on
Phaedra's pink cheeks and swollen lips.

* * * *

The Duchess's ball was said to be a resounding success, but
afterward Phaedra had no memory of it, except for the moment when she
and Reggie stood before everyone and their betrothal was announced. Her
life became a whirl of activity when they returned to Town--parties, balls,
soirees, musicales, and any number of other social events. She and Reggie
were invited everywhere, and Mama insisted that they accept every
invitation humanly possible.

They had little time together, even chaperoned. Now that they
were formally betrothed, Phaedra had almost no opportunity to be
reminded of her desire for Reggie. He went to Oakhurst to arrange for the
house to be prepared for her. She was thrown into choosing her bride
clothes, with fittings and shopping expeditions every day, until her head
swam.

Papa decided he and Reggie should meet with their solicitors to
do the thing in style. Mama required that Phaedra's presentation to the
Queen go ahead as planned. The wedding was set for late May.

A week before her wedding day, Phaedra received an almost
incoherent letter from Chloe. Written in her sister's usual lackadaisical
style, the missive was filled with congratulations. Chloe vowed that she
was every day more in love with her new husband, to Phaedra's great
relief. There was no news of an imminent heir, which brought both a
smile and a sigh from Mama. The invitation for everyone to spend
Christmas at Wilderlake was repeated, and extended to include Lady Mary
and Mr. Martin, who had, to everyone's amazement, emerged as that
young lady's most persistent suitor.

The day finally arrived. Phaedra felt not a trace of nervousness.
Her ivory satin wedding gown and French lace veil were her mother's, and
the large sapphire she wore on her finger had been given her by
Reggie.

When she walked up the aisle of St. George's, Hanover Square,
on her father's arm, she was poised and self confident. Her wedding vows,
repeated in a firm, clear voice, should have been audible in the farthest
corners of the church. All doubts gone, she looked forward to complete
happiness as Mrs. Reginald Farwell.

Reggie, on the other had, was obviously distraught. He voice
never rose above a whisper. His hand shook as he placed the golden band
on her finger. At the intimate wedding breakfast for family and close
friends that was held at the Duchess' town house, his demeanor did not
improve. She overheard several of his friends teasing him as she descended
the staircase in her traveling gown to where he awaited her.

She was tempted to pity him. Only tempted, for she still
remembered how he had fooled her into believing him silly and affected.
Since it was impossible for her to extract revenge from the man she loved
beyond belief, she was content to see him suffer a bit at the hands of his
friends. After standing silently and listening for a few minutes, she
descended until she stood two steps from the bottom.

All the young ladies who had become her friends during the
Season gathered 'round. Phaedra held her bouquet high, and looked at
their hopeful faces. Some had already become betrothed, some were
considered very close to capturing husbands, but a few were still hopeful.
She chose, and threw the bouquet directly into Miss Graham's waiting
arms.

Finally she was alone in a coach with Reggie, bound for
Oakhurst. Since travel on the continent was still restricted by Napoleon's
ravaging hordes, they had decided to postpone their honeymoon until they
could go to Italy. "Even if I am a grandmother when we may finally go,"
Phaedra had laughed.

Reggie had promised that they would travel well into the night,
if necessary, so they could spend their wedding night in their own home.
Phaedra had concurred. "I hope I do not have to return to London for at
least a year," Phaedra confided to her silent husband as the streets of Town
gave way to open country. All she wanted was peace and quiet.

And Reggie.

He did not respond.

"Reggie, are you ill? You have hardly spoken a single word to
me today."

"I am overwhelmed, love. You are finally my wife. I cannot take
it all in."

She moved to the opposite seat and looked closely into his face.
What she saw reassured her at the same time as it thrilled her. "I should be
happy to prove my new state to you, my husband. Only this coach is,
perhaps, a bit too public." She held out her hands to him as he returned
her smile. "Or could we pull the shades?"

"Wanton!" he exclaimed, taking her into his arms. His kisses
reassured her that he was quite well indeed. She had to remind him again
that the coach was not as private a place as they could wish to prevent his
consummating their marriage then and there.

Snow lay thickly around Castle Wilderlake. Wind howled about
its stone walls. Inside, some rooms were cozy, for the renovation of that
great draughty pile had been underway for more than half a year. Greens
festooned the mantles of the public rooms and kissing boughs hung in
every doorway. The party gathered in the main salon was merry, for it
was the first time some of them had seen one another since Spring.

Phaedra and Chloe stood at a drawing room window, watching
their husbands and brothers wade through the snow on their way to find a
Yule log. "Do you know, Chloe, I have not seen a sign of the willful girl
who sometime made our lives chaotic," Phaedra told her.

"Oh, she is still about, I am ashamed to say. Poor Herne!
Sometimes I know he must regret his chivalrous gesture. But I keep her
firmly under wraps most of the time, and doing so becomes easier every
day."

"What did he do, beat you until you became more
docile?"

"No, he just... Well, he is Herne. So gentle, yet so unyielding.
Best of all, he never lets me forget that he loves me and finds me the most
beautiful woman in the world. I am not sure he did love me when we
married. I know I did not love him, for I had not the faintest idea what
love could be...should be. But I know now, and am so glad that all came
out as it has. How could I ever have considered marriage to poor
Everingham?"

"I confess I wondered why you chose him to save you from your
wicked family."

"Because he was the only one of my suitors lacking in sense, of
course. Herne would have refused, even if I had thought to ask him to
elope with me. He would probably have told Papa, in fact. And Mr.
Martin was too gentle, too yielding. What has become of him, by the
way?"

"He is to marry Sarah Graham in the spring. They became
acquainted through the auspices of Lady Mary, whom he pursued all
summer, until she convinced him she had no intention to wed for a long
while yet. They seem to suit one another very well."

"Is his fortune large enough to please that odious mother of
hers?"

"It is merely respectable, but Sarah can be most amazingly
stubborn when she wishes. She insisted she would have him and no other.
Her mother was forced to give in gracefully."

They stood in silence or a while, watching the snowflakes slowly
drift down. When the men appeared, dragging an enormous log behind
them, Phaedra said, "Do you regret your sudden marriage? I remember
you had such dreams of a grand wedding."

"Like yours? I do and I do not. Oh, I was envious of your
wedding, and disappointed that we could not travel to London for it. But
there is so much to do here, to make this into a comfortable and elegant
home. It is such fun to see how I can contrive to do so with a minimum
expenditure. I am becoming quite the housewife, you know." Chloe
threw her sister a complacent glance. "Though I should tell Mama first, I
will be a mother in June. Herne is delighted."

Phaedra cried her surprise, then hugged her sister. "How
wonderful. And I was planning to surprise you, having sworn everyone to
secrecy. Our children will be the same age."

Laughing and crying, all at once, the sisters embraced one
another. "I knew I could depend on you," Phaedra complained, although
the tears she shed were happy ones. "Mama will want to be with you and I
will have to settle for Cousin Louisa. For shame, Chloe. Could you never
let me be first in anything?"

Chloe smiled. "Herne's mother is here and will care well for
me. This time, sister, your needs will come first. And about time, I
think."

"I love you, Chloe," Phaedra said, hugging her sister tighter than
before.

"And I love you, Phaedra."

The door opened, bringing in a breath of winter air and the men
who held their hearts.

THE END

On her way to a career as a writer, Judith B. Glad made a lot of
detours--into motherhood, short-order cooking, accounting,
management, graduate school, botanical consulting. Eventually she
decided she had to write those books that had been growing in her head
for years--romances all. She believes every story should have a happy
ending, even if it requires two or three hankies to get there.

After growing up in Idaho--the locale of several of her
books--Judith now lives in Portland, Oregon, where flowers bloom in her yard
every month of the year and snow usually stays on the mountains where it
belongs. It's a great place to write, because the rainy season lasts for eight
months--a perfect excuse to stay indoors and tell stories. Judith has four
children, all grown, three granddaughters and a grandson, and a husband
who admits he reads her books.

Visit Judith's webpage at www.judithbglad.com to learn more
about her other books. While you're there, take some side trips to view
early 20th century picture postcards, read about 5,000 ways to earn a
living, or see what a
Mentzelia
really is.

* * * *

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