First Comes Marriage (20 page)

He raised his eyebrows and offered his arm.

11

LADY Lyngate looked even grander inside her own drawing room than she had in Stephen’s. Or perhaps it was just that at Warren Hall she had been merely Viscount Lyngate’s mother, Vanessa thought, whereas here she was her soon-to-be mother-in-law.

She was alone. There was no sign of Miss Wallace.

And she was gracious. She greeted Vanessa with apparent warmth and drew her toward a chair across from her own at the fire.

Viscount Lyngate, after presenting Vanessa as his betrothed, was dismissed as if he were quite irrelevant to the discussion to come. He bowed to them both, assured Vanessa that he would return in an hour’s time to escort her home, and left the room.

“I suppose,” Vanessa said, taking the offensive because she was thoroughly frightened, “you were surprised and none too pleased when Lord Lyngate returned home yesterday to inform you that he had proposed marriage to me instead of to Meg?”

Lady Lyngate raised her eyebrows and looked very aristocratic and very haughty—and very like her son—for a moment.

“I was surprised, yes,” she said. “I had thought it was your elder sister to whom he intended to pay his addresses. It seems I was mistaken. I assume he had good reason for choosing you instead. I trust he has also chosen wisely.”

Guilt smote Vanessa.

“I will make him happy,” she assured the viscountess, leaning slightly forward in her chair. “I have promised him that. I have always been able to make people happy.”

But would it be possible with Viscount Lyngate? He would be a definite challenge.

The viscountess looked steadily at her, her eyebrows still raised, but she did not respond. The tea tray was being carried in, and, until the tea had been poured and the plate of macaroons had been passed and the servant had withdrawn, she spoke of the weather and the hope that spring would come at last.

“You have a figure,” she said then, “that modern fashion will flatter. It is not voluptuous, but it will look quite elegant when properly draped with silks and muslins. And that blue dress is far more becoming than the gray in which I saw you two days ago, though the design is not fashionable and probably never was. It is very wise of you, of course, to leave off your mourning entirely now that you are betrothed again. We must discover exactly which colors become you best. Pastel shades, I believe, behind which you will not pale into insignificance. And your hair has distinct possibilities, though its present style does not flatter you. We will have it cut and styled by an expert. Your face is prettier when you smile than when you do not. You must cultivate animation rather than fashionable ennui when you are in company. I believe you will take well enough with the
ton
.”

Vanessa just stared at her.

“I hope you did not expect that this visit would be a purely social occasion in which we would both mouth meaningless platitudes,” the viscountess said. “You are to be my son’s bride, Mrs. Dew. What is your Christian name?”

“Vanessa, ma’am.”

“You are to be my son’s bride, Vanessa. You are to supersede me as Viscountess Lyngate. And one day you can expect to be the Duchess of Moreland. You must be brought up to scratch, then, and there is no time to lose. I found you and your sisters—as well as your brother—quite delightful two afternoons ago, but you will not do for London society, you know. Your manners are pleasing and unaffected, and I believe the
ton
will find your countrified airs charming, but you must learn to dress differently and carry yourself with a more confident deportment and know about
ton
etiquette and the expectations of polite society and the rules of precedence and so on. You will be entering a new world and must not give the appearance of gaucherie. Are you capable of doing all this?”

Vanessa remembered her first meeting with Lady Dew after she became affianced to Hedley. Lady Dew had hugged her and kissed her and wept over her and assured her that she was an angel sent from heaven.

“I have been married to a baronet’s son, ma’am,” she said. “But Sir Humphrey rarely leaves home—he loves it too much. And I had never been farther than a few miles from Throckbridge until I came to Warren Hall. I am not ashamed of the way I am—or the way Stephen or my sisters are. However, I fully recognize the necessity of adding different qualities now that my circumstances have changed and are to change further. I will be eager and delighted to learn all you are willing to

teach me.”

Lady Lyngate regarded her steadily while she spoke.

“Then I see no reason why we cannot deal well together,” she said. “I will be taking Cecily to town next week to have her fitted for all the new clothes she will need for her come-out Season. You will come with us, Vanessa. You will need bride clothes and a court dress—you will, of course, be presented to the queen soon after your marriage. And I shall spend every available moment of every day instructing you in all you will need to know as my son’s wife.”

“Will he be coming with us?” Vanessa asked.

“He will certainly escort us,” Lady Lyngate said. “He wishes to interview a few of the candidates George Bowen will have found for the positions of tutor to your brother. But he will return almost immediately—he has duties both at Warren Hall and here.
We
will not need him, however. Men can only get in the way at such times. You will not need him until your wedding day.”

Vanessa laughed.

“You must know,” Lady Lyngate said, looking sternly at her, “that I am going to hold you to your promise to make Elliott happy, Vanessa. He is precious to me. After sowing some very wild oats indeed for a number of years, he has assumed the duties of his rank with diligence and without complaint. Do you have an affection for him?”

“I—” Vanessa bit her lip. “I
esteem
him, ma’am. I will do my best to make him a good wife. And I will expect an affection to grow between us.”

Lady Lyngate gazed at her in silence for a few moments.

“I do not believe I misunderstood when Elliott went to Warren Hall yesterday to make his offer,” she said. “I believe his intention really
was
to offer for your elder sister. He will not admit it, of course, and I do not expect you would either if I were to ask you directly. For some reason he changed his mind—or was talked into changing it, which does not happen often with Elliott. However, I trust that you have spoken the truth about your feelings for him and your intention to make him happy. It is your best hope of keeping him. Would you get to your feet and pull on the bell rope, if you please? Cecily will be waiting impatiently to be summoned. She wishes to pay her respects to her future sister-in-law.”

Vanessa did as she was asked.

“I hope,” she said, “
she
was not too disappointed.”

“Not at all,” the viscountess assured her. “She is supremely uninterested in people as elderly as her brother and even you. What
does
please her is that Elliott will be marrying the sister of Miss Katherine Huxtable, to whom she has taken a great liking.”

And so one giant hurdle had been surmounted, Vanessa supposed as she sat down again and awaited the arrival of Miss Wallace. She had been accepted, at least tentatively, by her future mother-in-law. It was now up to her to win full approval.

And next week she would be off to London to be transformed into a lady of the
ton,
into a future viscountess and duchess.

Whoever could have predicted all this just a little over two weeks ago?

And then she heard the echo of words that had been spoken just a minute or two ago.

After sowing some very wild oats indeed for a number of years . . .

And of course he had told her yesterday that he was very experienced indeed—
even though he had never been married.

Was
that
when he had learned to kiss . . .

But this was certainly not the time or place to be remembering the way Viscount Lyngate had kissed her.

Her future mother-in-law had said something else too.

I trust that you have spoken the truth about your feelings for him and your intention to make him happy. It is your best hope of keeping him.

Had he still not quite finished with those wild oats, then? Was there a chance that he would stray from her if she did not make him happy?

How terribly naive she was. She knew so little about this world she was entering. Surely society did not condone infidelity in its married members.

She would not be able to bear it if . . .

But how would she ever compete if . . .

Elliott spent almost the entire month before his wedding traveling between Finchley Park and Warren Hall. Normally he would have spent at least a part of March in London, replenishing his wardrobe, reestablishing himself at his clubs, exchanging news and views with his friends and acquaintances, attending any parties that had been organized this early in the year—and putting a glad end to an overlong celibacy with Anna.

But he had needed to spend only one day interviewing the prospective tutors George had lined up for his inspection and visiting his tailor and his boot-maker and dealing with a few other matters of business. There was little else for which to prolong his stay. Anna had chosen to be mortally offended when informed of his imminent nuptials. She had hurled words and a few harder objects at his head. And when she had broken down in tears after a few minutes and would have taken him to her bed, he had discovered that he was not in the mood after all and had made a lame excuse about a forgotten appointment.

He was still not in the mood even later in the evening, when he might have gone back to her—from the house where his mother and betrothed were in residence to his mistress’s house. It seemed ever so slightly sordid—a thought quite unworthy of his father’s son or his grandfather’s grandson.

Just two days after escorting his mother, his youngest sister, and his betrothed to town and settling them at the family town house on Cavendish Square, then, he left for the country again. He would have gone anyway, but his mother had made it clear to him that his presence would be decidedly de trop while she hurried to prepare two young ladies for the coming Season.

He was delighted to go. The conversation ever since they left home—the little he had heard of it anyway—had consisted of nothing but fashions and fabrics and frills and other such faradiddle.

Mrs. Dew’s eyes had laughed at him every time he looked at her. He had taken leave of her after those two brief days in London with a bow and very unlover like haste.

And soon he was going to have to stop thinking of her and addressing her as
Mrs. Dew,
as if she were still someone else’s wife. But he would be damned before he would call her
Nessie
.

He had written to his grandfather and had a reply from his grandmother. They were coming to Finchley for the wedding.

It was beginning to feel disconcertingly real.

He rode over to Warren Hall most days, though it soon became apparent to him that he would not need to do so for all of the four years that remained before young Merton achieved his majority. The boy had been taken firmly under the wings of Samson and Philbin, the valet George Bowen had sent from London, a very superior gentleman’s gentleman, who was quite prepared to condescend to give his master advice on all matters of appearance and fashion. And Claybourne, the new tutor who would teach him all there was to know about politics and the British aristocracy and what was expected of a member of it took up a large portion of the boy’s time as did the thin, bookish, stammering Bigley, the classics tutor. And Miss Huxtable still kept a firm maternal eye upon her young brother.

Perhaps after the Huxtables had been presented in town and had taken their rightful places in society, Elliott sometimes hoped, he would be able to settle back to his own life and find that the whole business of guardianship had become a minor inconvenience of his life.

Except that there was no such thing as his own familiar life to settle back into any longer. He was very soon to be saddled for life with one colossal inconvenience.

He waited for the return of his bride.

In his memory she became thinner and more shapeless, plainer, and more totally insignificant physically every time he thought of her. Her tongue became more impertinent, her frequent smile and her laugh more irritating. Her kiss became more like a child’s—or a nun’s.

She became less and less appealing.

And he had only himself to blame for the fact that he was to be shackled to her. Good Lord, he could have said no, could he not, as soon as she had asked her preposterous question?

When had he
ever
allowed
any
woman to dictate to him? And about something as major as the rest of his life!

And you are stuck with me.

Never had she spoken truer words.

The wedding invitations were sent out, the nuptials and the wedding breakfast organized in lavish detail.

The new facts of his life had taken on a momentum of their own and all he could do was watch helplessly and count down the days.

Easter approached at an alarming speed. His wedding was set for two days after Easter Sunday.

Every night when she went to bed Vanessa expected to lie awake, her senses overloaded with so many new sights and impressions, her mind with so much information. And every night she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion as soon as her head touched the pillow.

She was taken sightseeing and was awed by all she saw—the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, St. James’s Palace, Carlton House, Hyde Park, and a whole host of other famous places she had heard of before but had only dreamed of seeing for herself. She was taken to dressmakers and glove makers and bonnet makers and jewelers and to dozens of other shops until she forgot where she had been and what she had been measured for. Even what had been purchased. She often looked in the drawers and wardrobes in her room at Moreland House and wondered whose nightgowns
those
were or whose satin slippers or whose paisley shawl.