The Fifth Kiss (27 page)

“But she's only gone to marry Uncle Charles,” Perry explained to his hysterical sister calmly. “She'll be back to see us.”

But his assurances were of no avail. Olivia took him from the room, and the two of them waited until Amy's tantrum had spent itself. Then they reentered, and Olivia, lifting the still-sobbing child to her lap, carefully explained that Elspeth was soon to be her aunt instead of her governess. “Won't it be lovely to have two aunts instead of only me?”

“W-Wiw she bwing m-me thome beads when she c-cometh back?” Amy asked, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

And so the crisis passed, the children accepted the altered circumstances of their lives without any other signs of emotional impairment, and Elspeth went off to London to be married. Olivia was unable, of course, to attend the wedding, but she learned all the details of the affair from the various letters she received from the participants.

Charles sent a letter filled with ecstatic exaggerations of a joyful, flawless, ideal ceremony; no bride had ever been so beautiful and no wedding vows had ever been more meaningful. Elspeth's note was all breathless effusion. Olivia read both letters to her chaperones as they sat at the dinner table. But while Hattie and Eugenia set to bickering over the relative merits of a large wedding over a small one, Olivia pulled from her sleeve a letter from her brother James and silently reread it. Jamie had written her favorite account of the wedding—the only account which gave her a clear and truthful picture of the event.

It was just the sort of scrambled affair
, Jamie had written,
that only our family can contrive
—
a kind of frenzied misadventure from the start. Elspeth arrived without warning quite late at night, and Charles, with his newly awakened sense of propriety, would not permit her to spend the night under our roof for fear of “compromising” her. Nothing would do but that I should find a suitable hotel for her. But, of course, he didn't want her to stay at a hotel for one night longer than absolutely necessary, so a special license had to be arranged. One needs the signature of a bishop for a special license, you know, so Charles applied to Father. “Of course I am acquainted with a bishop,” Father declared and launched into a long tale about a chap he knew at Eton who'd later distinguished himself in the clergy, etc. etc. But as you might have expected, Father didn't quite remember the bishop's name! It took hours of reminiscences and pulling out of old schoolbooks before the name was positively identified. The next day, Charles went in search of the eminent clergyman only to discover that the fellow had been dead for more than a dozen years!

It was Lord Strickland who came to the rescue. He and Charles have been thick as thieves of late, you know. He took matters into his own hands and procured a special license within a day. He's completely up to the mark, old Strickland, whatever you may think of his libertine qualities, Livie, for if it weren't for him, the entire wedding business would have been a disaster. The best thing that ever happened to this family was Clara's marriage to him
—
and you may take my word on that
.

In any case, with a special license in hand, we all
—
Father, Charles, Strickland and I
—
climbed into Strickland's carriage and drove to the hotel to pick up the bride. We found her waiting eagerly, all dressed in her governess's Sunday best
—
a gray kerseymere gown and the dowdiest bonnet I've ever laid eyes on. Well, Strickland took one look at her and announced that we must all have tea before we set out for church. Before we knew it, he'd hired the hotel's best private parlour and had ushered us to our places round a well-laden tea-table
.
Then, assuring us that he would be back before we'd finished the repast, he took himself off
.

Within the hour, he returned, carrying a hat box which he presented to the bride with a charmingly humorous flourish. When Elspeth beheld the flowery confection inside, she promptly indulged in what I later learned was her habitual way of dealing with life
—
a burst of waterworks. But when she saw herself in the glass in her new bridal bonnet, her eyes truly shone. I must admit, Livie, that it was not until I saw her in that hat
—
a straw concoction with a deep poke and a row of flowers around the crown
—
that I realized what a pretty thing she is
.

When we arrived at the church, the parson was nowhere in evidence. Strickland, of course, was the one who went to find him. But by the time he returned with the parson in tow. Father had disappeared. He was nowhere to be found. After searching the place for more than half-an-hour, I discovered him in a tiny room
—
a closet, really, like an ambry
—
behind the vestry, sitting on an overturned pail and reading avidly a yellowed old manuscript he'd somehow come upon. It was all I could do to pry him away from his discovery
—
he swore it was fifteenth century and “quite revealing of the changes in Latinate style which had come into being after Thomas á Kempis.” He had to be reminded that his eldest son was about to be married and that he himself was expected to give the bride away!

The ceremony itself passed uneventfully. Father leading the bride in with proper, if absent-minded, dignity, and your humble servant standing up for Charles in
—
if I may be permitted to say so
—
grand style. But after the ceremony, Father delayed the return to the house (where Cook must have been tearing her hair out over the ruination of the wedding feast she'd been preparing for the past thirty-six hours) in order to explain to the parson that a manuscript of such scholarly value as the one he'd discovered should not be so carelessly stowed in an unused storage space. A lengthy discussion of fifteenth-century clerical Latin ensued until Strickland interfered, distracting Father with a promise to provide funds to restore the manuscript to its original condition. He took Father's arm in his and, while asking his advice about whom to consult about the restoration, managed to maneuver him out of the building
.

Thus your brother was married, after which ordeal we all returned to the house and merrily consumed that part of the wedding dinner which had not been burned or dried out during the delay
.

Looking back on it, I must admit that the day had been enormously entertaining. I only wish that you had been there to share in the festivities
.

Olivia slipped the letter back into her sleeve and smiled to herself. Her brother's letter had brought the wedding vividly to life for her. It was quite like her family to make a muddle of the wedding in just that style. Charles had always been a sensible, feet-on-the-ground fellow, but love must have made him into the head-in-the-clouds sort. As for her father, however, he could be counted on to make a goodly number of absent-minded blunders. And Elspeth, with her ready tears, was eccentric enough to fit right in. It was only Strickland whose behavior was unexpected. He had been more thoughtful and kind than she would ever have supposed, even though Jamie had been mistaken in assuming that she still thought badly of him. Strickland could be selfish and stubborn at times, but he could be generous too. It had been many months since she'd thought of him as a monsterish libertine. In truth, this evidence of his kindness to her family during the wedding was only one of a number of signs which showed him to be, as Clara had once told her, a man of character.

The man of character had been gone six weeks when, without a word of warning, his carriage drew up at the door. It was followed by another equipage as grand as Strickland's—a traveling coach with shiny blue panels and brass fittings and bearing a crest upon the door which indicated that it carried behind its curtained windows one or more members of a decidedly noble family. The impressive equipage drew the attention of Aunt Eugenia, who remarked to Hattie that Strickland had returned with a gaggle of guests. “Top-of-the-trees, from the look of them,” she announced gleefully, her nose pressed to the window of the upstairs sitting room. “Two gentlemen and two … no,
three
ladies … and all dressed in the first style of elegance. How delightful. We shall have a bit of excitement at last.”

“We shall have noise and confusion, that's what we shall have!” Hattie responded acidly. “Nothing but noise and confusion.”

While the guests were climbing from the carriages, Olivia was up in the schoolroom where she, Tilda and the children were engaged in learning the rudiments of watercolor painting. Several hours had been happily spent in dabbing dripping colors upon large white sheets of paper and evaluating the effects. There had been much effort, much failure and much laughter. Amy had dabbed more color on her face, hands and apron than on her painting; and even the others were significantly besmirched. In the midst of this absorbing but begriming activity, word reached Olivia that his lordship had just arrived and was asking for her.

With an eager cry, she jumped up and ran to the stairway, the two overjoyed youngsters at her heels. Warning Tilda to take the children's hands on the stairway, she flew ahead of them down five of the six flights of stairs, her heart hammering in delight. She had not the slightest premonition of the sight that was about to meet her eyes. “Miles, you're
back
!” she clarioned as she rounded the bend of the staircase and came to the top of the last flight. “Why didn't you wr—? Oh! Good
heavens
!”

There below her was what seemed to be a crowd of strangers, all looking up at her quizzically. She had a quick impression of gleaming jewels, waving feathers, luxurious furs. Elegantly gowned ladies were handing their outer garments to Fincher as he moved among them. An impeccably dressed gentleman was handing over his beaver while another was shrugging out of his greatcoat. Strickland, who'd evidently been introducing Aunt Eugenia and Cousin Hattie to his guests, had turned round at the sound of Olivia's voice and was looking up at her. “Ah,
there
you are, Olivia,” he said in greeting.

Standing among his fashionable friends, Strickland looked the most elegant of all. Olivia had not before realized quite how handsome he was. He was taller than any of the others, and the impressive width of his shoulders was emphasized by his caped greatcoat of soft brown wool. The greatcoat hung open, casually revealing a modish town coat of dark-brown superfine which Olivia had never before seen him wear. To add to the unfamiliar stylishness of his appearance, she noted that he'd had his hair cut in a new and rather dashing style, although the gray at his temples had become a bit more perceptible. He looked every inch a gentleman of marked distinction.

The impressive stylishness of his appearance suddenly made her conscious of the shabbiness of her own. She remembered with horror that she was wearing an old, faded muslin gown which she'd carelessly stained with watercolors, and her hands flew, almost of their own accord to her hair which she surmised was hideously tousled. But her eyes never left his face. His polite and rather distant smile widened to a grin. “Well, aren't you going to say anything? Have you forgotten how to
speak
in my absence?”

She smiled back at him, feeling unaccountably shy. “I … it's very good to have you back,” she said awkwardly, wondering desperately whether it was necessary to continue on down the stairs to make her greetings or if it would be very shocking to turn and run upstairs to hide.

Her problem was solved by the appearance of the children. They paused for only a moment at her side, for it took only the first glimpse of their father to send them scurrying on down the stairs. Amy leaped from the fourth step right into her father's arms while Perry rushed on, tumbling against him and hugging him enthusiastically about the waist. If Strickland was annoyed by this unusual laxity of behavior, he made no sign. He buried his face in his daughter's neck while he lifted his son up to his shoulder with his other arm, for a moment surrendering to his joy in the reunion. Olivia felt her throat constrict at the sight of it.

But Eugenia would not let the moment pass without comment. “Have you no
manners
, children?” she chided. “Such untrammeled wildness will not
do
! Miles, dear boy, put them down at once and let them make their bows.”

But Strickland, meanwhile, had taken a look at their faces. “Good
Lord
,” he exclaimed in amused surprise, “what's that you've smeared on your faces? You look like a couple of red Indians.”

The guests had crowded round and were exchanging indulgent smiles. Olivia, shamefacedly remembering the perfect decorum with which the children were made to greet their father when Clara was alive, ran down the steps and took the children from her brother-in-law. “I'm sorry, Miles,” she said in a breathless undervoice. Then, looking up embarrassedly at the faces staring into hers, she explained, “We've been working with watercolors, I'm afraid. I shouldn't have permitted them to come down in this besmirched condition. I hope, Miles, that you'll forgive me for causing you embarrassment before your friends.”

“You needn't worry, my dear,” Strickland said, grinning at her. “I've already told my friends that my sister-in-law is an original.”

“No need for embarrassment on
our
account,” said a familiar voice, and Olivia looked up to see Arthur Tisswold standing nearby. “They are only children, after all.” And he took her stained hand from Perry's clasp and bowed over it.

“You're quite right, Arthur,” Strickland said, tousling Perry's hair.

“You're quite
wrong
,” Cousin Hattie contradicted in her scornful, cracked voice. “Children should be expected to behave like little adults when they are brought into adult company. Tilda ought to take them upstairs at once.”

Tilda, who had been waiting on the stairway, bobbed and started down. But Strickland put up a restraining hand. “No need to stand on points, Cousin Hattie. It's all my fault, you know. I didn't send word of my arrival. Now that the damage is done, we may as well make everyone known to each other.”