Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas(31)
“Be prepared for the fact that English great houses are cold.” Katie shuddered. “Forget your delicate lace shawls! To survive winter in an English country house, your trousseau should include several wraps the size and weight of a horse blanket. You must have at least one decent set of furs, as well. The houses may be grand, but they’re amazingly primitive. No central heating or gaslights, and no hot running water. And the bathrooms! A tin tub in front of the fire is the best you’ll do in most houses.”
Surprised and a little amused, Sunny said, “Surely Swindon Palace can’t be that bad. It’s said to be the grandest private home in Great Britain.”
Katie sniffed, “A palace built almost two hundred years ago, and scarcely a pound wasted on modernization since then. But don’t complain to Thornborough. English husbands, as a rule, are not solicitous in the way that American husbands are. Since the duke will not want to hear about your little grievances, you must learn to resolve matters on your own. I recommend that you take your own maid with you. That way you can count on at least one person in the household being on your side.”
Sunny put a hand up. “If you say one sentence more, I will go downstairs and cancel my betrothal!” she said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “I’m beginning to wonder why any woman would want to marry an English lord, particularly if she isn’t madly in love with him.”
“I didn’t mean to terrify you,” Katie assured her. “I just want to make sure that you won’t be disillusioned. Once a woman gets past the discomforts, she may have more freedom and influence than she would in America. Here, a woman rules her home, but nothing outside. An English lady can be part of her husband’s life, or develop a life of her own, in a way most unusual in America.”
Since frankness was the order of the day, Sunny asked, “Are you sorry you married Lord Westron?”
Katie hesitated a moment. “There are times when I would have said yes, but we’ve come to understand each other very well. He says that I’ve been invaluable to his political career, and through him, I’ve been able to bring a little American democracy to some hoary bits of British law.” She smiled fondly. “And between us, we have produced three rather splendid children, even if I shouldn’t say so myself.”
Sunny sighed; it was all very confusing. She was glad when a knock sounded on her door. “Your mother says that it is time to come down, Miss Sarah,” the butler intoned.
“Don’t forget your fan. It’s going to be very warm on the dance floor,” Katie said briskly. “I’ll be down after I’ve freshened up.”
Sunny accepted the fan, then lifted her train and went into the corridor. At the top of the sweeping staircase, she carefully spread the train, then slowly began descending the stairs, accompanied by the soft swish of heavy silk. She had been told that she walked with the proud grace of the Winged Victory. She ought to; as a child, she had been strapped into an iron back brace whenever she did her lessons. Perfect posture didn’t come easily.
The hall below opened into the ballroom, and music and guests wafted through both. As she came into view, a hush fell and all eyes turned toward her. The cream of American society was evaluating the next Duchess of Thornborough.
When she was three-quarters of the way down, she saw that her fiancé was crossing the hall to the staircase. The stark black of formal evening wear suited him.
When she reached the bottom, he took her hand. Under his breath, he said, “You look even more beautiful than usual.” Then he brushed a courtly, formal kiss on her kid-covered fingers.
She glanced at him uncertainly, not sure if he truly admired her or the compliment was mere formality. It was impossible to tell; he was the most inscrutable man she had ever met. Then he smiled at her and looked not merely presentable, but downright handsome. It was the first time she had seen him smile. He should do so more often.
Her mother joined them, beaming with possessive pride. “You look splendid, Sarah!”
A moment later they were surrounded by chattering, laughing people, particularly those who had not yet met the duke and who longed to rectify the omission. Sunny half expected her fiancé to retreat to a comer filled with men, but he bore up under the onslaught very well.
Though he spoke little, his grave courtesy soon won over even the most critical society matrons. She realized that she had underestimated him. Thornborough’s avoidance of the fashionable life was obviously from choice rather than social ineptitude.
When she finally had a chance to look at her dance card, she saw that her fiancé had put himself down for two waltzes as well as the supper dance. That in itself was a declaration of their engagement, for no young lady would have more than two dances with one man unless intentions were serious.
When the orchestra struck up their first waltz, Thornborough excused himself from his admirers and came to collect her. She caught her train up so that she could dance, then took his hand and followed him onto the floor. “It will be a pleasure to waltz,” she said. “I feel as if I’ve been talking nonstop for the last hour.”
“I believe that you have been,” he said as he drew her into position, a light hand on her waist “It must be fatiguing to be so popular. In the interests of allowing you to recover, I shan’t require you to talk at all.”
“But you are just as popular,” she said teasingly. “Everyone in Newport wants to know you.”