The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(58)
There would be a church, naturally. Someplace pretty and bright with sun streaming in through tall stained glass windows. A kind vicar with rosy cheeks and a smile would stand at the end of the aisle beside Julia’s nameless, faceless future husband, and she’d walk up to meet them, clothed in white satin, with a veil of Honiton lace and a bouquet of orange blossoms.
“Like Queen Victoria,” Anne had remarked dryly when Julia had once described it to her.
As Lord Ridgeway’s carriage departed the small church in Camden, with its sagging gate and overgrown cemetery, Julia couldn’t help but wonder what her best friend would have made of the slapdash ceremony Julia had just participated in.
It had been nothing like her dream.
The church had been dark and dreary, the vicar as cross as a badger at having his tea interrupted, and the ceremony itself—witnessed by two of the vicar’s slatternly servants—had been less evident of romance than expedience.
Julia didn’t regret any of it.
From the moment Jasper had insisted on carrying her down the stairs of Lord Ridgeway’s house and into the waiting carriage, he’d been all that was solicitous. A kind and caring groom, even if he hadn’t kissed her when they were pronounced man and wife, and even if he was presently sitting beside her, looking as cross as the vicar had as he’d read the wedding ceremony from the Book of Common Prayer.
She rested her head against his shoulder, crushing the cluster of lilacs that adorned the side of her fashionable leghorn bonnet.
“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just dreadfully weary.”
His arm came around her as the carriage rolled through the street, jostling them against each other. “We’re not far from King’s Cross. Once we’re on the train, you can sleep all the way to York.”
Julia didn’t answer. It seemed too much of an effort to talk. It was only as the carriage was pulling up outside of the bustling railway station that she gave voice to a niggling doubt. “You don’t think it was bad luck, do you?”
Jasper didn’t need to ask what she meant.
When signing the register, she’d mistakenly used her new name: Julia Blunt. The curmudgeonly vicar had immediately stricken it out, commanding her to sign with her maiden name. Julia had done so, but not before one of the servants muttered the two damning words: Bad luck.
“You’re not superstitious?” Jasper asked.
“Not any more than reason,” she replied. “But one doesn’t wish to start one’s married life under a cloud.”
“There are no clouds today,” he said.
Julia waited in the carriage while he procured their tickets and found a porter to see to their luggage. As she gazed out the window, her heart beat like a drum. He was right. The sky was clear and cloudless, a blue so bright it almost hurt her eyes.
She wasn’t going to be afraid. This was an adventure. The adventure she’d dreamed of all her life. Any doubts she had were probably only because she was so exhausted from Dr. Cordingley’s treatments.
Thank heaven for Jasper.
He didn’t carry her from the coach, but he kept an arm about her waist, strong as an oaken band, steadying her as they crossed the crowded smoke-filled platform to board the first-class railway carriage.
Their compartment was empty. It was also rather luxurious, paneled in gleaming polished wood, with a carpeted floor, shuttered windows, and racks fixed overhead to store their parcels.
“Do we have to share it with other passengers?” Julia asked as Jasper guided her to one of the thickly padded upholstered seats. There were four of them altogether, a pair on either side facing each other.
“I doubt it. There aren’t many leaving for Yorkshire at this time of day.” He sank down next to her. “Consider it a wedding gift. I don’t expect we’ll be traveling first-class again anytime soon.”
Outside, a shrill whistle cut through the noise from the platform. The conductor shouted something unintelligible, and then, with a great heave of machinery, the train ground into motion.
Julia’s stomach lurched. The fastest she’d ever gone was on a galloping horse in Hyde Park. The train was exponentially faster. It rolled out of the station in a cloud of smoke and steam, gaining speed with every second.
Soon, King’s Cross was far behind them.
Jasper removed his hat and unbuttoned his coat, making himself comfortable in his seat.
Julia waited to follow suit. Only when the danger of a stranger entering their compartment seemed unlikely did she risk removing her bonnet. Her hair was pressed all out of shape, stray tendrils escaping from her silken hairnet to curl about her face. She smoothed them back from her brow with a trembling hand.
“I’ve never traveled first-class,” she confessed. “Or any class for that matter. This is the first time I’ve been on a train.”
Jasper frowned at her. “You never said anything.”
“I assumed you knew.” She turned back to the window. “I haven’t ever been out of London before. So far, all my travels have been in my imagination.”
Outside, the scenery whipped by at an alarming rate, the hustle and bustle of London rapidly giving way to an ever-increasing emptiness. She’d known it would to some degree. The outskirts of town, and the environs beyond it, were naturally less vibrant than the heart of the city. Nevertheless, seeing the familiar landscape slip away made her insides quaver as surely as the motion of the train.