“Hmph. I am always your mother.”
“God help me.”
“And I love you.”
Rose paused and crossed her arms under her breasts. “I love you as well.”
Lady Dorothea smiled, then stood. “Excellent. I need tea. Let’s have tea in the drawing room, then you can promise me that you will insist Mrs. Williams be kind to me during the next few weeks.”
“You ring for tea. I have a note I wish to read, then I will join you.”
“Very well.”
Rose watched her mother leave, reminded once again of Cecily’s word—“starched.” “And it rubs me raw,” she muttered as she took her mother’s place behind the desk and reached for the note.
Thursday, 14 July 1825
Lovely R—
I understand you and your mother will be hosting my mother and sister for tea tomorrow. Be warned that my mother has been in a foul mood the last couple of days. No one is sure why, although even my father has been scarce around the house. There is speculation among the servants that it has more to do with Robert’s courtship than my own, which I can only hope is accurate.
In a different type of anticipation, everything I own has been pressed, starched, and stretched. Trunks are packed in preparation to our departure for Italy. TheBellisimais due in port tomorrow afternoon, and will be loaded and made ready by Tuesday’s tide. I apologize again that Newbury Hall will not be ready for our residency until we return, but I hope you will not mind three days under this roof. A bedchamber with dressing room near mine has been made ready for your use. Sarah has already been shown the details and introduced to the staff. A room for her will be available here until we can all be installed at Newbury Hall.
To answer your latest question, yes, the dreams still plague me, although I don’t anticipate them being too much of an issue on our trip, as I do not envision a great deal of sleeping to occur, except from pure exhaustion.
So I do hope you rest well between now and Saturday morning. I am now counting the minutes.
T—
Rose set aside the note, indulging in a sly smile and numerous wicked thoughts. Perhaps she would sleep well tonight after all.
*
Thomas reached forhis cravat, only to have Robert shove his hand away. “Do not destroy all Langley’s good work, man. Leave it be.”
“I should not be so nervous.” Thomas and his brothers stood in the rectory, waiting for a signal from the priest to emerge. Thomas tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat, then smoothed the tails of his coat. He had refused all modes of fancy dress, to the dismay of both his tailor and valet, insisting on a simple black-on-white kit. He acquiesced to a bit of silver embroidery on the waistcoat, since he knew Rose’s gown featured silver accents. But Thomas wanted all eyes on his bride.
Michael cleared his throat. “You would be a fool not to be nervous. Any man would. Fifteen minutes that changes your life forever.”
“That’s what Rose says about being presented to the queen.”
“Yes, but she did not have to be shackled to the queen for the rest of her life.” Robert’s snappish voice left an unexpected silence in the room.
Thomas gave Robert a sideways glance. “Miss Rowbotham is making you cynical, brother.”
“Miss Rowbotham is not on the agenda until later this afternoon. Are you ready or not? It’s almost time.”
“She could not make it today?”
“Family conflict. Where is that priest?” Robert jerked open the door of the rectory to find the good reverend standing on the other side, reaching for the latch. They both stepped back, startled, and Thomas smothered a laugh. Michael snorted, then sniffed to cover the moment.
“Gentlemen. It’s eleven. Come with me.” The priest gestured for them to join him, and they followed him into the sanctuary. Facing down the center aisle, Thomas once again tried to calm his nerves with a deep breath, to little avail. His family sat on one side of the church; Rose’s on the other. No other guests were there, except for two violinists seated in the church’s balcony. At a signal from the priest, they began to play a selection from Handel’sWater Music Suite, a soaring theme that matched the euphoria beginning to build in Thomas’s chest. Rose’s friend Ann, the only bridal attendant, proceeded down the aisle, but the sight of her petite form barely registered in Thomas’s vision.
For Lord Huntingdale had appeared at the rear of the sanctuary, his eldest daughter on his arm.
“My God,” Robert whispered.
Thomas’s breath stopped.
