“Tell me about your house in Dorset, Rolly,” Viola said.
“Soon to beyourhouse, the mistress of it all. Well, let us see, I would call Trewellian Hall a distinguished older gentleman. He is composed of gray stone and was built in the fourteen-eighties in the Tudor style. As you might imagine, additions have piled on through the centuries. The great hall, though, has been there from the first—it is three stories high, with the long walls lined with stained glass. It is positively magical in the late afternoon sun.”
“We might hold a ball there,” Viola said.
“As many as you like. Now, as to the drawing rooms, there are two—one that is rather small and cozy for family and then a larger one when people are expected. The east drawing room, the larger, has a fireplace it is no trouble at all for a grown man to walk into. The library contains more books than I will ever read, the kitchens are commodious, and the bedchambers all have an attached sitting room and wardrobe.”
“It sounds divine.”
“I think you will like it. I think you will appreciate the gardens and the greenhouse too.”
“Tell, me, Rolly, how far is the dower house?” Viola said with a mischievous smile.
Roland smiled back. “Whoever built the dower house knew what they were about. It sits nearly a mile off. Though, I believe the dowager is warming to you.”
“Mmhm, I think you might be right, and she seems to be warming to my father too.”
“All will be well,” Roland said. “I will make it so. We are to have a charmed life.”
“I believe you.”
By some mysterioustwist of fate that had been doused in buckets of good luck, the Bennington caravan eventually stumbled into the area of Gretna Green.
As they were such a large party, they all began to think they should have sent somebody ahead to warn of their arrival. As it turned out, there was nowhere in the village that could accommodate them all and they were further directed to nearby Springfield. They arrived to the King’s Head Inn, though even there the servants could not all be housed. The footmen ended up sleeping in the hayloft, though Tattleton, due to his refusal to share a room, stayed with a local couple who owned a shop and had a spare bedchamber.
By the time everyone was settled into their respective places, it was determined that they would visit the blacksmith on the following mid-morning, before setting off for the earl’s cousin’s fishing lodge, which had been left at their disposal.
That night after dinner, Juliet recited a moving poem she calledOde to Three Duelsthat was to be framed as their wedding gift.
After that, and seeing a pianoforte tucked in a corner, Rosalind performed one of her travels through the world of music until the proprietor asked her to stop. They had all enjoyed it so much that they really had not noticed how late the hour had grown.
All through it, Viola kept reflecting on the fact that it was her last night as Viola Bennington. On the morrow, she would be Viola Trewellian, Countess of Baderston.
Now in her bedclothes, she gazed out the window at the stars. What a miraculous thing had happened. She and Lord Baderston would wed.
Of course, she did recognize that events had not at all transpired as she’d thought they would.
Viola had imagined that she would come to Town, she would dance with Lord Baderston, they would talk over dinners and perhaps slip into corners at routs. All was to go along very smoothly. Something or other would present itself for Lord Baderston to prove his loyalty.
She really had not expected to have raced to Hyde Park to rescue Lord Baderston, and she certainly had not thought that their families would escort them to Gretna Green.
What a man he was! To challenge three different gentlemen in her defense, when another man likely would have challenged none.
“Come my dear,” Miss Mayton said, taking her hand. “To bed with you, as you will marry on the morrow.”
“Oh Aunt,” Viola said, “I only wish you had found the same happiness as I have found.”
“Never mind it, I do have my memories. Tonight, I will dream of Count Tulerstein’s last poignant sentiments to me as he plummeted down the side of the mountain.”
*
The day haddawned bright and the wind was gentle, which for Scotland must be seen as a particularly auspicious sign.
Roland had sent Markson out to alert the blacksmith priest that his services would be required.
His valet returned with the news that the blacksmith had been paid and Roland would likely be pleased with his mien. His name was Mr. David Lang, though due to his very formal style of dress he was called Bishop Lang. He was a serious fellow who could out-grim any vicar.
As they were doing things quite unorthodox, rather than have the wedding breakfast following the ceremony, they had it beforehand. It was a jolly affair. The earl cheered the happy couple, and the dowager went so far as to say that her son could have done far worse.
