Page 66 of Walk on the Wildsyde

Hamilton was distantly aware of movement, the scrape of a chair, and looked up a moment later as Rochford set a glass of whisky in front of him. “Took enough time for it to sink in, but I figured it would eventually,” he said with a twisted grin. “Drink that, it will settle your guts.”

“What if I mess it up?” Hamilton said, reaching for the glass, aware of a panicky sensation in his belly like snakes writhing.

“Oh, you will,” Rochford said, sitting himself down again.

“Well, yer a great comfort,” Hamilton said impatiently, downing the generous tot of whisky and glaring at him.

Rochford smirked but shook his head, relenting. “Providing you are faithful, and you learn to apologise at regular intervals, you’ll do fine,” he said gruffly. “I hear she’s a sensible lass, so she can’t be blind to the trouble she’s getting into.”

Hamilton laughed at that. “True,” he said, feeling suddenly much better.

“Well, lassie, ye are the bonniest bride there ever was,” Mrs Macready said with satisfaction.

“That she is,” the new Mrs Halliday remarked. Her father and Flora—as she had insisted Clara address her—had married a week earlier. A quiet little ceremony with only Flora’s youngest daughter and Clara in attendance, they had celebrated with a fine dinner prepared by Mrs Macready, and the happy couple were taking a trip to visit Flora’s eldest daughter in Somerset after Clara’s wedding. Clara had been pleasantly surprised to discover Mrs Macready and Flora were making significant efforts to get along, for she had feared there might be ructions in the kitchen. Instead, the household was a well-run and industrious one with Flora at the helm and, if the Reverend Halliday was a little in awe of his new bride, Clara thought that was all to the good. She was aware, however, that the situation between the women was one that would not continue smoothly for long. Mrs Macready and Flora both had strong opinions on the way things ought to be done, and whilst they were falling over each other to be accommodating at the moment, that would wear on both their nerves in time. Deciding she would discuss the problem with Hamilton, for the moment, Clara put it out of her mind, for she had far more exciting things to consider.

Turning this way and that before the looking glass, Clara could hardly believe the picture reflected back at her. Satin ribbon and lace lavishly adorned the gown of ivory silk and, though Clara did not know how much it had cost, she knew enough to estimate it must have been a small fortune. The fabulous dressmaker had come to her, a concession from a woman who dressed the great and the good, and a gift from Georgie, who’d used her influence to make it happen.

Whilst Clara had been aware that Hamilton was a successful man, she had never considered quite how successful, or thought much of his family connections, past feeling somewhat overawed that his father was an earl. Having discovered he was not only fabulously wealthy, but also that his sister was the Duchess of Rochford, had put her into a pelter as she fretted she was marrying too far above her station. That his family might despise her, or Hamilton might come to regret marrying her, had given her awful sleepless nights until her father had stepped in. Speaking to her in the gentlest tones she could ever remember him using, he reminded her that her grandfather might be a vile bully, but he was also Baron Marsham, an ancient and revered title, and she had nothing to blush for.

“This came for you this morning,” Mrs Macready said, bringing her back to the present.

She and Flora stood side-by-side as they presented Clara with a large, red leather box.

Clara took it, noting the excited glint in the two women’s eyes. She had already received lovely gifts from both Mrs Scott and Miss Fleming, who had sent a very pretty note of congratulations to her and a promise to call in when she was back home again. Clara suspected the fact Miss Fleming had just become engaged to a wealthy young man herself had softened the blow, but she wished the young lady all the luck in the world and hoped she was as happy as Clara herself.

“It’s from Hamilton?” Clara guessed, her heart leaping at the weight of the leather box she held.

“Nae, Father Christmas!” Flora exclaimed impatiently. “Of course it is from Hamilton, open it up! Open it up!” she protested, flapping her hands at Clara.

Clara did as she was told, almost dropping the box in alarm as the contents flashed and sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the window.

“Saints be praised,” Mrs Macready whispered, putting her hand to her heart. “I never saw anything so lovely in all my days.”

Clara stared at the glorious parure of diamonds. A necklace, ear bobs, bracelets, a brooch and a tiara were laid out on a bed of cream silk. “Oh, my,” she said, feeling rather breathless.

“There’s a note too,” Flora said, shoving it at Clara, who opened it with trembling fingers.

To my beautiful bride,

I know you will shine brighter than any diamond, but I wanted to give you something as a token of thanks for making me the happiest of men. I will see you soon, mo leannan. Hamilton.

It was only when she heard their wistful sighs that Clara realised the ladies were reading over her shoulder and tucked the note away with a blush.

“Ye will have a fine wedding night, lassie,” Flora teased, winking at her. “He’s a braw, handsome laddie, so he is.”

“Ye do ken what happens on yer wedding night, Clara?” Mrs Macready asked with a frown.

Clara blushed a deeper shade and the two ladies exchanged glances.

“Sit yerself down, lassie,” Flora said, steering her to a chair. “Freya, fetch her a tot of whisky. I reckon she may need it.”

“Well!” Clara’s father stared at her, leaping from his chair in the parlour as she stood before him. “Well, I never did.”

For once in his life, the reverend seemed quite without words, which was rather touching.

“Isn’t she the prettiest thing ye ever saw, Robert?” Flora said, moving to take his arm. Papa patted his wife’s hand absently and walked closer to Clara. To her surprise, his eyes glittered with emotion.

“How you remind me of your mother today. You have her eyes, you know, grey and serious, yet with that twinkle that shows your spirit.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Clara said, feeling suddenly quite emotional herself.

He took her hands and squeezed her fingers gently.

“The Anderson family are lucky to have you, Clara, and don’t you go thinking otherwise. What’s more, I… I shall miss you, my dear. You have been a better daughter to me than I deserve, and I am proud of you.”

“Oh, P-Papa,” Clara said, suddenly choked as she did something she had not done since she was a small girl and hugged him tightly.

He seemed quite as taken aback by this as she did, but he hugged her in return and kissed her cheek.

“Well, if we are all ready, we had best get ourselves to the church or young Mr Anderson will be fretting himself to death,” Flora said, smiling fondly at them both.

“Goodness, and with a duke and duchess, and an earl and a countess in the congregation!” her father said, and she realised that despite his words, he was feeling a little overawed himself.

They walked outside where a carriage waited to drive them the short distance to the church and discovered all their neighbours standing outside, cheering Clara and wishing her joy as her father helped her up. Feeling every bit like the fairy princess she had once imagined herself to be as a child, Clara waved back, and her heart skipped with anticipation as the carriage drove away.