Page 67 of Walk on the Wildsyde

Chapter 18

Dear Larkin,

I’m not sure you’ll get this in time, but I’m in a bit of a fix. Actually, Vi and I are in a good deal of trouble…

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Leo Hunt (Son of Alice and Nathanial Hunt) to The Hon’ble Larkin Weston (Son of The Right Hon’ble Solomon ‘Solo’ and Jemima Weston, Baron and Baroness Rothborn).

24th July 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

For the rest of his days, Hamilton would remember the first sight of his bride as she walked towards him. Whilst he would do nothing so daft as to swoon on his wedding day, he had to admit that for a moment there his knees had felt decidedly odd. He had known from the start that his Clara was a beauty, despite the modest and not always entirely flattering gowns she wore and the simple knot in which she arranged her hair. Today, however, in a dress so fine it was worth every penny of the small fortune it had cost him, sparkling with the diamonds he had gifted her, and with her hair in a becoming, if complex, style that flattered her lovely face, she was simply breathtaking.

“Ye are a lucky devil, and there’s nae doubt about it,” Lyall murmured to him as Clara made her way down the aisle.

“If I am dreaming, dinnae wake me,” he replied, shaking his head. “How the devil did I manage it?”

“Never mind that, just don’t muck it up,” Lyall said with a grin.

The rest of the service was a blur in his mind, his emotions and thoughts a tangle of joy and anticipation that made concentration impossible. He supposed he’d spoken his vows and given the correct responses for Lyall hadn’t stepped on his foot or called him a numpty, but somehow they were back at Rochford House, sitting at the wedding breakfast, surrounded by friends and family, and he could not quite recall how it had happened.

The lavish breakfast had been extravagant and delicious, and now the guests were relaxed and the champagne—and Hamilton’s best whisky—was flowing as the noise in the room rose by the minute.

Hamilton turned to his bride, who was pink with pleasure and laughing at something his father had said to her. He reached for her hand under the table, and she turned to him, her eyes sparkling.

“Have I told ye how bonnie ye look?” he asked, feeling strangely breathless, for looking upon her seemed to knock the air from his lungs each time.

“You have,” she said with a laugh. “So many times I have lost count, and I shall become impossibly conceited if you keep on.”

“Like me, eh?” he said with a grin.

“Worse than you!” she exclaimed, making him laugh.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as he murmured close to her ear. “This is the best day of my life, Clara, and I cannae wait for it to be over so I can be alone with ye.”

She darted him a shy smile, her cheeks pinker than ever, but she did not seem the least bit anxious or uncertain, which was reassuring.

“We can’t leave yet,” she said, before adding a question that lifted his heart higher still. “Can we?”

Hamilton grinned. “Aye, we can.”

“Are ye needing a hasty exit?”

Hamilton looked past Clara to see his father regarding him with amusement. “Aye, can ye help?” he asked, knowing his father would understand and create a diversion if he could.

“Never say I dinnae do anything for ye,” the earl said, shoving back his chair and getting to his feet. He’d made good inroads into the excellent bottle of whisky Hamilton had given him and was in high spirits, which boded ill for the guests. “Away with ye then,” he added, before walking to the centre of the room.

“Quick,” Hamilton said, hustling Clara towards the nearest door.

“What? Why?” she asked in confusion.

Hamilton grinned at her as he ushered her out of the room. “We’ve got to save ourselves, love. Da’s about to sing.”

Clara laughed merrily, the sound wrapping itself about Hamilton’s heart as he took her hand and towed her up the stairs. Rochford House was a large place, and their bedroom was on the opposite side of the festivities, so the sound of merriment dimmed and finally faded away as Hamilton led her along the endless corridors.

“What a beautiful house,” she said, staring around her with wide eyes as they walked.

“I will build ye one just as fine. Better, even,” Hamilton promised. “I’ve already an architect working on the plans, but ye must look them over and see if everything is how ye would like it. I want it to be perfect for ye.”

“You are spoiling me,” she protested, gazing at him in wonder. “I had no expectation of such… such…” She threw up her hands, shaking her head, apparently lost for words and Hamilton stopped to pull her into his arms.