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The bride, only child of the scholar and antiquary the late Mr Peregrine Aylmer, created much interest with a gown of medieval cut and design: we have no doubt that images of this innovative form of dress will appear in all the most select journals for the delectation of the Fair Sex.
There was then a long list of the ladies present and their gowns, headed by a description of hers.
In all the most select journals...
Madelyn turned the page hurriedly, then thought again. Jack was certain to work his way through all the newspapers. She could sit here fretting until he found the reports or she could raise the subject now. She cleared her throat. ‘The newspaper has an account of our wedding.’
‘That was to be expected.’ He lowered The Times. ‘Has it upset you?’
‘No, this report is very reasonable, I suppose. They comment that my gown created much interest, but they say nothing unpleasant.’
‘But you expect me to be annoyed to see the report?’
Madelyn could tell nothing of his mood from his tone and his expression was no help, either. ‘You were angry.’
‘I was annoyed that you did not follow my wishes. However, I cannot deny that you looked very well in that gown.’ Jack folded up the newspaper crisply, as though snapping it into order somehow relieved his feelings. ‘As you do in the other garments which I have seen that you had made to your own design. I was unnecessarily rigid in what I asked of you.’ When she simply looked at him, surprised, he said, ‘What have I done now?’
‘Admitted a fault—no, I apologise, not a fault, an error of judgement, perhaps.’ It was Jack’s turn to look puzzled. ‘I am not used to having a man do such a thing.’
‘Your father was not given to reflecting on his own actions?’
Madelyn laughed. ‘That is a very tactful way of putting it. I doubt he could conceive of being in error.’
‘That must have been trying to live with.’
‘Yes,’ Madelyn said drily.
‘I think I know how to take that! You thought I am as convinced of my own rightness in everything as Mr Aylmer?’
‘You seemed very sure that your decisions were correct,’ she said with a smile. She found she liked Jack in this ruefully amused mood. ‘Perhaps you have been alone for so long, making all the judgements by yourself, and for yourself, that it is hard to adapt to having someone else to consider. Although, to be fair, I doubt many husbands take their wives’ wishes into account on matters of major importance.’
‘And your gowns are such matters?’
‘You thought so,’ she retorted. ‘What I think is important is that we discuss things, even if it means we disagree. Then we will not find ourselves with entrenched positions from which it is difficult to retreat.’
‘That seems sound advice, my wise wife.’
Was he laughing at her? Madelyn decided that he was simply teasing a little and found she could smile back.
‘Shall we see what all of the newspapers have to say about us?’ he asked.
Partridge, it seemed, had sent out the boot boy to buy every journal he could find. The main newspapers were gossipy, but generally approving, and Madelyn began to relax. There were no mentions of ‘Castle-Mad’ fathers or ruinously rakish ones, either. Beside her, she felt some of the tension leave Jack and, when a bump in the road threw them together, she stayed leaning against his shoulder as they shared out the final two newspapers between them.
Hers was as inoffensive as the others. ‘Oh, Jack, do listen! This one says that I may start a fashion for the Gothic in dress, just as Mr Walpole did with architecture.’
Jack did not respond. He was staring, grim-faced, at the paper in his hand. It was one Madelyn had not seen before, much smaller and slightly thicker than The Times or the Morning Post.
‘What is that?’
‘The London Intelligencer. Full of Grub Street news—lies, insinuation, scurrilous gossip and radical into the bargain. Not fit to wrap rotten fish in.’
‘What does it say about us?’ The carriage had slowed because of traffic, and Madelyn caught a glimpse of St Paul’s Cathedral close beside them.
‘That we represent the union of aristocratic debauchery and bizarrely eccentric miserliness. Your father is represented as closing himself up in his castle, clad in armour and cackling over his money chests, and mine—rather more accurately—as running the gamut of expensive depravity. No normal woman would have allied themselves to me for my title, but as you are as peculiar as your father, you will probably be careless of the depths of wickedness that I will plumb with your money.’
‘Oh, stupid people! This is what you feared, is it not? I am so sorry if my choice of wedding gown caused this spite. Could you not sue them?’
‘It is all Lord D. and Mr A. Besides, it is true enough about my father and I can hardly argue that I have not benefitted materially from our match.’ He dropped the window of the chaise and tossed the paper out. It fell into a passing dust cart. ‘Best place for it.’
