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Chapter 14
It was a beautiful sunny morning and Simon rose early, anticipation surging through his heart. Today he would finally make Fran his wife, as she should have been long ago. He had heard the florists arrive before he rose as the wedding breakfast was to be set out in the townhouse’s ballroom and they were busy festooning the room with garlands and bouquets of flowers. The kitchen staff would have had little rest to put on the banquet for his wedding guests.
The cake however had been made by the Fairbanks’s new French chef, and he had also made several fancy confections which had been carefully transported to the house. Everything had been polished and polished again, extra waiters had been employed for the day to make it go smoothly. Nothing could be too good for his Fran.
He was amazed how quickly things could be arranged when you were determined that it should be so and were prepared to throw some money at the problem. It would not be a traditional ton wedding, for they were not marrying in St George’s, Hanover Square, but had taken over St Paul’s Cathedral for the event. Their guests would not fill the Cathedral, but the florists had been instructed to adorn that huge space with fragrant flowers as well. The florists had decided to undertake that mammoth task on the previous day and to come early this morning to deal with the ballroom. He had had a hundred matters to organize, and he was determined it would not be a hole-in-the-wall affair but would shout his pride in the bride of his heart.
He’d already seen the ridiculous scandal sheet questioning his choice of bride.
Simon’s breakfast was brought to his chamber, and he ate it without tasting, vaguely noting the throbbing ache building at his nape. He had suggested that temporary change as he did not want to get in the way of the downstairs staff while so much was being done. It had been a long night without Fran, and he wished the time would go quickly so he could be with her once more.
Simon allowed Owen, his valet, to shave him and help him into the cream breeches, white shirt and silver waistcoat that he had picked out to wear for his nuptials. Owen tied his cravat more precisely than he usually did himself and then helped him into the dark blue coat he had chosen. With his hair neatly brushed, he was as ready as he ever would be to marry Fran.
He descended the stairs, checking the time; he was still early and headed for his study where he tried to examine a ledger for some minutes, realizing all his thoughts were on Fran and how she was doing.
Would she be panicking like he was? Would his sister or his mother dare to disrupt the ceremony? Would Lady Katherine try to snidely make trouble? Her parents had not been best pleased to discover that no engagement or marriage were to ever take place. However, Simon suspected that self-interest would seal all their lips because the news that she had connived with Simon’s mother and sister to fraudulently pretend an alliance had been made, would not reflect well on her family, and might make her own chances of securing a suitor far more difficult.
There had been a lot of comings and goings, and he had tried to ignore them, but the butler knocked upon the door of the study announcing Mr. Nicholas Fairbanks. It seemed strange to have asked Nicholas to be his best man, especially since he was the same man who had so recently drugged and kidnapped him.
“How are you feeling, my lord?” Nicholas asked. “Nervous? Do you need some Dutch courage?” he said offering a silver hip flask.
Simon laughed and indicated a small table in the study where decanters of tawny and golden liquids stood waiting with glasses for their consumption.
“I just want to be with Frances, annoying, daft tradition that the bride and groom must spend the night before they marry apart. But if you fancy a glass from my own distillery, please help yourself, Nicholas.”
“Your groom was waiting outside, and I said it was all right for him to bring the carriage around, but why are you not wearing any flowers?”
“There should be buttonholes for us in the hall to put on,” Simon said opening the door and bowing Nicholas through. That accomplished, they were off to the cathedral, where they would wait until the bridal party appeared.
* * *
The Earl of Celdon’stownhouse was in uproar; there were the sounds of running feet, screams, giggling and total pandemonium as the Fairbanks’s mother and other members had returned from Bath. All the female members of the family were trying to get ready for the wedding; and, amongst all the mayhem, Lily ran and zigzagged, avoiding the attempts at capture from her nurses who sought to prepare her for her parents’ wedding. Colin and the men of the family were dressed and ready. They had holed up in the library, avoiding the total chaos continuing above. The florist had delivered the bride and bridesmaids’ bouquets, elaborate corsages for Hermina and Colin’s mother and simple buttonhole arrangements for Colin and his brothers. Although it was early, the brothers were enjoying a glass of fine port while the womenfolk of the family and most of the house’s staff continued to cry havoc above.
Meanwhile, Fanny was getting irritated as her mother and sisters argued with each other over how they were going to do her hair. Lizzy believed a riot of curls were needed, and Eleanor and Emma thought a simple, elegant chignon best. Taking a deep breath, she slipped from the room out into the hallway. She doubted they noticed her disappearance. Fanny’s nerves were almost shattered. She had not anticipated that marrying Simon would be this exciting and nerve wracking. The sound of male voices floated on the air, and she went to the banisters and looked down. Two of her favorite men stood in the hallway, appearing so handsomely dressed.
“Do you think they will manage to be ready in time?” Richard asked Colin.
“I doubt it,” Colin said.
“Won’t that cause a scandal? It’s not good form to leave the groom waiting indefinitely,” Richard muttered.
“Havisham kept Fanny waiting for almost three years; let him sweat,” Colin muttered.
The butler suddenly intoned, “Her ladyship, the Dowager Countess of Celdon has arrived, my lord; shall I show her to the drawing room?”
“No need, Timothy, thank you. I’ll go and deal with the bedlam above,” the countess regally strolling toward them, examining the brothers’ appearance. “Yes, you’ll do, very smart. It all proves that sometimes a sow’s ear can be turned into a silk purse with enough effort,” she said enigmatically and headed off as the men attempted to bow to their relative respectfully.
Her brothers tried to smother fits of chuckling as she stalked down the hallway and could be heard thumping her stick on each step as she headed up the stairs.
Fanny slipped back into her chamber, not at all surprised her sisters were still squabbling.
“The old dragon has come,” she said.
That did the trick. The volume of squeals and chatter lessened as the dragon climbed the stairs.
Fanny heard the tap, tap, tap of the Dowager Countess of Celdon’s stick nearing the bedroom she shared with her younger sister Penny. Bang, bang, bang, her stick rapped on the chamber door. Penny rushed to open the door. The dowager was, as always, immaculately turned out and stared down the squabbling group of women.
“Punctuality is the politeness of princes,” the dowager declared. “You are all going to be late! Now I suggest that except for Miss Frances’s maid, everyone else should leave the room and make sure they are properly dressed themselves for the wedding. You have ten minutes, and I will expect you all lined up downstairs for my inspection…”
