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“No children, just each other. The house and estate passed to a distant relative, but he went off prospecting in the former colonies. He lives in California, and the house is let,” James replied.
Eloise and Jackson looked at one another. This was surely a sign, the very thing they had been hoping for.
“Perhaps we might let it ourselves,” Jackson said.
Alice clapped her hands together in delight.
“Oh, that would be wonderful. The tenants are barely ever there. I’m sure you could arrange things. But would you want to live out here in the countryside? Wouldn’t you miss the excitement of London, with its balls and dinners and soirees? The theaters, the concerts?” Alice asked, but Eloise shook her head.
She had long tired of the ton and London society. The thought of living in the countryside, away from everything and everyone, close to her sister and the new family she had come to know filled her with joy.
“I wouldn’t miss any of it. Would you, Jackson?” Eloise looked at him, and he shook his head.
“Not for a moment. I’ll make inquiries about the house. I’m sure we can arrange something,” he said, and there was much rejoicing all around, as plans were made and discussed.
It felt to Eloise as though she had come home and not to a place, though there was no doubting the attractiveness of Draycott. She felt as if she had come to a way of life that suited her far better than anything she had known before. She had her sister, she had her betrothed, and she had a future to share with them both, one in which she knew she would be eminently happy.
“I really do love it here,” Eloise gushed, as she and Jackson walked the same path a few days later.
“Then let’s get married here,” he said, turning to her with a smile.
Eloise had not thought about such a thing, but now it seemed entirely the right thing to do. She did not want a society wedding attended by all those she had little time or inclination for. She wanted only to marry for love. And in this beautiful place, surrounded by those she loved, she could do just that.
CHAPTER38
“We’ll drive straight past there,” Eloise exclaimed, banging on the carriage roof for the driver to continue.
Alice looked at her curiously, and Delphine’s lips twitched.
“What do you have against… what name is it? Oh, Madame Jonquil?” Alice asked, reading the sign above the modiste’s shop as the carriage passed by.
Eloise smiled at Delphine who was trying hard not to laugh.
“It was Madame Jonquil who fitted me for that hideous dress you saw me wearing at my failed wedding to Lord Crawford,” Eloise replied, and her sister shook her head.
“Yes, I didn’t like to pass comment on it. I wasn’t sure if you had chosen it. Yes, it was ghastly, wasn’t it? All that lace trim. No, we’ll avoid Madame Jonquil if that’s what you want, though having grown up in an orphanage, I’m not really au fait with the latest fashions of Bond Street,” Alice laughed, shaking her head.
They had come to London so that Eloise could buy her wedding dress. Her father had given her carte blanche to spend as much as she wished, but Eloise wanted only a simple garment in which to marry Jackson. The wedding was to take place in just a few days, and with only a few guests invited and the celebration to take place at the farmhouse, it was going to be the simplest of affairs. But this was just how Eloise wanted it to be, and she could not have felt happier at the prospect of marrying Jackson on her own terms and not anyone else’s.
“There’s a modiste just here. It belongs to a Miss Palin. It’s tucked away beneath this archway, but the dresses are quite exquisite whilst not in the least bit gaudy,” Eloise recalled. She banged on the carriage roof and called out for the carriage driver to stop.
They pulled up in front of the archway, and Eloise, Alice and Delphine got out. Bond Street was busy that morning, and the three of them fought their way through the crowds and under the archway, where a discreet entrance with a bell and sign by the door indicated they had arrived at the right place.
“Miss Elizabeth Palin, Seamstress,” Alice read, as Eloise rang the bell.
The door was opened by a primly dressed young woman with a shy smile.
“Is it my aunt you’ve come to see?” she asked, and Eloise nodded.
“That’s right. We’ve come about a wedding dress.”
The young woman nodded and ushered them inside.
They found themselves in a parlor and were taken to a room with large windows letting in the morning sunshine, and where a fire burned merrily in the hearth. It was filled with piles of dresses, and a table in the center was covered in rolls of material, patterns, reels of cotton and every tool of the seamstress’ trade. An elderly woman with keen eyes and nimble fingers was busy stitching, and she looked up at the three of them and smiled.
“Good morning, Miss Palin,” Eloise said, as the woman beamed at her.
“Lady Snowden, my dear. I wondered when you’d come and see me.”
