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“I remember the incident with the ring,” Simon laughed, recalling how Lord Felton had nearly dropped the ring he was to give to his wife.
“It was worse when I was getting ready,” Lord Felton called as he stepped away to find a chair. “I knocked over my valet. Quite a bit worse than knocking over a bowl of water.”
“Ah, why can’t I get this right?” Simon moved toward the mirror and tried yet again to tie the cravat just perfectly.
He could hear Lord Felton and the Duke jesting with one another, which left Simon alone with his thoughts as he stared into the mirror.
I can scarcely believe this day is here.
Since the moment Simon had met Rosaline, he thought a part of him knew she would be the woman he married. She was entirely different to any other lady he had ever met. Unaffected by the world of the ton as it was not the world she knew, she was a genuine person. She was honest in everything she did, full of heart, sympathy, and generosity. She had a delightful laugh, that whenever Simon heard it, it had a habit of making him laugh with her.
The first time they had danced together was scored on his memory. It hadn’t just been the feeling of a beautiful woman in his arms, with amber eyes that seemed to stare straight into him, it was the fact that she talked to him without pretensions or reserve. She had always been herself with him, and that person was bubbly, excitable, and effervescent about life in general.
She’s the champagne of women.
He snickered to himself as he loosened the cravat.
“This is hopeless. Why can’t I tie a cravat?” he asked, looking away from the mirror and turning to his friends, imploring them for help.
“It’s the excitement,” Lord Felton explained from where he was sat on a chair. The Duke leaned on the back of another chair beside him, nodding in agreement.
“It happens to us all.” The Duke shrugged. “Wait until you’re standing by the altar. I’ll be surprised if you can stand still at all.”
“That’s Rosaline’s trick,” Simon murmured to himself. He had a love for the way Rosaline could barely ever stand still, dancing on her toes, bobbing to-and-fro, especially when she was excited or nervous. “Is it the right cravat do you think? Should I be going for something a little more…?” Simone couldn’t quite finish the question, not sure what he was hoping for.
“The cravat is fine.” The Duke assured with a firm nod.
“I think most people tend to look at the bride’s clothes anyway on a day like today.” Lord Felton’s words brought Simon some comfort. “Though I don’t suggest turning up in a vegetable sack. That might stand out a little bit.”
“Just a bit,” Simon concurred and turned away. He abandoned fidgeting with the cravat for a minute as he moved to his window and looked down at the street. What caught his eye there startled him so much that he planted his palms on the window. “Good Lord…”
“What is it?” the Duke asked.
“Pigs might as well be flying,” Simon muttered.
Don’t get angry. Not today. Today is a good day.
He could see a stream of deliveries, with delivery boys carrying boxes on their shoulders, and maids hurrying on with sacks behind them. Each one was heading around the townhouse, no doubt aiming for the servants’ entrance.
“I fear my mother might have ordered from every market in London for this wedding breakfast,” he said with a deep sigh.
“It’s just a breakfast.” Lord Felton’s words didn’t help matters.
“Not to my mother,” Simon muttered quietly, watching as it started to rain and the delivery boys picked up their pace, running with their boxes. “To her, it’s a chance toboast.”
It was an argument Simon had often had with his father. When the late Lord Gloucester had instructed Simon again and again how it was an earl’s duty to look the part, to act the part, and be constantly dignified, untouched by mud, never to cower, never to talk with the lower classes in the street, Simon had scoffed. He knew the truth of the matter. There was no duty ornobilityin behaving in such a fashion. His father had simply loved being above others.
It is never how I have wanted to be.
Yet now his father was gone, his mother seemed to be taking up where her husband had left off. Simon half expected it was his efforts to push away the fineries of being an earl, keeping company with writing groups and publishers, rather than the ton, that made her so obsessed with putting on displays of wealth.
“I’m tempted to go wearing that vegetable sack right now,” Simon called over his shoulder to his friends. “At least then it will make it clear to my mother what I think of all of this.” He waved a hand at the window and stepped back.
“Humor her,” the Duke pleaded, calmly. “It is your wedding day.”
The Duke’s calmness broke through into Simon’s frustration.
“Yes, you are right. I want today to be a good day. It is the end of old arguments and the start of the future.”
