Someone to Wed
Page 69

“Though I would question its appropriateness for any couple who are not related by blood or married or at the very least betrothed,” she added to the obvious discomfort of Jessica and Colin.
“If I were but fifty years younger,” the dowager countess said, “I would not waste my time waltzing with a brother or father or even a husband. I will never forgive whoever invented the waltz for not doing so half a century sooner.”
“Perfect.” Alexander was smiling at Wren, her hand still in his, his other arm still about her waist. “Either I am a perfect teacher or you are a perfect pupil.”
“Or both,” she said.
“Or both,” he agreed.
Those two weeks were busy and a bit frightening as she wondered more and more what she had unleashed. They were blissful too. For there were always the nights to look forward to, that span of hours when she was alone with her husband. She loved lying in bed with him, sometimes in darkness, occasionally with candles burning. They did not always make love, though usually they did, and sometimes they made love both at night and in the early morning. But they always talked, their arms about each other, and they always slept deeply and well. She knew he liked her, respected her, cared for her. No, more than cared. She knew he had an affection for her. And it was enough. It was what she had dreamed of and more than that. She only hoped it would continue, that they were not just in a honeymoon stage of their marriage that would wear off in time. But she would not believe it. It was up to her to make sure it continued, never to grow complacent or lazy.
She was going to make her marriage work, just as she was going to make her life work.
If only there was not a ball to be faced first. And everybody who was anybody, as Avery had put it, was going to be there. Of all the invitations they had sent out, only three had been refused, with regrets. Only three. It was enough to give her heart palpitations.
But she was going to waltz with Alexander.
Twenty-three
“I would say she looks stunningly beautiful,” Alexander said, “but I may, of course, be biased. What would you say, Maude?”
He had stepped into his wife’s dressing room to see if she was ready for the ball. Clearly she was. She was standing before the pier glass in a gown of primrose yellow silk overlaid with fine lace, looking youthful and vibrant. It was high waisted, low necked, and short sleeved. It was deeply ruched and scalloped about the hem. Her gloves and slippers were ivory colored. Her dark hair was dressed in elaborate curls on the top of her head, adding to her height, with tendrils curling along her neck and over her temples. Ah, but she was not quite ready. Her pearl necklace still lay on the dressing table.
“I said the same thing five minutes before you even came in here,” Maude said. “This time I think she believes me. Us. My lord.”
“Well, I do.” Wren laughed. “I think I am the most beautiful woman in the world.” She twirled once about, and her skirt twirled with her. “There. Are you both satisfied?”
“Sit down again,” Maude said. “We forgot your pearls.”
“I will see to that,” Alexander said. “You may go and have your dinner, Maude. I daresay you missed it at the proper time.”
“You go to the ball, then,” Maude said, addressing Wren. “And just remember what Mr. Heyden always used to say to you. There is nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it.”
“I will remember, Maude,” Wren said. “Thank you.”
She looked ruefully at Alexander after her maid had left. “She is more nervous than I am,” she said.
“You are not nervous?” he asked.
“Not nervous,” she said. “Terrified.”
He smiled at her. He was a bit surprised that she had chosen delicacy over boldness for her gown. She and his mother and Lizzie had been involved in a conspiracy of secrecy about it. He had imagined she would choose royal blue or a vivid rose pink or even bright red, bold colors to bolster her courage. The yellow was inspired. Actually it was a little brighter than primrose. And then he understood. Of course.
“Daffodils in June?” he said, indicating her gown with both hands. “Trumpets of hope?”
“I have danced alone among them at Withington,” she said. “Tonight I will be one of them and dance in company.”
“Yes, you will,” he said. “Sit down while I will put on your necklace.”
She sat, handed him the pearls, and bowed her head. He slipped the pearls into a pocket, drew out a diamond necklace from another, and clasped it about her neck. He set his hands on her shoulders.
“Thank you.” She lifted her head to look in the mirror, raising a hand at the same time to touch the necklace. Her hand froze before it arrived. The chain was gold. It was dotted with small diamonds along its whole length with a larger one at the center, hanging just above the neckline of her dress. “Oh,” she said, and one finger ran lightly over the right side of the chain. “Oh.”
“They will never outshine the daffodils,” he said. “But it is high time I gave you a wedding gift.”
“It must be the most beautiful necklace ever,” she said. “Oh, thank you, Alexander. But how inadequate words can be.”
“There are earbobs too,” he said.
She turned on the stool to look up at him. “I have never worn any,” she said as he drew them out of his pocket to display on his palm—two single diamonds, a little smaller than the one at the center of the necklace, set in gold. “How exquisite they are. See how the light glints off them. I do not even know how to put them on.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “I have never worn any either. Can we work it out together, do you suppose, on the theory that two brains are more effective than one?”
“And four hands better than two?” she said as her own hovered over his while he clipped the first to her left ear. She lowered her hands to her lap while he clipped on the second, and then she stood and wrapped her arms about his neck. “Alexander, thank you. I am so glad the first two gentlemen on my list did not come up to snuff.” She laughed. Actually, it was more of a giggle.
“And I am very glad,” he said, “that I was not number four on your list. Number three might have taken your fancy before I had a chance.”
“Never,” she said. “Alexander? You do not ever regret—”
He set a finger across her lips. “You must ask again? Do I behave like a man who regrets anything he has done recently?” he asked her. “Should we perhaps consider going downstairs? It would be a huge embarrassment, do you not think, to arrive at Archer House too late to stand in the receiving line for the ball that is in your honor?”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “There is no danger of that, is there?” she asked.
“Well,” he said, drawing her arm through his, “Mama and Lizzie may be starting to think we have climbed out of the window and gone without them.”
She reached for her filmy wrap and fan on the side of the dressing table, and Alexander heard her draw and hold a deep breath before releasing it and turning to smile at him.
Wren’s heart was in her throat from the moment of their arrival at Archer House, when she saw the red carpet that had been run out over the steps and across the pavement. And inside there was the grand hall and stairway bedecked with white and yellow and orange flowers and copious amounts of greenery. There were more than the usual number of footmen in gorgeous livery that included pale gold satin coats, white knee breeches and stockings and gloves, buckled shoes, and powdered wigs. Upstairs there were salons whose open doors gave glimpses of lavish floral arrangements within and candelabra and tables covered with starched white cloths. Some seemed designed for quiet relaxation for guests wishing to escape the noise and bustle of the dancing for a while. Others had been set up for cardplayers. One large salon next to the ballroom was ready for the refreshments that would be served despite the fact that there was to be a proper supper late in the evening.