Winter Wedding (12 page)

“Why not foster a friendship between her and Ormond? I have just told you she is thinking of falling in love with him. I think, that though you are too cautious to admit it, you have a secret passion for him yourself. His name keeps recurring in our conversations.”

“She must wait till Nel is through with him. The line forms to the right. I shall keep Nel away as long as I can. I have to go to the library as well.”

“You have a carriage? I mean Aunt Charity gives the use of hers?”

“Certainly. The hired help is not so badly treated as you think.”

“Good luck,” Allingcote said, and walked away.

Clara met Nel on her way to the hall, outfitted for the trip in a beautiful deep blue pelisse, lined in sable. What an elegant little creature she was and smiling today, too, in good humor with the world. Till she opened her mouth she was bewitching. It was praise of her generosity in giving Prissie a set of crystal salt cellars with silver-plated spoons that engaged her tongue during the trip to the village. She kept looking about her. Clara now suspected it was Moore she was looking for, and not just any stray admirer. As she did not officially know about Moore, she said nothing, but she kept an eye out for the man described by Allingcote as they entered the village.

Going to the village with Nel proved an experience Clara did not wish to repeat. Nel had to stop at every window to admire or disparage every item in it. She entered the shops to try on gloves, bonnets, and shawls she had no intention of buying. Ells of material were taken down from shelves and held up to her face to determine whether they suited her.

Her beauty and flirtation created considerable stir among the male shoppers. She smiled at them all and turned around after they had passed to make sure they were looking back at her. She spoke in a loud, carrying voice, offering any comment that came to her about anyone, uncaring whether a passerby should hear herself called an old quiz or a dowd. She bought a ginger cake and ate it from her fingers, dropping fragments amidst the lace and ribbons, and in general made a vile nuisance of herself. She was finally dragged into the gift shop to buy the salt cellars, and from there they went on to return Clara’s books.

At the library, an occurrence that provided some small pleasure took place. A gentleman of the first stare was perusing the stacks. As Nel did not immediately get a glimpse of him nor he of her, he began casting a few long eyes in Clara’s direction. By judicious peeps over the top of a novel, Clara saw that he was ravishingly handsome. Tall and well-formed, with black hair sitting on a head nearly as pleasing as Allingcote’s. He was elegantly outfitted in a coat of blue Bath cloth, wearing tan trousers, and carrying a coat over his arm.

No word passed between the two for several moments, but as they worked their respective way down the stacks, they both arrived at the novels of Scott at the same time. Clara thought it was perhaps not quite by accident that his hand went out right after hers to select
Guy Mannering.
She was charmed by this ingenious and respectable bid for acquaintance. He gave her a bashful look and said, “Sorry. You were first.” His accent was obviously that of a gentleman.

“I have already read it,” she smiled. “It is very good.”

Despite his air of shyness, he was not slow to carry on and enlarge the opening. “Do you indeed recommend it, ma’am?” he asked, smiling to reveal perfect white teeth.

She recommended it very highly, though she had not actually liked it much. Scott soon led to Byron. Byron, of course, might lead to any mischief. Before long, he had led to an introduction. The gentleman was a Captain Carruthers, recently retired from the Dragoons and about to set up housekeeping in the neighborhood. Clara had heard Lady Lucker mention some retired officer moving to the area. She volunteered that she herself was only a visitor and mentioned the wedding, as it occupied so large a part of her mind.

The wedding called to mind Nel Muldoon, and Clara thought it a good idea to get the chit out of the library before her eyes should fall on the handsome captain. There would be no getting her out without a pitched battle once that had happened. She excused herself and went to find Nel down among the gothic novels of Mrs. Radcliffe, right where she thought she would be. The captain followed Clara down the aisle at a discreet distance, and when Clara and Nel went to the desk, Nel spotted him. It seemed like fate that the two should stop and stare at each other a long moment.

Seldom must two such perfectly formed physical specimens come together. Nel’s rosebud lips parted to show her teeth. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped, but she said nothing. The captain, waiting his turn at the desk, turned to Nel and smiled his charming, shy smile. Some few words passed between them. Clara was full of apprehension, but really nothing could happen in the two minutes she stood talking with the librarian. Nel was in full view the whole time, and all that was happening was that the captain was showing Nel his book, perhaps saying that her friend had recommended it. The captain looked in her direction at least. Nel seemed to be on her best behavior to impress him.

Clara took up her new books, bowed to Captain Carruthers, gathered up Nel, and left. “A very handsome gentleman,” she said to Nel. “A pity he had not come into the neighborhood sooner and he might have ended up at Prissie’s wedding.”

“I never saw anyone so gorgeous!” Nel sighed. “Do you know him well, Miss Christopher?”

“No, I never met him before.”

“He said he has lived here a month. What a slow top you are! I should have had him calling on me long since, if I were you. I wish I were staying a little longer at Branelea. I wonder if Ben ...”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Clara said firmly.

They had been gone over two hours. By the time they reached home, it would be close to four. They went to the carriage and returned to Branelea.

Chapter Eleven

There was some little unpleasantness before dinner when Nel chose to present her wedding gift to Oglethorpe instead of the bride and did it during a moment when she found him alone in the blue parlor admiring his other new acquisitions.

Prissie discovered them in the act of feeding each other imaginary spoonfuls of salt from the miniature spoons that accompanied the cellars. This activity was interrupted as soon as the bride arrived on the scene and snatched the spoon from his hand. She was only prevented from dashing the crystal cellar to the floor by her groom’s presence of mind in pointing out to her that the gift was exactly what she had wanted.

The “Thank you so much” Prissie conferred on Miss Muldoon was chilly enough to cause goose bumps. With Oglethorpe reverted to his best behavior, Nel soon forsook them both and went in search of more amusing company.

Clara learned of the “little contretemps” from Lady Lucker, who had it from Prissie within minutes of its occurrence. Clara took upon herself the task of preventing further “little contretemps,” before they should escalate to incidents requiring the services of a doctor. She watched Nel like a hawk. This was the very eve of the nuptials, and it was of the greatest importance that no rupture occur between the bridal couple at this late date.

Nel required a deal of watching. She was even more mischievous than usual. Her blue eyes danced and an impish smile played over her lovely face. She looked half angel, half vixen, as she flirted outrageously with every man at the party. Herbert, Ben, Maximilian, and a dozen doddering old cousins were tickled pink with her ways.

Clara thought it best to get Nel off to the inn as soon after dinner as might be arranged. She met with opposition from Allingcote, whom she made sure would be a supporter in her plan. He had received, during her absence, a brief notice from the inn informing him that a certain gentleman had been making inquiries. The man had not registered, but he had been there asking questions, and Ben thought Branelea the best place for Nel.

It was when the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner that Clara suggested to Ben they leave early. “Not tonight,” he said. “Aunt Charity has a sort of party planned. Some of the neighbors are coming in. I shouldn’t think you would like to miss it, Miss Christopher.”

She had been looking forward to the party, but was on thorns with Nel’s behavior and told Ben about the scene in the blue parlor. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” he said. “She will enjoy the party. There’s no need
she
must miss all the fun only because Prissie is spoiled, and Oglethorpe an ass.”

“And herself a hoyden,” Clara added curtly. It was obviously Nel he wished to have the pleasure of the party, not her. That the bride must be inconvenienced did not appear to bother him in the least.

“Nel is frisky tonight,” he admitted, looking across the room at her. She had garnered Herbert Ormond to her side. “Did anything of interest occur this afternoon? You didn’t see any sign of our greasy hedgebird?”

“No, nothing of the sort.”

“No one tried to attract Nel’s attention? She was not, perhaps, slipped a note or anything like that while your back was turned?”

“No. It was Miss Muldoon, who was trying desperately to attract all the attention herself, and my back was not turned. She enjoyed only one flirtation, not with a greasy hedgebird, but a very dashing captain. The whole passed under my very nose.”

“A friend of yours? You know him personally?”

“I never saw him before today, worse luck. My visit might have been a good deal more agreeable had I made his acquaintance sooner. He is new to the area, a Captain Carruthers by name. I believe Lady Lucker knows him, or of him at least.”

“Which of you was it who had the pleasure of a flirtation with him? You mentioned Nel, but your smiles intimate it was not only Nel.”

“Very true. It will no doubt come as a surprise to you that I occasionally arouse a little interest from gentlemen myself. In fact, I met him first.”

“Where did you pick him up?” No smile adorned his usually agreeable face.

“I picked him up—such a delightfully genteel expression—in the circulating library. One always feels that any acquaintance struck up in a library must be unexceptionable. I met some of my best friends there, over the tomes. Ecclesiastical gentlemen in the department of theology, scholars among the classics, and so on.”

“Where did you meet Captain Carruthers? Was it in the romance department, amidst the marble-covered novels? Or would it be the history books that served as an introduction, down among the battles and wars.”

“No, no. He is not at all gothic, or severely military either. More of a man about town. It was Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron actually who introduced us. We smiled at each other over
Guy Mannering,
and got down to names over the Corsair—and a very apt place it was to meet, too. There was something of the corsair in my captain, except that he was a little shy. I have taken him on for my own, you see.”

Allingcote became stiffer as the conversation proceeded. “What was he like?”

“Simply beautiful. Tall, broad-shouldered, handsome, marvelous smile, wearing—”

“Spare me the details.”

“You asked!”

“I was merely confirming he was not the hedge-bird.”

“There was not a speck of grease on him anywhere. I never saw a better-groomed gentleman.”

“I didn’t think he had been basted for frying. You didn’t notice what the gentleman drove?”

“Alas no, but it ought to have been a white charger. We only saw him in the library. Nel was quite as infatuated with him as I. She said she never saw anyone so gorgeous.”

“Then it cannot have been Moore. She would have let on to be disinterested if it had been him. She’s obvious, but not utterly transparent.”

“She is acting strangely tonight,” Clara said, glancing across the room at her. “I hope Herbert keeps her busy.”

“Don’t worry.
I’ll
keep her busy.”

“Then I shall have my turn with Herbert. I promised him an hour of my time, and don’t know when I shall have another free.”

Ben cast a look of rebuke on her before walking off to Nel. He stayed with Nel for the better part of the evening, despite heavy competition from the neighboring bucks. Clara’s small consolation was that Herbert appeared happy to be with her. She trusted Allingcote would not know that the dreamy smile on his face was due to Nel Muldoon, whose merits he extolled till Clara was ready to crown him.

Over all, it was an exceedingly tiresome party, and with a late-night supper, it lasted well past midnight. Clara mixed among the other guests as a sort of assistant hostess, seeing that everyone had a full glass and that empty glasses were whisked out the door for washing. She had no helper that evening and felt ill-used at doing the same chores she had been doing for weeks with no reluctance at all.

She had many jobs lined up for the morning, and though the wedding was not to be performed till eleven o’clock, she was to be back at Branelea from the inn by eight-thirty or nine. One special duty that had somehow devolved on her was the mixing of the wedding punch. Three large bowls of fruit punch enlivened with wine and soda water were to be mixed up and served just before the wedding feast. The bride would be toasted in champagne at dinner, but before eating, the crowd would have a few glasses of punch to slake their thirst and lessen the quantity of champagne consumed. It was Lady Lucker’s wish that the soda water be added just before serving so that the punch would effervesce. This, in some magical manner, was to remove the taint of thrift from the beverage.

Outside help had been hired (and borrowed) for the great day. Among their number was one man who professed to know something about brewing up a good punch. A chat with him had revealed to Lady Lucker that his punch was a heady brew comprised to a large extent of various wines. Her own mixture was to be mostly juices (not cheap either, she pointed out to Clara). Three dozen oranges and a dozen lemons, to say nothing of the pineapples she had had crushed. These had come from her neighbor’s succession house, as had the oranges, but the lemons had cost hard cash.

With the aim of mixing the punch as the guests came in the front door, Clara was to sit well to the rear of the church and get herself into the first carriage leaving it. The removal of wraps and taking of a seat in the gold saloon was all the time allowed Clara to mix her three bowls. The prospect of it unnerved her somewhat, as she had not before mixed punch for such a special occasion, and never in her life one of such strange ingredients. She knew the soda water to be the crucial item, and it was to be added last. She had received a dozen warnings not to let the professional punch maker take over on her and go adding extra wine behind her back.