The feathers in ladies' hats fluttered.
One murmured, "About time!"
The congregation turned as one toward the chapel door.
Fifi's Uncle Courtland stared at them, shock white on his face. With a groan, he lumbered to the front. His hair ruffled, his stock undone, he was a rumpled mess.
"My dear family and friends," he began, but Fifi did not hear the rest.
She didn't have to.
Esme was gone. Fled. Not to be found.
Later, as the guests stood about at the promised wedding breakfast in the Hall and the villagers partook of a similar feast on the front lawn, word went round that the bride had well and truly disappeared.
After the ball.
In the wee hours of night.
At dawn.
Five minutes ago.
Everyone chose their favorite time.
"Gone," everyone knew.
On her horse.
In a gig.
Or the family phaeton.
"Choose which you prefer," said one guest with a shake of his head.
Fifi's aunt and uncle did not attend the breakfast. But Fifi managed to speak to the family butler in a secluded corner and ask about the health of her aunt. He told her he knew only that Lady Courtland rested. When she asked about her uncle, the servant stared at her. "He searches for Miss Harvey."
Of course he did.
She dare not ask where the Marquess of Northington was. She doubted he remained at the Hall. But she certainly hoped he'd attempt to find Esme.
Wherever Esme had gone, Fifi believed her cousin was safe. Whatever Esme’s motive to abandon her groom, she loved the man. Did he return her affection?
That was the biggest question of the day.
Fifi rejoined the others in the main salon. The school friends from Miss Shipley's drifted in and out of conversation with each other, a somber bunch. All but Fifi retired to their rooms by mid-afternoon. Many of the guests who lived close by summoned their carriages and began to depart for home. The overnight guests would leave the next morning.
When Fifi was alone, her tea cup in hand, Rory sat beside her. "Let me take you and Welles home to Bath tomorrow."
Grateful for his thoughtfulness, she accepted.
