“Matilda,” Mildred asked, looking thoughtful, “is that what happened to you? Was it Mama and Papa who tore you away from Viscount Dirkson when the two of you were young?”
“What happened more than thirty years ago no longer matters,” Matilda told her firmly. “It isnowthat matters. We are togethernow, Charles and I, and we are to be married, and I want a wedding day that is perfect. Will it be more perfect if Gil and Abigail are the only family membersnotpresent or if theyare? It is impossible to know the answer. But the decision ought not to be ours to make. It must be Gil’s and Abigail’s.”
“Not Viscount Dirkson’s?” Viola asked.
“He will say no,” Matilda told her, “while his heart will yearn to say yes.”
“We must do all in our power, then,” Anna said, smiling, “to make sure he gets his heart’s desire. And you too, Aunt Matilda.”
“Well, Idowant them to come,” Matilda admitted, “though I would ask that the invitation not be sent until tomorrow. I ought, I suppose, to call upon Barbara and Jane first.”
But those two young ladies, as well as Adrian, who happened to be with his sisters when Matilda called first upon Barbara, were genuinely curious to meet the half brother of whose existence they had not even known until recently.
“And if they come and Papa does not want them here,” Adrian said, “I would really be very surprised. I believe he longs to be reconciled.”
“But that would not make you unhappy?” Matilda asked.
“No.” He frowned in thought for a moment. “Papa said something the day he told me about Gil Bennington. He told me how he had fallen in love with me the moment he saw me after I was born. And I daresay he fell in love in just the same way with my sisters. All my childhood memories confirm me in the belief that he was telling the truth. He spent more time with us than most fathers of my acquaintance spend with their children, and he always gave the impression that he was as happy with our company as we were with his. I do not believe love has limits. Do you, Lady Matilda? I mean, the fact that there was always Gil and that our father obviously cared for him does not mean he cared the less for us. If Gil comes back into Papa’s life now, it will not mean that we are diminished. Will it?”
“Not by one iota,” Matilda assured him, remembering how, when Anna arrived unexpectedly in their family at the age of twenty-five, it had seemed at first that Humphrey’s newly illegitimate offspring—Camille and Harry and Abigail—would be displaced. It had not been so. Just the opposite had happened, in fact. The whole family had bonded more firmly than ever before under the threat of attack. They had routed the threat with love.
Matilda did what never came quite naturally to her. She got to her feet and hugged first Adrian and then his sisters. And because Mr. Dewhurst, Barbara’s husband, was also in the room, she hugged him too.
“Diminished,”she said. “What a foolish notion. Your family love is about toexpand, not contract. Your father is about to marry me, is he not?”
At which they all laughed, Matilda included.
And she asserted herself over which man of the family would give her away at her wedding. Thomas, Mildred’s husband, had offered. So had Alexander, as head of the family. Harry—Major Harry Westcott, the eldest of her nephews—had written from Hinsford to offer his services. Avery, Duke of Netherby, had informed her one afternoon that she doubtless had dozens of family members fighting duels over the honor of leading her along the nave of St. George’s, but if not—or if she did not much fancy any of the contestants—he would be happy to make himself available. Colin, Lord Hodges, Elizabeth’s husband, had offered, as had Marcel, Marquess of Dorchester, Viola’s husband. Even young Bertrand Lamarr had offered, grinning at her cheekily as he did so.
“After all, Aunt Matilda,” he had said, “I believe I started the renewal of your romance when I agreed to escort you to Viscount Dirkson’s house when you wished him to attend the custody hearing for Gil’s daughter.”
And since he had spoken publicly, the whole secret story came out and the family discovered that not long ago Matilda had taken the truly scandalous step of calling upon a gentleman in his own home with no one to chaperon her except a very young man who was not even related to her by blood.
Trust the young to keep a secret!
Matilda made her choice and announced it during the family dinner that preceded the betrothal party Avery and Anna gave for her at Archer House.
“Thank you to all of you,” she said, looking at each man in turn—though Harry had not yet come up from the country. “I am touched that each of you is willing to stand in place of my father. However, I am fifty-six years old. The notion that someone—someone male—needs to give me away is a strange one. Give me away fromwhat? I have been of age for thirty-five years. Although I have always lived with Mama, I have independent means. I can and will give myself away to the man of my choice. So I shall walk alone along the nave of the church.”
“Matilda,” her mother said, reproach in her voice. “It just is notdone.”
“It will be done by me,” Matilda said. “And that is my final word.”
“Oh, bravo, Aunt Matilda,” Jessica said.
“Jessica!” her mother said.
“I say,” Boris said. “You are a jolly fine fellow, Aunt Matilda.”
“Afellow, Boris?” Mildred asked. “Ajolly fineone? Wherever do you get such language?”
But her son merely grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows.
“It cannot be allowed, Matilda,” Louise said firmly. “You will be the—”
“I believe,” Avery said in his usual languid voice, his jeweled quizzing glass in his hand, though he was not actually looking through it, “there is a little-known statute on the books to the effect that after the age of—ah—fifty-five, a woman must be considered entirely her own person and may do whatever she wishes without running the risk of being exiled for life for doing what no one has done before her.”
“Oh, Avery,” Estelle said, giggling. “You made that up on the spot.”
