I could hardly believe it, and I still do not know how he did it as he said their conversation was confidential. But the upshot is: Harry has triumphed, and Papa has given us his blessing!
The only fly in the ointment is that he wishes us to have a long engagement. Why that is, he did not say. I think he is being stubborn. But it is perfectly fine as it will give us time to become better acquainted with each other and to prepare for our wedding. After some discussion, Harry and I have decided upon next January, Twelfth Night. I also suggested having a masquerade ball in the evening.
There is not enough room for everyone to stay here. So do you think you can persuade Uncle Max to host it? Of course, you can ask your family, the Austens, and anyone else you like!
I let out a loud whoop, and Jane looked over, startled.
‘Whatever is it, Flissy?’ There was too much to convey without letting her read it herself. But I managed, even in my excitement, to condense Lucinda’s letter down to four brief sentences.
‘Tobias has given his blessing! Lucy and Harry are getting married on Twelfth Night! She wants us to host the wedding! Everyone’s invited!’
PART FOUR
The Masquerade Ball
Chapter 15
Derbyshire, January 1801
Hoisting Freddie higher on my hip, I surveyed the thick layer of snow on the back lawn from the comfort of the warm parlour.
‘Oh, why couldn’t Lucy and Harry have waited until spring?’ I said to him. ‘It is madness to have a wedding in winter.’
‘Papa?’ queried Freddie, making a grab for one of my earrings. ‘Papa’ was the first word he had spoken, though he had said ‘Mama’ a few times, as well as ‘Lu Lu’ for Lucinda and ‘Mo Mo’ for Maurice, who was now in our service.
‘Yes, your papa agrees with me,’ I said. ‘But all we can do is make the best of it and hope that the bride doesn’t freeze to death getting from the chapel to the house.’
The door opened, and Max strolled into the room, causing Freddie to twist instantly and hold out his arms.
‘Papa!’
‘Hello, you little rascal.’
‘Here, take him. He’s heavy.’ Max lifted Freddie outof my arms, raised him high into the air, then brought him swooping down and blew raspberries on each of his cheeks. Freddie squawked and laughed. It was a favourite game.
‘How was the suit fitting?’ I asked.
‘Good, all finished.’ He lifted Freddie into the air again and wiggled him. Freddie squealed.
Harry had asked Max to be his best man, and my own papa was upstairs, making some final tweaks to their suits. Aunt was also here. Harriet, Evan, and Evie were arriving tomorrow; and Jane and Cassie the day after that. With Seraphina, Tobias, and their children staying too, it was going to be a very full house indeed. But at least most of the preparations had been done, including the acquisition of a local priest who said he was happy to perform the ceremony at two o’clock in the village chapel. It was a family-only ceremony, but the masquerade ball afterwards was a more festive, relaxed affair.
I turned back to the window, gazing at fluffy snowflakes beginning to drift from the sky again. ‘It’s a pity the weather isn’t cooperating.’
‘Lucy and Harry don’t mind,’ said Max as the door opened again to admit the bride-to-be.
‘Don’t mind about what?’ asked Lucinda, removing a rather wet bonnet. The shoulders of her pelisse were also damp, but her cheeks were glowing.
‘The weather for your wedding day, dearest,’ I said. ‘And you shouldn’t go walking around outside. You’ll catch cold.’
‘But it’s so pretty,’ said Lucinda, smiling at Freddie as he giggled from Max’s attentions. ‘And Maurice thinks our wedding day will be clear.’
‘Maurice is an eternal optimist,’ I replied.
‘Mo Mo?’ said Freddie, looking around for his friend. But Maurice was ensconced in the kitchen, where there was enough food to feed an army being prepared. We’d hiredthreeextra cooks andfiveextra kitchen maids, so he had his hands full.
Maurice had joined our household six months ago; and he had fitted in immediately, taking on underbutler and assistant cook duties, as well as babysitting when required. I wasn’t sure how we’d coped before he arrived.
Freddie had taken to him right away, which was a relief, and Maurice had as well. But he recognised that Freddie carried Hart blood. He requested a private audience with me and asked why Freddie was ‘the spitting image of Master Dorian’.
