“Mr Alwyn,” she began, and though her voice quavered, she thought it might carry to the far reaches of the auditorium. “It would be my greatest honour to call you husband.”
She urged him up, and he stood to embrace her. Feeling the strength of his arms around her, she closed her eyes and relished the thrumming of his heart, so very near her own.
A fond silence reigned briefly.
Then the applause began. Like a wave over water, it surged outwards and upwards, growing in strength. By the time the two strongmen appeared to usher the newly betrothed couple backstage, nearly every one of the 1,500 people in attendance was clapping and cheering. It was a full five minutes before order was restored, and another ten beforeThe Unfinished Gentlemancould resume.
However, in spite of the crowd’s enthusiasm, there was little consensus amongst them as to what it was that they had all just witnessed. Many of the ladies thought it was an act meant to pull at their heartstrings, and smiled, delighted with its success.
Others, who were inclined to scrutinize, felt lampooned by the presentation, and sat wondering about its intended criticism of Society.
A few supposed that it was a genuine marriage proposal, but worried that the lady involved would be disappointed when she discovered that her betrothed was just a lowly doctor who was prone to lavish confabulation.
There were two young women seated in the dress circle who insisted to those around them that ‘Miss Everson’ was their distant relation, and ‘Mr Alwyn’ was their old friend, who trulywasa viscount. But those listening thought the sisters’ claims far too audacious to give them any credence whatsoever.
Finding Sunshine in the Garden
A LITTLE MORE than a fortnight passed before an announcement appeared in theMorning Chroniclethat threw a clarifying light on what had actually occurred at the Adelphi. (Such a thing would not have been published if a certain aunt had not insisted to her nephew that she wanted to see proof of his engagement in print.) The astonishing pronouncement revealed that the man who had proposed was not only a nobleman, but also a newly-licensed doctor! It beggared belief, and London was vociferous with varying opinions on the propriety and preposterousness of the matter.
However, as he had promised, Alwyn gave none of these judgments any weight whatsoever. Likewise, due to the remarkable manner in which he had proposed, Belinda paid them no heed. The young lovers were giddy and grateful for all they had discovered, and continued to discover, about one another’s heart and mind.
They planned for a month-long stay at Castle Farrmore, once they were married, and then to move to London where he would work alongside Dr Felix as his colleague. Mr Shrove had been instructed to search Marylebone for a townhouse that would comfortably accommodate them and a third resident, should Aunt Joan change her mind about living in town.
Since she was seen calling down from her box to the young man on stage, Mrs Ophelia Hartley had become quite popular. Droves came to call upon her at South Audley Street, and she eagerly threw her front door wide to welcome them.
As Miss Dora Hartley sat in the previously-quiet parlour, surrounded by nosy strangers, she pretended to know nothing of where or when the celebrated couple’s nuptials would take place. On the morning of the wedding itself, Dora told her mother she wanted the carriage that they might visit the modiste together. As Mrs Hartley was bustling herself into it, her daughter quietly told the coachman that he was to take them to St James’s Piccadilly, to the back entrance on Jermyn Street. This clever maneuver ensured that none of Mrs Hartley’snew friendsknew at which church a viscount would be marrying a commoner.
“What a good joke you played upon me, Dora darling!” Mrs Hartley said as they seated themselves in the pews.
However, she grew cross straight after as her daughter was determined to wear her spectacles throughout the ceremony. At its end, they started over to Hertford Street, and Miss Hartley returned the offensive object to her reticule, not wanting her mother to pout throughout the wedding breakfast. This, too, was an exclusive affair, though perhaps still too peopled for the confines of Mr George Caspar’s townhouse. What had seemed a sparse assembly in the church’s nave, could barely fit inside the parlour.
Six Eversons were there, along with the Caspars, of course, and their children. (Upon hearing of their father’s apoplexy, Thaddeus, Nell, and her husband had immediately returned from the Continent.) Mr Alwyn’s aunt was also there, as well as a Dr Felix and his wife, who were the only other non-familial guests besides Dora and her mother. A merry party of eighteen, they all chatted amiably as they feasted on the dainty delicacies that the Caspars’ cook had prepared.
Unable to sit in a quiet corner (as there were none), Dora grew increasingly embarrassed at how her mother rattled onand on to this person, then that one, about nothing that might be of genuine interest to any of them. So, in spite of the general jubilation filling the room, she felt the urge to escape.
Leaving a plate of half-eaten cake behind, she went to a bookcase by the doorway and pretended to examine a novel, holding it very near her face. When she sensed an opportunity to slip through the door undetected, she got out to the front hall, and promptly donned her spectacles. With some guesswork at which way to go, she soon found herself outside in the back garden.
It was a chilly day with a fleet of voluminous clouds scudding overhead, casting large shadows, but Dora was pleased to breathe in the bracing air. She had left her pelisse inside, and was thankful for the occasional sunbeam breaking through to where she sat on a stone bench.
It only took a moment for her thoughts to settle once again on the fact that her father was determined to take them all home to Lancashire soon.
I ought to be grateful for the time I’ve had in town,she told herself.And we’re sure to come back before too long.
Her wistfulness idled at the sudden sound of someone whistling. A youth, hardly older than her brother, Davis, had just come through the back gate and was striding up the path, a melody warbling from his rounded lips.
Instinctively, Dora’s hand flew to her face. The hurried movement caught the boy’s eye, and he stopped just feet from her.
“Hello there,” he said, his face breaking into a grin.
Having not succeeded in removing her spectacles before he addressed her, Dora left them in place and replied warily, “Good morning.”
“Are you here for the wedding breakfast?” he asked, taking off his hat to run an open hand through straw-coloured hair.
“Yes, but it’s a bit crowded inside.”
“Ah, you like room to breathe, do you?” He laughed, but she did not feel it was at her expense. Dipping his head, he said, “I’m Theodore Sliger.”
He did not offer her his hand, she thought perhaps because they were alone together, so she just nodded in return as she gave her own name.
