“Mama is furious, but once Uncle Jasper took my side, she had lost the fight,” Fanny said with a laugh. “He is the head of the family and quite wealthy. With no children of his own he dotes on me.”
Lady Kemble detached herself from a group of ladies and came to her daughter’s side. “How very discreet, Miss Cavendish, to have kept your courtship a secret from us.”
“It was a wonderful surprise to get your letter,” Fanny said. “But I did notice how the baron couldn’t take his eyes off you at Mother’s dinner party. Even while he danced with me.”
Lady Kemble frowned. “Miss Cavendish has been much in his lordship’s company over the past months. She is Mr. Fennimore’s goddaughter, after all.” Her frown faded when Genevieve came to join them. “I confess to being quite envious of your gown, Your Grace. The splendid cut of the sleeves and the richness of three rows of embroidery around the hem are perfection.”
“You are too kind, Lady Kemble,” Genevieve said.
“I assume your modiste resides in Paris?”
As Genevieve and Lady Kemble discussed fashion, Fanny took Hetty’s arm and drew her away. “You must forgive Mama. It is her disappointment that makes her waspish.”
“Think no more of it, Fanny.” Hetty watched Guy over her friend’s shoulder as he talked to the vicar, at least a head taller than all the men present and by far the most handsome. Nothing could hurt her today, not even Lady Kemble’s ungenerous comments. “No doubt when your mother comes to know Mr. Bonneville, she will warm to him. Where do you plan to live after you marry?”
“With Mama in Digswell for a time. James is to inherit from an elderly aunt, but at this moment, he is rather squeezed for funds.”
“That means we shall see more of each other.”
“Yes, won’t it be wonderful?”
“Fanny? We are leaving,” called Lady Kemble.
As Hetty stood at the door to say farewell to her friend, Guy came and slipped an arm around her waist. “I am returning to the hall.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you there tomorrow.”
Mortified by her laxity in London, Aunt Emily seemed determined to rectify it now. She’d become as diligent as a Spanish duenna. She insisted on accompanying Hetty to Rosecroft Hall the next day which upset Hetty’s plans.
She had hoped to have a quiet talk with Guy. Everything was in readiness—the license had been obtained, the church booked, and the settlement signed. Her pin money was most generous. There was nothing to worry her specifically, and yet she did worry. Guy had been quiet since London, and she sought his reassurance.
Rosecroft Hall bustled with a horde of newly acquired servants as furnishings were replaced, others taken down to be laundered, windows polished, and carpets removed to be cleaned. Men on ladders worked in the grand hall. Gardeners toiled about the grounds weeding and pruning shrubs. Summer was drawing to a close.
Guy seemed quiet. The brilliant blue of his eyes had dimmed. She searched in vain for that devastating look he used to give her, the one that made her weak at the knees without him having to say a word. She could find no spark of humor when she gently teased him. He had not come to terms with his brother’s death, and she wondered if marrying so soon was wise.
She yearned to hold him and draw him out. If he could talk about it, surely it would be better than bottling it up inside.
Hetty seized the moment when they all sat in the drawing room after luncheon. Her aunt and Genevieve engaged in conversation while Eustace nodded by the fire. “I haven’t seen the rest of the house. Could you show me our bedchamber?”
He raised a dark brow at her request but climbed to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Aunt Emily called.
“Guy is showing me more of the house,” Hetty said, giving her a warning look.
“I will enjoy a tour also,” her aunt said in a firm tone, rising to her feet.
Genevieve followed along as the four of them toured the house.
Guy threw open a door. “Eustace has kindly vacated the blue suite. The servants have made it ready for us.”
The beautiful suite was dressed in royal blue velvet, featured a huge four-poster bed. The prospect of lying in bed with Guy made her face warm. Drawing a deep breath and trying to rid herself of the scandalous image, she walked through a door to her dressing room, a generous-sized boudoir with a huge wardrobe, bureau, and a Cheval glass. An escritoire, chair, and bookcase, was placed by the window. “I shall enjoy sitting here, looking over the park.” Hetty examined the dainty desk and opened each small drawer. She found an inkpot, sand container, blotter, and quills and ornate metal pens awaiting her use. “How thoughtful.” She smiled up at him.
“For your writing, letters, and so forth,” he said.
“Not to mention penning poems,” Aunt Emily said. “Thoughtful indeed.”
As her aunt and Genevieve descended the stairs, Hetty slipped her arm though Guy’s. “We’ve missed the spring and most of the summer.”
“We shall enjoy them all the more, next year,” he said with a tender glance.
