As Charles took her elbow to assist her inside, a scarlet rose landed at his feet. Nellie glanced around. The Frenchwoman stood near one of the constables controlling the crowd. She held the hand of her tiny son beside her. Did she throw the rose?
Nellie couldn’t tell if Charles saw the flower or who tossed it, for he ushered her inside. She arranged the skirts of her wedding gown as he joined her in the carriage. He settled beside her and took her gloved hand in his.
The footman put up the steps and shut the door.
“Nellie, my lovely bride.” Charles leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.
Loud cheering erupted through the coach window from the crowd of onlookers. The coachman’s whip sounded, and the team of matched grays darted forward, the carriage rolling on toward Ludgate Hill.
The reception was held in the ballroom of her parents’ Grosvenor Square home.
Nellie curtsied low before the Prince of Wales. His amused blue eyes studied her bosom displayed by the scooped neckline. “I approve of your bride, Shewsbury,” he commented before strolling away.
Nellie thought him unattractive and licentious as Charles took her to meet other distinguished personages.
Charles’s mother hugged her and then Charles. “A lovely ceremony. I look forward to spending time with you when you come to Shewsbury Park, Nellie.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me when I ask you a hundred questions,” Nellie said. “I have so much to learn.”
“You shall do very well,” the dowager said. “But please don’t hesitate to ask me anything. I approve of both my sons’ brides. I am hopeful at last of gaining at least one grandchild.”
“Just one, Mama?” Jason asked, coming to join them.
She smiled at him fondly. “I’ll leave it in the Lord’s hands.”
Nellie saw the glance which passed between Jason and Charles. They worried about their mother. Although she was elegant and poised and had cast off her blacks to wear lavender, she seemed fragile, and Nellie noticed again that slightly distant air, as if she wasn’t wholeheartedly there with them.
In the supper room, Marie-Antoine Carême’s wedding cake took center stage on the long buffet table. The English plum cake was a tall affair with stiff white icing, lavishly decorated with French flair. An array of delectable dishes and desserts to tempt the guests’ appetites covered the snowy white linen tablecloths.
When the orchestra stuck up the waltz, Charles led her onto the floor and took her in his arms. “And how are you bearing up, my beautiful bride?”
“I feel as if I have one foot in my old life and one in my new,” Nellie confessed.
He gave a wry smile. “It’s my hope that you will feel more like my duchess in the morning.”
“Your Grace!” she murmured, her cheeks heating. Some guests were now joining them on the floor. Sir Lawrence was within earshot and chuckled.
“You are incorrigible, Your Grace.” Nellie couldn’t help smiling. She was happy. She had not tripped or committed some terrible faux pas. At last, she could begin to breathe. Soon, they would depart for Shewsbury Court, leaving the guests to continue to enjoy the party.
Her first night with Charles.She would try to remember what Marian had told her but feared her anxiety would turn her brain to mush. “Surely I must take Charles’s lead and try not to resemble either a startled fawn or a poker,” Nellie had told her sister earlier.
Marian laughed. “As long as you forgeteverythingMama has told you,” she said.
Nellie finally had a chance to talk to Marian. “The wedding will be talked about until Christmastide,” her sister said with an approving smile. “You looked beautiful, and you didn’t stumble or choke on the words as you feared you might.”
Nellie smiled with relief. “Where is Alice? I wanted to congratulate her on her poise. She really is extraordinary for someone of her age.”
“Indeed. She was most indignant when Mama had Miss Dale take her upstairs.”
“I must go and see her before we leave.”
Her visit with Alice over, she left with Charles.
He gave her hand a squeeze in the carriage. “Nellie, you’re trembling.”
She huffed out a breath. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? A perfectly lovely day,” she amended, resting against his arm.
His smile sent her pulse racing. “Yes, my sweet. And it’s not over yet.”
