Grant chuckled. “Methinks you doth protest too much, Jack.”
Jack grinned despite himself as they skirted a hedgerow. “One doesn’t need to be in love to appreciate good poetry.” He sought to change the subject. “What about you? I gather a lady has yet to steal your heart?”
“Nicely deflected, Jack.” Grant settled his hat more firmly on his head. “I grow weary of debutantes. Frightened fawns, most of them. And their mothers!” He shuddered.
They strolled through the superb parkland approaching the renowned gardens designed by Capability Brown: lush lawns dotted with Cedars of Lebanon, London Plane trees and weeping willow trees along the banks of the lake. “Not surprising, when you’re the most sought-after bachelor in London,” Jack said. “You might want to choose a bride, just so you can find some peace.”
Grant frowned. “Marriage doesn’t necessarily bring peace.”
Jack recalled Grant’s parents’ fraught relationship. Now a widow, his mother had at last begun to enjoy life. “Is Aunt Elizabeth here?”
“No, Mother has settled in the London house with great enthusiasm. She’s always off attending an affair or other, so I seldom see her.” Grant pursed his lips. “But every so often, she holds a soiree or dinner party for the specific reason of introducing me to some debutante.”
“Ah.”
He scowled. “And she makes no secret of which of them she favors.”
Jack slapped him on the back. “Buck up. You might agree with her choice one of these days.”
*
Erina stood beforethe cheval mirror while her aunt fastened the pearl buckle on the white, satin girdle at her back. It was a lovely gown. Made by a modiste in London of sheer muslin over white satin, ornamented at the border with narrow, quilted flounces. The bust was trimmed with beautiful lace, as were the short sleeves. Her hands trembled a little as she pulled on the long, white kid gloves and gently patted her hair, dressed in the Roman style, a short, delicate veil falling from the tiara of pearls.
“You look beautiful, Erina,” said her aunt, resplendent in lilac silk. “This gown sets off your wonderful hair perfectly. Just like your mother on her wedding day.”
Erina examined herself in the mirror. Would Harry approve? She touched the pearls as grief at her mother’s absence made her fear she might cry. She swallowed and banished them, gazing over her shoulder. “Mama wore white?”
“No, white and cream were not fashionable for brides before Princess Charlotte’s wonderful silver wedding gown set the Town ablaze. Your mother wore blue, as I recall, or was it green? She looked perfectly lovely in it.”
Erina wished she didn’t feel so alone. She hadn’t even been able to invite her friends she’d made in London last year. But they lived so far away, it was doubtful they could have made the journey at such short notice.
“I remember your mother’s first introduction to the family,” her aunt continued. “Furious with my brother’s choice, our father almost refused to acknowledge her.”
Erina touched her mother’s pearl necklace at her throat and admired the matching pearl-and-diamond earrings. If only Mama were here beside her. Aunt Abbie was obliging, but she did talk so.
“My goodness, you’re pale, Erina. A touch of rouge.” Her aunt hurried to her room. She returned and urged Erina to sit before the dressing-table mirror. “No need for anyone to know,” she said as she applied a little to Erina’s cheeks. “That’s much better. Bite your lip, dear. Like this.” Her aunt’s visage appeared over her shoulder in an odd grimace. “You should be sparkling with excitement, not drifting about like a waif. Why, when I married Herbert, I declare I was…”
As Aunt Abbie’s voice droned on, Erina’s thoughts drifted. What was Harry thinking? Was he eager to marry her, or deeply disappointed? They could have prevented this marriage if only she’d stayed in London and not dragged him off to Ireland. The only pleasing thing in the whole affair was Cathleen’s glowing letters, filled with joy now that her beau, Mr. Leahy, had returned to Naas.
In her quiet moments, Erina was forced to admit that she’d beenrunning away, afraid life would not measure up to her dreams. Poor Harry. Struck down by Gormley and now forced to marry her. Tears blurred her reflection in the mirror. She blinked them away, fearing they would run down her cheeks and ruin her aunt’s efforts. Would Harry ever forgive her for placing him in this position?
“Now for the shawl, my dear. My wedding present to you.” Aunt Abbie slipped the gossamer shawl, light as a feather, over Erina’s shoulders. “Remember to remove it before you walk down the aisle.” She sighed. “Your young man will fall at your feet when he sees you. I can’t wait to meet him. My brother has nothing but praise for him…”
Erina walked ahead of her aunt. She paused, with a hand on the banister. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Aunt Abbie.” She swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. “I don’t know how I would have managed without you.”
“Pish. No need for that.” Aunt Abbie patted her arm. “Do smile, Erina. You’re so pretty when you do. Just like your mother. What a pity she’s…”
Erina forced a smile onto her lips and clutched the stair rail, fearing her legs wouldn’t carry her safely down. As her father considered it best, due to the circumstances, for the wedding to be a simple affair, she didn’t need bridesmaids. She descended the stairs with her aunt in a hat trimmed with violets behind her. Her father in his dark suit waited for her at the bottom, his expression one of pride and perhaps a little relief.
He offered her his arm. She transferred her bouquet to her left hand and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. He patted her hand, a trace of sadness in his eyes. “You look very lovely, indeed, Erina. Be happy.”
Sensing he thought of her mother, she nodded and squeezed his hand. “I will be.” And if this was to be a marriage of convenience only, she was determined that Papa would never learn of that fact.
Chapter Nineteen
Jack stood inthe earl’s noisy drawing room at Rountree Park, where the guests had congregated to chat after returning from Harry and Lady Erina’s wedding, which had been held in the old stone parish church. The rich aromas of coffee and chocolate blended with the scents of flowers decorating every niche. Jack raised his champagne flute to Harry as they stood together. “Here’s to a nursery filled with redheaded offspring.”
“Heaven help me!” Harry exclaimed in a shocked voice, but he proudly gazed in Lady Erina’s direction.
