“Just because I don’t spend half my life in front of the looking glass and the other half being fitted for the latest fashions on Jermyn Street, does not make me a ruffian,” Ambrose returned, laughing.
“Touché,” admitted Colin with a shrug of shoulders in a perfectly cut suit. “But just look at your stock… Your valet must live on the edge of his nerves. There really are limits.”
“The new Duchess of Westall seems to approve of my appearance well enough,” Ambrose defended himself. “I shall bow to her judgement and not yours.”
“Looking forward to the wedding night, are you?” asked the Duke of Redford with a grin. “If you have any sense, you’ll sweep your new duchess away from here as quickly as possible and seek her approval in matters other than dress.”
“There is no hurry,” Ambrose demurred, his eyes turning again to Lady Frances, still talking to Lady Levene and Winifred, crouched down at ground level beside the child and showing her the flowers in her bridal bouquet.
To his surprise, when Frances stood again, Winifred took her hand quite happily and allowed her beloved great-grandmother to walk away and leave her there with her new stepmother. Usually, it would take several days for Winnie to become accustomed to a new acquaintance, if she ever did at all.
“No hurry? You look at her with such desire and there is no hurry?” Colin teased him.
“You mistake a look of admiration and gratitude for something baser, old friend,” Ambrose corrected him. “She is making great progress with Winnie and I should not wish to interrupt. In terms of a wedding night, I shall have to proceed slowly, in any case.”
“Really? When we met, Lady Frances did not strike me as the shrinking virgin type. She is virtuous, of course, but I also suspect you will find the knowledge and understanding of an intelligent woman of three-and-twenty sufficient to guarantee mutual satisfaction.”
The Duke of Westall gave another long, slow exhalation.
“It is not so simple a matter as it seems to be in your head, Colin. You imagine women are either naive and silly about sexual relations, or understanding and eager.”
“In my experience, yes, one or the other,” agreed the Duke of Redford affably.
“Not in mine. Tell me, where am I to begin with a woman who seems to understand such matters well enough, even to be capable of passion, but somehow opposed to her own enjoyment?”
“Be patient, Ambrose,” said his grandmother’s voice, the stalwart and vigorous old lady seeming to appear from nowhere, “and do fix that stock. It’s all awry again.”
The Duke of Redford collapsed in laughter, either at Euphemia Wilson’s comments, or the Duke of Westall’s reddening face on hearing them.
“I did warn you about the stock,” Colin tutted. “Lady Levene, may I fetch you more champagne while you rectify matters of dress with your grandson?”
“Thank you, young man,” agreed the old lady and then turned back to Ambrose, bidding him bend down to her level.
“Only if you don’t fasten it so tight this time, Grandmother,” Ambrose told her before acceding to her demands. “I do need to breathe, you know.”
Lady Levene’s nimble fingers quickly straightened and re-pinned the errant cloth, thankfully taking note of Ambrose’s wishes.
“Be patient with your bride,” she repeated herself as she worked. “Love often comes when you least expect it, and is worth waiting for. I should know, having been in love three times myself. Maybe four, if you count the stableboy I mooned over at fourteen.”
Ambrose laughed and stood up straight again when she released him.
“I am not looking for love, Grandmother. You know that and so does my wife. Understanding, liking and respect, certainly, but neither of us expects to fall in love.”
“If you say so, Grandson,” she returned with a rather impish grin for so venerable a lady. “Still, whatever else you do, be patient with that wife of yours. I think you will find her a treasure.”
Together now the looked across the room to where Winnie was now skipping happily with her new stepmother, the bridal bouquet given over to her small hands, and a tender expression on Frances’ face.
“Yes, I do believe I might,” Ambrose agreed.
Frances adjusted her hat in the mirror of one of Scovell Hall’s small sitting rooms and fastened the buttons of her jacket. This was the last hour she would spend under the roof of her childhood home as a member of the household.
Her baggage had already been taken to Westall Park the previous day and the Duke of Westall had already gone out to the carriages with his daughter and grandmother, understanding that Frances would want a few minutes alone to say goodbye to her family and old home.
She had already said a cheerful farewell to Beatrice, who looked forward only to visiting Westall Park as soon as possible, and acurt goodbye to her father, whom she hoped would be less keen to visit. Now Frances must seek out her mother.
“There you are!” gushed Helen Harcourt’s familiar voice, as the sitting room door opened. “I was just helping Great Aunt Caroline. Well, I’m glad I’ve caught you by yourself at last. There was something I wanted to say to you before you left…”
Looking at Helen Harcourt’s flustered face, Frances laughed aloud and kissed her mother on both cheeks.
