The viscount didn’t leave, and for the rest of the day he was seen pacing in the garden, astonishingly enough speaking with various folks who lived or worked in the house, and sometimes to the Marchands themselves. Often, just on his own, he walked in the meadow.
Sorrow saw him from her window, and it tinged her day with sadness to know that there was that rift between Bert and his father. That night she didn’t sleep well.
Margaret came in to her early the next day—the wedding breakfast following the ceremony was a morning affair in the garden, of course—and sat on her bed. “How are you this morning, Sorrow?” she said shyly.
She was already dressed in her new lavender gown, filled with nervous anticipation of her role as bride’s attendant, and her hands were elegantly gloved.
“I’m tired,” Sorrow said, yawning hugely. “I don’t think I slept at all.”
“Nervous, I should think,” Margaret returned, blushing. “I would be, to think that that evening . . . you will be . . . I mean—”
“Hmm? Oh, well, yes, I’m a little nervous about that, but Mama has told me there is nothing to be afraid of, you know.”
“Really?”
She looked so disbelieving that Sorrow almost laughed, but was saved by a desire not to hurt Margaret’s feelings, which were often raw and close to the surface. “Really. Mama says it is a little uncomfortable at first when you . . . when . . . well, you know what I mean. But she says it is quite pleasant after a while. She said it’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Margaret looked relieved, but still doubtful. “My mother said it is a torment and that men are brutes once they shed their clothes. She said it is the price women pay for the Original Sin, you know, that and childbirth.”
“And when was your mother ever truthful with you or right about anything?”
Margaret’s expression brightened. “That’s true! My mother has been wrong about other things, too. And your mother always tells the truth. Anyway, we shouldn’t be talking about such things. So if that is not worrying you, what is?”
“It’s this quarrel between Bert and his father. I feel responsible.”
“But your father told your mother that it is Lord Newton’s disagreeable personality that is at fault, and that he could never imagine how such a sterling young man came from such a father.”
“My father said that to my mother in front of you?”
“They didn’t know I was there.” She widened her eyes and put one finger over her mouth. “But I wasn’t eavesdropping, truly, Sorrow, I was in a club chair in the library and didn’t want to interfere when I heard them come in.”
“Margaret!”
The girl began to twist her hands together, but then stopped and said, “I know I should have stood and let them know I was there. I’ll try not to be so shy next time.”
“Especially with Mother and Father!” Sorrow turned back to her own problems and wished things were different. In London, Sorrow had just thought Lord Newton frosty, but now it seemed to her that he had layered his distressing lack of compassion and empathy under a veneer of civilized behavior. How had he turned out a son like Bert? It was a miracle and a blessing, but she would still be his daughter-in-law for the rest of his life and they would have to deal with each other on a continuing basis. And if she had children—
She buried her face in the covers over her knees and felt Margaret’s hand on her head.
“You’re probably just nervous,” she said lightly. “I’ll call the maid. Your mama said you have to get up and get dressed.”
The door closed as Margaret left. It was more than just bride nerves, Sorrow thought, lifting her head and facing her fears. Harmony, that guiding principle in her life, was threatened. She didn’t know if she could go ahead without it.
• • •
Another hour and he would be a married man, Bert thought, pacing anxiously in a quiet part of the enclosed lawn. The ceremony was to be in the tiny ancient chapel beyond the garden, and then the couple would come out to the company and be announced as husband and wife. Then there would be a grand breakfast with the inmates of the house and villagers and invited guests, too, as well as some relatives all mixing in a grand mélange. The seating was already arranged, tables flowing with white cloths fluttering in the breeze.
Bert had thought he would despise this kind of public celebration, but on joining his life with Sorrow’s he felt he was gaining an extended family of such warmth as he had never in his life experienced. He looked up from his contemplation to see his father advancing toward him. He was dressed for the ceremony, so he must have decided to stay. Bert was not sure how he felt about that.
“Bertram,” Lord Newton said, “I need to talk to you.”
“Yes?”
The viscount glared off in the distance, furrowed his brow and said. “I don’t quite know how to say this, but—”
“Then don’t. Father, I thought that I needed your approval—”
“Bertram, I—”
“No! Let me say this,” Bert said, putting up one hand. It seemed that they were going to continue interrupting each other if one of them did not say what he felt. “All my life I did most of what you told me. I did well in school. I shot, I fenced, I hunted. I courted the girls of whom you approved. And then, by the greatest chance in the world—by your urging—I met Sorrow. I think now what a fool I was not to make an effort to get to know her before you pointed her out to me, but I feel certain now that even if you hadn’t, we would have come together. Apparently she saw me and liked me before I ever noticed her. We were meant to be together. And now you cannot turn me away from her. I love her and we’re going to marry today with or without your blessing.”
Lord Newton stared at him, and a smile twisted his lips. At least Bert thought it might be a smile, being unfamiliar with that expression on his father’s face.
“You really should let me speak, you know, for I—”
“Mr. Carlyle!”
Bert turned to see Billy being wheeled toward him by Joshua. “What is it, Billy?”
“Sorrow wants to see you upstairs. She sent me ’specially . . . said it was important.”
“All right, thank you, young fellow. I’ll be back down in a few minutes, Father, and we can continue this conversation if you wish.”
“I do wish,” Lord Newton said. “You and I have much to discuss. But in the meantime, Billy, Joshua and I will stroll in the garden.”
Bert stopped and turned back, the words startled him so much, but his father was already walking along the stone path and questioning Billy about his dragon bush. It was a sight he never would have imagined possible and gave him much food for thought, thought he didn’t have time for it that minute.
His bride-to-be needed him. He raced up the stairs and saw Mrs. Liston on the landing. “Where is Sorrow?”
“In her room, Mr. Carlyle. Go in. She said she needs to talk to you.”
He entered the door he had long known was to her room—long known and tried to forget—and saw her as she turned from the window, the sun touching her golden curls and glinting off the iridescent pale yellow of her gown.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, coming across the room to her.
She held him at arm’s length. “Bert, I thought it didn’t matter.”
“What?”
“I thought your father’s approval or disapproval didn’t matter, but it does. I can’t do it, not without him approving of it.”
“What?” He knew he was repeating himself stupidly, but he felt all the blood drain from his heart, and that organ thudded uncomfortably. It was just like a nightmare, that what he wanted—needed—more than water and sunshine was snatched away just as he reached out his hand. “You can’t mean that.”
“But I do,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve thought about it all night and all morning, but I can’t! I know how much he means to you! If my father didn’t approve—”
“You wouldn’t marry me?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!”
They stared at each other.
“He will approve,” Bert said, through clenched teeth. “If that is what you need to become my bride this morning, then he will approve.”
“But you can’t force approval.”
“Never mind, Sorrow. He will.”
He gave her a quick kiss, then a more lingering one, and raced back down to the garden. His father was standing alone watching Mrs. Liston, who was guiding a couple of ladies from the village to a table in the shade.
“She won’t marry me!”
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Newton said, turning.
“Sorrow,” he grated out between clenched teeth. “She won’t be the cause of a rift between us, she says, because she knows that you are important to me. She will have your approval or she won’t marry me. You will approve, sir, and you will tell her so!”
“Is that any manner to speak to your father?” Lord Newton’s eyes were wintry.
“I don’t care. I won’t beg, I won’t plead, but you will do this.” He glared at his father, and the wintry look in Lord Newton’s gray eyes melted.
His voice oddly gentle, he said, “I will.”
He moved to pass by Bert, but Bert caught his sleeve.
“What?”
“I’m going to tell my future daughter that she must marry you.”
It was the oddest day, Bert thought, feeling dizzy and disoriented. Everything predictable was upside down. He gave his head a shake. “Why?”
“How dull you’re being, Bertram. Of all the things I ever thought of you, I never thought you a dullard.”
“I mean, you don’t approve. Why are you doing this? Just because I want you to?”
“No. How do you know I don’t approve?”
“Because you told me so yesterday.”
“Ah, but have you never heard of a sea change? I never thought such a thing could happen to me, but it has.” He paused, and the oddest expression of discovery crossed his handsome face. “I took your advice—something I have never done before, you will note—and I spent yesterday talking to people, to young Billy and Mr. Marchand and an old old lady named Mrs. Mackintosh. She told me I was a great ass, and that anyone could see the young people were so in love it would be the making of my son; a good woman, she said, while she cannot change a man, can bring out in him the best that is there. And Sorrow was the very best of young women, and young Bertram, she insisted, the very best of young men.”
Bert stared at his father. “I can’t quite believe it is you saying these things. People just do not change overnight.”
“No, I suppose you’re right.” He sounded tired, and looked discouraged, but then brightened. “Tomorrow I will likely be my old incorrigibly overbearing self, so take advantage of this softer . . .” The viscount’s words melted away. He watched Mrs. Liston. “If I had heard Mrs. Mackintosh’s advice thirty years ago, I might have married differently, who knows? There was a woman who loved me, but she told me that I was too pompous for her taste. Like a fool, I let her slip away,” He mused for a moment. “What would I have become if I had found the courage to go after her? She was unsuitable in so many ways, I remember . . . gloriously unsuitable! But I cannot lament, can I? Your mother was a good woman and bore you, and that was an excellent thing for the world.”
“Then you’ll go to Sorrow?”
“I will. She would be a great fool not to marry you. You’re a good man.”
Bert, stunned, stood stock-still as Lord Newton passed him, clapping him on the shoulder in as great a show of affection as he had ever given, and then entered the house.
• • •
Sorrow paced up and down her room. Her gloves were in a damp heap on her dressing table and she was alone, having told her mother and Margaret that she needed a moment. There was a tap at the door and she turned, saying, “Come in.”
Lord Newton entered.
Involuntarily, she found herself thrusting her chin up and donning an expression of defiance. He wouldn’t like what she had to say.
He cleared his throat and just barely entered the room. “Bertram told me—”
“That I wouldn’t marry him without your approval.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’ve been sitting here thinking, and I will not let you ruin my day and our lives.”
“But my dear—”
“Don’t call me that, my lord, when it is quite clear to me that you neither like nor approve of me and my family,” Sorrow said. “But I won’t give him up, and if you reject him . . . reject us . . . then I will work that much harder to make him as happy as he deserves. I love him too much. I won’t let him go.”
The viscount smiled. “I’m relieved to hear it, my dear. But really, there’s no need for such vehemence. You will become wrinkled if you frown so fiercely.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My whole life, Miss Marchand—may I call you Sorrow?—my whole life I have felt that the dignity of our family name was so great that I, and then Bertram when his time comes, must serve it, like serfs, you know. It required certain things of us, and one was to comport ourselves with great dignity. Another was to marry properly, a girl who would go along with our beliefs. I was misled by your mild London behavior to think you such a girl.”
“And now?”
“Now I have undergone a change, and begin to think I should turn things around and make my name and position serve me, not the other way around.”
Sorrow felt a great weight slip from her shoulders. “Does this mean you approve?”
“I suppose I do. At least I have said so to Bertram, though he was willing to badger me into approving just to convince you to marry him. He is in love with you, and I can’t say that I blame him. You are an adorable girl and a valuable addition to our family.”
She flew at him on an impulse and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him so hard they both rocked backward. He laughed, at first stiffly, sounding like a creaky gate, and then in great whoops.
“How lucky I am you are not a young lady to hold grudges.”
“So, I can see I am either to be a groom this day or acquire a new stepmother. Which is it to be?”
Sorrow peeked around the viscount and saw Bert standing just inside the door, lounging against the doorjamb. She would never have expected such dry wit from him, and realized she still had much to learn about Bertram Carlyle. And many years, if they were lucky, in which to do it. She felt a shiver of anticipation race down her spine.
“Father, will you leave us alone for a minute?” he said, with an odd anticipatory gleam in his gray eyes.
“No,” the viscount said, taking Sorrow’s arm and guiding her from the room. “You two will have time enough for all you want to say. But first, I will see you married.”
• • •
Most of the folks gathered for the breakfast tried to crowd into the tiny chapel, and there was much rustling and talking and laughter. The old house of worship had not seen service as a wedding chapel in many years, and most of the villagers had never seen the interior, so there was that to be discussed, too. Jacob danced the aisles while Billy laughed, and the brilliant sunlight streamed through the ancient stained glass windows, throwing colorful patterns over the congregation.
Lord Newton would allow no one but himself to carry in Mr. Howard, who smiled through the entire ceremony, while Mrs. Marchand cried and Mr. Marchand tried not to. The solemnity of the vows was interrupted many times, and in many ways.
Harriet Linton, Sorrow noticed, could not help but gasp when she saw Lord Newton’s new behavior. Tears sparkled in her eyes in the dim chapel light when he held Billy on his lap temporarily, so the boy could see the ceremony. It was too much of a change, Sorrow felt; she feared it. She mistrusted it. But it continued while toasts were made repeatedly, through the long riotous wedding breakfast that stretched late into the afternoon.
But finally the day was done. Exhausted, Sorrow changed into a traveling dress, visited the old people, each in turn, and kissed Miss Chandler what she knew would be a last good-bye. A posy from Sorrow’s wedding bouquet adorned the old lady’s bedside table. She wept a few tears for the life slipping away while hers was beginning, then descended. Billy and Joshua, Letty, Nancy Smith, Mr. William . . . all had their moment with her. She spent a half hour alone with her father and mother, where the tears flowed freely, tears mingled with laughter and reminiscing. The Marchands would miss her, but knew with Bertram she would be all right.
And finally, as the sky turned pink-gold and the brick of Spirit Garden a deep umber, she joined her husband in the carriage that was to carry them the short distance to Dover and their hotel for the first night of their marriage. The next day they would board a boat for Europe and their wedding trip.
“Look,” Sorrow said as they pulled away from Spirit Garden, down the lane. “Your father has Mrs. Liston on his arm. Do you think—”
“What? Do I think that my father and the widow would make a fine couple, if she’ll have him? And that perhaps she will be just as good for him as you are for me?”
Sorrow, laughing, turned around in her seat and snuggled close to her new husband. “I think I’ll stop now, for you are far too adept at reading my mind. Or no . . . one more time. What am I thinking now?”
Bertram slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “That we cannot get to the hotel in Dover nearly quickly enough.” He nuzzled her ear.
She chuckled, a throaty murmur of sound. “Almost right, Mr. Carlyle. I was thanking your brilliant foresight in getting a closed carriage for the short trip, and wondering if the shades pull all the way down.”
“Do you even have to ask?” Bert said, putting the answer to her question into action. The shades drawn, the carriage was pleasantly dim, and there were a few moments with no sound but the occasional giggle and some rather raspy breathing.
“I hope Dover is not far,” Sorrow finally said.
“I hope,” Bert fervently agreed.