Page 57 of To Tame the Wild Rake
The gist was immediately clear. The Duke of Haverford had died peacefully in his sleep in the early hours of yesterday morning. Charlotte’s immediate thought was that Anthony was in mourning, and they would have to put off the wedding.
Anthony did not agree. “I will have to tell Mama and your uncle, my darling,” Anthony said, as he folded the pages again. “I would like to ask them to keep it a secret until after we are married. Do you agree? It is nobody else’s business, after all.”
Charlotte thought there might be some disagreement on that. “You had better let the Prince Regent know when he arrives,” she warned him.
“Yes. Wales will kick up stiff if we spring it on him when Basingstoke introduces us to the witnesses as the Duke and Duchess of Haverford.” He grinned at the thought, and added, “He won’t mind as long as he knows. He didn’t like my father either.”
Two hours later, they were dressed in their finery. Either Clarke and Anthony’s valet had coordinated their efforts, or some good spirit had decided to bless the union, for both bride and groom were dressed in shades of green and gold.
Charlotte wore a new gown she had ordered in March and never worn. It was of the palest mint with great flounces of cream lace embroidered with golden and silver flowers backed by a tracery of rifle green leaves. The fabric of Anthony’s coat matched the tracery, and the thick embroidery that trimmed the edges was gold and silver. He wore the coat over a gold waistcoat and cream breeches, and his cravat was pinned with a cut emerald that matched the one in the centre of the necklace Aunt Eleanor had brought to Charlotte while she was getting dressed.
A necklace, earrings and tiara—gold set with pearls and diamonds, accented with those brilliant emeralds. “Aldridge—Haverford, I mean; it shall be so hard to get used to saying that—Haverford wanted you to wear these today, Charlotte. They are not Haverford stones, but came to him from my mother.” Her eyes filled with tears. “You will look lovely in them, dearest.”
Charlotte accepted her hug and kissed her on the cheek. Anthony was still angry with his mother, she knew, but Aunt Eleanor had meant well, after all. She gave the jewellery case to Clarke and sat to have the tiara carefully inserted into her coiffure and the earrings and necklace put on.
Then it was time to go down, to a chapel filled with flowers and guests. Nearly all of them were family, on one side or the other, and in some way, including the Overtons.
Anthony was pale, except where one of his bruises stood vivid purple over one of his cheeks. Still, he refused to sit in a chair, but stood tall beside Charlotte, saying his vows in a clear voice that sounded through the chapel.
Then came the moment that they turned to the witnesses and Basingstoke’s voice rang out. “Your Highnesses, Your Graces, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Duke and Duchess of Haverford.”
Her hand through his arm, Charlotte felt Anthony stiffen at the title. She had just enough time to whisper, “I love you, Anthony,” before the Prince Regent reached them, to shake the new duke’s hand and salute the new duchess with a kiss.
Epilogue
May 1816, London
Today’s boisterous family gathering at Fournier’s pastry shop was a final get-together before the Duke and Duchess of Haverford sailed for the continent. They were taking the wedding journey they’d had no time for last year. Their wedding had been followed by the funeral of the former duke, and then His Grace had taken his seat in the House of Lords in the anxious six weeks that remained before Napoleon was finally defeated at what was now being called the Battle of Waterloo.
Marrying the day after his father’s death was a minor scandal, but the erstwhile Marquis of Aldridge said he could not cope without his beloved, and his mother and her uncle supported him. All the other scandals that Wharton had tried to stir died with the villain, for Haverford and Winshire allies, from the Prince Regent down, spread the story of the jealous schoolboy turned slum king who had used lies and violence to pursue revenge for imagined slights even against two of the highest families in the land.
Now, with Europe at peace again and the ducal estates all in order, Cherry and Anthony were off to visit Anthony’s brother Jonathan in the small grand duchy of Elchenburg, somewhere to the east of the German Confederation.
Tony was going with them to meet Jonathan, who had cheerfully confirmed by letter that Tony’s mother had been one of his firstaffaires de coeur. He proclaimed himself keen to meet his son. Tony was less certain about meeting Jonathan, declaring that David Wakefield was his father now. Cherry and Anthony would have kept him. Jonathan, with the consent of the Grand Duchess, had offered him a permanent home in Elchenburg.
Given a choice between three households, he had joined the growing Wakefield clan, the second oldest after Antonia. The Wakefields also had seven other children, four more of whom had been brought into their family as strays.
The entire crowd of Wakefields, down to the baby, had come to see the Haverfords and Tony off. So had Mama with Aldridge’s youngest sister, Frances, Uncle James, Aunt Georgie and Aunt Letty, and Cherry’s mother. Plus, all the other brothers, sisters, and cousins of the duke and duchess. Which meant a crowd of Hamners, Lechtons, Suttons, Chirburys, Ashburys, Redepennings, and Winderfields. The Overtons were there, too. Cherry had insisted on the invitation, telling everyone that he and Lord Overton were close enough to be brothers and she and Lady Overton had a lot in common.
Leaving aside the nursemaids, footmen and guards—which they never did, ensuring that they had their own refreshments while the family enjoyed theirs—they were fast growing sizeable enough for a battalion.
Jessica was absent. She and the Earl of Colyton had been wed last week, and were travelling to his country estate on their own marriage journey. Anthony knew that Cherry was uneasy about the match, but Jessica was determined and the Dowager Duchess was satisfied, so Anthony had given the bride away with a plea to a higher power to look after her. Jessica did make a lovely bride.
Mama and Uncle James were sitting together, smiling at their gathered families. They had begun their weekly meetings again once Mama was out of her blacks. Would anything more come of it? Anthony hoped so.
He turned his attention from them to watch Cherry as she moved among the crowd, stopped often by a little girl or boy and bending to hear whatever secret they wanted to whisper to their Auntie Cherry. She was a favourite with the children, who had adopted Anthony’s name for her, though they still addressed him as Uncle Haverford.
He saw her brace herself as she greeted each infant, though he was certain no one else noticed. The family had produced several babies in the year since their wedding, and each was a stab to his Cherry’s heart. He loved her all the more for the gallant way she pasted on a smile, embroidered tiny caps and gowns as gifts, accepted the responsibility of being a godmother, and doted on each tiny being with all the appearance of delight.
He could give her every material possession she might wish. He could, and did, give her himself. He would give her this, if he could. They had spoken of taking wards, as his mother had. But Charlotte wanted to wait. She had conceived once, almost six months ago, and carried the baby for three months before losing it.
“Perhaps,” she said, “we might be granted our Samuel.” He had told her Arthur Beauclair’s remark about Samuel and John the Baptist, and she had immediately connected it with two barren women, Hannah and Elizabeth, who were at last given sons.
And perhaps, while they were with Jonathan, he could convince his brother and his brother’s wife to let him foster one of their sons in a decade or so, once he was old enough to go away to school, and educate him to be duke after him.
All Anthony really needed was his Cherry.
Second Epilogue
