Page 27 of Grasp the Thorn
“And Jeffreys,” Bear decreed. “He will drive you to the ferry and cross with you.”
“We will be some time,” Rosa told Jeffreys the following day, after she had consulted with the dressmaker. “Meet us back here in two and a half hours, Jeffreys.” An hour for the fitting. At least an hour to wait while they made the final adjustments, and thirty minutes for a final fitting just to be certain that the gown was perfect.
After Sukie had been dispatched with the dressmaker’s maid to fetch Rosa a cup of tea, Rosa asked the dressmaker for directions to a place she could send a letter. Delighted that the post location was no more than a couple of streets away, she then put the letter out of her mind to focus on the gown.
It was the most beautiful gown Rosa had ever seen; not the lightweight, shimmering silk that Bear had initially picked, suitable only for evening, but a figured silk in a slightly heavier weave, made up as a day gown, with a modest scooped bodice and long sleeves. The dusky pink ground bore a repeated motif of stripes and flowers, and the effect was enhanced by embroidery on the cuffs and hem, using the same shapes and slightly darker colours.
The dressmaker and her seamstresses fussed over the exact fit of the bodice and the length of the cuffs. There was a pelisse, too, short waisted and in a darker rose.
She enjoyed the fitting much more than she had expected, which made the hour fly past. “We have little to do, ma’am,” the dressmaker said, at last. “An hour, no more. You are welcome to wait, or if you have errands…?”
An hour. With the last of the hen money in her reticule, and a wedding present for Bear to purchase, an hour would be barely enough time. But first, the letter. The final version, although brief, addressed the essentials.
To Mrs Belle Raithby,
I am given to believe that we are related, ma’am. If this is so, then you may be the only person in the world who knows the truth of it, for Mrs Neatham, your sister, has been gone for more than twenty years, and Mr Albert Neatham is failing in his mind.
If it does not give you pain to acknowledge this voice from your past, I would be pleased to hear from you, and to have the opportunity to correspond with the last surviving member of my family.
Yours sincerely
Rosabel Marianne Neatham
Rose Cottage, Kettlesworth
Posting it was easy enough. She told Sukie to wait at the door, lined up at the rear of a short queue, and had soon handed over the princely sum of a shilling to send the letter to the Marquess of Raithby’s London address.
Her remaining mission proved more difficult. Anything she saw that she liked was beyond the price she could afford, until just before the hour ended, when she found a set of four botanical paintings, framed and hung in a square.
“How much for four frames of this size?” she asked the shop assistant. By the time she had convinced him that she wanted just the frames, and bargained for a price, she was some ten minutes late returning to the dressmaker, who didn’t turn a hair. Rosa, who had often been kept waiting much longer by customers, apologized and was told it was of no account.
What a thing it is to be the one spending money.
Soon, she was dressed in all her finery. The dressmaker had taken delivery of the matching slippers and gloves she and Bear had ordered last week, and the milliner who shared the same premises brought through the bonnet on which she and the dressmaker had collaborated—a soft version of the rose pink, trimmed with ribbons that picked up the colours in the gown, and with silk flowers made to mimic the embroidery.
Rosa smiled at her image. She looked almost pretty. She hoped Bear thought so.
Rosa glowed. It was the only word Bear could find to match the reality. From the moment Jeffreys had handed her down from the chaise and delivered her to Bear’s waiting arm, he had been awestruck. She had gained a little weight in the weeks since he first met her, and, of course, she wore a pretty new gown, but there was more to the change than additional curves and fine feathers. She looked happy. Happy and confident. The glow suited his fairy but made Bear nervous. It would be his challenge to keep her happy, and he was by no means certain he was up to the job.
The usual Sunday service first, where their banns were read for the third time, and then the wedding ceremony. Bear had Caleb as his witness, and Rosa had asked Sukie.
Neatham, neatly dressed and carefully attended by Jeffreys and Maggie, sat in the Thorne Hall box, watching the proceedings with interest. “I am glad he married her,” he said loudly, at one point. “Rosie will be pleased. She does worry about Belle.”
Bear had assumed that their small household would be the entire congregation, but many of those who’d been to Matins stayed on, and Bear and Rosa exited the church to the acclaim of dozens of well-wishers.
Bear had bespoken lunch at the inn, and, on an impulse, sent Caleb on ahead to warn the innkeeper that their numbers were augmented, before inviting anyone who wished to join them.
They crowded into the inn, where the landlord put out a magnificent spread, and the village settled in to celebrate. Bear resigned himself to a couple of hours, at least, until they could get away.
They were soon separated, each surrounded by a cluster of villagers. Bear kept a weather eye on Rosa’s father, but relaxed when Jeffreys and Maggie kept Neatham company and plied him with food. Bear was also conscious, at every moment, of Rosa’s location in the room, as if a tether connected them through which flowed her delight in this celebration.
Each time he managed to work his way back to her, she greeted him happily. He didn’t think they’d seen the last of the Pelman poison, but he did not want it to spoil this day for her.
He came up as Rosa was showing her ring to some of the farm matrons. It was a pretty thing; gold in the form of flat braids, with etched roses and a setting of five tiny roses moulded in gold, each with a diamond glinting at its centre. “It was my great aunt’s,” he told her, when he had an opportunity to speak quietly in her ear. “If you prefer something new…” He had sent for it the day he had proposed. Aunt Clara had worn it always, until the day she had given it to Bear. He remembered her words as if it were yesterday. This is for the bride you choose, Hugh. My John put it on my finger on my wedding day. May it see you and your wife as happy as we were.
Rosa’s smile deepened. “This is perfect, Hugh. I will treasure it all the more because it was your aunt’s.”
They were called from their private moment by Caleb, who wanted to propose a toast. “To Mr and Mrs Gavenor. May this be the first of a lifetime of celebrations.”
