Page 67 of Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly
Chapter 18
Wednesday, May 29, 1816
Charlton Manor
The next morning, Fifi donned a new white sarsnet gown. She’d ordered it from the local Wells seamstress, asking that it be of simple cut, much as had been Princess Charlotte’s when she married May second. The dressmaker had happily produced it with speed. The dress, trimmed at neckline and hem in ruched blue ribbons because Rory wanted something on her gown to match her eyes, had been measured for her soon after her arrival. But today, the bodice was decidedly tighter. And her breasts were decidedly tender.
She quizzed her image in the cheval mirror. Was she…?
No. How could she be?
Oh, shecouldbe! She most definitely could be…with child.
A hand went to her mouth.
But she laughed.
Rory and she had had only that one night together. Here at his home, they had not enjoyed themselves with each other. Her heart had not been inclined to passion in the midst of her grief. Her shedding of her old life, her old challenges and fears, had required the days of quietude. How fitting that now she was ready to become Rory’s wife and lover, that she should also suspect she would bear his child. And happily so.
She sailed downstairs on wings of promise.
The vicar arrived to the minute and the butler showed him into the green salon. The day was bright and sunny and when Fifi asked Rory if he would mind if they said their vows on the veranda, he beamed at her. In the rays of the sun with the breeze billowing through the trees and the scent of roses wafting close, they repeated their vows.
With the simplicity of the short ceremony, she was his wife. He, her husband.
The five of them adjourned to the dining room for a breakfast feast. Star was at Fifi’s heels.
“Have you decided what to pack?” Rory asked his mother and sister from his place at head of the table.
“I’m finished,” said Annalise. “I’d like new clothes for my London life.”
He playfully scolded her with his grey eyes narrowed.
“I am within my allowance, never fear.”
“From the books,” he said, “I detect you haven’t spent the half of it for the past three years.”
She shrugged. “I haven’t had a reason. So now I shall be a light of London society.”
“And you, Mama?”
“Yes, dear?” The woman lifted her glass, filled as it was for the third time this morning with white wine. “My maid is nearly done with my trunks. We are off at nine tomorrow.” She seemed to shiver in excitement.
Rory grinned at Fifi, then at his mother. “I was thinking about your story yesterday.”
“Oh?” She took a long draught. “Which story was that?”
“You told us you go to Venice.”
“I do indeed.”
“You said you accepted an invitation from someone you admire.”
“I do admire him.”
Rory went still. He checked his sister’s gaze and then his mother’s. “Him.”
“Yes, dear.”
