Page 13 of Loving Mister Stratford
The next part made the parchment tremble in her fingers. She and her mother were formally invited by the Earl and Countess of Aldborough to stay at the estate so they might have the wedding in Kent and their families could become better acquainted.
Odette had hardly seen and not spoken to her mother since their confrontation. She doubted she’d ever forgive her for her machinations and she knew her mother held fierce grudges; she’d likely not forgotten Odette’s cruel words about love. This letter begged a reply she was unable to provide without her mother’s approval, so there was no avoiding a conversation, no matter how much the thought made her stomach churn. She’d known her mother to be a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted or what she felt she deserved, Odette just hadn’t realized that those ambitions could extend to her own daughter, and to such an unfathomable depth.
She found her mother in her rooms, readying herself to rest before that night’s performance. On the side table sat a delicate china cup Odette knew had contained warm honeyed water—a remedy her mother swore kept her voice in good condition after seemingly endless rehearsals and performances. She was dressed only in her pristine white shift and a rose-colored Oriental silk robe, preparing for her lie down when Odette entered. Though she was a master at masking her emotions and creating personas, there was no denying the ire that Odette recognized in her mother’s delicate features.
“Yes?” her mother asked curtly, not pausing as she turned down her coverlet.
Odette swallowed back her bitterness.“A letter has arrived. From Mr. Stratford.”
“Oh?” This, at last, stilled her mother’s hands.
Odette walked over and handed the letter to her mother, who immediately scanned it once and then again for good measure.
“They are inviting us to Bridleton? To Kent?”
Odette nodded in reply.“It’s a kind offer, given the circumstances. They would like us to have the ceremony at the estate.”
Her mother gave a breathy laugh and returned the letter to Odette as she kicked off her slippers.
“Likely they’re more concerned with saving some face in retreating to the country rather than provide you with an idyllic venue—especially after their foolish son allowed himself to be entrapped—”
“He is not foolish,” Odette snapped, cutting off her mother.
She met Odette’s eyes, but didn’t scold her as she climbed into her gray-and-purple-striped bed.“You know I cannot attend; I’m in the middle of a show. I’ll be damned if I step aside and let that idiot understudy, Ann, take my place,” her mother groused as she tucked herself in atop a mountain of pillows to keep her head elevated almost at sitting height.“She hardly knows her lines, let alone her stage directions. She thinks her pretty young face makes up for a lack of talent—bah!” As always, the conversation was steered back to the theater.
“So, shall I send them our regrets?” The thought made Odette nauseous. She’d briefly allowed herself to be excited by the prospect of meeting Mr. Stratford’s family, of seeing a different, more personal side of him. It didn’t seem that that was meant to be—at least, not before the wedding night. The realization caused a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach; excitement and anxiousness bubbling in equal measures. She couldn’t very well travel to Kent without her mother, let alone be married without her. She was, as always, at the mercy of her mother’s demanding schedule and lifestyle—even when it came to this, perhaps one of the most important events of her life.
“Of course not,” her mother admonished, much to Odette’s surprise.“We shan’t give them any reason to reconsider. No. You must join them as soon as possible. Take Alyssa as chaperone,” she added, speaking of their longtime maid.
“Won’t you require her talents?” Odette asked, but her mother quite literally waved away her protest.
“I’ll find someone else to fill in. Besides, you’ll need her to look your best amongst the Stratfords. You will be the daughter-in-law of an earl, after all. Now, if you’ll leave me, please; I’m behind in my resting.”
With that, Odette was dismissed. She sat down at her writing desk, surprised at the unsteadiness of her fingers as she held her quill.
There was no turning back now.
Two days later, Odette sat in the forward-facing seat of the plush, well-spring Aldborough carriage, her snoring middle-aged maid slouched across from her. Odette was far too nervous to sleep and even the words on the pages in her hands were of no comfort to her. Instead, she could only watch the changing scenery as the city gave way to the countryside, and, eventually, the rolling hills and open sky of Kent.
Late summer seemed to settle in with much more ease here in the country. Birds darted happily through the wind and a thick cover of verdant leaves created a canopy over the road, reaching out from thebranches of gnarled trees. The air felt undeniably cleaner, crisper than London. Life seemed more readily able to bloom and thrive without the suffocating buildings, the stink of the Thames, and the grimy coal smoke choking the air. The only other time she’d traveled had been when she was sent away for school North of London. This journey served only to underscore how little she knew, how much she had yet to see of the world.
They bounced along for what seemed to be interminable hours until they finally turned down a long drive. Odette had thought it was yet another narrow road, but the winding path soon became gravel and the trees began to march in orderly rows. She craned her neck to try to catch a glimpse of the house that awaited her. One window of the carriage proved fruitless, so she scooted over to the other side of the squab. Nothing. If the house was still so far away, then the Stratfords must truly be a wealthy family, indeed, to be able to afford such a long, well-manicured drive across so much land.
It was another quarter of an hour before Odette saw the first spire of the country house. Its shiny shingles winked at her in the afternoon sunlight, teasing her with a tiny glimpse. The path took another bend and she lost sight of it for a few moments until they turned again. This time, the estate came into full view, unhindered by trees.
It was magnificent, like an eclectic fairytale castle. Different architecture from the many decades—if not centuries—of the Aldborough Earldom made appearances throughout its structure, from the large square great hall, the white columns of the entrance, and rows upon rows of crystalline windows, to the tall gray spires and turrets with their archers’slits and undoubtedly superior vantage points. Rather than look mismatched and haphazard, the former earls had taken time to blend the architecture as much as possible, lending an air of love, fantasy, and great care to the building.
Odette was still struggling to keep count of all of the tall, sparkling windows as they pulled up the circular drive. As if on perfect cue, the wide front door opened, and out stepped several footmen in the Aldborough livery, followed by a black-garbed, silver-haired man who could be none other than the butler. She took as deep a breath as she could manage and focused on her gloved fingers clenched in her lap.
This was it.
She was about to meet the family who would become her in-laws. Her mother had made it abundantly clear that crying off the engagement was not an option to even be considered. She was to be stuck with these people, the Stratfords of Kent, whether they were kind or cruel, whether they looked down at their noses for her questionable birth or if they were open-minded enough to accept her, whether or not Mr. Stratford truly cared for her or resented her for the rest of their lives for having his hand forced.
So lost in thought was Odette that she didn’t realize they’d glided to a stop until the carriage door was opened by a footman, flooding the interior in golden sunlight.
She took the proffered hand and stepped into her new life, for better or worse.
Simon allowed his mother to fuss over his cravat one last time before finally shooing her away. No matter how many times he reminded her that he was nearly eight-and-twenty years of age, she continued to peck and fluff like a mother hen. He’d long suffered her well-intentioned ministrations, but he longed for the day that it would no longer be proper for her to do so—even when it was just the family.
