Prudence and the Romantic Poet (The Three Graces #3)

Chapter 33

33

The period of national grieving for the king ended in time for Prudence’s wedding guests to be unhindered by mourning clothes. Everyone turned out in their finery.

It was Prudence’s wish to be married in Lindford’s Church of the Good Shepherd, as her sisters had done.

It is a rare wedding day that happens without hitch or cumbrance, but Prudence’s started out in a fair way to be one of those rare events, even if it did not end so.

The fortnight before her wedding had been a lion of March days – all roaring winds and biting rains, but April came, and the morning of her wedding was a lamb – fluffy white clouds and gentle sunshine. Even the hedgerows seemed to bear a fresh garland of spring flowers that had not been there the day before. Or so Prudence thought as the carriage bore her through the village lanes to the church.

All Lindford came to give their blessing to the young Miss Grace they had watched grow from an elfin fifteen-year-old child with the impossibly large eyes who had blossomed into a stylish young lady.

Her wedding gown was of a simple style, but her veil, gifted to her by her godmother, was of exquisite lace, and the bandeau that secured the veil, a gift from Mrs Hastings, was of the finest pearls, for everyone agreed that pearls with their soft luminescence and graceful globes suited Prudence more than any hard-edged faceted jewels.

All the family were present. Every pupil from the village school was gifted a shilling piece and a promise of wedding cake.

Some friends were unable to attend, such as the dowager Lady Heath, but she sent a handsome gold clock with a written quip about it being high time that Robert finally settled down, and a request to be their first caller when they were returned to Bath, for she took all the credit for their union as their matchmaker.

Her daughter, Lady Sally Heath, sent a poem of congratulations in mis-spelled French, and a promise of a dinner in their honour on their return.

Duke Finnistone gave his sister-in-law away, and Arthur Shelbourne, newly married in Bath, had postponed his continental wedding trip to remain in England that he might be best man to his cousin.

Little Alexander Hart came to the church with tearstained cheeks, because Hannibal was confined to the stable for the morning. Nothing could make Alex accept that dogs were not appropriate in church, for it was his opinion that if God made Hannibal as he did Alex, then God would be as pleased to see his animal friends as much as he did people.

There was nothing Charity or Leon could say to dissuade Alex from this theological stance, and Charity was quite sure that Alex’s complaints that his new shoes pinched him and his new shirt itched him were the expression of displaced aggrievement that she could do nothing to alter .

Despite this, Alex did manage a creditable job as page boy. On reaching the altar he considered his assignment complete and tugged off the objectionable shoes to stand through the ceremony in his stockinged feet. This made his mother blush, but she deemed it wise not to detract from the service by accosting her small and strong-willed son in public. Thus, Charity was too distracted in watching Alex for signs of a removal of the new frilled shirt that he said scratched his chin to notice her sister Constance’s frequent winces of pain.

Neither did Constance’s husband notice, for he had his back to her while he sat to the left of the altar in the seat allocated to him after leading the bride to her groom.

Four-and-a-half-year-old Mercy Annabel Finnistone carried out her duty as bridesmaid with the utmost diligence, considering her role to be almost equal in importance as that of the bride. When she gave one glance back at her mother to gain a sign of approval from her on her success in petal strewing, her mother managed to smile at her, and Merry-Ann could not see that the smile did not reach her mother’s eyes, for the pink-dyed feathers from Mrs Amabel Ramsbottom’s hat bobbed up and down and obscured Merry-Ann’s view.

So Constance gritted her teeth and prayed fervently for God to either miraculously slow down the process of labour that was gripping her, or miraculously speed up the wedding ceremony that she might make a swift exit home before things advanced any further.

If anyone noticed Constance’s tears of vexation that she should go into labour on the day that should be all devoted to her sister’s happiness, they only accorded the tears as those usually shed at weddings.

Constance did have one particularly sharp contraction, and could not restrain a cry escaping her, but this occurred in the middle of a rousing chorus of All Things Bright and Beautiful , and so it was only thought that she was unusually off-key, an aberration that was likewise accounted for by the emotions of the day.

But when the vicar asked the congregation if there be any person present who knew of any lawful impediment to this marriage, they must declare it now, a second strong labour pain gripped Constance and she cried out, startling the whole of the church.

A good deal of drama now broke the holy hush before the altar at this cry – Duke Finnistone vaulted over a pew to reach his wife, while the bride peremptorily threw back her wedding veil that obscured her vision to hurry to her sister.

The bridesmaid cast her basket of petals aside to run to her mama; the fragrant flower petals were strewn across the pew on the groom’s side where a great-aunt of Sir Robert’s, who suffered acutely from allergies to any kind of pollen or scented flowers, broke into violent sneezes.

Alex Hart took full advantage of his mother and father being distracted, and tugged off the itching shirt and threw it in the baptismal font with the cunning knowledge that he could not be made to put it back on once it was sopping wet.

Constance was taken up in her husband’s arms and put into the family carriage. Fortunately, one of the guests was the village midwife, so she was borne away with them.

Prudence and Charity begged to be allowed to come, but Constance, in between pangs that took away her power of speech, begged earnestly and breathlessly that the ceremony continue, or she would never forgive herself for ruining Prudence’s wedding more than she had already.

Prudence submitted, seeing that any other outcome would add to her sister’s distress, and promised her that having her new nephew or niece arrive would be the most delightful wedding gift she could ever wish for.

The carriage departed, with Finn putting his head out of the window to shout to the coachman to go as speedily as he could, and the midwife putting her head out of the other window to shout to the coachman not to drive too fast over any jarring ruts in the road. Fortune aided Constance, for the recent rains had softened the ruts in the roads, while the recent winds had dried the worst of the mud so that no carriage wheels would stick fast.

The whole of the congregation had come out into the churchyard to follow this departure, and were now herded unceremoniously back in, for Prudence begged that the service be completed with the utmost haste that she might hurry home to see that all was well with her sister.

The vicar declared later that he had never in his forty years of ministry performed a wedding service with such haste. The vows were speedily exchanged, and all background noise was ignored, including the sobs of Merry-Ann who was grieving in equal parts for Mama and Papa, and for her loss of petals, for now she had none to strew before the bride at the end of the service.

Alex Hart had been removed from the vicinity of the altar, being unfit for public appearance now that he was shoeless and shirtless. His grandmama, Mrs Hastings, made him suffer the ignominy of having his bare torso draped in a pink chiffon wrap borrowed from her sister Amabel.

Sir Robert’s sneezing relation sneezed until the end of the hasty service, and when the vicar assured the groom that he might now kiss his bride, it was the quickest of pecks before the newly-pronounced husband and wife hurried to sign the register with business-like promptness and rush away without receiving any of the usual well wishes and kisses and congratulations.

Mr Arthur Shelbourne, as best man, had been hurriedly charged by his cousin to announce to all the guests that the wedding breakfast would be served in the pavilion on the lawn of Lindford Manor. This cheered things up among the villagers, but there was another shock to come as a shaggy, lionlike, black beast rushed into the church and attacked the little pageboy.

There were screams of horror, and Miss Avery the village schoolteacher fainted, while someone called to Mr Howard the local farmer to fetch his gun! For a full five minutes there was uproar, until it was discovered that the mad beast was a friendly overgrown St Bernard puppy, and he had not savaged the pageboy, but was only joyous to be reunited with him after unaccountably escaping from the stables.

There was no time to scold boy or beast, Charity was too anxious to get back to Lindford to see after her sister, so with Leon left in charge of Merry-Ann, Charity herded her pair of troublemakers into the carriage, stepping round Miss Avery’s prostrate figure and thanking the dazed vicar at the door for a wonderful service as she ran by.

Prudence’s carriage reached Lindford only a few minutes before Charity’s. Their respective husbands urged them to go on ahead while they attended to the carriages, children, and dog.

‘I hope for Connie’s sake it’s not as long a delivery as with Merry-Ann,’ said Charity as they hurried through the entrance hall to the stairs. It was impossible not to recall the dreadful time Constance had endured with her firstborn .

‘I daresay the midwife will not let us near her,’ said Prudence, breathless from the hurried climb. ‘Wait for me, Chari, my legs are not quite as long as yours, and my train keeps catching on the carpet.’

They reached Constance’s room and made ready to enquire at the door, expecting to be given a quick account of the progress of labour, and then have the door shut in their face. But Constance’s entrance into her bedchamber must have been a very hurried one, for the door was wide open, and the figures of Finn and the midwife were seen either side of the bedside, and there came from within the bed curtains the unmistakeable sound of a newborn cry.

‘The baby has come!’ cried Charity, surprise checking her at the doorway. A pale but grinning Finn turned to her, saying, ‘The little fellow would not wait a minute longer – the moment I put his mama on her bed he made his entrance!’

The midwife assured the sisters that all was well and as it should be. A slightly shocked looking Constance said that she could not believe how quickly it had all happened, and urged Prudence not to get her wedding gown ruined by holding baby, for he had not even had chance to be washed yet, and apologised again for ruining her wedding day, all in the same breath.

‘How can you talk so?’ said Prudence, peering at the little bundle in Finn’s arms. ‘I could not be more pleased to share my wedding day with this little fellow’s birthday. Welcome to the world, my darling.’

‘Your mother will be in alt,’ said Charity to Finn, peering over Prudence’s shoulder at the new heir.

‘Time for you all to clear out,’ said the midwife. ‘Mrs Finnistone needs a bed bath and a rest, and Mr Finnistone the Younger needs a wash and a feed.’

‘Promise you will celebrate with all the guests,’ was Constance’s final request as her sisters were expelled from the room. ‘I should like to hear the sound of you all having a happy time. I shall think it propitious that Louis was born amid the sound of rejoicing.’

The sisters kept their promise. There was great rejoicing in Lindford Manor long into the night.

The End