One Night for Love

The next morning would see the convergence of all the illustrious guests and their carriages on the upper village. And there would be the earl to admire in his wedding finery, and the bride in hers. And—bliss of all blisses —there would be the newly married couple to cheer as they emerged from the church doors with the church bells pealing out the glad tidings that there was a new young countess for the abbey. And then the feasting and frolicking would begin.

Everyone kept a wary eye on the western horizon, from which direction most weather approached. But there was nothing ominous to see. Today was a clear, sunny, really quite warm day. There was no sign of clouds building in the west. Tomorrow looked to be a fair day—as was only right and proper. Nothing was to be allowed to spoil the day.

No one thought to look east.

***

The stagecoach from London set Lily down outside the inn in the village of Upper Newbury. It was certainly a pretty place, she thought, breathing in the cool, slightly salty evening air and feeling somewhat restored despite her weariness and the stiffness of her limbs. It all looked very English to her—very pretty and very peaceful and rather alien.

But the dusk of evening was falling already and she still might have a way to go on foot. She had neither the time nor the energy to explore. Besides, her heart had begun thumping in her chest, making her slightly breathless. She had realized that she was very close now—at last. But the closer she came, the more uncertain she was of her welcome and of the wisdom of having made this journey at all—except that there had seemed to be no real alternative.

Lily turned and walked into the inn.

'Is Newbury Abbey far?' she asked the innkeeper, ignoring the near silence that fell over the taproom as she entered it. The room was full to overflowing with men, who all appeared to be in a festive mood, but Lily was not unaccustomed to such situations. Large numbers of men did not embarrass or frighten her.

'Two miles if it is anything to you,' the innkeeper said, leaning massive elbows on the counter and looking her up and down with open curiosity.

'In which direction?' she asked.

'Past the church and through the gates,' he said, pointing, 'and follow the driveway.'

'Thank you,' Lily said politely, and turned away.

'If I was you, my pretty wench,' a man seated at one of the tables called to her, not unkindly, 'I would knock on the vicarage door. Next to the church this side. They will give you a crust and a mug of water.'

'If you cares to sit down between me and Mitch 'ere,' someone else called with rough jocularity, 'I'll see that you ' as your crust and a mug of cider to go with it, my lovely.'

A hearty guffaw of laughter greeted his words as well as a few whistles and the sound of tables being pounded with the flat of the hand.

Lily smiled, unoffended. She was accustomed to rough men and rough ways. They rarely meant any harm or even any great disrespect.

'Thank you,' she said, 'but not tonight.'

She stepped outside. Two miles. And it was very nearly dark. But she could not wait until morning. Where would she stay? She had enough money to buy herself a glass of lemonade and perhaps a small loaf of bread, but not enough to buy lodging for the night. Besides, she was very close.

Only two miles.

***

The ballroom at Newbury Abbey, magnificent even when empty, was laden with yellow, orange, and white flowers from the gardens and hothouses and decked with white satin ribbons and bows. It was ablaze with the lights of hundreds of candles set into the crystal chandeliers over-head and by their myriad reflections in the long mirrors that covered two facing walls. It was crowded with the cream of the ton as well as with members of the local gentry, all dressed in their finest for the wedding eve ball. Satins and silks shimmered and lace and white linen glowed. Costly gems glittered. The most expensive of perfumes vied with the scents of a thousand flowers. Voices were raised in an effort to be heard above others and above the strains of the music, provided by an entire orchestra.

Beyond the ballroom, guests strolled on the wide landing and ascended or descended the twin curved staircases to the domed and pillared great hall below. They strolled outdoors—on the balcony beyond the ballroom, on the terrace before the house, about the stone fountain below the terrace, along the graveled walks of the rock and flower garden to the east of the house. Colored lanterns had been strung about the fountain and hung from trees though the moonlight would have offered illumination even without them.

It was a perfect May evening. One could only hope, as several of the guests did aloud to Lauren and Neville as they passed along the receiving line, that tomorrow would be half as lovely a day.

'Tomorrow will be twice as lovely,' Neville replied each time, smiling warmly at his betrothed, 'even if the wind howls and the rain pours and the thunder rolls.'

Lauren's smile was unmistakably radiant. It seemed strange to Neville as he led her eventually into the first set of country dances that he had ever hesitated about making her his bride, that he had kept her waiting for six years while he worked off the restless rebellion of youth as an officer with the Ninety-fifth Rifles. He had advised her not to wait, of course—he had been far too fond of her to keep her dangling when he had been quite uncertain of his intentions toward her. But she had waited. He was glad of it now, humbled by her patience and fidelity. There was a rightness about their impending marriage. And his affection for her had not dimmed. It had grown along with his admiration for her character and his appreciation of her beauty.

'And so it begins,' he murmured to her as the orchestra began to play. 'Our nuptials, Lauren. Are you happy?'

'Yes.'

But even the single word was unnecessary. She glowed with happiness. She looked like the quintessential bride. She was his bride. It felt right.

Neville danced first with Lauren, then with his sister. Then he danced with a series of young ladies who looked as if they expected to be wallflowers while Lauren danced with a succession of different partners.

After taking a turn upon the balcony with one of his partners, Neville entered the ballroom through the French doors and joined a group of young gentlemen who, as always at balls, seemed to need one another's collective