The door opened, and Alice flounced in. “I am ready,” she announced.
“Are you, poppet? What for?” Nellie bit her pencil. Should she pack the red velvet bonnet with the long curling feather? Or was it not summery enough? It did go well with her pelisse. But her mother didn’t like the color. Nellie paused. She made a tick on her list. She would take it.
“To be your bridesmaid, of course,” Alice said with emphasis as if Nellie had suddenly turned deaf.
“No bride could ask for a prettier bridesmaid.”
“Charles gave Marian a diamond brooch and me a bracelet of seed pearls set in gold.” She held out her wrist to display the dainty bracelet.
“It’s perfect, but you should not wear it now. Wait until my wedding, poppet.”
Alice sighed and fiddled with the catch. “I suppose I should take it off then.”
Alice was not at all nervous. Nellie was all admiration for her little sister. She was sure her knees would knock, and she would trip walking down the aisle. She huffed out a breath. And afterward, she and Charles would…
“You don’t listen to a word I say, Nellie.”
“I’m sorry, Alice. You’ll have to forgive me. Tomorrow is my wedding day!” She fell back onto the pillows.
Alice grinned. “I forgive you. It’s just like a storybook wedding. And Charles is the handsome prince.” She went to look again at Nellie’s white satin wedding gown, embellished with extravagant lace and embroidery, and the short wedding veil, light as a cobweb. “It’s so beautiful.” Alice groaned. “Mama insisted I wear blossom pink, which is not my color!”
Nellie nodded sympathetically, glad her years of wearing what pleased her mother were almost behind her.
That afternoon, Nellie and Marian visited Rundell and Bridge, the fashionable jewelers at Ludgate Hill where Nellie bought a wedding gift for Charles, a diamond cravat pin. In Bond Street, Marian purchased a flattering bronze-green, high-crowned bonnet, and Nellie a pair of lavender kid gloves.
Arm in arm, they strolled along the street, glancing in shop windows. Marian wandered over to examine an evening cloak she admired made on some gold material, which was featured in a shop window, when a carriage pulled up. The groom assisted a lady and her son down onto the pavement. The elegant woman straightened her Prussian blue skirts whilst the child, in leading-strings, was held by the groom and set on his sturdy short legs. In a heavy accent, the Frenchwoman ordered the servant to mind the boy, while she purchased an article in the store.
“Yes, Mademoiselle Girard.” The groom took the boy’s hand.
“Maman.” The boy’s face crumpled, and he reached out his arms to his mother.
With a sharp rebuke in French, she crossed the pavement to where Nellie stood. Her green eyes widened in recognition when they settled on Nellie. “You are Lady Cornelia Dountry?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced…” Nellie began.
The Frenchwoman murmured to her in her language as she brushed past Nellie. Leaving behind an expensive fragrance, she entered the shop.
Marian hurried over. “She spoke to you? What did she say?” she asked as Nellie stood shocked, staring after the woman.
“She said I won’t hold onto him.” Nellie swiveled to face her sister. “She meant Charles!”
“Well, of all the nerve. I’ve a good mind to go in there and confront her.”
“No, don’t, Marian. Charles might hear of it.”
Nellie tamped down a shiver. The Frenchwoman wouldn’t blink at causing trouble. She took Marian’s arm, and they walked on. “Her son has black hair and blue eyes.”
Marian scoffed. “You surely don’t think…”
Nellie shook her head. “Why not? She is blonde and has green eyes. The boy’s father must be dark-haired. And those eyes are the same color as Charles’s.”
“Many people have blue eyes.”
“Not that deep, intense shade of blue.”
“You are obsessed and losing your mind,” Marian said with feigned dispassion, which didn’t fool Nellie. “I look forward to you becoming a married lady and gaining it back.”
“She was Charles’s mistress. The boy would be about three or four. It is possible.”
“May we go home?” Marian asked. “My feet have begun to hurt in these shoes.”
“I did advise you not to buy them.” Nellie hailed their carriage, which waited down the street. Would Charles tell her if he had an illegitimate child? Her chest squeezed painfully. “It’s just as well Charles and I are not in love,” she said in an undertone.
Marian linked arms with her and drew her along the street.
*
On Charles’s last night of freedom, Lawrence hosted a bachelor party in the smoky air at White’s club. He enjoyed the conviviality of four of his friends who dined with him. Phillips attempted to ply him with liquor, no doubt with something insidious in mind for Charles later on in the evening. Having heard the blood-curdling tales of bridegrooms being tied naked to lamp posts, and worst, Charles resisted, determined to pace himself. “I have no intention of being married with a bad headache.”
Lawrence Frobisher grinned. “The headaches usually come after the honeymoon.”
“I planned to invite several ladies to entertain us, but Charles refused.” Brandon, Viscount Phillips, blew out a cloud of smoke. “I am disappointed in you, Shewsbury. Is it so long ago that we got up to hijinks at Oxford?”
“Yes, it must be. I don’t recall any hijinks,” Charles said with a chuckle.
“It was that Scot, Montgomery. He taught us the drinking game,” Julian Pennycuik, Earl of Stowe, recalled. “We’d each roll dice to determine who would drain the cup. And the loser would have to perform some task, which proved difficult when senseless.”
“Let’s not revive our memories of those pranks,” Charles said in mock horror. “They hardly relate to who we are now.”
“You had your moments,” Lawrence said. “I remember you and a small dark woman, the barmaid, wasn’t she? From the local tavern…”
“Enough.” Charles motioned sharply with a hand, as the waiter, pouring the wine, struggled to keep a straight
