But as it happened, the Rutherford ladies welcomed Emm warmly, only the girl called George hanging back, which was not surprising, since they’d never met. It didn’t take long for Emm to realize that a good part of Rose and Lily’s delight was rooted in their determination to be bridesmaids, and she immediately invited all three girls to attend her at her wedding.
Rose and Lily accepted with joy. George demurred, but her youthful aunts insisted that she would soon get used to dresses and of course she would be a bridesmaid. Emm blinked at the references to not being used to dresses but supposed it would become clearer as she became better acquainted with the girl.
The girls immediately fell to discussing what they would wear and in what colors—apparently their late brother had forbidden the wearing of mourning black: the best thing he’d ever done for them, according to Lily. Theonlything he’d ever done for them, Rose said.
Lady Dorothea smiled benignly on the girls and helped Emm compose a list of people on the groom’s side who needed to be invited. There weren’t many relatives, she assured Emm, and the short notice as well as the distance would ensure that few guests would attend.
“But don’t worry, Ashendon will give a ball to introduce you to everyone when you go to London,” she assured Emm.
Emm had her doubts. It seemed Lord Ashendon hadn’t informed his aunt of his plans to marry Emm and head off to the Continent post-haste. But if he hadn’t told Lady Dorothea, she wasn’t going to do it for him.
Back at Miss Mallard’s, the news had spread through the school like wildfire, and the girls’ excitement became almost a frenzy when Miss Mallard announced that the entire school would attend the wedding.
Everywhere Emm went she saw clusters of girls, whispering and giggling with, as often as not, Lavinia Fortescue-Brown at the center of each group. On further inquiry she learned that Lavinia was claiming she’d introduced the happy couple. Heaven knew what other tales she was telling—the girl had a very fertile imagination.
But when she summoned Lavinia and demanded to know what she had been telling the others, Lavinia’s answer floored her. “Your advice about not encouraging men, that they want what they can’t have, and being cool to them will only make them more eager—well, I didn’t really believe you at the time, but it wassoright, wasn’t it, Miss Westwood? And you’re the proof!”
Emm blinked. “I am?”
Lavinia nodded vigorously. “You were so cold that day toward Lord Ashendon—almost rude, really—and now you’re going to marry him!”
***
When Cal told Galbraith, his friend let out a harsh crack of laughter. “Both of us donning the shackles of respectability! How the mighty have fallen. And of course I’ll be your best man.”
Cal had returned to Bath the previous day. It was a littlelate to be asking someone to play best man, but he knew Galbraith would be here and available. “So it’s all going ahead?”
Galbraith nodded. “Grandfather is in high gig—he and the girl’s father have been wrangling happily over the settlements all week. Soon as they’re settled, the deed will be done. And at Bath Abbey, no less.” He grimaced. “You inspired that idea, you swine. I was hoping for something small and private, but no, they’re thrilled at the idea of a wedding conducted by a bishop”
“Sorry. The bishop was a friend of my aunt’s.” As Aunt Agatha had pointed out in a scathing response to his letter informing her of his intended marriage,If you must marry a nobody in a hasty skimble-skamble wedding, doing the deed in the abbey might—and I say only might—limit the gossip.
“Can’t you tell them you’d prefer a small, quiet wedding?”
Galbraith shrugged. “In truth, I don’t much care. Weddings are women’s business.”
True enough, Cal thought. Between them, Miss Westwood, Aunt Dottie, Miss Mallard and the girls had managed the whole thing. Cal was very grateful to be spared the bother. All he had to do was turn up.
***
The morning of Emm’s wedding day dawned clear, with the promise of sunshine.
All morning—all week, really—the school had been a hive of excitement with the entire school preparing to attend. The girls, all dressed in their best white dresses, had just left, walking down the hill to the abbey in an orderly but excited crocodile, escorted by Miss Johnstone, Miss Thwaites, Miss Clegg and Miss Theale.
Miss Mallard was having a last-minute consultation with Cook and the servants, putting the finishing touches to the wedding breakfast.
Emm waited in the hall. She’d assumed that she would walk to the abbey with the rest of the school, but Lord Ashendon had sent a note the previous day to say hiscarriage would collect her. The ceremony was set for eleven. It was quarter to eleven, so any minute now.
Emm paced back and forth. She would rather have walked with the girls. At least it was something to do.
Her footsteps echoed. The school had never been so quiet. For the hundredth time, she glanced at her reflection in the looking glass. She didn’t look like herself at all. She looked younger. Prettier. Her skin, framed in cream silk velvet, seemed to glow. And her hair... Who’d have thought hair could make such a difference?
Earlier in the week, Miss Mallard had arranged for the most fashionable hairstylist in Bath to attend Emm—all things were possible for a future countess, it seemed. Monsieur Phillipe was an elegantly dressed, flamboyant “Frenchman” whose accent came and went, revealing a hint of Liverpool between the Gallic exclamations.
He’d spent some time draping Emm’s hair in various ways, examining her from all angles, all the time muttering to himself. Then he’d seized his scissors and shocked Emm by snipping off several locks at the front.
“Tst!” he exclaimed when she objected. “You have all zis beautiful ’air and you scrape all of it back in one ugly knot. It does nothing for you. Tst!” And he snipped on regardless.
Only when he’d finished did he allow Emm to look in the mirror.
