“Thank you, Dillon. I can assure both you gentlemen of a lively employment to come.”
“My lord. Do forgive my presumption but it was spoken of that before your translation you have had travels and adventures about the world yet untold. Is it in your conceiving to make good record of the same?”
“We shall see. Do you yourself yearn for adventure, perchance?”
“Saving Mr Fortescue’s presence, I should say I am truly envious of your lordship’s peregrinations-a world to discover, to delight in.”
Renzi gave a half-smile. “Quite so, Dillon. However, do bear with your lot for now, there’s a good fellow.”
By evening the entire household was abuzz with conjecture and excitement. A banquet had been set and the kitchen and staff had striven hard. A superb occasion promised.
Renzi found dinner attire left by his brother Richard, who was back in the Caribbean, while Cecilia was arrayed in finery borrowed from his younger sister Beatrice, even if it clung overly snug in places. She wore a dazzling display of pearls and diamonds selected from the parure, a family heirloom set of jewellery presented to her by the countess.
The candles were lit, the guests arrived. An orchestra in the minstrels’ gallery played delicate airs, and scores of footmen stood poised.
Outside the closed doors Cecilia gulped, “Nicholas-I’m so nervous. What if-”
“If they laugh at you? Then I’ll tell the noble executioner to chop off their heads, in course!”
The dowager countess joined them. “How lovely you look, my dear.” She primped her cheeks, then prompted gently, “Shall we go in?”
“Mother?” Renzi said, trying to take position behind her.
“No, my son. You are the earl now and take precedence. I must follow.”
With Cecilia on his arm he nodded to the footmen.
The doors swung wide and instantly Cecilia’s senses were overwhelmed by the blaze of light in a vast hall glittering with jewels, men’s stars and decorations and great quantities of silver tableware, the light intensifying the crimson and gold of sashes, the fine silk dresses of the noble ladies and, all around, the handsome livery of the footmen of Eskdale.
The orchestra fell suddenly silent. There was a massed scraping of chairs as hundreds of the great and good of the county rose and stood respectfully, their faces turned to take sight of Lord Farndon and his bride-to-be.
They processed in with great dignity-and on that day Cecilia felt she could bear no greater happiness.
“Dear Nicholas-it will come as a great shock to them. You remain here at the Angel, and I’ll go and tell them.”
“Very well, my dearest.”
Alone, Cecilia set out for home. It was a strange, eerie sensation, almost like floating on nothingness in a world that was so familiar but now about to be lost for ever. Would she make a good Lady Farndon, mistress of Eskdale? For the sake of her future husband, she would give it her all …
She smiled at Mrs Simkins hurrying down the road and stepped hastily out of the way of the uncouth baker’s boy with his basket of bread. They’d barely noticed her in their bustling daily round-but most surely this was the very last time it would be so. When the news got out that a daughter of Guildford was marrying a peer of the realm there would be no more of the simple, unaffected life she knew.
Hetty had been shocked, dazed, and had sat like a frightened mouse all the way back; she was herself only now recovering from that earthquake revelation.
Shy Mr Partington, the Kydd school headmaster, saw her and fell into step. “Miss Cecilia? Do the gossips have it true, that you are to be-”
“I am to be married shortly, that is right in the particulars.”
She kept it at that and bade him a good day at her door.
“Well?” prompted her mother, before she had even taken off her bonnet. “Were they nice, a-tall? Did you-”
Cecilia bit her lip. This was not going to be easy.
“Mama, I’ve something to tell you-and Papa too. It’s very important: shall we go into the parlour?”
“Oh, dear, I hope this won’t take long. I’ve a rabbit pie as I’m …” She saw something in her daughter’s face and without another word hurried off to find her husband.
“Why, Cec-what’s to do?” Kydd wanted to know.
“Not now, Thomas. There’s … I have to speak to them both.”
“Oh, well-”
“Not with you, Tom. This is serious.”
Her mother returned, leading her father. Cecilia followed them in and, with an apologetic smile, left Kydd outside to wait.
Ten minutes later his parents came out-and they were as white as a sheet, passing him silently without noticing he was there.
“Cec-what’s this mean, for God’s sake?” he blurted.
“Thomas, I think we should take a walk in the garden.”
They returned slowly, Kydd shaking his head in disbelief.
“Dear Tom. If you’re surprised, think how I felt. In the morning I’m Cecilia Kydd and in the evening I’m … well, I’m to be a countess.”
“Where’s he now, sis?”
“At the Angel until we send for him.”
“Well, we’d better do that now. There’s a gallows lot to hoist in.”
The maid was told to fetch Mr Renzi while Kydd gazed in awe at his younger sister.
“Have you set a date yet?”
“Nicholas needs to have a consort by his side when he takes his place as an earl, he says. And so it will be an early wedding.”
“This year? Or six months only, you shameless devils?”
“Tom, we thought this week.”
“Whaaaat?” he gasped. “You can’t just-”
“He’s a noble lord now, Thomas. He will have leave from the Archbishop of Canterbury himself to wed by special licence.”
Kydd sat down suddenly, lost for words.
Emily bobbed at the door. “Miss, it’s Mr Renzi here.”
“Oh, do show him in, please.”
Scrambling to his feet, Kydd saw his friend of years come in, his countenance serious.
“You’ve heard the tidings.”
“I have, you wicked dog. Frightening the womenfolk like that, you villain!”
But Cecilia had noticed her brother’s tense watchfulness, his unease. “Thomas!” she scolded. “And that’s no way to speak to the Earl of Farndon.”
“Oh? Then how am I … What’s his tally now, can I ask?”
“This is the Right Honourable the Lord Farndon of Eskdale Hall in Wiltshire. He’s to be addressed as ‘my lord’ or ‘your lordship’ and never on your life ‘you villain,’ Tom.”
“Then it’s ‘your lordship,’ if it serves,” Kydd said, in an odd voice, and gave an exaggerated bow, but when he looked again Renzi’s grave expression had not altered.
“This is harder than ever you will know, dear friend,” he said, in a low voice. “I see before me the sea hero I respect and admire above all men, and society demands he bends the knee to me. I would be gratified beyond measure should you hold to ‘Nicholas,’ dear fellow-or even ‘wicked dog’ would answer.”
They clasped hands.
Kydd turned to his sister. “Now, how about you, Cec? What do I hail you as?”
“Why, I’m sure the Countess of Farndon would be content with ‘my lady’ or ‘your ladyship’ but never in this world ‘sis,’ good Sir Thomas.”
“As it shall be, Your Worship. Now if we’re to be squared away and all a-taunto for a right true wedding in this week, we’d better bend on more sail. Where do we start, Cec?”
It was quickly settled that the cosy familiarity of St Mary’s Church would be best suited for the Kydds, and Renzi hastened to make clear that it would suffice also on his side. Its small capacity dictated a family wedding only with a strict limit on guests. This brought a measure of relief in other arrangements, particularly when it was learned that the groom’s family would certainly be invited to Hatchlands, the county seat of Lord Onslow, a distant relative, who might be depended upon in the matter of carriages.
Kydd assumed charge, sending Cecilia off to fit for a bridal gown and reassuring his parents that they could remain indoors quietly while he took care of all the arrangements.
The delighted tailors of Guildford went to double tides, Kydd and Renzi both to be as resplendent as it was possible to be, and after judicious choices the needles flew.