The Unwanted Wedding Read online

  The Earl groaned as she continued,

  “I suppose we can be thirty, but no more. And for goodness sake let’s have some young men to offset the boredom of too many aunts and middle-aged cousins!”

  This started an interchange between husband and wife of names that meant nothing to Honora although she noticed that the majority were of people with titles.

  She wondered what the Duke was thinking at this moment and if, although he had no wish to marry her, he was still thinking that she was the lesser of two evils.

  She felt frightened when she thought of him and she knew her aunt had not been speaking idly when she threatened that if she did not do as she wished she would have to enter a Convent.

  Having lived for two years in the Convent in Florence, Honora was aware that that one was very different from the Convents where nuns dedicated themselves either to a life of confinement or to tending the sick and the poor.

  In Florence the school was kept apart from the building where the nuns slept and where some of them played no part in teaching and had no contact with the pupils.

  Instead Honora had learned that they were segregated from everything that appertained to the world outside.

  Because some of the windows of the school looked over the garden where these nuns took their exercise, she often wondered as she saw them what they thought about and if they ever regretted having taken the veil.

  She had thought, although perhaps she was wrong to do so, that it was a waste of life as God had meant it to be lived and she had once discussed it when she was very young with her mother.

  “Why do some women become nuns, Mama?” she had asked.

  The question had arisen because they had been stopped on the road by two nuns collecting for charity.

  “I am sure they are very good and very holy,” her mother answered, “but I cannot help feeling sorry for them.”

  “Why?”

  “I think God meant us, as it says in the Bible, to use our talents and not hide them away,” her mother replied.

  She saw that Honora was listening and went on,

  “Christ lived the life of an ordinary man, helping Joseph with his carpentry, until He began to teach the Message that came from God, His Father. I believe that we too have to lead an ordinary life to the best of our abilities, trying to do good by deeds and not entirely by prayer.”

  “It must be very lonely for them, Mama,” Honora suggested.

  “Perhaps I am explaining it badly,” her mother went on. “I do admire the nuns and, of course, prayer is of great importance not only to them but to all of us, but I would want you, my dearest, to live your life to the full.”

  She gave a little laugh before she added,

  “And nobody does that better than your father!”

  It was true, Honora thought looking back, that her father had lived every moment of his life fully and completely and to him satisfyingly.

  It had been tiresome that he had not enough money, but he enjoyed everything he did.

  She had never known him not ready to help anyone else less fortunate than himself, even though it often entailed sacrifices on the part of herself and her mother.

  ‘No,’ she thought, ‘neither Papa nor Mama would wish me to go into a Convent. Therefore, as there is nothing else I can do except marry the Duke, I must try to make him – happy.’

  She felt this might be difficult and she wondered what it would be like being the wife of a man who not only disliked the idea of having to marry at all but might dislike her personally.

  ‘It is going to be very, very difficult,’ she thought when she went to bed.

  When she said her prayers, she prayed fervently that both her mother and her father would help her.

  ‘I am frightened,’ she told them. ‘Please – please be near me, and guide me in what I should say and do – and not make the Duke – angry as Aunt Aline is so angry with me.’

  She had the feeling she might hear an answer to her prayer, but there was only the darkness and, as she climbed into bed she felt very young, inexperienced and alone.

  ‘Please – Papa and Mama – listen,’ she whispered.

  But again there was no answer, only silence.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Honora had never thought that buying clothes could be so tiring.

  The next morning she had received a message to say that her Ladyship would be waiting for her in an hour’s time and from the moment she went downstairs she felt that she was running in an endless race.

  First of all the Countess rushed her to the best and most expensive dressmaker in Bond Street and chose a dozen gowns from sketches and materials that were to be made up in record time.

  She then found two gowns that were already half-finished for another customer and by browbeating and bribery had them diverted to Honora.

  All the time she was doing this she was impressing upon Honora how fortunate she was and how she should be overwhelmed with gratitude for being treated in such an exceptional manner.

  But the way her aunt spoke of her becoming a Duchess and the almost offensively condescending manner in which she spoke to the dressmaker and her assistants, made Honora feel very uncomfortable.

  She had never known her mother to be anything but sweet, kind and polite to those who served her.

  But she had already gathered that the Countess when she was with her guests and people she respected was an entirely different person from what she was at other times.

  ‘I hope I never get like that,’ Honora thought.

  She was certain that if she behaved as her mother would wish her to do, whether she was a Duchess or her insignificant self, she would always respect other people’s feelings and be pleasant to them.

  However, because the dressmaker in fact was extremely impressed with all that the Countess told her, she managed later the same afternoon to fit Honora with several gowns.

  She also provided her with some exquisite nightgowns and chemises that were more beautiful than anything Honora could have imagined.

  When she said so to the Countess, her aunt replied in an extremely disagreeable voice,

  “The housemaids at Tyne Castle will hardly expect my niece to wear the rags you wore at school.”

  Then she added in an even more vitriolic tone,

  “You could certainly not be married in them!”

  The thought of this obviously put her in such a bad temper that Honora was afraid to say anything.

  Equally she could not help being thrilled with the lovely materials and sketches that were brought for her aunt’s approval and also with the heavenly gowns that were altered for her.

  She remembered how her mother had to scrimp and save to buy herself even one new dress.

  She had made her own nightgowns, sewn with tiny stitches which she had learned how to do when she was a girl and which were the same, Honora found, as the nuns used at the Convent.

  Because she felt embarrassed at spending too much of her uncle’s money, she had been very economical with her clothes while she was in Florence.

  She knew that for all the pupils huge bills for books and anything appertaining to the lessons were added onto the regular fees, which were in themselves very large.

  Now because her aunt was so contemptuous of what she was wearing she thought perhaps that she had been needlessly sensitive about it.

  She would have been wiser to buy what she wanted, as some of the other girls did, and let the Mother Superior send the bills to her uncle.

  But it was too late now to think about that and she told herself that she must be very grateful for what she was receiving.

  She was not consulted as to what was purchased, but she was aware that her aunt, because she was so well-dressed herself, had very good taste and the gowns anyway were in the very latest style and many of the models came from Paris.

  There were also bonnets, shawls, slippers, gloves, mittens and a dozen more items that her aunt said she required.

  All of th
ese when they had seen them in the shops were brought back to the house later to be tried on in different colours and different designs.

  Because everything she did seemed to annoy the Countess, it was a relief when Honora learned after they had returned to Grosvenor Square for luncheon that her aunt had an appointment for the afternoon.

  “Mrs. Morton will look after you,” the Countess said. “I shall be returning after tea and by that time you should have finished.”

  “If it is any trouble, I will not bother Mrs. Morton,” Honora replied.

  That was, of course, the wrong thing to say.

  “Mrs. Morton is paid to do what I want!” the Countess snapped. “And it is correct, although you may not know it, for you to have somebody with you when tradespeople are calling.”

  As Honora gave a little sigh, her aunt swept away looking as beautiful as ever, but her anger seemed to linger on the air long after she had gone.

  By the time the dinner party was about to begin Honora thought she was almost too tired to enjoy it, and she was also feeling nervous at seeing the Duke again.

  By what seemed almost a miracle the gown that her aunt wanted her to wear arrived just half-an-hour before the guests were due to arrive and it was without doubt the most beautiful gown Honora had ever thought of owning.

  It was white, but not the rather dull unimaginative white of a young girl’s dress.

  Instead, because she was to be married, it was embroidered all over with tiny silver leaves and the bertha had the same design in silver and pearls.

  When she was dressed, Honora stared at herself in the mirror, feeling that she looking like the Princess in a Fairytale.

  Then, as if a shadow was cast over her reflection, she remembered that where she was concerned the Prince Charming had no wish to marry her!

  He was, in fact, resenting it and she knew that, even if he was not beside her, she would feel it instinctively all through the evening.

  This proved to be true, for while the Duke was being outwardly very pleasant to her relations she could feel vibrations coming from him which told her exactly what he was really feeling.

  She had always been aware that everybody had vibrations that they sent out like little rays and ever since she had been a child she had known what other people were feeling and sometimes what they were thinking.

  “Why does Papa dislike that lady who came to luncheon today?” she had asked once when she was quite small.

  Her mother had looked at her in consternation.

  “Did Papa tell you that?” she enquired.

  Honora shook her head.

  “No, but I could feel him hating her as we sat at the table, although I don’t think she knew.”

  “I am sure she did not!” her mother exclaimed. “I think, dearest, you are mistaken.”

  But she had known that Honora had been right and afterwards she said to her husband,

  “We must be careful what we say and do in front of Honora. The child has an almost uncanny perception in knowing what we are feeling.”

  Harry Lang had laughed.

  “She will find that a very useful gift when she grows older,” he said, “but I am not allowing you any guesses, my darling, as to what I feel about you.”

  He had kissed her mother and she had forgotten about Honora for the moment, but, as her daughter grew older, she sometimes consulted her.

  “That Governess who came to see us today and is to teach you French – did you like her, dearest?” she enquired on one occasion.

  Honora shook her head.

  “No, Mama, and she was lying when she said that she could speak French like a native.”

  “How could you know that?” her mother enquired.

  “I could feel that she was lying.”

  Because Honora had been so positive, Mrs. Lang had chosen another teacher and later she learnt that she had been right to do so.

  Although she tried not to, Honora could not help watching the Duke when he received congratulations and good wishes on their engagement.

  He rather astutely managed to avoid the questions of how they had met and how long they had known each other, which almost everybody who came into the drawing room was bursting with curiosity to ask.

  The Countess was charming, witty and very gracious.

  Watching her too, Honora thought it would be impossible for anybody whom she was now entertaining to realise how disagreeable she had been all day.

  The difference in her voice when she spoke to them and to the Duke was very noticeable and Honora had the frightening idea that perhaps everybody in the Social world was the same.

  She had a sudden fear that she might be spending the rest of her life with people who, like her aunt, had two sides to their nature.

  ‘I could not bear it!’ she thought.

  She found herself looking searchingly at all her relatives, wondering if each one of them was two-faced and, although they were gushing at her now, might easily behave very differently should the occasion arise.

  It was certainly true that they were making themselves overwhelmingly pleasant, but the only time that she felt less apprehensive was when an elderly great-aunt said to her quietly,

  “I know your father and mother, my dear, would both be very pleased that you are marrying somebody so distinguished. But what is more important is that Ulric, whom I have known since he was born, is very intelligent and very considerate of those who work for him on his estates.’

  Honora looked at her enquiringly and the old lady explained,

  “I live only about ten miles from Tyne Castle and, as you can imagine, everybody in my village talks about the handsome Duke and has been wondering for years whom he would marry.”

  She gave a little chuckle as she added,

  “I expect I shall have quite a lot of reflected glory because you are my great-niece.”

  Honora liked her and said impulsively,

  “I hope, Great-aunt Louise, that when I am living at The Castle I may come to visit you.”

  Her great-Aunt put her hand over hers and said,

  “I am always there, should you want me. Your father was my favourite nephew. He may have been naughty in many ways, but he made everybody who knew him laugh, and I miss him, as I am sure you do.”

  “Nothing has been the same ever since Papa – died,” Honora replied.

  “I heard you had been sent to Florence,” her great-aunt said. “But never mind, with Ulric to look after you, you will enjoy yourself just as your father used to do.”

  It was a conversation Honora remembered after she had gone to bed.

  She could not help thinking that it would be very difficult to enjoy herself with the Duke unless he paid her a little more attention than he did at the moment.

  He had hardly spoken a word to her all the evening, but she was not aware that this was because her aunt had contrived to keep him away from her.

  When he said goodnight, she had thought his eyes looked at her without any admiration in them and she could sense the waves of resentment coming from him as they had been doing all the evening.

  They seemed to intensify when one of the older great-uncles rose to propose a toast to the young couple and because it was expected of him, the Duke replied.

  It was a quite short but witty speech saying that, although he had a large number of relatives of his own, he was quite prepared to add to their numbers.

  Although everybody seemed pleased at the compliments he paid the Lang family, Honora was acutely conscious that he was making an effort and there was nothing spontaneous about the pleasant things he said.

  The only comfort she had was when her uncle kissed her goodnight and told her,

  “I was very proud of you tonight, my dear, and there is no doubt that you will do credit to the many beautiful women we have had in our family and I doubt if any of the Tynemouth Duchesses will rival you.”

  “Thank you, Uncle George,” Honora said simply.

  Then, afraid that she might
be expected to kiss her aunt, she slipped away upstairs.

  Only in her own bedroom did she feel safe, sheltered from the Countess’s fault-finding and dislike of her, which she made no pretence of concealing.

  *

  The following day there were more things to buy and more relations to meet.

  The not-so-important ones had been asked to tea and because both the Earl and the Duke were in attendance at Buckingham Palace there was no dinner party that evening.

  Honora had been afraid that she might have an uncomfortable dinner with her aunt, but to her relief the Countess said that she intended to have dinner in bed.

  No one suggested she should do the same, so she ate a small and quick meal downstairs in the dining room and would have felt very lonely had not Dalton talked to her of her father while he served the meal.

  ‘It is extraordinary,’ Honora thought, ‘all the nice things everybody says about my Papa.’

  She wondered if his relatives and servants would be equally warm-hearted about the Duke.

  She very much doubted it because she was quite sure that they were as frightened of him as she was and she was apprehensive of meeting him again when they were to arrive at Tyne Castle.

  When Honora thought about The Castle, she expected it to be rather austere with a tower.

  What she did not know was that it was one of the finest and most historic castles in England and had been the ancestral home of the Tynes since the days of the Normans.

  The building, of course, had been modernised and enlarged all down the centuries and the third Duke had in Georgian times spent a fortune on the interior.

  He had employed the greatest architects not only to alter the rooms and their decoration, but also to design the furniture for the State rooms.

  This, according to the Countess, had made it immeasurably finer than anything that the Queen could boast of at Windsor Castle.

  Honora was to find that her aunt always seemed to speak as if The Castle belonged to her and to point out how it was superior in every way to anything possessed by anyone else.