Dair Devil (58 page)

R
ORY
HAD
NEVER
looked more delicately beautiful in her pink lavender silk petticoats, her straw-blonde hair upswept and arranged, pinned and beribboned, and with a cascade of curls falling over one bare shoulder. She wore her mother’s pearl choker and bracelet, and the pale lavender sapphire betrothal ring. If there was a change in her wardrobe from the night Dair had seen her sitting on the stair of the Gatehouse Lodge, it was her shoes. From her grandfather’s home in Chiswick she sent for her pair of specially-made silk shoes with pineapple motifs embroidered across the bridge and heels. They matched her walking stick, and the little pineapple purse, crocheted by Edith for her twenty-first birthday, dangling from her wrist.

When her grandfather brought her to stand beside Dair, she wondered if he was as anxious as she. But she could not bring herself to look at him. The importance of the occasion weighed heavily with her. And being married before their peers, with all eyes upon them, particularly her, made her feel faint. She kept her eyes straight, and could barely feel her fingers about the ivory handle of her walking stick, she was gripping it so tightly. And while she heard the Duke’s chaplain speaking, such was the ringing in her ears, she had no idea what he was saying. She doubted then if she would make it through the ceremony without mishap.

And then, within a few seconds, everything changed. She was no longer nervous or worried.

Dair felt for her hand, and gave her fingers a little squeeze.

Rory finally got up the courage to steal a nervous glance up at him.

He smiled down at her and winked.

She saw then that he was just as nervous, and yet he had made the effort to put her at ease. And while she continued to appear solemn, as the situation demanded of a bride, she was flooded with such happiness she could not stop smiling on the inside.

A little while later, she dared to glance up at him again. This time she noticed his bronzed silk frock coat with its beautifully embroidered collar, the froth of lace under his clean-shaven chin, and how his hair was dressed formally, and so unlike the Dair she knew. But it was the ribbon tied in his hair that she stared at, and for a good few seconds. Then she quickly glanced away, a hand to her mouth to stop a sob, but she could not stop her tears.

He was wearing the lavender satin ribbon he had taken from her as a spoil of war, the night he had collided with her at Romney’s studio. She had quite forgotten about that ribbon, but he had not. It was such a heartfelt gesture she could hardly breathe.

Before she knew what was happening, she had a handkerchief pressed into her hand. But such was her emotional state, she was left bewildered by it, and had no idea what she was supposed to do with it. And then, as if by magic, her chin was lifted and her cheeks gently patted dry. Dair disposed of his handkerchief in a frock coat pocket. He then squared his shoulders and nodded to the chaplain to continue. All of this done with the minimum of fuss, and to the collective sighs of every female in attendance.

The bride and groom survived the rest of the ceremony without mishap. Neither faulted on the declarations. They exchanged vows in a clear voice. And the groom managed to keep hold of the wedding ring when Lord Grasby offered it to him. The slim gold band slipped on to Rory’s finger with ease. It was only then that there was a deviation from the service. Dair could not help himself. With the ring secured, he lifted Rory’s hand and kissed the gold band, another smile and a wink at her before releasing her fingers and turning back to the vicar. Not only was there another collective sigh from the females in attendance, but one of their number burst into tears and continued to sob throughout the blessing.

With the register signed by both parties, and witnessed, the newly-married couple faced their family and relations with blushing smiles. They acknowledged the Duke and Duchess of Roxton with a bow and a curtsy, and then with the same to the Duchess of Kinross, who blew them a kiss. And then they turned and bowed and curtsied to the Countess of Strathsay, who was sniffing back tears, her face half-buried in her lace-bordered handkerchief. Dair took a step forward, kissed his mother’s cheek and then his sister’s, too, before rejoining his wife to accept the smiles of congratulation from one and all as they made their way along the aisle towards the open doors and the crowd waiting patiently to see them. Outside the family chapel, they would receive more congratulations from family, friends, the ducal household, and most of the village, who had walked up to catch a glimpse of the bride and groom in all their splendid glory.

But the couple had not taken many steps along the aisle towards the doors when the new Lady Fitzstuart stopped and smiled up at her husband. Those who were following the bride and groom wondered why. Dair did not wonder. He swiftly kissed his new wife’s hand and then stepped forward to embrace his son. Jamie held on so tightly to his father, Dair knew the boy was overwrought and so he gave him a moment. He then kissed the top of his dark red curls, had a word in his ear, and when Jamie nodded, let him go. He then put out his hand to Mr. Banks, and the old gentleman, overcome to be so acknowledged, gripped Dair’s hand tightly. All the while, Mrs. Banks cried her happiness into her damp handkerchief, and when Dair leaned over to kiss her cheek, and to say something in her ear no one but she could hear, she wailed all the more, and fell into her husband’s arms.

There were those in the congregation who thought this behavior extraordinary, and looked to see what the Duke of Roxton made of it. But the Duke, like everyone involved in this emotional scene, couldn’t care less what others thought. They were all so very happy. And happiest of all were the bride and groom.

Dair and Rory left the chapel, and walked arm-in-arm into the sunshine of a bright and loving future, two souls now as one.

~ T
O
B
E
C
ONTINUED
~

The Roxton Series will continue in Book 5, the story of the widowed Lady Mary Cavendish—sister of Dair Fitzstuart and first cousin of Antonia, Duchess of Kinross, and no-nonsense Gloucestershire squire Mr. Christopher Bryce.

Continue reading to further explore behind-the-scenes of
Dair Devil
or
skip ahead to preview
Deadly Engagement
, a mystery set in the same Georgian world as the
Roxton Family Saga
in which career diplomat and amateur sleuth Alec Halsey is embroiled in country house murder and mayhem.

B
EHIND
-T
HE
-S
CENES

 
Go behind-the-scenes of
Dair Devil
—explore the places, objects, and history in the book on Pinterest

A
UTHOR
N
OTE

W
HILE
RESEARCHING
disability in the eighteenth century, in particular soldiers returned from battle with one or more limbs incapacitated or amputated, I came across a most remarkable little treatise entitled
On the Best Form of Shoe
, by an equally remarkable man Professor Petrus Camper (1722-1789) who was Professor of Medicine, Surgery, and Anatomy, at Amsterdam and Groningen.

What is self-evident today (but is still widely ignored by many consumers) was a revelation to most in the 18
^th
Century. Camper concluded that shoes were made in ignorance of the anatomy and growth of the foot, and constructed to the absurdities and dictates of the fashion of the day. Camper used the term “victims of fashion” to describe persons wearing a particular shoe form, not for comfort, but because it was the fashionable thing to do. He voiced the hope that enlightened parents would avoid inflicting “torture” (his word not mine), on their children by allowing them to wear shoes that fit their foot for comfort, and praised enlightened parents who allowed their children to go barefoot in the house, and thus allowing the growing foot to form naturally.

Camper’s book includes a chapter on club feet and through his scientific observations and findings concluded (wrongly but enlightened for the time) that such a deformity occurred in the developing fetus while in the womb, and that it was unlikely to be corrected by the use of the wooden and steel contraptions of correction available then; footwear, like those for the normal foot, should be made specific to the shape of the foot itself.

Camper’s findings were so remarkable for the time that
On the Best Form of Shoe
was translated almost at once into several European languages and considered worthy of reprinting for the next 100 years.

F
AMILY
T
REE

View the
Dair Devil
Family Tree at lucindabrant.com

B
ONUS
P
REVIEW

Salt Bride

A GEORGIAN HISTORICAL ROMANCE

Salt Hendon Series Book 1

LONDON, ENGLAND,
1763

‘T 
OM
,
DO
I
HAVE
A
DOWRY
?” Jane asked her stepbrother, turning away from a window being hit hard with rain.

Tom Allenby glanced uneasily at his mother, who was pouring him out a second dish of Bohea tea. “Dowry? Of course you have a dowry, Jane.”

Jane wasn’t so sure. When her father disowned her four years ago, he cut her off without a penny.

“What is the amount?”

Tom blinked. His discomfort increased. “Amount?”

“Ten thousand pounds,” Lady Despard stated, a sulky glance at her stepdaughter. Annoyance showed itself in the rough way she handled the slices of seedy cake onto small blue-and-white Worcester porcelain plates. “Though why Tom feels the need to provide you with a dowry when you’re marrying the richest man in Wiltshire, I’ll never fathom. To a moneybags nobleman, ten thousand is but a drop in the Bristol River.”

“
Mamma
,” Tom said in an under voice, close-shaven cheeks burning with color. “I believe I can spare Jane ten thousand when I am to inherit ten times that amount.” He regarded his stepsister with a hesitant smile. “It’s a fair dowry, isn’t it, Jane?”

But Lady Despard was right. Ten thousand pounds wasn’t much of a dowry to bring to a marriage with a nobleman who reportedly had an income of thirty thousand pounds a year. Yet Jane hated to see her stepbrother miserable. Poor Tom. The terms of Jacob Allenby’s will had disturbed his well-ordered world.

“Of course it’s a fair dowry, Tom. It is more than fair, it is
very
generous,” she answered kindly.

She retreated once more to the window with its view of London’s bleak winter skies and gray buildings and wished for the sun to show itself, if but briefly, to melt the hard January frost. Tom could then take her riding about the Green Park. Somehow, she had to escape the confines of this unfamiliar townhouse crawling with nameless soft-footed servants.