The Dowager's Daughter (11 page)

The next morning, in a desperate effort to postpone facing Philippe, Althea confined herself to the east wing of Camberly Hall, looking for signs of mildew. Later, she found it had been unnecessary, because he did not leave his chamber all day, pleading a slight malaise.

However, the next afternoon, as she sat in her sewing room embroidering a rose on a square of cambric, Philippe poked his head around the door, a tentative smile on his face. With a sinking feeling, Althea smiled in return.

“Feeling better, are you?”

“Hmm?”

“I was told that you were indisposed. A slight malaise?”

“Oh, yes. I am feeling a lot better, thank you.” As he spoke, his gaze shifted from side to side as if he found it difficult to look her squarely in the eye. “It is good of you to ask.”

A deadly silence followed. Althea fought the urge to fidget. For goodness’ sake, Philippe, do get on with it!

Mercifully, he reopened the conversation. “Althea? We are jolly good friends, do you not agree?”

“I would have to say that we rub along fairly well.”

Philippe looked hurt. “That does not sound very warm. What makes you say such a thing?”

Althea wished she had not been so candid but plunged ahead, hoping that honesty would bring them closer together. “Good friends trust one another with their innermost thoughts. You are far too reserved for that.”

Philippe winced. “Good heavens, Althea, I should hope so. Such a lack of restraint is frowned upon in polite Society.”

“The disapproval of polite Society has no bearing on the matter, Philippe. I am referring to the sort of intimacy that exists between good friends.”

“Althea, such sentiment is ill-considered. I am of the opinion that restraint should be practiced with even greater diligence when dealing with one’s friends. Familiarity of that sort can only result in a loss of respect for one another.”

Althea gave up.
By all means observe the proprieties, Philippe. Your dear grandpapa drummed such thoughts into your head from the day you uttered your first sentence. What better way is there to control a small boy than discouraging him from forming close bonds with others?

“There are two sides to a question, and fortunately, Philippe, we are both free to make up our minds about such things. Just let us agree that for the most part, we get along well enough.”

Philippe agreed with alacrity. “I quite agree. In fact, I think we get along rather splendidly.”

Althea thought his assessment of their friendship was far too rosy, but was not about to refine on the matter. After all, Philippe would not be comfortable with such an affront to his sense of propriety.

“Yes, Philippe, one might say that”

Philippe beamed, evidently satisfied with so much less than true friendship had to offer.

With a feeling of profound pity, she added a little kindness to the mix. “In fact, I cannot recall one cross word ever passing between us.”

This was evidently the encouragement he needed to goad him into action, for without more ado he dropped to one knee and took her hand. For a moment, he just looked at her with a blank look on his face, as if he had forgotten what he was going to say, then he said, “Althea.”

Althea held her breath, wondering if he would proceed further.

“Althea.”

She exhaled.

“Althea, it would give me infinite joy if you would consent to be my wife.”

Althea hesitated before giving him an answer. This would be the only moment given her to change her mind. To her surprise, Philippe’s eyes filled with a look of dread.
He must truly care for me. The poor darling is terrified lest I refuse him.
This is all it took.

She placed her other hand on his head. “I shall be honored to marry you, Philippe dear.”

He fumbled in his coat and took out a ring. Putting a firm grip on her hand, he slipped it on her finger. It was a heavy ring, the center stone a large, oval sapphire surrounded by diamonds. The setting slipped around to face her palm.

Philippe looked at her, his beautiful hazel eyes filled with regret “I am sorry about that We can get it made smaller the next time we go to London. It was the ring that Grandfather gave to my grandmother and, in turn, my father gave to my mother. I suppose it has become a tradition. I have nothing else to offer you.”

“Nor would I wish for anything else. Your ring is magnificent, fit for a queen.”

Althea said this with all honesty. The ring
was
magnificent. She marveled that her uncle had not sold it years ago. Then she realized that his pride would demand that a de Maligny bride should receive nothing less.

Philippe smiled, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Surprised, Althea ran her hand down the side of her face. The kiss was so brief she wondered if he had truly kissed her or whether it had been a figment of her imagination. He turned slightly, as if preparing for flight.

“Wait, Philippe. The other matters. Your grandfather discussed them with you?”

Philippe looked blank for a moment. “You mean my not managing Camberly for you? A trifle odd, but perhaps it is for the better. According to my maternal grandfather, when the time comes, taking care of the Bainbridge estate will be challenge enough for me.”

“And the wedding date?”

Philippe frowned. “To be quite frank, Althea, I rather hoped you would reconsider that. Dreadfully precipitous, I thought Smacks awfully close to being scandalous. Tongues are bound to wag.”

“I am sorry, Philippe. This wedding will take place on the last Saturday of the month, or not at all.”

Philippe frowned. “Very well, but it is deucedly inconvenient. I am expected in Bedfordshire the end of this week. I suppose I could stop at Doctor’s Commons for a license on my way back.” He snapped his fingers. “I can also spend Friday night at the house in Brighton and go straight to the church from there on that Saturday. That should work out quite well, I should think.”

“Yes, it should.”

“Excellent Then it is settled.”

Philippe made his bow and left the room before Althea could blink. It gave her pause for thought.

I always imagined that a proposal of marriage would be a wondrous thing, full of declarations of lifelong devotion and references to my beauty and virtue. The offer I received from John Soames was scarcely better, but at least he declared his love with ardent kisses, and if I am any judge, searing ardor. Then what does that swift little kiss from Philippe signify? I shall do well to be married in all haste, lest I run all over Camberly searching for John Soames.

Althea was awakened on her wedding morning by the sunlight streaming through her window. She had spent a restless night so with a groan she pulled the counterpane over her head and cuddled into a ball.

She had scarcely made herself comfortable when Lizzie bustled into the room. “Time for your bath, my lady,” she caroled.

Althea cringed. No one should be that cheerful first thing in the morning. It was to no avail. Lizzie pulled the bedclothes back.

Althea sat up and glared at her. “Are you quite mad, Lizzie? The sun has scarcely risen.”

“Dawn was a good hour ago. We should get started if we are going to make you look your most beautiful.”

Althea stared at Lizzie.
Make me look my most beautiful?
Then it came to her. This was the day she had promised to marry Philippe.

The anguish she had suffered the previous evening over her forthcoming nuptials came back to haunt her. Unable to sleep, she had forsaken her bed and had pulled back the curtains and stared out the window. Her gaze invariably strayed beyond the gardens to where the River Camber spilled out into the ocean.

Althea longed to see a lantern wave among the trees, and wondered how she would respond if it did happen. Would she watch until John Soames grew tired of holding it aloft, or would she toss her bonnet over the windmill and make a mad dash straight into his arms?

Suddenly the enormity of her transgression hit home.
Great heavens, Althea Markham. On the very eve of your marriage to Philippe you are mooning over another man. It will not do—Philippe deserves better.

She had returned to her bed, convinced that she was dishonorable and not worthy to make her vows in front of the altar at St. Martin’s. As she meekly submitted to Lizzie’s ministrations, she could think of no extenuating circumstances to change the way she felt.

While Lizzie was vigorously toweling her hair dry, a servant from the kitchen carried in a tray of food and a pot of tea. Lizzie removed the domed covers to reveal a breakfast of toast and fruit “I thought something light would be wise,” Lizzie explained.

“Some tea, perhaps, but I could not eat a bite.”

“I am not surprised. This wedding business has all been so quick—you’ve scarcely had time to catch your breath. Lady Althea, I hope you have thought this through.”

Althea had not been called by that honorific since she had been made a countess. She remembered when they were little girls how Lizzie would call after her in a piping little voice: “Lady Althea, wait for me, you are running much too fast.”

Perhaps I still am.

Out loud she said, “Do not concern yourself, Lizzie. You worry too much.”

Lizzie proceeded to brush Althea’s hair a little too vigorously for comfort. Through her looking glass, Althea saw her maid’s mouth was clamped into a grim line. Althea feared that her slight rebuke had hurt Lizzie’s feelings. It was difficult maintaining a balance between servant and friend.

Lizzie did not utter another word until she had finished dressing Althea’s hair. Then, apparently success overriding her hurt feelings, with a triumphant flourish she said, “There, I’ve finished it. How do you like it, my lady?”

“You have magic in your fingers, Lizzie. I look positively regal.”

Lizzie beamed, her hurt feelings evidently soothed.

Celeste accompanied Althea on her carriage ride to the church. The marquis had opted to ride his horse, pleading, “Carriages ratde my bones too much these days.” It was to be a very private ceremony—no outsiders had been invited, not even the Swanns.

At the onset of the ride, Althea kept her hands tightly clasped in her lap, her gaze resolutely fixed ahead. Celeste gently broke her fingers loose.

“Relax, darling. There is nothing to fear. You are going to the church to be married, not to the guillotine.”

“Perhaps not, Mama.”

Althea held her breath, hoping her slip of the tongue had passed unnoticed. The shocked look on her mother’s face proved otherwise.

She grasped Althea’s arm. “Something is seriously amiss, and I insist on knowing what it is.”

Althea could not prevent her lower lip from quivering.

Celeste looked grim. “We are not going a step further until I get to the bottom of this.” She called out to the driver, “Stop the carriage, if you please.”

The man complied. The marquis caught up with them and leaned over, a questioning look on his face. Celeste waved him on. “It is nothing, Uncle dear. Just a little matter Althea and I neglected to discuss before we left home. Kindly proceed.”

Celeste turned to Althea. “Get out of the carriage and start walking. We have to speak in private.”

Althea felt very conspicuous walking along the road wearing a wedding veil adorned with the elaborate coronet of white silk roses Lizzie had fashioned for her. It was a relief when her mother said, “You may stop now. I should imagine this is far enough.”

She stroked Althea’s cheek. “Am I wrong in thinking that you are having second thoughts about this marriage?”

“Mama, I have done a dreadful thing.”

The words poured out like a torrent.

Celeste loosened Althea’s hold. “Slow down, child. You mean to tell me that our uncle is behind this marriage?”

“At first.”

Celeste clenched her fists. “That villain, I could choke him. But wait—I hardly think you would do anything at his behest” She gave Althea a penetrating look. “I am right about that, am I not?”

Althea looked away.

“It is clear that you are not in love with Philippe, so why in heaven’s name are you marrying him?”

Althea covered her face with her hands. “Oh dear, I feel so wretched.”

Celeste pulled Althea’s hands down from her face and held them in a firm grip. “Tell me, Althea. Tell me, my little cabbage—you have carried this burden long enough.”

Althea sighed. “Very well, Mama. In any case, I am tired of the whole matter. I agreed to marry Philippe because I was afraid I would weaken and marry someone absolutely beyond the pale.”

“And who might that be,
chérie?”

“Your accomplice, John Soames.”

Celeste’s eyes widened. “Really? You are in love with John?”

Althea nodded. “One can only assume that I have taken leave of my senses.”

“Because you love a fine young man like John Soames?” she said gently. “I cannot agree.”

“For goodness’ sake, Mama, look what he does. Besides that, he may not love me at all. It could very well be my fortune that interests him.”

“There you wrong him, Althea. You have him confused with the sort of person one meets in our circle. He is far too idealistic to marry where his heart does not lie.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just know. The things he has done for me, even to the point of risking his life. Not once would he accept a penny for his trouble.”

“But surely you are not suggesting that I marry him?”

“Of course not. That would have to be your decision. In any case, right now you have enough to think about. Do you really want to go through with this farce of a marriage with our cousin?”

“I am in a quandary. I thought that perhaps I would tell him the truth and let him decide what to do. After all, I want to hurt him as little as possible.”

Celeste rolled her eyes. “You know, my darling, I never thought I would be saying such a thing to you, but I fear you have an exaggerated sense of your own importance.”

Althea was confused. “I do not understand.”

“I mean that if you do not marry Philippe he will get over it. He will not die of grief. You worry about John Soames wishing to marry you for your fortune. Perhaps you should be more concerned about Philippe marrying you because his grandfather wants him to.”