Page 19 of Lady Beast's Bridegroom
Peter did not want to offend his friend, but on the other hand, his first priority must now be his family—Arial and his sisters. “Barlowe, please show Miss and Mrs. Weatherall to the sitting room downstairs and arrange for refreshments.” Hemanaged a polite smile for the old harridan. “I am sure you will understand, Mrs. Weatherall. It is a private ceremony.” She would probably make nasty remarks about her exile, but better that than insult his bride to her face.
Mrs. Weatherall puffed up her chest. “Well, I never.”
Before she could let fly with whatever insults and demands were brewing, there was a stir on the landing above. Mrs. Weatherall looked up, her mouth dropping open. Miss Weatherall and John were likewise affected.
Peter turned to look. It was Arial, but not the Arial he had left this morning. Dressed in a golden gown with a matching half-mask, her hair dressed high upon her head, his mother’s jewelry catching the light, she was a queen—no, a goddess—beautiful, mysterious, confident, alluring.
She descended the stairs, and he stretched out his hand to help her down the last few steps. “You look lovely tonight,” he said.
She smiled. “You must also admire your sisters,” she instructed him.
He tore his gaze away from hers. The girls were grinning at him, not at all offended that he had not even noticed them. Yes, and the governess and Arial’s companion were also there, dressed in their very best. He offered compliments to all four of them.
Mrs. Weatherall was not prepared to be ignored. “Are you going to introduce your bride to us, Ransome?” she asked.
Arial raised an eyebrow. “This must be your friend John,” she said to Peter. She smiled at the Weatheralls. “And you, I assume, are the captain’s betrothed and her mother. My lord, will you present your friend and his guests?”
Peter gave a slight bow of agreement, secretly impressed at how she had so politely reminded Mrs. Weatherall that, as daughter of an earl, she was the one to whom etiquette gave thepower to accept or refuse an introduction. “My lady, may I make known to you Mrs. Weatherall and her daughter Belinda. Also, my dear friend, Captain Forsythe, with whom I served in the army. As you so rightly assumed, the captain has the felicity of being engaged to marry Miss Weatherall.”
Arial offered Mrs. Weatherall her hand and a gracious inclination of the head. Mrs. Weatherall bobbed a curtsey before she could stop herself, but made a recovery, dropping the hand and saying, “When I heard that my dear friend’s son was being married, and with so much haste, I felt I must attend the ceremony so I could tell dear Lady Ransome what was toward.”
Arial’s voice was warm with humor when she replied, “Then you must be sure to report to Lady Ransome, or the dowager Lady Ransome, as she will be in a few minutes, that her stepson and I are married, and very happy to have his two beloved sisters with us to share our life.”
She held out a hand to each girl. “May I present Miss Vivienne Ransome and Miss Rosalind Ransome?” The girls bobbed a polite curtsey. Mrs. Weatherall nodded, stiffly, averting her eyes from Rose and focusing on Viv. Miss Weatherall stared at Rose and turned to John with her mouth open, but Arial spoke before she did.
“And this is my dear friend, Miss Tulloch, and also Miss Pettigrew, who has just joined our household with the girls.” She smiled warmly at the two she had named, ignoring Mrs. Weatherall’s sniff and Miss Weatherall’s sneer.
Again, Arial spoke before Miss Weatherall could turn her contempt into words. “But here we are, standing on the landing. Do step into the next room, please, ladies. The vicar has kindly made space for us in his evening, and we must not keep him waiting. Captain? If you would take your ladies in? And Peter, please escort Clara and Miss Pettigrew. My new sisters and I mean to make an entrance.”
Peter followed orders, but murmured to her as he passed, “You are magnificent, my lady.” She muttered something about fine feathers making fine birds, but he was not referring to her appearance, grand though it was.
No time now. Later he would tell her that he had been ready to leap to her defense against the obnoxious Weatheralls, until she proved she was fully capable of deflecting their barbs, and doing so with courtesy, grace, and good humor.What a woman!
Someone had seen to it that the drawing room was set up for the ceremony, with chairs set in three rows facing the large bay window, where the vicar stood holding a prayer book. Large vases, filled with roses, lilies, and greenery, flanked the bay. Mr. Richards had already taken a chair in the back row. John sat the Weatherall ladies in the second. Peter conducted Miss Tulloch and Miss Pettigrew to the other two seats in that row, then took his place before the vicar, half turned to watch the door.
John came up beside him, assuring him of support with a single slap on the back.
As if that was the signal, Viv stepped through the door, her face solemn, her eyes glowing. She walked slowly and deliberately, pointing her toe with each step, making a procession of one as she crossed the room to the bay window. There, she stood to one side and turned towards the door.
Now Rose began her own walk across the room, walking with the same slow steps as her sister, looking up through her lashes at Viv and making straight for her. Side-by-side, the two sisters watched for the bride.
At last, Arial stood framed by the doorway. Peter, having been struck breathless by the sight of her on the stairs, was once more knocked back on his metaphorical heels. The gown hugged her curves, which were splendid. Her figure was the personification of a man’s earthiest dreams.
And, at the same time, some of his loftiest imaginings. From the elaborate hairstyle held in place by his mother’s tiara to the gold slippers that showed with each step beneath her lacy hem, she was too magnificent for a mere mortal male to conquer.Goddess, he thought again. It would be his part to surrender and worship. He could hardly wait.
Chapter Eight
This was anevening of firsts for Arial. Dressing with the help of her new sisters. Examining her own reflection in the mirror and being pleased with what she saw. Making her appearance at the top of the stairs to see awe and admiration in the eyes of Peter and his friend, Captain Forsythe. And a darker emotion on the faces of the Weatherall ladies, but one she’d never expected to attract.
Perhaps it was bad of her, but their jealousy pleased rather than bothered her. If anyone had told her a week ago that she would look good enough to cause a petty-minded Society beauty to regard her with envy, she would not have believed them.
She smiled at them as she walked slowly past them on her way to where Peter stood before the vicar. They had come prepared to bestow pity, of course. How disappointed they must be.
With them behind her, she put them out of her mind. This was her evening, and she would not allow the Weatheralls to spoil it for her.
Her heart warmed and a lump came to her throat as Peter stepped to one side and held his hand out for her. His right hand. Her sighted side. She handed her wedding bouquet—made for her by her new sisters with herbs and flowers from the market—to Rosalind and gave her left hand to Peter.
Another first. Her wedding. She had been damaged too young to have begun to dream of one and had been too realistic to allow such dreams to take root as she became a woman. Since Mr. Richards had proposed his scheme, she had been focused on selecting a candidate and on reaching an agreement that gave her the best chance of a reasonable life. The wedding had not been a consideration.
