Page 54 of An Execution, an Earl, and Miss Hughes
Glancing in the mirror, Sarah could only agree. The dress had been made by amodistein Cirencester, and was the most luxurious item she had ever owned. ts bodice was delicately embroidered with seed pearls that caught the morning light, while the silk skirts swept to her toes in a graceful fall of rose-pink. In her hair, she wore what she now thought of as her lucky-ribbon.
“You are the most beautiful bride to have ever lived,” Mary declared, as Sarah finally pronounced herself ready.
It was a definite case of hyperbole, but Sarah allowed it. A bride should accept compliments graciously on her wedding day, after all.
A knock sounded upon the door and before Sarah could reply, a familiar voice floated in from the hallway.
“May I come in?” came the voice of Mrs Mifford. Given her tendency to enter rooms before permission was granted, this was a touching gesture in itself.
She bustled in a moment later and took Sarah’s hands in her own.
“My dear you are radiant,” she declared, her eyes misty with tears. “I am sorry that your own mother is not here to see you wed, but I know that she would be over the moon to know that you have made, not just a love match, but a comfortable one.”
“Mama,” Mary protested her crassness.
“What?” Mrs Mifford looked affronted. “Let us not ignore that the best thing a girl can do to secure her future is to make an advantageous match. I know I have been accused of meddling—and, on one memorable occasion, manhandling—when it comes to matchmaking, but it comes from a place of love. I can rest easy now, Sarah, knowing your future is secure in the hands of Lord Deverell.”
Sarah was momentarily touched by her heartfelt declaration. Her eyes did not get a chance to water, before Mrs Mifford spoke again.
“Now,” she cleared her throat, “As you do not have your own mother with you today, I came to see if you would like me to go over what to expect from the marriage bed.”
“Mama, no,” Mary gave a strangled cry. “You forget that I am a married woman now and can share with Sarah what to expect. Why don’t you go down and tell Papa I’ll be ready in a moment?”
“Oh, alright,” Mrs Mifford agreed, before bustling away to find her husband.
As the door shut behind her, Mary gave a long-suffering sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“She means well,” the duchess said, patting the coverlet beside her for Sarah to sit. “But she gave me such a fright the morning of my wedding that I went to bed armed with a knitting needle.”
“A knitting needle?” Sarah repeated, aghast.
“To protect myself from Northcott,” Mary giggled at the memory. “Of course, I soon discovered that marriage bed can be tremendous fun. And, of course, it is a means by which a lady can expand her family.”
Mary glanced down at her stomach fondly and Sarah let out a gasp.
“You’re increasing?” she whispered, a little startled by the idea that a second Baby George would soon enter the world.
“Yes,” Mary nodded happily, “As is Eudora, if you’d credit it?”
“Well, I did hear that Lord Delaney was very committed to the process,” Sarah laughed, though before she could explain herself, her father called from downstairs that it was time to leave.
With one last glance in the mirror, the two girls rushed down the stairs, laughing and giggling as they had when they were girls.
They parted outside, with Mary clambering into a carriage with her mother and Sarah a separate carriage with her father.
“You look beautiful,” Sarah’s father said simply, once they were alone in the compartment.
“Oh, Papa,” she was momentarily heartbroken to leave him. “Are you certain you’ll be alright? I went through a month’s worth of menus with Anne and she knows what’s what in the medicine press—”
“Hush, lass,” her father urged, patting her hand affectionately. “I don’t want you worrying about my dinner onyour wedding day. You’re about to become a countess, you’ll have to get used to people fussing over you for a change.”
Sarah nodded and settled back into her seat. Through the window, she watched with nostalgia at each familiar hedge and home they passed. By the time they reached Plumpton, she felt a lump in her throat at the idea of leaving the village and all her friends behind.
Mr McDowell stood outside the grocer’s to watch the procession, while Mr Henderson gave a saucy wink from his perch at the door of the butchers. Outside The Ring, as Mr Marrowbone raised his pint in toast to the passing carriage, Sarah felt a tear slip down her cheek.
“Wales isn’t so far away,” her father consoled her, as he noted her tears.
Sarah nodded and patted her eyes with a handkerchief; she was just being emotional, that was all. She’d visit Plumpton often from Abergavenny—possibly she’d even make a return visit before she’d learned to properly spell the name of her new home!
