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The marquess made a show of setting his cane against the side of his chair and moving until his spine was resting against the back and his hands were gripping the arms. "Sheringford," he said without taking his eyes off Miss Huxtable, "I believe you have just done the wisest thing you have done in your entire life – or the most foolish." Duncan rescued his feet and moved the short distance to the side of the sofa in order to set a reassuring hand on Margaret Huxtable's shoulder, though she seemed to be doing very well without his support. "Nothing in between?" he said. "She will not crumble under adversity," his grandfather said. "And there may be much adversity to test her mettle. On the other hand, you will find it impossible to ignore her or to rule her. I will expect to read an a
Good God! Duncan could remember his grandmother, a small, smiling, gentle, mild-ma
They were almost out of the square. The drizzle was already turning into a steady rain, which was drumming on the umbrella. But instead of hurrying onward, Duncan stopped walking abruptly. "He /adored/ my grandmother," he said.
She turned her head to look at him. How foolish she had been, choosing to wear pale blue on such a day, and a straw bo
He bent his head and kissed her on the lips – and her own pressed firmly back against them and clung for a totally indecorous stretch of time.
He felt slightly dizzy when he thought of the changes six days had wrought in his life.
16
MARGARET had ten days in which to prepare for her wedding and for married life. Ten days in which to have second and third and thirty-third thoughts about the wisdom of her decision to marry a stranger – who had lived with a married lady for almost five years and had had a son with her. Ten days to shop for bride clothes – sometimes with her sisters, sometimes with Lady Carling, sometimes with all three. Ten days in which to draw up a guest list and send out invitations and wait for replies and try to resist the temptation to insist upon involving herself with the pla
She would have been content to keep the guest list short, to have no one at her wedding, in fact, except her family and Sir Graham and Lady Carling and the Marquess of Claverbrook.
Her sisters had other ideas. Of course.
So did Lady Carling. Of course. "You must invite everyone with whom you and Lord Sheringford have even a passing acquaintance," Vanessa told her. "I do agree, Meg," Katherine said. "It is what we decided to do for /my/ wedding, you will recall, and while it was something of an ordeal at the time, I have been so very glad since. A big wedding provides wonderful memories." "But no one will /come/," Margaret protested.
Her sisters looked at each other and laughed. "Meg!" Katherine exclaimed. "/Everyone/ will come. How could they possibly resist? It will be the wedding of the Season." "With only nine days' notice?" Margaret asked doubtfully. "Even if it was tomorrow," Vanessa said. "Of course everyone will come, you silly goose." It was an opinion with which Lady Carling concurred when she called at Merton House the same day. "And even if we were to invite only family," she said, "the numbers would be quite vast, Margaret. There are your brother and sisters and Mr. Constantine Huxtable. And there are Agatha, my sister, and Wilfred, and all my nieces – there are six of them, did you know? All of them are married. And on his father's side Duncan has four uncles and their wives and two aunts and their husbands. Not that they are actually uncles and aunts, since they were my late husband's cousins, but that is what Duncan always called them. And /they/ have so many children all told that I lost count years ago. There are even grandchildren who are old enough to attend a wedding without any fear that they will dash about whooping and getting under everyone's feet. If you give me paper and pen and ink, I will write down the names and addresses of all I can remember. Most of them are in London and will certainly expect invitations. Duncan was always very close to his cousins and second cousins as a boy. Except Norman, that is. He was a dear enough boy, but he was always very good and very ready to disapprove of any brothers and cousins who were /not/ good. That did not endear him to any of them, as you may imagine. And I suppose we ca