Dollars for the Duke, page 7
He thought it quite unnecessary that the Vandevilts should wish to add to the flowers that were there already, which being natural to their surroundings made a most attractive picture.
But he told himself it would be foolish to criticise or alter any arrangements of his future in-laws.
At the same time he thought angrily that he should have been consulted.
The bower of flowers was being erected outside the rooms where the Reception was to take place and in the centre of the lawn where the guests would, if it was a fine day, walk and talk in the sunshine.
But, as the day proceeded, this was just one of the innumerable irritations that occurred.
The Duke discovered too late to countermand the order, that champagne, in fact innumerable cases of it, was being supplied to the employees and tenant farmers in the tithe barn, for whom he had already ordered beer and cider.
It was an expensive addition to the menu that the Duke could not afford and also he knew that as the majority of them were not used to drinking it, they would inevitably become quite unnecessarily drunk.
In addition he was astonished to find that, inside The Castle, Mrs. Vandevilt had arranged for huge wreaths of flowers to be affixed to the staircase in the hall.
Most of the reception rooms were literally smothered in white blossoms in such profusion that they obscured the pictures and even the furniture itself.
When he dressed, he put on his uniform for what he thought would be the last time.
This added to his depression, for he had delayed sending in his formal resignation just in case his marriage fell through and he could continue to be a soldier.
Now the life he had organised was closed to him forever and it did not make his future seem any brighter
But it was when the Duke realised how many photographers and reporters there were, easing their way in his own words ‘into every nook and cranny of The Castle’ that his anger finally spilt over.
“What the devil are all those newspaper men doing here?” he demanded of Lady Edith, and her answer did nothing to soothe his feelings.
“I was afraid you would be annoyed, Seldon.”
“Annoyed?” the Duke almost shouted. “Do you know, I found two of them in my bedroom a few minutes ago, photographing the bed and they asked me if that was where I intended to sleep with my bride!”
“I am sorry, Seldon.”
“Is that all you can say?” the Duke enquired. “They informed me they had come from New York at the invitation of Mrs. Vandevilt. I told them what I thought of their behaviour and they wrote it down in their notebooks!”
“I am afraid that Mrs. Vandevilt wants the wedding to be very fully publicised,” Lady Edith said meekly, “but I am sure that nothing of that sort will appear in an English newspaper.”
The Duke glared at her as if he was bereft of words.
Then he said,
“This whole thing makes me sick. I deliberately insisted on being married in England so that I could avoid this type of vulgarity, which I find degrading both to me and to the family.”
“I agree with you,” Lady Edith said, “and I can only say again how sorry I am. I had no idea, I promise you, that Mrs. Vandevilt would bring reporters over with her.”
The Duke made an exclamation that was untranslatable and walked out of the room.
Lady Edith looked out of the window at the workmen on the lawn with an anxious expression in her eyes.
There was every need for her to be anxious.
*
When the bride and bridegroom had finished receiving the long line of guests that had filtered from the hall, through the drawing room and out into the garden, it was to the Duke the climax of an intolerable afternoon.
Because it was such a lovely day and there seemed to be more guests than expected, Lady Edith had arranged at the last moment for the wedding cake, or rather cakes, to be brought from the dining room into the garden.
This in itself was another irritation to the Duke. When he had seen the cake that Mrs. Vandevilt had brought with her from New York, it had been difficult for Lady Edith to restrain him from having it removed and thrown away.
The cooks at The Castle had worked day and night to produce the sort of cake that had always graced a family wedding.
With three tiers it had been made from an old recipe and the icing skilfully applied portrayed the family crest which was a raised hand holding a sword and the same crest cleverly modelled in sugar surmounted the top tier of the cake.
The Duke had warmly congratulated the cooks when they had shown it to him and said to their delight that he considered it such a work of art that it was almost a pity that it had to be demolished.
“They’ll enjoy eatin’ it all the same, Master Seldon – I means Your Grace!” the oldest of them said who had been at The Castle for over forty years.
The Duke had smiled and said that he was looking forward to eating a piece himself and he knew that everybody concerned was delighted at his praise.
Later in the day when proceeding into the garden to cut the cake in the traditional fashion with his sword, he saw not only the cake that had been baked at The Castle waiting for him and his bride, but also the other which, when he had been shown it earlier, he had considered such a vulgar monstrosity that his first intention had been to have it destroyed.
Instead he was forced to cut both cakes and it was no consolation to find that the one from America was commanding the most attention from his guests.
This was because it consisted not of three tiers but of seven and the bottom one was as large as a cartwheel.
There was certainly nothing refined in its decoration, which consisted of lucky horseshoes, tufts of white heather and a profusion of silver bells. It was surmounted on top by two dolls, one dressed, it seemed to the Duke, entirely in diamonds, the other in a parody of his Regimental uniform.
It was when the cakes were cut and pieces of them were being distributed to the guests that a Toast Master who the Duke had not previously realised was there and who had obviously been imported by Mrs. Vandevilt called for attention.
Speaking with an American nasal accent, he commanded everyone to drink the health of the bride and bridegroom.
Then, as they obediently raised their glasses, there was a sudden explosion that seemed to shake the windows of The Castle behind them. The bower of roses in the centre of the lawn opened and out of it shot a huge bird high into the air from which fell ten thousand red roses.
The confusion caused by the noise and the exclamations of fear from some of the elderly turned into what the Duke thought a murmur of contempt at an exhibition that obviously had been planned entirely for publicity.
He saw the excitement among the photographers with their cameras and the reporters with their notebooks and knew, whatever Lady Edith might say, this would undoubtedly be an item for the English papers as well as for the American.
Only years of self-control prevented the Duke from saying what he thought of so vulgar an innovation.
When finally he and his bride drove away from The Castle in an open carriage bombarded with flower-petals supplied by Mrs. Vandevilt, drawn by horses decorated with wreaths of roses, he felt he had passed through a maelstrom of horror and indignity that he would never forget.
The ordeal however was not yet over, for the drive to the station took them through a small village which was part of the estate, where they passed under an arch decorated with bunting, flowers and flags.
The carriage was brought to a standstill while the Duke received an address from the oldest inhabitant, while Magnolia was presented with a bouquet from a small child who was unwilling at the last moment to relinquish it.
When they reached the station, the Duke saw apprehensively that there was a crowd outside it and what he thought were more decorations than were fitting.
“Let’s hope this is the last reception we have to endure,” he remarked sharply.
He realised as he spoke that it was the first time he had addressed his bride since they left The Castle.
He had, in fact, not looked at her, either when she joined him at the altar or when they walked together the short distance from the Church to The Castle.
The Church was so near that it would have been ridiculous to drive on a fine day and the Duke with Magnolia on his arm had set off briskly up the gravel path which had mysteriously been covered with a red carpet.
It was only when he found that his wife had difficulty in keeping up with him that he was aware that what he thought was her ridiculously long train was being carried by three small pages dressed in white satin Court dress of the time of Louis XIV.
The train was obviously far too heavy for them and the mothers of two of the little boys were assisting them to keep if off the ground.
The Duke supposed that Lady Edith had provided the pages, whose mothers he recognised as his relatives.
The train that was impeding their progress was, however, undoubtedly American and he disliked it like everything else that had transformed the simple wedding service he had envisaged into something very different.
For one thing, again he supposed on Mrs. Vandevilt’s insistence, a Bishop, assisted by four other Clergy, had married them.
As the Church was small, there were far too many Priests congregated around the altar, and similarly the choir stalls were filled to overflowing with a choir that had been brought from London to augment the villagers whose usual duty it was to perform at weddings and funerals.
That they sang like angels did nothing to mitigate the Duke’s feelings that despite all his efforts the wedding had become a peep show.
Enormous arrangements of lilies filled the Chancel and every pew had bunches of flowers affixed to them with long white ribbon bows trailing to the ground with a very theatrical effect.
They reached the station and the Duke thought he might have expected that the small platform that was little more than a halt for The Castle should be covered with a red carpet with huge bowls of lilies set outside the entrance, and inevitably, framed in flowers, were the American photographers and a large posse of journalists.
They descended on the newly married couple like a swarm of bees
The Duke was bombarded with questions and he heard his wife attempting to answer what seemed to him to be extremely impertinent ones in a soft, rather frightened voice.
Fortunately the private train, which had brought the Vandevilts from London, was waiting for them and the Duke pushed Magnolia through the photographers and into the compartment, instructing the attendant to keep everybody out.
The doors were shut, but the cameras were at the windows and so were the faces of their persecutors.
The Duke indicated the seats on the far side of the carriage.
“I suggest,” he said, “that we sit over here and keep our backs towards them. There is little they can do then.”
Magnolia obeyed him without replying.
At last, to the Duke’s relief, the train started and amid cheers and waving hands moved slowly out of the station.
It was then he exploded, as if the words burst through the control that he had exerted all day,
“I never in my life thought I would be subjected to such a disgusting display of vulgarity!”
He rose as he spoke and walked out of what was the drawing room carriage of the train to find his way to another compartment where he could be alone.
It did not assuage his temper to discover that the train was larger than he had expected, and quite a number of the photographers and journalists were fellow travellers.
Because he had no wish to involve himself with them, knowing that anything he said would be taken down and used in their newspapers, the Duke returned to the compartment he had just left.
He saw that his wife, who had been staring out of the window, quickly opened a magazine when he appeared.
He therefore made no effort to sit in an armchair either near or opposite her, but sat down on the other side of the coach and picked up a newspaper.
They travelled for a little while in silence, then Stewards came in to offer them food and drink.
The Duke now realised that he must behave in a civilised manner, whatever he might think of his wife and her mother’s arrangements.
He had only been able to have a few words with Mr. Vandevilt, who had been brought to The Castle in Lord Farringdon’s carriage just before the wedding.
His quiet cultured voice without a trace of an accent, his handsome appearance and the manner in which he greeted his future son-in-law told the Duke that here was a man he could like and respect.
He had always prided himself on being a good judge of character and he knew the moment he met Mr. Vandevilt that he was very different in every way from his wife.
There had unfortunately been no time for conversation and almost as soon as he arrived, Mr. Vandevilt had been taken from The Castle to the Church in a wheelchair where he was to watch Lord Farringdon bring his daughter up the aisle in his place.
Now as a Steward arranged a table in front of Magnolia and placed upon it sandwiches, cakes and biscuits, besides tea that she had obviously asked for, the Duke crossed the carriage to sit down opposite her.
“I suspect,” he said in what he hoped was a pleasant tone, “that you and I were the only people at the Reception who had nothing to eat or drink.”
There was a little pause before Magnolia answered him and because her head was bent it was difficult for the Duke to see her face.
He knew when they were being married, that he had been afraid of seeing what she looked like.
Last night, after Mrs. Vandevilt had left, he had known that if his wife was like her mother, it would be impossible for him to contemplate the horror his married life would be.
Now, as if she forced herself to do so, Magnolia raised her head and he saw that she was in fact very different from what he had feared.
To begin with, she was very slight and her face was thin and had somehow a fragile look about it, dominated by her eyes.
They were very large and he was not sure whether they were blue or grey, but one thing was very obvious, she was frightened.
The pupils were dilated and there was an expression on her face that told the Duke that she was looking at him, as he told himself, although he could hardly believe it, with an unmistakable expression of terror.
Then, having looked at him, her eyes flickered and her eyelashes were dark against her pale cheeks as she said, although he could hardly hear it.
“I-I am afraid you must have – been upset by the – explosion of roses.”
It struck the Duke before he answered her that her voice was also very different from what he had expected, being soft and musical and like her father she had no accent.
“It was not something that should happen at a wedding in England,” he said before he could stop himself.
He only realised after the words had been said that he had spoken sharply in the same way as he might have addressed a recalcitrant soldier or a servant he was reprimanding.
“I-I am – sorry.”
Once again the words were faint, but he could hear them.
“I don’t suppose it was your fault,” he said, and thought even to himself it sounded somewhat patronising.
“Mama did not – tell me what she had planned – but I – knew when it happened that it – annoyed you.”
The Duke felt that was an understatement, but nothing he could say now could undo what had been done. He was only too well aware what his relatives would say and the amusement it would cause amongst his neighbours.
Because he thought it would be a mistake to express any farther his feelings in the matter or about any of his mother-in-law’s other arrangements at the wedding which was now over, he picked up the glass of champagne which the Steward had poured out for him, without his really being aware of it, and drank it.
He noticed that his wife sipped some tea, but ate nothing.
Because he still felt angry he thought that food would choke him, but he deliberately ate a cucumber sandwich as if he felt that to do something ordinary and normal might help him to control the temper he felt rising within him like a tide that nothing could suppress or turn back.
After a moment he was calm enough to say,
“I expect you are tired, but the railway has made the journey to London far quicker than it was, so we should be at Otterburn House by about eight o’clock.”
“That – will be very – nice.”
Magnolia had once again dropped her head, so that it was impossible for the Duke to see her face.
He decided she must be shy and supposed it must be an ordeal for any women to be married to a man she had never even seen until she walked up the aisle.
Yet that was her choice, not his, and he hoped that she would become more conversational later on. If not, he was appalled by the future.
He tried to think of something to say to ease what was obviously a tension between them, but decided it was too difficult to talk above the noise of the train.
A Steward then appeared to ask if there was anything else they required and, having refused another glass of champagne, the Duke, while the tea was being cleared from in front of Magnolia, moved to the other side of the carriage.
He picked up a newspaper and attempted to read it, but all the time he was conscious that he was married and there was nothing he could do about it, however disagreeable he might find it.
As they journeyed on, it seemed to him that the wheels beneath him were laughing at his discomfort, but at the same time telling him that his financial difficulties were at an end and, however unpleasant he might find his wife, his other problems had disappeared.
As the daylight began to fade, the Duke found his head nodding and knew that his lack of sleep last night was beginning to take its toll of him.
He shut his eyes and awoke with a start as a Steward said at his side,
“We’re just coming into the station, Your Grace. The carriage’ll be waiting.”
