Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding Page 3

  “I think I need to sit down,” I muttered and stumbled back to my seat. My head was reeling with thoughts I couldn’t stop. I had thought he was on business abroad. If he was in the vicinity of London, why hadn’t he come to see me first? And who was that woman? And why was he standing so close to her as they shared a private joke? The hurt was almost physical.

  I stumbled into my seat and sat down.

  “What is the matter, Georgie?” Marina asked. “You’re looking awfully pale. Are you all right? Should I send for a glass of cold lemonade for you?”

  “Nothing, thank you. I’ll be fine. Just a little warm,” I said. I stared straight ahead at the back of the queen’s head and out to the racecourse. I wanted to tell somebody. I wanted somebody to hug me and tell me that it was going to be all right. What had I been told so many times before? “Bed hopping is the major sport of your class, isn’t it?” And Darcy and I were staying chastely away from beds until our wedding night. Maybe he missed warm flesh too much and had found a willing partner. Who wouldn’t be willing with someone as gorgeous and suave as Darcy?

  For a moment I thought I might be sick. All I wanted to do was go home, but I was trapped here until the royals decided to leave, and I had no home to go to. I was staying at Princess Zou Zou’s house, alone with a maid and a housekeeper. I had nobody nearby whom I could turn to. Except . . . I glanced across at Marina. Her husband, Prince George, the king’s fourth son, had been known as the worst sort of playboy before his marriage. Had Marina known that and married him anyway? Was it considered normal for people of our rank to keep a mistress, to sow wild oats?

  “Marina?” I lowered my voice. “When you married, did you expect your husband to be faithful?”

  She turned to me, looking almost amused. “I’m sure all healthy young men like to be playboys before they marry,” she said.

  “But do you expect him to be faithful now?” I asked. “Or is it simply a case of don’t ask, don’t tell?”

  “What an extraordinary question,” she said and I realized I had overstepped the bounds of propriety.

  “I’m sorry. I should never have asked,” I said. “But I’m to be married soon and I know that my future husband has not actually been a monk all his life, so I wondered . . .”

  “Whether George was being faithful to me?” she finished. “As to that, he is quite devoted so far, but then we’ve only been married six months. And if he says he’s going to his club—well, I trust that he is going to his club. One has to or life becomes miserable. There is nothing worse than living a life of suspicion.”

  “No, I suppose there isn’t,” I agreed. But I continued to stare out at that racecourse. Did I want to be married to a man, knowing I couldn’t trust him? Worrying every time he went away that he was meeting another woman? Could I be brave enough to walk away before the wedding or did I want to take Darcy on any terms? At this moment I truly didn’t know.

  Chapter 3

  TUESDAY, JUNE 18

  BACK AT EATON SQUARE

  I should never have written in my diary how well things were going. I should have known it was tempting fate! Darcy hasn’t even been to see me yet, and he was only thirty miles from London. Perhaps he doesn’t really want to marry me and is trying to find a way to get out of it. Oh gosh—what am I going to do?

  I had a good cry when I arrived back from Ascot. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more utterly alone. I tried to tell myself that I could be misinterpreting what I saw. Perhaps Darcy had just met an old chum, a long-lost cousin. But the questions always remained: why was he at the races when he told me he had to go abroad on business, and why had he not even been to see me when he was that close to London? I couldn’t come up with any logical explanation.

  There was a letter waiting for me when I arrived back at Eaton Square. It had an Italian stamp and it was from my old school friend Belinda. I opened it eagerly.

  Darling Georgie!

  I know you’ve been waiting to hear from me but frankly I’ve been plucking up the courage to come back to my old life in England. Also it is rather lovely here by the lake and Francesca is still spoiling me. But I realize I should not stay any longer. I have visited Camilla and the baby several times. He’s growing into a sturdy little chap and they adore him. But I realize it’s not healthy for me to stay, and another thing . . . I caught Paolo looking at me, that flirtatious sort of glance he used to give me, and I realized I couldn’t possibly let him show any interest in me again. I might just be too tempted. I did adore him once, you know.

  So I’m packing up and coming home. Dying to see you, darling! I’ve been craving your company ever since you went away. And you’ll be pleased to know that I have not been idle. I shall be arriving with sketches for your wedding gown, and once you approve, we’ll go shopping for fabric. I’m almost as excited as you are.

  Returning on the 18th. I trust you are still at the princess’s house? I’ll give you a tinkle as soon as I’m back at the mews.

  Hugs and kisses,

  Your friend, Belinda

  She was returning on the eighteenth. That was today! I found myself smiling as I put the letter down on the table in front of me. Dear Belinda. She would be somebody I could talk to. She would understand how I felt. After all, she had been betrayed by a man herself—with even more dire consequences. I had only recently returned from keeping her company on Lake Maggiore. And as a thank-you she had offered to design my wedding gown. I was dying to see her sketches. I wanted to feel excited, but a voice in my head whispered, What if she has designed it for nothing?

  But I was not going to listen to that voice. I was going to be strong and brave. Belinda had been in a horrible situation and it all turned out well, I reminded myself. “I’m going to give Darcy the benefit of the doubt,” I said out loud. “He’ll show up and explain everything and I’ll feel silly that I ever mistrusted him.”

  I half expected him to come that evening, but he didn’t. Nor the next morning. I was anxious to see Belinda but didn’t want to leave the house just in case. I was hunting in my address book for her old telephone number when the doorbell rang. I froze. “Please don’t let it be Fig again,” I whispered.

  Clotilde’s light feet came up the stairs and there was a tap on my door.

  “A visitor for you, my lady. She ’as brought a suitcase wiz ’er.”

  “Did she give you a name?”

  “Yes, she is a Miss War-somsing. War-zone?”

  “Warburton-Stoke?” I asked.

  “I believe so. She spoke razzer quickly. A fashionable young lady.”

  I didn’t wait to hear any more. I was already running down the stairs. I pushed open the door of the morning room and there was Belinda, looking exactly as she always had before. . . .

  “Darling!” she exclaimed and rushed toward me, arms open.

  “How are you? You look wonderful,” I said. “How was the train journey?”

  “Bearable, only just. It’s so annoying traveling without a maid. The moment I got home I summoned my former maid Florence and it turns out she has found another position. Another position! With someone else! How’s that for loyalty?”

  I had to smile. “She had no idea how long you’d be away or whether you’d be returning, Belinda. So now what will you do?”

  “Go to one of those dreadful agencies, I suppose. Oh, I hate starting from square one again and training a new girl. At least she won’t be in a constant state of shock when she finds men creeping out of my bedroom in the morning.”

  “You’ve renounced men, have you?” I asked.

  She made a wry face. “Absolutely. I’m going to live a life of chastity and keep cats.”

  “Do you even like cats?” I was laughing now.

  She laughed too. “Actually I can’t stand them, but it’s what spinsters do, isn’t it? Who do you have as a maid these days?”

  “Right now I’m borrowing Clotilde, Zou Zou’s maid,” I said. “She is beyond wonderful.”

  “And the awful cow-faced monstrosity? You’ve finally let her go?”

  “I left Queenie in Ireland, training to be a cook,” I said.

  “Thank God. She’s probably poisoning half of Ireland by now.”

  “No, actually she’s quite good at it. A few accidents, one gathers, but she hasn’t set the kitchen on fire yet as far as I know.”

  “So you won’t be bringing her back when you marry?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I have to make decisions about so many things. I don’t even know where I’ll be living.”

  “Well, speaking of weddings—” She lifted the suitcase onto the sofa and opened it. “Are you dying to see how I’m coming along with your wedding dress?”

  “Oh yes. Rather.” In spite of everything I was excited.

  “Well, darling, here are the preliminary sketches. I thought you’d want plain and simple, no frills or froufrou.”

  She produced a sketch, handing it to me. The dress was indeed simple—cut almost straight down to the ankles with a train going out from the floor. The arms were bare, cut away at the shoulders, and at the neck was a ruffle of white feathers. Oh crikey! I swallowed hard but managed to look hopeful as I caught her eye.

  “It’s very—um—modern, Belinda. Don’t you think it might be too sophisticated for me to pull off?”

  “That’s precisely the point,” she said. “People tend to think of you still as a young country girl, fresh from the Highlands of Scotland. We want to show the smart set and your royal relatives that you are just as fashionable as any of them.”

  “It looks awfully tight,” I said. “How do I walk?”

  “The skirt will have a slit in it, darling. A concealed slit that won’t be noticeable until you walk down the aisle. And that lovely long train will slither behind you as if it’s alive.”

  “And the feathers at the throat?”

  “Well, it shouldn’t be too plain, should it? We’ll make it in a heavenly raw silk or something, but it does need a touch of adornment, and feathers are so in this year.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. I could see that it could look stunning, when worn by the right woman. Mrs. Simpson, with her boyish figure, would look good in it. But me? Tall, thin and a little gangly—Georgie who tends to trip over things in a skintight skirt? Asking for disaster.

  “Wait till you see it on,” Belinda said. “I’ve run up a sample for you to try, so that you get the effect.” She produced a white garment from the suitcase and shook it out. “It’s only a cheap satin but it will give you an impression.”

  “We’d better go up to my room to try it on,” I said. “People can see in through the window down here.” I headed up the stairs, followed by Belinda carrying the dress. I slipped off my cotton frock and Belinda helped me step into the new creation, easing it up over my hips and then hooking it down my back. I turned to look at myself in the mirror. I looked like a long white tube with feathers about to stick up my nose.

  With all the stress of the past day, I could no longer be tactful. “I look as if I’ve just been swallowed by a boa constrictor!” I blurted out.

  “Well, if you want to look frumpy like your dowdy duchess cousin, then anyone can make you layers of fluff and froth,” she said in a hurt voice. “Designer gowns are always impossibly chic and startling, but if you’re not willing to take the risk . . .” She started unhooking the back and almost yanked it off me.

  “Belinda,” I said, putting a tentative hand on her arm, “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, I really am. And I can see it’s a lovely dress, but not on me. I want to feel like a princess, not like a walking drainpipe. And Darcy would take one look and laugh, I know he would.”

  She gave a sigh. “I suppose it’s back to the drawing board, then,” she said, her voice still stiff and huffy.

  “Don’t go to too much trouble, because for all I know there might not even be a wedding,” I said, and to my horror I burst into tears.

  Then, of course, she was comforting me, leading me to the bed to sit down.

  “Georgie, my darling. I didn’t mean to upset you. And I’m sorry I was snippy. Only I thought you’d be surprised and thrilled and you weren’t.”

  “I’m sorry too,” I said, between sobs. “I wanted to like it, but it’s just not me and everything seems to be going wrong right now and I meant what I said that there might not even be a wedding.”

  Belinda sat beside me and held my hand. “Darcy is getting cold feet?”

  “I don’t know,” I blurted out. “Maybe I’m getting cold feet.”

  I recounted the incident at Ascot.

  “Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” she asked when I had finished. “Darcy is the naturally friendly type. And he enjoys chatting with beautiful women. And he often puts a hand on a shoulder or arm when he’s talking to someone.”

  “But he told me he had to go away on business. If he’s now within an hour of London, why hasn’t he been to see me? Isn’t that the first thing a dutiful fiancé should do?”

  A frown crossed Belinda’s face. “Well, yes, you do have a point there. But there must be an explanation. I bet he’ll show up and when you question him he’ll say he’d met an old friend and was asking for her suggestions for honeymoon hotels.”

  “As long as he intended to take me with him,” I said gruffly. “Oh, Belinda.” I looked up at her. “I really don’t know if I can go through with this. I mean, what sort of life will it be if I worry about him every time he’s away? I don’t think I’m overreacting if I don’t want a husband who might be having fun with another woman, am I?”

  “Most of our set would say that you are. I think most society women are prepared to turn a blind eye to unfaithful husbands, and certainly aren’t above the occasional roll in the hay themselves. It’s an accepted sport of our class.”

  “Not for me,” I said. “I have too much of my great-grandmama’s blood flowing through my veins. There was no other man for her than Prince Albert.”

  “Not true.” Belinda gave a wicked grin. “What about all that talk about Mr. Brown and the times they went off together into the heather?”

  “Malicious gossip, I’m sure. But anyway, that was long after Albert died. They were both devoted during his lifetime.”

  “Then you have to sort this out with Darcy before you marry,” Belinda said. “You have to tell him how you feel and tell him you can’t marry him if he plans to have a roving eye.”

  “Oh golly.” I put a hand up to my mouth. “I can’t see myself saying that.”

  “You have to establish the rules, Georgie; otherwise, you’re in for a miserable life.”

  “You’re right.” I sighed. “I expect I’m just being silly. Darcy will turn up any moment now and explain everything.”

  “That’s the girl.” Belinda stood up, giving me a friendly pat. “Now we have work to do. How long until the wedding?”

  “We have sort of agreed on July 27. I have to be in Berlin for Mummy’s wedding at the end of this month and it has to be before the king and queen go to Balmoral.”

  “Good God. Are they coming?”

  “The queen said she wouldn’t miss it.”

  “So it’s going to be a bloody great shindig, is it?”

  “If the queen has her way, it is. Now she’s talking about inviting the crowned heads of Europe. Your relatives will expect an invitation, she said.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Gosh no! I’d like a little church in the country with just a few close friends if I had my way.”

  “Then tell them that. It’s your wedding. It’s not as if the king and queen are paying for it, is it?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “So you can do anything you want. Small church. Close friends. Regret not enough space for crowned heads.”

  She smiled at me and I returned the smile. “Oh yes, that sounds much better. Can you imagine how nervous I’d be walking up the aisle with crowned heads watching me? But there’s another thing, Belinda. The queen hinted that Princess Elizabeth and her sister would love to be bridesmaids.”

  “Holy merde,” Belinda said. “Do you even know them?”

  “Oh yes. Quite well. Elizabeth and I had an adventure together once. But can you imagine . . . walking down the aisle with two princesses holding my train?”

  “And does that mean I’d have to make bridesmaids’ dresses for two princesses?” Belinda asked, looking quite pleased. “An awful lot of extra work, Georgie, but it would put me on the map, wouldn’t it?”

  “I suppose it would. But no drainpipes for them, please. Dresses that make them look like . . . well, little princesses.”

  “And who will pay for these dresses? I planned to give you mine as a wedding gift, but if you end up with a whole gaggle of bridesmaids . . .”

  “Mummy has promised to fund everything,” I said. “And it won’t be a whole gaggle. I don’t think I know any more little girls. My niece Adelaide is too young and unpredictable.”

  She sighed, running her hand through her dark, sleek bob. “I’ll see what I can do, Georgie, but this does complicate things. I’ll have to hurry up and get that workshop in Mayfair if I’m to fit princesses for dresses.”

  “You’ll probably be summoned to their place on Piccadilly, I expect,” I said. “Gosh, Belinda, this is all getting so complicated, isn’t it?”

  “Well, your dress comes first, whatever happens. You want to look like a princess too, I gather.”

  “Simple but elegant,” I said.

  “But you don’t want frills, do you? You don’t want to look like a bloody great meringue.”