The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Forty-Three



THE SUN SHONE brilliantly in a cloudless sky on the June day when Lady Sophia Rushton, only daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Claremont, married the Marquess of Trent at St Margaret’s, Westminster. People lined the street, kept back by policemen on horseback, all eager to catch a glimpse of the beautiful young bride as she arrived with her father.

‘It’s just like the Jubilee,’ Millie commented as she looked out of the window of the Rolls-Royce. Crammed inside the car with her were three other bridesmaids, while another car followed behind carrying two more and a brace of pageboys dressed as miniature guardsmen. She straightened the spray of cream roses in her hair. It was hot inside the car, and she could feel perspiration breaking out under her arms. She prayed it wouldn’t show on her apricot silk dress.

Inside the church, the cream of society waited. Sophia’s mother had spared no expense for her daughter’s wedding, and the vast, beautiful church was filled with the heavy, sweet scent of roses and gardenias. Millie joined the retinue of nervous bridesmaids, tweaking their flowers and adjusting their dresses as the bride arrived.

Sophia looked stunning in her dress of heavy silk embroidered lavishly with silver thread that sparkled in the sunshine. Her train was so long, it took all six of the bridesmaids to lay it out straight.

‘You look beautiful,’ Millie whispered. Even through her veil she could see her friend’s eyes shining with joy.

‘I’m so nervous,’ she confessed, as the organ music swelled majestically in Wagner’s “Wedding Chorus”. ‘My hands are shaking so much I can’t hold my flowers still.’

‘No one will notice,’ Millie assured her. ‘They’ll all be too busy looking at me tripping over your train.’

But she didn’t. For once she managed to get through the occasion with no trips, slips or stumbles. She saw her grandmother watching her almost with approval as she filed out of the church after the bride, where a Guard of Honour stood waiting on the steps.

The wedding party was held at the Claremonts’ London residence, Claremont House, overlooking St James’ Park. Here too, the Duchess had spared no expense. The wedding breakfast was a lavish affair, and afterwards everyone danced to a band in the ballroom, which glittered under the light of the magnificent chandeliers. Millie danced with the best man, who showed no interest in her beyond his duty dance. She was much happier to partner her father, who looked very handsome in his morning dress and didn’t mind at all that she tripped over her own feet several times.

‘You do realise every eligible woman is watching you?’ Millie teased him, as they circled elegantly around the dance floor.

‘I dare say they’re wondering how an old crock like me can remember the steps!’ he joked.

‘I wonder if Granny is enjoying herself.’

‘I don’t know if your grandmother ever enjoys herself unless she’s running the show.’

Millie glanced over his shoulder to where Lady Rettingham was sitting with her old friend and bitter rival, the Dowager Duchess of Claremont. She could imagine what they were talking about. The other dowager would most certainly not have missed the opportunity to be smug about her granddaughter’s successful marriage, while expressing all kinds of sympathy that Millie was not similarly blessed.

Poor Granny. Millie wished she could give her something to crow about.

After several more dances, each less successful than the last, Millie excused herself to watch from the sidelines instead. In the middle of the dance floor, Sophia and her new husband David danced every dance in each other’s arms, hardly noticing the party going on around them.

‘Don’t they look happy?’ Seb joined Millie, handing her a glass of champagne.

‘Not as happy as your mother.’

‘Ah, yes. She does seem rather satisfied with herself.’

‘Like the cat that got the cream.’

Lady Claremont was holding court at the far end of the room, while the guests gathered like satellites around her, admiring and praising her.

‘And why not?’ Seb said. ‘She has her only daughter safely married off, and to a Marquess, no less. It must be such a relief for her. Now she only has her sons to worry about.’

‘I thought you had high hopes of Miss Farsley?’ Millie could already see Georgina out of the corner of her eye, circling them, ready to pounce. ‘You’ve been dancing with her all evening.’

‘Miss Farsley has very high hopes of me. Not the other way around, I assure you.’

‘She’s very beautiful.’

‘And even more snobbish than my mother.’ Seb shuddered. ‘If I were to marry her, I would be paraded endlessly in front of her wealthy American friends whenever they came over to visit. I would become just another tourist attraction, like the Tower of London.’

Millie laughed, but Seb’s expression was serious. ‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I’m nearly twenty-two. After this summer I will be at a loose end. Either I get married or I become a playboy.’

‘I can’t imagine you as a playboy!’

‘Neither can I,’ Seb agreed with a heavy sigh. ‘I’m far too sensible, I’m afraid.’

‘Seriously, what are you going to do when you leave Oxford?’ Millie asked.

‘I was thinking of becoming a journalist,’ he said. ‘I’ve always liked writing, and my father says he’ll use his connections to find me a job. Although to be honest I’d rather start somewhere more humble and work my way up. I don’t want everyone thinking I’ve got the job because of who I am.’

Millie understood only too well how he felt. Having a title and a life of privilege was wonderful, but it could make it difficult to make your own way in the world.

‘I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful journalist, Seb,’ she said.

‘Do you think so? I can’t really think of anything else I’d like to do. And I do so want to be useful.’

‘Good for you,’ she said warmly.

‘You’ve inspired me,’ he told her with a grin. ‘You’ve set an example to every lazy, over-privileged chap, encouraging us all to get off our backsides and make something of ourselves.’

‘Heavens, what a responsibility!’

‘I mean it,’ he said softly. ‘You are an inspiration, Millie. A real breath of fresh air.’ He surveyed the dancing couples for a moment. ‘So what’s the story with your Dr Tremayne?’ he asked suddenly.

She frowned at him. She’d almost forgotten he and William had met. ‘There is no story. I told you, William’s just a friend. Why do you ask?’

‘I thought he might be rather keen on you.’

‘I doubt it,’ Millie laughed. ‘And even if he is, I’m not keen on him.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Seb’s eyes were fixed on her.

‘Dr Tremayne has something of a reputation at the Nightingale,’ she said, evading the question.

‘Ah.’ Seb nodded wisely. ‘I suppose it’s for the best,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine what your grandmother would say if she found out you were stepping out with an impoverished junior doctor?’

‘I think by this stage she would be grateful I was stepping out with anyone,’ Millie sighed.

‘Perhaps we should get married?’ Seb said suddenly.

Millie laughed. ‘What?’

‘Why not? We’ve got a lot going for us,’ he said, still with his gaze fixed on the dance floor. ‘We get along all right together, don’t we?’

‘Most of the time,’ Millie agreed, trying to straighten her features.

‘And it would make our respective families very happy, I’m sure.’ He glanced her way. ‘What do you say?’

‘I say that if that’s the best marriage proposal you can come up with, then you really should work on your approach before you seriously pop the question to a girl!’

He pulled a face. ‘Who says I wasn’t serious? Think about it, Mil.’

She looked into his eyes. He looked so earnest that for a moment she almost believed him. But after knowing him for so many years, she knew how believable Seb’s practical jokes could be.

‘I really don’t think I need to,’ she replied.

Seb sighed dramatically, the very picture of a scorned lover. ‘Oh, well, I suppose it was worth a try. Tell you what, I’ll make a deal with you. If neither of us has found someone to marry us by the time we’re twenty-five, we’ll marry each other. How about that?’

This time Millie had to laugh. ‘I’m sure you’ll be snapped up by then, Sebastian.’

Right on cue, Georgina Farsley swanned up behind them. She looked radiant in eau-de-nil georgette that perfectly complemented her dramatic dark colouring.

‘There you are!’ she cried, as if she hadn’t been watching Seb’s every move for the past half hour. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Some of the gang are heading off for supper. We’re desperate for you to join us. Please say you’ll come?’ She was already tugging on his arm.

Seb turned to Millie. ‘Will you come too?’

Millie saw the sour look that flashed across Georgina’s face. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. I have a late pass, but I still have to be ready for duty at seven tomorrow morning.’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t go either. After all, it’s bad form to leave your own sister’s wedding . . .’

‘You should,’ Millie encouraged him. ‘The bride and groom will be leaving soon anyway. Besides,’ she added in a low voice, ‘you need to practise being a playboy, remember?’

Later, up in Sophia’s old bedroom, Millie helped the bride take off her heavy wedding dress and change into her going away outfit, a fitted costume in brilliant emerald green.

‘I’m so nervous,’ she blurted out, as she sat at her dressing table while Millie unpinned her hair.

‘Why? The wedding’s over, everything went beautifully. What have you got to be nervous about now?’

‘You know. The wedding night.’ Sophia met her gaze meaningfully in the mirror. ‘I just wish I knew what to expect,’ she said. ‘I tried to talk to Mummy about it, but she wasn’t very helpful. She told me I shouldn’t refuse my husband, no matter how much I might want to. But refuse him what?’

Millie hid her smile. While she had still never even kissed a man herself, she had learned a lot from listening to Sister Parker and the women on Wren ward. She now considered herself quite worldly wise, in theory at least.

‘Do you really want to know?’ she said.

Sophia twisted round to look at her. ‘What have you heard?’ she said. ‘Tell me, please. I need to know what to expect.’

Millie looked at her friend’s desperate face. ‘Well . . .’ she began, putting down her hairbrush.

By the time she’d finished, they were both giggling like schoolgirls. ‘Are you sure?’ Sophia said. ‘It all sounds so absurd.’

Millie nodded. ‘It is rather, isn’t it?’

Sophia reached for her hand. ‘Thanks for telling me anyway. I’m not nearly so terrified now.’ She smiled archly at Millie. ‘I expect it’ll be your turn soon!’

‘Don’t,’ Millie groaned. ‘Everyone’s been nagging me about marriage today. Even your brother’s been going on about it.’

‘Seb? What did he say?’

‘He proposed, would you believe?’ Millie picked up the hairbrush and started to brush out her friend’s long dark hair again. ‘Well, not really. He came up with a ridiculous plan for us to get married if no one else would have us. I think he wants to save me from ending up on the shelf. He can be such a joker sometimes.’ She smiled fondly to herself, then glanced up and saw Sophia’s serious expression in the mirror. ‘What?’

‘I don’t think he was joking, Millie.’

‘Of course he was!’

‘You really don’t know how he feels about you, do you?’ Sophia shook her head, marvelling. ‘Millie, my brother has been head over heels in love with you for years. But he’s always been too shy to do anything about it. Until now, apparently.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t believe Seb asked you to marry him like that. I suppose he thought if he pretended it was all a big joke he wouldn’t feel so bad if you turned him down. As if anyone would ever accept such an appalling proposal!’

Millie was barely listening to her. She was too dazed by the revelation. ‘I had no idea,’ she said.

‘You won’t say anything to Seb, will you?’ Sophia pleaded. ‘He’d be simply mortified if he thought I’d breathed a word. I just thought you ought to know.’

But Millie wasn’t sure she did need to know. She wasn’t sure how she was going to face Seb again, knowing he had feelings for her. Sophia’s revelation had changed everything between them. ‘But I don’t want to marry anyone,’ she protested.

‘I realise that, and so does Seb. You know he’d never put any pressure on you, don’t you? He truly admires what you’re doing. I think he’d wait for ever for you, if you asked him to.’ Sophia smiled and Millie tried to smile back, but her lips were frozen. She didn’t want him to wait for ever. She didn’t want him to wait at all.

Her father’s chauffeur Felix drove her back to the Nightingale. Millie sat deep in thought all the way, still shaken by Sophia’s revelation. She had genuinely never realised Seb had any feelings for her beyond just friendship. But now she did, she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it.

She liked him. He was fun, clever, and witty without being unkind: gentle, sensitive and kind-hearted without being utterly wet. He could quote poetry and discuss books as well as he could ride a horse or shoot. And he was good-looking, too. A season of dancing with oafs and listening to bragging bores had taught Millie that she could certainly do a lot worse. But even so . . .

As the Daimler turned the corner, it illuminated a couple embracing in the shadows of the looming hospital walls. They were in each other’s arms, kissing passionately, oblivious to everything around them.

Millie looked away, embarrassed, but not before the young man turned his face towards her and she caught a glimpse of his profile. It was William Tremayne.

‘Are you all right, my lady?’ She hadn’t realised she’d cried out until Felix caught her eye in the rear-view mirror.

‘Yes . . . thank you, Felix.’

Millie resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder until they’d reached the hospital gates. By then, thankfully, the couple had gone.