‘I shall find a maid to bring us some refreshment,’ said Mrs Keppel, leaving the room.
‘Ah, dear Alice,’ commented Daphne, ‘so discreet and accommodating. Now, my dear, you can imagine my relief that Freddie has finally chosen a bride. I am sure you are aware of his high-spirited temperament, but I know you will be able to tame him. He needed an unusual woman and, with your exotic past, I feel you fit the bill well.’
‘I . . . thank you.’
‘We ourselves are an unusual family, but then again what family isn’t behind closed doors?’ The Countess winked at her. ‘Of course, the Earl had to be persuaded, but he’s settled to it now. After all, one could not ask for better breeding stock, could one?’ She gave a buttery laugh and patted Flora on the knee. ‘You are indeed an attractive young woman,’ the Countess continued as she studied Flora through glasses that hung on a chain round her thick neck. Flora could see the heavy layer of powder on the woman’s face and the bright cheek and lip colour she wore made her think of a character in one of Sheridan’s Georgian farces. ‘Before we leave tomorrow, we must arrange a date for you to visit Selbourne; perhaps the third weekend in January? I do find the month so dismal, don’t you?’
Over dinner that evening, she and Daphne discussed dates for the wedding.
‘Well, Mama,’ said Freddie, pressing his thigh against Flora’s under the table. ‘In my book, it can’t come soon enough.’
‘Do you have any preference, Flora dear?’
‘June?’ suggested Flora neutrally.
‘Personally, I always feel that June weddings are rather vulgar and May is so much fresher,’ countered Daphne. ‘Shall we agree on the second Friday? It will time nicely with the start of the Season.’
‘As you wish, Daphne.’ Flora lowered her eyes.
‘Then that is settled! I will send the invitations to be printed at Mr Smythson’s shop on Bond Street. They will, of course, not be sent out until six weeks before, but everyone who needs to know will be told far sooner. Do you think cream vellum or white?’
‘Not long now, dear girl,’ Freddie whispered to her as he rose to join the men for brandy and cigars. ‘I am impatient for our wedding night. Where would you like to go for our honeymoon? I have friends in Venice, or perhaps the south of France? In fact, dash it all, we will plan a tour and be away for the entire summer!’
Just as with his mother, any thoughts Flora might have had on the subject had been elegantly railroaded. This was a family that was obviously used to having its own way. However, as she walked the long corridors of Crichel to her bedroom, Flora was only relieved that she was not at High Weald, having to suffer the sight of Archie and Aurelia, newly returned from honeymoon.
27
January in the city passed in a veil of sleet, snow and sludge – the ugly relations of the pristine sheets of white that covered the screes and fells of the Lake District. Flora had little time to ponder her past or her future. Her days were filled with making arrangements and decisions for her forthcoming nuptials – or, more accurately, agreeing to whatever it was that her mother-in-law-to-be suggested. And when she wasn’t poring over menus, guest lists and seating plans, she was with the dressmaker for fittings, not only for her wedding dress, but for her trousseau. Mrs Keppel had written to her parents offering to pay for Flora’s new wardrobe as a wedding gift. When both Flora and her mother had protested at this generosity, Mrs Keppel had waved it away with a flick of her wrist.
‘It is the least you deserve given the circumstances. Rest assured, it will not be troubling my own coffers. We can hardly have our new viscountess looking shabby now, can we?’ She smiled as Miss Draper adjusted a hat with outrageously long ostrich feathers on Flora’s perplexed head. ‘We are transforming you from Cinderella into the princess you truly are.’
Flora had gone down to Hampshire to visit Selbourne Park in January and felt quite overwhelmed at the sheer scale of it. It seemed to her the size of Buckingham Palace, but, as the Countess had pointed out, Selbourne was far older than ‘that recently built’ royal residence. As Flora was ushered inside the vast marble-floored entrance hall with attentive flunkies on either side of her, she wondered how on earth she would ever learn to command the legions of staff.
‘You’re not to worry, Flora,’ Daphne said as they entered a drawing room the size of two tennis courts. ‘I will not be deserting you for some years yet. You are undoubtedly a bright young thing, and will learn just as I did when I married Algernon.’
Dinner that evening was a tense affair, with the Earl grumbling into his turtle soup about the most recent ruckus in the House of Lords, and Freddie’s hands reaching for her under the table like a lecherous octopus. At least Flora had warmed more to Daphne. The Countess was now well into middle-age, but Flora tried to imagine the tempestuous young belle she must have been when, as rumour had it, she had run off to Gretna Green with an ‘unsuitable man’. The family had dragged her back to Hampshire kicking and screaming and married her off to the Earl.
A plate of panachée jelly was set in front of each diner and Flora watched as Algernon spooned it into his dour mouth.
‘If that damned Asquith brings that bill to pass—’
‘Oh hush, Algy, not at the table!’ cried Daphne, before turning to Flora and giving her a weary sigh. ‘Let us turn to more palatable topics. The invitation list is coming along nicely, although I’m sorry to say your grandparents have regretfully declined their invitation—’
‘My grandparents?’ Flora, so accustomed to her small family, had almost forgotten she had any.
‘Yes, your mother’s people, the Beauchamps.’
‘If I had my way,’ Freddie whispered to Flora, his hand rubbing up and down her skirts, ‘we’d run away tonight.’
On a dreary February morning at Portman Square, just two days after her twentieth birthday, which was celebrated with a grand dinner, there was a knock on her bedroom door and Miss Draper entered. ‘Miss Flora, Mrs Keppel is waiting for you in her parlour.’
Flora made her way downstairs as she’d been bidden.
‘My dear Flora, I feel we have hardly seen each other in the past few weeks.’ Mrs Keppel turned to greet her. Flora noticed she looked pale and her expression was strained beneath the bright smile of welcome.
‘I have been much caught up in the process of getting married.’
‘I fear it is far more exhausting than marriage itself. Do sit down, and tell me how all the arrangements are going.’