Oh, God, oh dear God, she loved him. She spread her hands over her face again. But was it any wonder? He was the first eligible man she had ever met, apart from Mr. Sweeney and Mr. Richman, each of whom she had dismissed in less than half an hour. Perhaps what she felt was not love at all but merely gratitude.
Or maybe it was love. What difference did a word make anyway? She was going to marry him despite her misgivings about being the Countess of Riverdale. Her acceptance of his offer was still tentative, but surely his mother and Lizzie would not withhold their approval. They had persuaded her to stay here. They had said other things … Oh, she was going to marry him, and she did not believe she had ever been happier in her life.
To prove which point she shed a few tears before hurrying into her dressing room to wash her face.
She took extra care dressing for dinner that evening. She had stylish clothes, though she doubted she was ever in the first stare of fashion. She did not have a London modiste, but she did have one in Staffordshire who had long had the clothing of her and knew her well—her height, her size, her preferences, her personality. The pale turquoise dress she donned was fashionably high waisted and short sleeved and low necked, though not too low. Like most of her dresses, it had a narrow skirt, but flowed about her in a way that prevented her from looking like a flagpole without a flag. The hem was accentuated with embroidery in a slightly darker shade. She had Maude arrange her hair a little higher than usual even though she knew it would make her appear taller. She clasped about her neck the pearls her uncle and aunt had given her on her twenty-first birthday and looked approvingly at her image in the full-length mirror, then a bit regretfully at her face.
But it was time, she decided, squaring her shoulders and drawing herself up to a greater height, to forget about her face, at least with her conscious mind. If only it were that easy! She had almost died this afternoon when they had left behind the near seclusion of the wooded path and walked out onto the carriage drive by the park gates. There had been carriages and people everywhere. The veil on the brim of her bonnet had felt like a physical weight, and it had taken all her strength of will not to pull it down over her face. And they had certainly not gone unnoticed. Even if he had not been the Earl of Riverdale and no doubt a familiar figure to everyone in the beau monde, there were the triple facts of his height, perfect physique, and extraordinary good looks to draw attention.
But she had survived.
Now she was seated in the drawing room as the other ladies came down, dressed for dinner. Wren smiled at them. “Did you enjoy the garden party?” she asked. “The weather must have been perfect for it.”
“It was very pleasant,” Elizabeth said. “It was in Richmond at one of the grand houses by the river. Both Mama and I were invited to take a boat ride. I sat at my ease in my boat, looking decorative, while poor Mr. Doheny turned bright red in the face as he pulled on the oars. I was forced to deliver a monologue the whole time we were out, as all his breath was needed for his exertions. Mama was out for more than an hour with Lord Garand and he looked quite unwinded when they returned. Does that suggest I weigh a ton?”
“I believe it suggests, my love,” her mother said, “that Mr. Doheny does not know how to row a boat. Lord Garand remarked that he was dipping the oars too deep and trying to displace the whole of the River Thames with each stroke.”
They all laughed.
“And Lady Jessica?” Wren asked. “She sat in the summerhouse with Louise almost the whole time we were there,” Mrs. Westcott said, “while hordes of young men prowled in the vicinity just waiting for her to emerge so that they could fetch her food or drink or bear her off to explore the orangery or to ride in one of the boats. She actually looked quite happy even though she ignored them all. I think the visit here did her a great deal of good, as well as the hope that Abigail will come here with Viola. I must thank you for giving her so much of your attention, Miss Heyden, and for taking her with you this morning to see your glassware. She was enchanted.”
“I very much enjoyed her company,” Wren said. And perhaps she was not so totally lacking in warmth as she feared. Lady Jessica had actually seemed to like her.
“And how was your walk in Hyde Park?” Elizabeth asked.
“It was lovely,” Wren said. “We walked among the trees and I felt almost as though I were back in the country. You know that the Earl of Riverdale is returning here for dinner?”
“Yes, Lifford told us so,” Mrs. Westcott said. “I am glad we have no firm commitment for this evening. We will be able to enjoy his company for as long as he chooses to stay. And … well, and here he comes.”
The door had opened to admit the Earl of Riverdale, looking breathtakingly smart in black evening clothes with silver waistcoat and crisp white linen. He was also looking relaxed and good humored as he strode across the room to kiss his mother’s cheek and then Lizzie’s. He hesitated and then smiled at Wren.
“Do I take it,” he asked, “that nothing has been said?”
Wren closed her eyes briefly.
“About what?” Elizabeth asked. “About my betrothal,” he said, “and Miss Heyden’s. To each other. Our tentative betrothal.” Perhaps he was not so relaxed after all.
“What?” Elizabeth jumped to her feet.
“Tentative?” Mrs. Westcott said, her hand going to her bosom.
“Ah,” he said, grinning as he glanced at Wren. “Nothing has been said. I made Miss Heyden a marriage offer this afternoon, Mama—and yes, it was I who did the offering this time. She accepted. Tentatively.”
“Tentatively?” Both ladies spoke this time.
“I will marry Lord Riverdale only on the condition that both of you wholeheartedly approve,” Wren explained.
“But why would you think we might not?” Elizabeth asked.
“You want his happiness.” Wren could hear a slight quaver in her voice and swallowed.
“We thought it was clearly understood when you came to stay here,” Mrs. Westcott said, “that we were acknowledging the likelihood of a courtship and eventual marriage between you and Alex, Miss Heyden. And Miss Heyden no longer. You are Wren. I warned you that I was going to mother you. How much clearer could I have made myself?”
“Oh.” Wren swallowed again. This time she heard a distinct gurgle in her throat and had to blink a few times to clear her vision.
“I think, Miss Heyden,” the earl said, “we are betrothed.”
“Yes.” She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap.
“Come.” Mrs. Westcott got to her feet and held out her arms, and Wren stood too and found herself caught up in a warm hug while Elizabeth was hugging her brother. They changed places after a few moments.
“I am very happy for you both,” Elizabeth said as she embraced Wren.
Was it possible? They had expected this? They approved it?
“And now we have something definite to talk about over dinner,” Mrs. Westcott said, looking in apparent satisfaction from one to the other of them. “We have a wedding to plan.”
Lord Riverdale exchanged a glance with Wren. “Our wedding needs no discussion, Mama,” he said. “I am going to purchase a special license tomorrow and make an appointment with a clergyman at some quiet church to be married the day after.”
“Just as Anna and Avery did last year,” Elizabeth said. “I was there as a witness, Wren, and it was one of the loveliest weddings I have ever attended. Yes, such a wedding will suit both of you. Alex would hate the fuss of a grand wedding, and I cannot imagine you would be able to bear it. But please, please may I come as a witness? I have experience in the role.” She chuckled.