The Cavendon Women by Barbara Taylor Bradford
He sat down in a pew, and looked around, noticed flowers on the altar. The church was well taken care of, that was patently obvious. But then so was this great stately home. The Inghams knew what they were doing, preserving it so well. Hats off to them, he thought with admiration.
He had grown up in a lovely manor house, not a great stately home like Cavendon, but that, too, had been looked after scrupulously by his grandparents. Compton Noyers was a Tudor house, not far from Cirencester in Gloucestershire, and he tried to go down at weekends. It was his. Both of his parents had died in an accident when he was a child. He had promised his grandfather he would not sell the house, and would one day bring up a family there. He kept a housekeeper and a caretaker, and the house was always ready to receive him.
A small smile flickered around his mouth. He might well be able to keep that promise now. And all because of a girl he had lusted after, thinking only of sexual conquest and his own pleasure. But with whom he had fallen deeply in love.
His beautiful, tender, loving DeLacy, the girl of his dreams, the kind of girl he had never thought he would meet. Golden hair, blue eyes like a summer sky, and a complexion like a summer rose. Her features were delicate, finely sculpted. What a beauty.
But he had met her, and had known within the first week that this was no lady to be lusted after and left. This was a special and very unique young woman. A woman he wanted to love and protect, and keep close to him forever. And much to his own amazement she had eventually reciprocated his feelings.
Looking back, he remembered how difficult things had been at first, when, after weeks of painting her portrait, he had managed to woo her into his bed. Now he recalled his shock when he realized how terrified she was of physical contact with a man, how genuinely afraid of sex. Only after a great deal of gentle coaxing, touching, and endless foreplay had he managed to make her feel relaxed enough to finally make love. His gentleness, tenderness, and genuine feelings for her had won her over at last. But it had been quite a task to quell that awful fear she harbored.
It was only after they became sexually bonded and truly close that she told him about her marriage, and the way Simon Powers had treated her. It was virtual rape on their wedding night. Later Simon was so demanding, so rough and uncouth with her, she had frozen. He had called her names, rather vulgar names at that; said that she was frigid, a bitch, a prick teaser, and on and on. Their quarrels had been violent at times, and yet she had wanted to make the marriage work.
When Travers had finally asked her why that was, she had simply said it was the way she had been brought up. Her father had always frowned on divorce, even though he had been divorced himself. But that was all her mother’s fault, she had explained.
It’s a good thing Simon Powers had gone to live in South Africa, Travers thought now, his mind still on DeLacy’s marriage. If I ever meet that bastard I’ll beat him to a pulp. Powers was an Etonian, as he was, and came from a good family. But he had behaved like a lout.
DeLacy Ingham. She was the great love of his life. He wanted to marry her, and he fully believed she would accept him. He hoped her father would not object, throw a spanner in the works.
After all, he had a bit of a reputation, had been a womanizer in the past, carousing with the likes of Lawrence Pierce. He didn’t see him anymore. Travers had grown to detest him, in fact, because he knew that deep down Pierce lusted after DeLacy, wanted her for his mistress. Travers had never said a word about this to DeLacy, having no wish to frighten her in any way whatsoever.
Nor had Pierce said anything, but Travers knew him well. He had gone carousing with him; slumming, as Pierce called it. They had picked up the fancy women in the bars, but he had never been to one of Pierce’s famous orgies. And sometimes he wondered if they had really happened. No one else he knew had been either, and Travers believed they were probably an invention on the surgeon’s part.
He had fallen out with Pierce because of his callousness, and ungentlemanly behavior toward the actress he had been seeing. Also, Travers discovered Pierce was a liar, and a cheat at cards.
He thought of the painting he had been going to do, of Pierce’s beautiful hands. He had never managed to get around to it, and now he was glad he hadn’t, and also that Pierce was no longer part of his life. They had almost come to blows at one point, when Pierce had made derogatory remarks about DeLacy.
Fortunately the portrait of DeLacy had been wondrous, no one could deny that. It had been painted with the deepest of love. Pierce was impressed. And so was Felicity.
Pierce had been happy to pay for it immediately, had told Travers that because of the portrait he was back in Felicity’s good graces. She was also pleased because he had stopped going to Paris. Most importantly, he was occupying Felicity’s bed once more, giving her what she wanted. And her money was flowing to him again. But he did confess to Travers that he was still having an affair with Helen Malone, the actress, because she helped with his stress, he had added. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Travers thought.
The sound of footsteps echoed, and Travers turned his head. Immediately he jumped up. DeLacy was coming into the church. He rushed to her, taking her into his arms at once, filled with sudden happiness.
“Hanson told me you were up here,” she said, kissing his cheek.
“I’ve enjoyed sitting here, musing quietly to myself, admiring the stained-glass windows, and thinking about you.”
“What were you thinking about me?”
“Lovely things.” He took hold of her hands, slipped off her gloves, and put them in his pocket. Hand in hand, they walked together toward the altar. One day he would marry her here.
They stood together in front of the altar, their arms around each other. They kissed for a long time, happy to be together.
And they made promises to be faithful to each other, never to be apart, and to stay together for the rest of their lives.
* * *
Charlotte had taken refuge in her upstairs parlor, a room that had been used by nannies in the past. It had been redecorated whilst she and Charles were in Zurich last year. Because she liked the blue-and-white bedroom in the West Wing, she had asked Daphne to use that color scheme, and she had done so.
Now, as she sat in front of the fire, she was happy to have a little time to herself. Fortunately none of the guests had yet arrived; they would come tomorrow. Except for Travers Merton, of course, who had driven up to Yorkshire with DeLacy earlier in the week.
She was pleased DeLacy had taken to him the way she had. He appeared to make her happy, and obviously Travers was bowled over by her, truly in love.
Charlotte had met his grandfather, Lord Noyers, many times in the past, when he had come to shoot in August. He and David had been very close friends indeed. Sometimes, when they wanted to go away together, she and David had been Lord Noyers’s guests at Compton Noyers. He had been in on their secret, and glad to help them.
Lunch had been easy, with just the family present, and Travers. Charles and Travers had now gone for a walk, along the paths which had been cleared of snow by the outside workers.
She was wearing the swan brooch on the jacket of her suit, and now she unpinned it, held it in her hands. What a lovely piece of delicate workmanship it was, a beautiful pin that was so significant to her.
There was a knock on the door, and as she said, “Come in,” Dulcie did so.
“They’ve sent me to see you, Aunt Charlotte,” Dulcie said. This was the way they had been told to address her by their father.
“Who are they?”
“Daphne, DeLacy, and Cecily. We had a little drink this morning in the love nest in the attic. Where Cecily and Miles used to have their daily rendezvous. And they decided you should be the one to tell me about sex, and what I had to do on my wedding night.”
“Why me?”
“Because you brought me up. With Nanny helping. They say you’re married to Papa now, and so it’s your responsibility.”
“They’re playing a jo
“I don’t know … perhaps it’s a joke on both of us.”
“Do you know anything about sex?” Charlotte asked, giving her a keen look.
“Of course I do, I’m nineteen. I may not know about … well, some intricate things, but I do know about having intercourse.”
Charlotte frowned, wondering what this was all about. Suddenly she said, “You haven’t had an affair with James, slept with him, have you?”
“No. And that’s not because I didn’t want to; actually I’ve really tried to seduce him. But he wouldn’t succumb to my charms.”
“I understand. James has been a true gentleman because he knows you’re a virgin. You are, aren’t you?”
“Unfortunately yes. And he said he would not touch me until I was his wife.”
“Very admirable, but it must have been hard for him. After all, you are very beautiful, Dulcie.”
“It was hard for me too! I mean let’s face it, he’s gorgeous. It’s hard not to scramble all over him and eat him up.”
“Dulcie, you do have the funniest way of saying things,” Charlotte said.
Dulcie laughed with her. “I think DeLacy must have told them we hadn’t had sex, and they sort of … set me up. It is probably a joke, Charlotte, because everybody sleeps with everybody these days. Before they’re even engaged.”
Charlotte nodded. “We’re living in modern times indeed.” There was a pause, and she laughed and said in a teasing manner, “However, since he’s arriving tonight, you still have time to get him into bed. You’re not getting married until Sunday. You have tonight and tomorrow night, in fact.” The amused smile remained on Charlotte’s face, her eyes twinkling.
“I’m not going to even try,” Dulcie answered, laughing. “He told me he had a will of iron. He does. And stop teasing me, please.” Dulcie went over and hugged Charlotte. “Thank you for being who you are, Charlotte. And he is very gorgeous, my James, isn’t he?”
“Heart-stoppingly gorgeous,” Charlotte said.
Forty-six
It was a winter wedding at the church in Little Skell village nestled amongst the snow-covered moors. Fortunately, it had stopped snowing on Friday evening, and on this Sunday afternoon the sky was a brilliant blue without a cloud, and the sun was shining.
All day Saturday many of the villagers had cleared the snow, and the land surrounding the church. The earl knew only too well that everyone from the three villages would gather at the church. It was an ancient tradition; their people always came to see an Ingham wed. And this particular Ingham girl was especially popular with everyone.
There would be a lot of guests arriving at Cavendon, and Charles had realized that the villagers would have no option but to wait outside. The church would be full. But once the bride had arrived, they would go next door to the church hall, where Hanson had arranged for hot drinks and sandwiches to be served. Later, once they heard the church bells ringing, they would know it was time to rush back to the church to see the bride and groom leaving as man and wife.
The villagers had never seen anything like this wedding. Nor had anyone else. The bridegroom was one of England’s greatest classical actors, and the handsomest man they had ever seen. Tall, dark-haired, with sparkling brown eyes, he was elegant in his morning suit, with a white rosebud in his lapel and a wide smile on his face.
He arrived at the church first, with his brother Owen, who had flown all the way from Australia, where he was building a bridge, to be his brother’s best man.
After them came Miles Ingham and his little band of ushers: Hugo, Harry Swann, and Felix Lambert, James’s manager. They were also smart-looking in their morning suits with the traditional white rose of Yorkshire in their buttonholes. None of them wore their top hats, because Dulcie had forbidden it in no uncertain terms, much to their relief.
James Brentwood and his brother had gone into the church, but the ushers waited on the steps for the two bridesmaids, Daphne’s daughter Alicia and DeLacy. And following them, Daphne’s twin sons, Thomas and Andrew, six years old, were the page boys. With them was their older brother, Charlie, who had no role, but had been allowed to come home from prep school for the weekend to attend the wedding.
Because it was winter, Dulcie had agreed with Cecily that the wedding gown and bridesmaids’ dresses should be warm, and that elegant coats designed to match would be a wonderful addition.
Cecily had dressed the bridesmaids in lavender-colored gowns made of heavy satin. They were ankle length, with long sleeves, and worn with high-heeled boots made of lavender leather. The long wool coats were the same lavender shade, and were in a tailored military style. They wore small Juliet caps made of lavender satin that matched their gowns.
The twins looked adorable, and the crowds outside the church cheered and clapped as the boys marched proudly up the church steps after their sister and aunt, escorted by their elder brother. Cecily had put them in white riding breeches, knee-high polished black boots, and red, military-style jackets with brass buttons. They looked like miniature copies of the guards at Buckingham Palace.
Thomas and Andrew grinned, and waved to everyone, before they went into the church, loving the applause and attention. Charlie made sure the three of them stood with the groomsmen; they all felt very grown-up today.
Miles led the bridesmaids to a quiet corner at the back of the church as the many guests began to arrive. He noticed that the pews were filling up swiftly now. The bride’s family and friends were on the left, the bridegroom’s on the right. Miles hadn’t realized how many people were coming, and he recognized a number of famous show-business faces, obviously friends of James. It was going to be quite a fancy affair, no doubt the wedding of the year.
* * *
James was standing at the front of the church, a few steps away from the altar, just off to one side. Owen was with him. “Do you have the rings?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.
“No. Miles has them in his pocket.”
“You should have them!” James hissed.
“No. Miles needs them. They have to be placed on the cushions … page boys carry the rings. On the cushions,” Owen responded.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot…” James let his sentence fade away. He was shaking inside. He knew he was having an attack of nerves. It was something like stage fright, he thought. That was something he had rarely had in his life. But then he had never been about to be married before.
He stared out into the center of the church. The audience, he thought. I must think of them as the audience, and I’ll be all right. I won’t make a mistake.
The pews were filling up rapidly. A sea of faces. Some he knew, others he didn’t. He took a deep breath and looked toward the front pew.
Finally he smiled, felt the anxiety easing. Ruby, his dearest Ruby, had her eyes focused on him; they were full of love. She offered him her most encouraging smile, and quite suddenly, he knew everything was fine.
There they were, his adoring sisters … Ruby, Dolores, and Faye, sitting with their husbands and grown children. His niece, Amanda, his nephews, Julian and Frank. And Sid. He had been so upset when James had told him he wouldn’t be needing a dresser for his wedding, that it wasn’t like a play. “But I could be yer valet, Jamie. That’s wot toffs ’ave, valets.” And Sid’s feelings were so very hurt, James had not had the heart to refuse him. And Sid had been helpful, as it turned out. Especially today, helping him to get into the morning suit. And he was full of glee, mixing with the staff, boasting about his job in the theater.
Next to Ruby was Owen’s wife, Elaine, and in the row behind them was Constance Lambert, in her beautiful new purple outfit from Cecily Swann Couture. His sisters were wearing Cecily Swann as well, and all of them looked as proud as punch. He chuckled quietly to himself. The Woods never wanted to be outdone by anybody, and they were full of pride. He loved them even more for that, plus their integrity and dignity.
His sisters had been awed by Dulcie at first,
Glancing around, James couldn’t help thinking how truly beautiful this ancient church was today, filled to overflowing with flowers. He could smell the fragrance of roses, instantly reminding him of her, as if he needed any reminders. There were hundreds of candles throughout the church, many of them tapers, and they created a magical feeling.
What pleased James was the effort that had been made to keep the church pleasantly warm. Her father had told him that he was going to make sure that the paraffin stoves were placed everywhere in the church, and along the walls near the pews. Obviously this had been done. The Inghams thought of everything. He had liked Charles and Charlotte immediately. And Charles especially, the night they had had dinner in London, after the earl had said he could marry Dulcie. He had been accepted immediately, as a member of the family, and he felt at ease with them.
Pulling himself away from his thoughts, glancing around again, James realized that the church was now full to overflowing. He looked at his watch. It was ten past three. The bride was late. Where was she? Where was his little minx? His indefatigable temptress?
How hard she had tried to seduce him, lure him into her bed. I’ll have to find a way to get my own back for that endless torture, he thought, his mouth suddenly twitching with suppressed laughter. Yes, pure torture it had been. Felix had been right. It had been a struggle to keep his hands off her. But he had, despite her.
Owen touched his arm. “She’s arrived,” he whispered.
James straightened, and strained to see her, staring down the center aisle. He spotted Miles, then Felix, and the two little boys stood out in their red jackets. Alicia came to the forefront, and then suddenly there was DeLacy, blocking his view. They were in some kind of huddle at the back of the church, and he hoped nothing had gone wrong.