bride needed a suitable gown, but as the dreaded day grew closer Tallie decided she had better make alternative arrangements—just in case.
The attics contained dozens of trunks and bandboxes, filled with old dresses and ballgowns, relegated there over the years. She and the children had rummaged through them frequently, searching for dress-up materials. Tallie had found a lovely pale amber silk ballgown, hopelessly outmoded, with wide panniers and yards of ruching, but with enough good material left, when it was unpicked, to make a wedding frock. Using one of her old dresses as a pattern, she had cut and sewn it laboriously, wishing she had been more diligent in Miss Fisher’s sewing class.
In another trunk she had found an almost new pair of blue kid slippers, which only pinched her feet a little, and a stained pair of long white satin gloves. The stains were impossible to remove, so she’d dipped the gloves in coffee until they almost exactly matched the amber silk.
She smiled at her reflection and pirouetted several times. It was not so bad after all. Oh, the neckline was a trifle crooked, to be sure, but Tallie was convinced only the most critical would notice it. And if the gathers she had made at the back were slightly uneven, what did that signify? It was only obvious when she was motionless, so she would be sure to keep moving, and if she had to stand still for any reason she would keep her back to a wall.
She examined her reflection in the mirror again as she tugged on the long satin gloves. She had never worn anything so fine in her life. She frowned at the sleeves…A shawl! she realised in a sudden flash of brilliance. Laetitia’s spangled gauze scarf would hide the sleeves! It was not precisely a bridal mode, but perhaps observers would think it a new fashion. After all, she was wedding a man well-known for his elegance. Tallie’s mouth grew dry as she stared at her reflection.
She was not just wedding a man…she was wedding The Icicle. Tomorrow morning. And afterwards he would take her away from the children she loved so much—the only living creatures in the world who loved her. Tomorrow she would belong only to him, swear before God and witnesses to love, honour and obey him. A man she barely knew and certainly didn’t like. A cold man, who was famed for caring nothing for the feelings of others. Who wanted a wife he need not dance attendance on, a wife he could get with child and then abandon in rural fastness while he enjoyed himself in London, awaiting the birth of his heir…
Tallie shivered. What did it mean, get with child? She knew women bore children, of course, but how it came about she had no idea. She’d lived virtually her entire life in Miss Fisher’s Seminary for the Daughters of Gentlemen, and the subject had certainly never been on that prim spinster’s curriculum.
It had, however, been a subject of much speculation and whispering in the dormitories. But none of the various theories put forward by the Daughters of Gentlemen had convinced Tallie that any of her schoolfellows were more enlightened than she on the subject. Some had insisted that women carried a baby around in their stomach, for instance. Well, if that was so—how did they get the baby out? Cut it out? Vomit it?
In any case, how did a baby get in there in the first place? The man planted a seed in the woman? A seed? Babies didn’t grow from seeds! They did, Amanda Forrest had said. Her mother had told her so. Well, how did they plant the seed—swallow it? Tallie suspected it was an old wives’ tale—like that which said if you swallowed pumpkin seeds, pumpkin vines would grow out of your ears. Tallie had proven that one wrong by eating more than twenty pumpkin seeds—no hint of a vine had appeared from her ears, though she’d been a little anxious for a week or two!
No, Amanda hadn’t been sure how the seed was planted, but it was much the same as animals did, she believed. Tallie had scoffed at that one—animals planting seeds? Ridiculous.
One girl, Emmaline Pearce, had spoken ghoulishly of wedding nights and blood and screaming, but everyone had known Emmaline Pearce was a shockingly untruthful girl who made up all sorts of deliciously scary tales. Miss Fisher had forever been punishing her for it.
Get with child. Surely she had the right to be told how it was done. Had her mother lived, she could have explained, but all Tallie’s mother had left her was a few letters. And possibly—But there was no time to think on that…She had a wedding night to worry about first.
Tallie decided to ask Mrs Wilmot. She sought her out in the linen room and, with much beating around the bush, blurted out her question.
‘Lord love you, Miss Tallie.’ The housekeeper blushed. ‘I’m not the one you should ask about such matters. I’ve never been wed, my dear.’
‘But—’
‘All housekeepers are called Missus, dearie, whether they’re wed or not. But Wilmot is my maiden name.’ She patted Tallie on the hand. ‘You go ask your cousin, miss. She’ll set you right.’ The kindness shone so warmly from the elderly housekeeper’s face that Tallie didn’t have the heart to explain how very hostile Laetitia was.
Then she thought of the scullery maid, Maud, who was, according to rumour, no better than she ought to be. Surely Maud would know. But when Tallie asked her, Maud shrieked with laughter, tossed her apron over her face and ran from the room giggling, leaving Tallie red to the ears.
Finally she decided to approach her cousin about it.
Laetitia took one look at Tallie’s blushing embarrassment, and snapped impatiently, ‘Oh, God deliver me from puling virgins! Don’t look so mealy-mouthed, girl—I’ll tell you all you need to know about your wedding night.’ She pulled Tallie down beside her and whispered detailed instructions in her ear. After a moment she sat back and pushed Tallie away.
Horrified, but too mortified to ask questions, Tallie turned to leave, but as she reached the door Laetitia hissed after her, ‘Be sure you do not disgrace my cousin or your family. Remember, a lady endures it in silence—without moving or flinching. Do you hear me, girl?’ She turned back to her mirror, a knowing smile on her face.
They were the last words Laetitia spoke to her, and the more she thought about them, the more nervous Tallie became. Endure it? What was it? Endurance sounded most unpleasant…And in silence? Why would she wish to cry out? Or flinch…It sounded painful. She thought briefly of Emmaline Pearce, then shook her head.
‘Miss, miss, he’s arrived!’ Lucy, the maid, put her head around the door, her face lit with excitement. ‘Your betrothed, miss—Lord d’Arenville—he’s here!’
Tallie’s heart seemed to stop for a moment, and then began to beat in double time. He was here. She would be able to speak to him, then—about Italy—before the wedding. It was what she had been hoping for. In the three weeks since he had galloped off so intemperately, she’d kicked herself often for not having sorted out everything to her satisfaction. She had to speak with him, get the whole thing settled before the wedding, for afterwards there would be little likelihood of him agreeing to the demands of a woman who’d sworn in church to obey him.
‘I must see him at once.’ Tallie started towards the door.
‘Oh, miss, miss, you can’t! It’s bad luck, no matter how eager you are to see your handsome gentleman again!’ Lucy beamed in fond indulgence. The entire household had reacted to the news of Tallie’s wedding as if it was a fairy tale come true for her, and Tallie found she didn’t have the heart to disillusion them.
‘Bad luck? Why?’
Lucy gestured to Tallie’s gown. ‘For the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress, a’course.’ She looked more closely at the wedding dress, and, frowning, reached out to tug one sleeve into place. ‘Are you sure this—?’
‘Oh,
