last portrait was of a couple. A man who had an unmistakable look of Sir Nigel, and a flaxen-haired woman with tawny-green eyes whose face, rather than being merely pretty, was strong and full of character. She was wearing the ring that now graced Charlotte’s finger.
‘Your parents,’ Charlotte said to Simon with certainty.
‘Yes. As you can see, I take after my mother.’
‘I was wondering how you came to be blond,’ Sojo remarked, ‘when most of the Farringdons seem to have dark hair.’
As they left the gallery behind them, she added, ‘Well, thank you for the Grand Tour. I’ve really enjoyed it.’
‘My pleasure. Now, suppose you and Charlotte go and get your best bib and tucker on, and I’ll see you in the hall in about half an hour.’
‘It’ll have to be my second best. I’m saving my best dress for the wedding,’ Sojo teased.
‘There’s no need. Tuesday I’ll be taking the pair of you to town to shop for your wedding finery.’
‘You don’t mean…?’
‘Ring, bridal gown and veil, bridesmaid’s dress, accessories, the lot,’ Simon stated.
‘It just gets better. Have you anything lined up for tomorrow?’ Sojo asked.
‘Tomorrow we’ll need to make all the arrangements for Wednesday. Cars, catering, bridal flowers, church flowers, an organist, someone to take photographs, last minute invitations, et cetera…’
‘Can it all be put in place in such a short time?’ Charlotte wanted to know.
‘Certainly it can.’
‘Money comes in handy, I dare say,’ Sojo twinkled up at him.
‘It can be used to grease a few palms where necessary,’ he agreed, quite unruffled. ‘But your practical help will be even more useful.’
Sojo beamed with pleasure. ‘I really do love weddings! I haven’t had this much fun since my sister got married.’
The wedding morning dawned clear and bright, a golden September day, warm and welcome as a blessing. To avoid the media descending on them, they had done their best to keep the whole thing a secret. Nothing had been put in the papers, and there was to be no official photographer.
Following tradition, Simon kept out of the way while the girls—Sojo, bubbling with excitement, Charlotte a little quiet, but both conscious that things would never be quite the same again—prepared for the wedding.
When Sojo had helped Charlotte put on a deceptively simple ivory silk dress and a matching circlet that went round her dark chignon and held her short veil in place, she stood back to admire her handiwork.
‘Well, all I can say is, Simon’s a very lucky man.’
With a grin, she added, ‘Discreet too. Though I’m right next door at nights I’ve never heard so much as a latch click.’
‘There’s been nothing to hear,’ Charlotte said.
‘You went to his room?’ the other girl asked.
‘We both stayed put.’
‘Your choice?’
Charlotte shook her head. It hadn’t been her choice. If Simon had lifted a finger, she would have gone running. But since the wedding arrangements had been made he had barely touched her, let alone kissed her. Although he had laughed and joked with Sojo, he had treated her with a kind of distant courteousness that was somehow chilling.
A tap at the door interrupted her thoughts.
It was Mrs Reynolds bringing two Cellophane boxes containing the flowers, and a message asking if Charlotte could spare a moment to see Sir Nigel.
‘Of course,’ Charlotte agreed, and hastened along the corridor, her skirts sweeping the floorboards.
Having refused any medication that might make him sleepy, and sent his nurse packing until he called for her, Sir Nigel was already dressed and seated in a wheelchair, a cream carnation in his buttonhole.
He studied Charlotte for a moment, then, his eyes growing misty, he said, ‘In true Bell-Farringdon tradition, you make a beautiful bride.’
She smiled at him shakily. ‘Thank you, Sir Nigel.’
‘No more of that Sir Nigel stuff. From now on I’d like you to call me Grandfather. Go on, let me hear you say it.’
‘Thank you, Grandfather.’
He smiled at her. ‘That’s my girl. It’s going to be a great day. My only regret is that Simon’s sister can’t be here.’
‘I was very sorry to hear about Lucy’s accident,’ Charlotte said sincerely. ‘It must have been a big worry for you all.’
‘Thank you, my dear. It has been pretty grim.’
‘How did it happen?’ she asked.
‘She and her husband had just left the hotel they’d been dining at, when their car clipped another one, went off the road and rolled down an embankment. It was towards the end of March and bitterly cold. There was black ice… Luckily the driver of the other car was uninjured.’
‘Was her husband…?’
‘He got off practically scot-free, just cuts and bruises—’ there was bitterness in the old man’s voice ‘—whereas Lucy suffered severe internal and spinal injuries. Not only did she lose her baby, but also the hope of having any more.’
Shocked, Charlotte breathed, ‘How awful for her.’
‘Would you like a family?’ he wanted to know.
‘Yes, I would.’
He smiled. ‘I’m delighted. It means the Bell-Farringdon bloodline will go on.’
‘That’s important to you,’ Charlotte realised.
Though it was a statement not a question, he answered, ‘Yes, my dear, it is. Very important.’
‘I’m truly sorry about Lucy…’
‘It was a blow to us all,’ he admitted. ‘With losing their parents so young, Simon and his sister have always been very close. He’d do anything to make her happy. When she fell in love with a man we both thought was worthless and unprincipled, Simon tried hard to talk her out of marrying him. But she was quite determined, and in the end they ran off and got married at a register office. After that we had no choice but to make the best of it for Lucy’s sake…’
Charlotte had just decided Sir Nigel wasn’t going to say any more when, frowning a little, he went on, ‘When they’d been married a few months, she said he was getting restless and asked Simon to give him a job. Rather than see him live off Lucy’s money, Simon agreed, and, never a man to do
