Part 17 (1/2)
”I don't think there is any more we can do to the gown,” said Beryl.
”No, your Ladys.h.i.+p. It's finished and I'll send it to Curzon Street tomorrow.”
”Thank you a and my gown as well.”
”Very good, your Ladys.h.i.+p.”
”Do you realise I have not yet seen your wedding dress?” Torilla piped up. ”Do show it to me!”
Beryl shook her head.
”I am keeping it as a surprise. I have not allowed even Mama to look at it.”
”I thought Aunt Louise must have seen it.”
”No one has seen it,” Beryl answered, ”have they, madame?”
The dressmaker shook her head.
”It's going to be a very big surprise, my Lady, not only for your family, but all the other ladies who have been exceedingly curious as to what you'll be wearing.”
Torilla looked rather apprehensively at her cousin.
She knew Beryl well enough to guess that she was 'up to something', and she could not help being curious as to what it might be.
The wedding was to be the last big event of the Season because after it was over the Prince Regent had announced that he was going to Brighton.
Already it appeared that there would not be a seat to spare at St. George's Hanover Square and the Countess was growing more and more frantic as wedding presents poured in to Curzon Street and the Marquis's house in Park Lane.
They all had to be listed so that later they could be properly acknowledged.
”If anyone thinks I am going to spend my honeymoon writing letters of thanks for this collection they are mistaken!” Beryl exclaimed.
She and Torilla were unpacking a dozen parcels, which had been delivered that morning.
”Some of the things are nice,” Torilla remarked.
”As far as I am concerned they are a lot of junk!” Beryl replied scathingly. ”Look at this garnet brooch! Can you see me wearing garnets when Gallen has a collection of rubies worth a King's ransom?”
”It was sent to you by an old lady who knew us when we were children,” Torilla said. ”She says in her letter that it belonged to her great-grandmother and she has really made a great sacrifice in giving it to you.”
”I don't want people to make sacrifices for me,” Beryl replied sharply.
She stood up from the floor where she had been sitting to open the parcels.
”Leave all this for the servants to clear up,” she pouted, ”I am tired of presents.”
Torilla looked at her in surprise.
Beryl had been irritated and on edge for the past two days and had ceased to take any interest in the arrangements.
Torilla had a feeling that she was not happy.
”What is wrong, dearest?” she asked.
”Wrong? Why should there be anything wrong?” Beryl retorted.
Torilla told herself that she must be suffering from pre-wedding nerves or perhaps she was getting a cold.
”Let us put on our bonnets and go out for a little while,” Beryl suggested.
Torilla looked at the clock.
”It's after four. Aunt Louise should be home soon.”
”Then that is all the more reason for getting away. I am sick of hearing about the size of the congregation and wondering whether we should have more meringues and fewer cream puffs at Carlton House.”
Torilla did not reply and they went up the stairs in silence.
As they reached the landing outside Beryl's bedroom, her maid appeared to say, ”Your wedding gown has just been delivered, my Lady, and I've put Miss Torilla's in her wardrobe.”
”Thank you,” Torilla said.
Beryl walked towards her bedroom door and then as she reached it she looked back at Torilla.
”Come and see my gown and I hope you admire it.”
She opened the door and Torilla followed her.
She had expected from what had already been said that Beryl would wear something original, but the gown, which lay on the big bed, was certainly different to anything she had expected.
It was pink!
A very pale pink, and it was an exquisitely beautiful creation.
But who, Torilla asked herself in astonishment, had ever heard of a bride wearing pink?
The gown was of tulle and like Torilla's had roses round the hem. The train, which was very long, was encrusted with roses all glittering with diamante dewdrops.
It was original, slightly theatrical, and at the same time Torilla knew that Beryl would look outstandingly beautiful. The only question was a would the Marquis mind his bride being married in so unconventional a colour?
”I shall have a pink wreath on my head,” Beryl said, ”and as you see there is also a pink veil which will reach right to the ground.”
She looked at her cousin almost defiantly as she spoke and after a moment Torilla answered, ”It is lovely, dearest, and you will look very beautiful, but you would have looked just as lovely in white.”
There was a moment's pause.
Then Beryl replied in a hard tight little voice, ”That is a colour I am not ent.i.tled to wear!”
Torilla looked at her in surprise, then her eyes widened.