Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T heir first announcement was to Jessica’s daughters, who were thrilled to be asked for their approval. After several intent and searching questions about Martin’s attitude to daughters, his approach to punishing girls who had broken the rules, and how he behaved when he was angry, they declared themselves happy to give their consent.

Haverford was next, as head of Jessica’s family. Jessica pointed out that she was an adult and could give her own consent, but she graciously conceded that she would like her brother’s blessing.

Apparently, “as soon as it can be organised” only needed the support of the Duke of Haverford to turn into a mere week. A messenger to the Bishop of Oxford took a full day to ride in both directions, leaving at dawn and arriving back at Hollystone Hall in the dark, but his errand was successful. The duke’s letter had produced the required results, and Martin and Jessica had a marriage licence.

The vicar from the local village was happy to officiate at the service, which was set for January the fifth, the day before the house party would finish—and, of course, no one was leaving until after the wedding.

There was not a lot for Martin to do. He wrote a few letters—to his steward, his butler, his housekeeper. They would prepare rooms for his new family, and what a surprise that would be for them. It was not common for a viscount to leave for London as a single man and return three months later as a married man with four daughters.

Once that task was accomplished, he sat down with Haverford to hammer out a marriage agreement that provided for Jessica if he predeceased her and for any children of the marriage—dowries for the girls and endowments for the sons after the first, since the first would be Viscount Tavistock after him. He’d have to include his three new Colyton daughters, too, since that brute Colyton had ignored them in his will, so only Catherine had an inheritance, and that—no doubt—only because Haverford had also negotiated Jessica’s marriage agreement.

Martin could manage it. The Tavistock lands were modest, but Martin’s uncle had diversified into canals, coal, and woollen mills, and Martin had continued those investments. He might not be as wealthy as Haverford, but he had enough to look after his family.

The first surprise was that Jessica had a fortune of her own. “I put the same terms into the agreement with Colyton,” Haverford said. “The bulk of the dowry remains in trust, and Jessica retains it if the marriage breaks down. You and Jessica can draw on the income at any time, but can only draw on the principal if the pair of you and all three of the trustees agree. On Jessica’s death, any remaining principal is left to Jessica’s children, also in trust. If no children survive her, it goes to beneficiaries of her choice, which choice must also be ratified by the trustees.”

Martin was impressed. “You have set it up well to protect your sister. I’m glad. That’s a weight off my mind. It doesn’t change what she should inherit from me, however. She should still have her rights as my wife if she outlives me.”

Haverford smiled at him. “Good man,” he said, which made Martin wonder what Colyton had said when he was in negotiations with Haverford.

Since both Martin and Haverford wanted to protect Jessica and the children, the session was both amicable and easy. Haverford had commandeered his mother’s secretary, who was some sort of relation and therefore on holiday with the rest of the house party. But she assured Martin she was happy to make several fair copies of the final agreement for their signature, and that she would have them ready the next day.

After that, it was just a matter of waiting until the wedding. The ladies were all busy. Apparently, Jessica had to have a new gown, and so did Martin’s four new daughters. “We have nothing fit to wear,” Johanna told Martin, in a voice that precisely mimicked the Duchess of Winshire. “Black is not suitable for a wedding.” She slipped back into her own voice. “Besides, while I can wear Elizabeth’s old dresses, and Elizabeth can wear Margaret’s, Margaret’s clothes are ‘disgracefully too small’.” Those last three words were clearly another quote from the august duchess.

All the ladies were contributing pieces of material and their own labour to create the necessary garments, and Martin and the other men would please stay out of their way.

At least Martin was able to see a bit of the younger three girls. Margaret was caught up in the sewing circles. She assured Martin she was having a marvellous time. “I like sewing, when it is with the other girls of my age, and we are making something that matters.”

Johanna and Elizabeth were happy to be needed only for fittings, and to otherwise be free to spend their time as they pleased. All three had been absorbed into the schoolroom crowd, and were making firm friendships within it.

So, Martin saw his ladies only in company, and mostly at meals.

“Mother says we have worn black for long enough,” said Johanna. “She says these will be only the first of our new gowns.”

“I do not wish to be disrespectful to Grandmama,” Elizabeth mused, “But I must say it will be pleasant to wear colours again.”

“I will take you all shopping in York,” Martin offered.

“When it comes to Margaret’s debut,” Chloe said, “my sister Susana will have some ideas, I’m certain.”

“And the silks,” Martin acknowledged. Their stepsister, Susana Arquette, was a gifted dressmaker, and also, through her mother, the heiress to the silk manufactory, Macclesfield Silks. He didn’t like to think of Margaret’s debut, however. She was so young!

Apparently, Jessica felt the same, for Margaret said, “Mother says I shall not debut this coming Season, and I do not need to debut the following Season, either, if I would prefer to wait until I am eighteen.”

Thank goodness for that ! “And you need be in no hurry to choose a husband,” Martin assured her. Eighteen was far too young to be making such an important decision, although of course Martin and Haverford would be there to look out for her interests.

“I did not debut until I was twenty-two,” Chloe said. “Of course, if it had been left to Uncle Swithin, I would never have debuted at all. Uncle Swithin did not approve of such goings on. Fortunately, he died.”

“Chloe,” Martin chided, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, Martin, I did not mean that the way it sounded, but you must admit Uncle Swithin was a killjoy.”

“Grandmama was a killjoy,” Johanna said. Which was undoubtedly true, though a proper father should probably chide her for the sentiment. Martin changed the subject, instead.

“Chloe debuted in York with her stepsisters,” Martin told the girls. “Seven of them. Chloe, the seven sisters, and their stepmother all made matches that Season.”

Then Martin, Chloe and Dom started telling stories from their York Season, and others around the table chimed in with their own stories, most from London but a few from Cheltenham or Bath. Margaret left the table looking thoughtful.

* * *

T hey had done a magnificent job with the dressmaking, Martin decided, when he stood before the altar of the little parish church looking back down the aisle, with his new daughters walking towards him, first Johanna, then Elizabeth, then Margaret, each in a pretty winter gown in a cheerful jewel tone, blue, green, and red. Then came Jessica, all in gold, carrying Catherine dressed in white.

Martin could not take his eyes off her. How beautiful she was!

She reached his side, stopping to pass Catherine to Margaret. Then her hands were in his. At last. It seemed he had been waiting for her his entire life, and now they would be joined for a lifetime.

And so, they were. The wedding was short but sweet. Jessica said her vows in a clear determined voice, and he responded fervently, joyfully. The wedding breakfast was fun, and although Martin would have preferred to immediately carry Jessica off to the cottage on the grounds that the Duchess of Winshire had given them for the night, he understood the need to show his friends and family, and especially his new daughters, how much he appreciated their support.

The other house guests had all come up with an appropriate wedding gift, even though they were in the middle of the Warwickshire countryside with only a small village to provide shops. Martin liked the one from Dom and Chloe most of all.

“When you take your family home to Yorkshire,” Dom told him as they stood with glasses of champagne watching the impromptu dancing, “Chloe and I will travel in convoy with you, and take charge of the girls at each stop. And then they can come home with us for the first fortnight. We’ve spoken to the girls, and they’re all for it. Call it a wedding present from all of us.”

Martin had had a lonely childhood under his uncle’s stern and repressive eye, with only Chloe as company near his own age. Even as an adult, he did not make friends easily. Chloe and his Bigglesworth sisters had ignored his walls and been friends with him anyway. Dom, since he had married Chloe, had also become a friend.

And now, it seemed, he was married to the dearest friend of all, and through her, he had acquired a whole tribe of friends and family. And four daughters whom he already loved more than life. His wife walked up to him and he snagged her hand. “Are you happy?” he asked.

“More happy than I could have imagined possible,” Jessica replied. “There is only one cloud on my horizon, Martin.”

“Tell me what it is, and I shall try to banish it for you,” he promised.

Jessica pouted, even as her eyes danced with humour. “I am going to have to thank Emily Mannering for my Christmas Rogue.”

“Dash it,” said Martin. “Porrit is never going to let me live this down.”

T HE END