Chapter 44

44

The interior of the chapel at Castle Irlam was an extraordinary confection of chilly white marble and pale-yellow plaster, so cold on this frosty day on the cusp of winter that the small congregation could see their breath as they stood waiting between walls lined with monuments to generations of deceased Pendleburys.

The grandest tomb was that of Hal's grandfather – the Earl who'd gone on the Grand Tour at an impressionable age and never recovered from it. If there were any classical statues and putti left in Italy, it must be because he'd missed them inadvertently. His effigy lay garbed in flowing sculpted draperies, a stout Roman senator with attendant deities and nymphs, dominating one whole wall of the building. There hadn't been much room left for his son and daughter-in-law, and by contrast, their memorial was restrained, simple and affecting; presumably, Hal had chosen it himself, just one among a thousand tasks when he was dealing with the sudden heavy responsibilities that had come crashing down on him. Leo had been at sea then, ignorant of it all until later, and thus unable to help. As he had told Isabella once, the late Earl had been the closest thing to a father he'd known in his life, and despite everything he was glad to be married with him present in some sense. They were now a family made up entirely of women, young men and boys, Leo mused, and wondered if the various scrapes they had embroiled themselves in over the last few years – Leo himself, Hal, Georgie, Fred and the twins – would have played out differently if any of them had a father figure to advise them. There was no way of knowing; perhaps it would have made not the least difference. He'd be a father himself soon enough, and in theory at least head of a family, with all the responsibilities that brought and none of the compensations – it was a sobering thought. If he had any idea at all how to go about the business, and he hoped he did, he'd learned it from the late Earl.

Captain Leo Winterton stood waiting with Bastian at his side, surrounded by his family, as Isabella walked down the short aisle towards him. She had chosen for her wedding the dark green gown with the slashed sleeves – the one she'd been wearing the afternoon she'd revealed her scheme to him. She was wearing a spencer over it, but still he recognised it. That had been a day he would surely never be able to forget if he lived to be ninety. He didn't know if the choice was deliberate on her part, maybe it hadn't been, but he supposed that many of her gowns must carry associations for him now. And for her.

She'd left off the widow's cap today, of course, and she wore no bonnet, only a long veil of antique lace pinned to her bare head. She had dark green ribbons woven through her hair in an elaborate crown of plaits, but a few casual-seeming wispy honey-blonde tresses had been curled and left to fall either side of her face. She was pale, but she looked beautiful to him, as always. She did smile at him when she reached him, a little smile that seemed almost shy, if such a thing were possible after all that had passed between them. He did not smile back, but he took her hand.

It didn't take very long to be married, it seemed. Some of the words of the prayer book ceremony must hit home, and Leo was careful not to meet Isabella's eyes at several points, or Hal's, for that matter, given all his cousin knew. Leo didn't feel in the least like laughing just now, but he was afraid Hal might. ‘Carnal lusts and appetites', that was a tricky moment, as was ‘the procreation of children', and for that matter ‘the gift of continence'. It was a little late for that.

Nobody declared an impediment. There was none. Isabella's dead husband did not appear, blood-boltered, dreadful, like Banquo's ghost, to halt the ceremony and claim her once again as irrevocably his. Leo realised now that he'd not thought about him much before, the late Lord Ashby, but then, they'd hardly ever discussed him – just once or twice, and then very briefly. He'd seen him, but never spoken to him, and had no idea what manner of man he'd been, except that he'd been greatly loved, and he supposed it didn't matter now, except to Isabella. God knows it still mattered a great deal to her.

She was very pale – paler now than she'd been when she first entered the chapel, he thought. He began to worry that she might swoon, faint into his arms, which would hardly be a good omen at one's wedding, but she did not, and in a little while they both pronounced the words that bound them together for life, or would have done if they had not already been tied by an older bond than that of the church. He kissed her at the end of it, and though her lips were cold, as was her white little face, it seemed to him that she clung to him for a second, and only moved away from him reluctantly to accept the congratulations of Hal, Lady Carston, Cassandra and all the rest. She was not enjoying this day, but enduring it, as was he.

She took his arm, and they walked out into the courtyard, surrounded by their guests and most of the Castle servants, and made their way across the cobbles back into the main house, where they would take wine in the great hall before the roaring fire, warming their chilled bones while the final preparations for their wedding breakfast were made.

Hal drew him aside. ‘Congratulations, Leo,' he said. ‘I wish you very happy. Sure you will be in the end, old fellow.'

Leo wished he could find a way to believe that. But it would not do to say as much. This was a wedding, not a wake. ‘Thank you. And thank you for the licence and all the trouble you went to getting it. It was no small thing you did for me, and I am very sensible of it.'

‘Nonsense,' his cousin replied, waving a hand airily. ‘Consider it my wedding present. Let's have a toast to you, and to your bride!'

Leo drained his glass but refused to let his cousin refill it. This didn't seem the day to be getting foxed, not now and not later, and if he needed courage to face the future, he wouldn't find it in a bottle. Despite his abstinence, the meal and the toasts and speeches after it passed in a sort of blur of confused images, and he only came back to himself when he was climbing into the carriage after Isabella, and waving goodbye to his mama – who was weeping, though she'd assured him repeatedly that she wasn't in the least sad, but on the contrary very happy – and to his cousins and the rest of the company. They leaned forward and waved, but soon they were bowling down the avenue away from the Castle, and they sat back and looked at each other. Suddenly it seemed very quiet, and Leo thought he should say something, though he had no idea what it should be.

He'd found during the course of the day that he felt better when he was able to touch her, though it really shouldn't be the case and he could have no idea if she felt the same, and so, in need of comfort, he reached for her hand again, and said, ‘Mrs Winterton…'

She made a curious little sound, between a choking laugh and a sob, and flung herself into his arms.