Page 36 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

The new Countess of Beaumarsh makes a promise.

Two weeks had disappeared with such speed Clementine felt her feet had not touched the ground since the day Lord Beaumarsh had proposed to her.

She had hardly seen him since and cynically wondered if he were keeping his distance to ensure he did not do or say something to make her change her mind.

She had not been bored, however. Dress fittings, constant visitors to the house bearing felicitations, and meetings to complete the plans for the ladies' club had all kept her constantly busy, and now the big day was finally upon her.

Yet still she fretted over all the things she would do tomorrow if she were not marrying Lord Beaumarsh.

Organising Papa and helping him manage his flock, getting her ladies' club up and running… No. Not her club.

Mrs Adamson had agreed to take over the management of the club, with Clementine as patron.

She had not had the nerve to ask Beau how much money she would actually be able to call her own, but with her sisters help had agreed her first donation would be a generous sum, but not so much that would cause her husband to blanch if their estimations of ‘generous’ did not align.

She could always make another donation in the following months.

For now, this would be more than enough to pay for tea and cakes for many meetings and to get things started.

She hoped she would be able to provide them with a piano, but this was such an outrageous expense she would need to ask Beaumarsh about that after they were married.

Mrs Adamson had told her she would keep proper accounts, so Clementine could see exactly where the money was going.

At least the persistent stream of well-wishers to the vicarage had given Clementine the opportunity to tell her guests about the club, news which had been received with varying degrees of interest and warmth.

It would be a success, she assured herself.

Her sisters and Mrs Adamson and Clara would make certain of it.

Would her marriage be such a success too?

She wondered, for she would be on her own with that .

Well, no. That was precisely the point. She would not be on her own.

She would be married, joined such that no man might put asunder.

Her stomach twisted.

“Oh, Clementine!”

She turned from the window as her sisters came into the room. They both looked ravishing in new gowns paid for by her husband-to-be.

“Oh, you look so… so beautiful!” Izzy said, her voice thick with emotion. “Even Bea can’t hold a candle to you today, I swear it.”

Clementine laughed at his nonsense. “What a plumper. Good heavens, no one will cast a look in my direction with Beatrice looking like an angel fallen from the skies.”

“Oh, do stop,” Bea said impatiently. “Izzy is right, so stop trying to deflect the compliment. You look utterly perfect. Lord Beaumarsh will not be able to take his eyes from you.”

Clementine turned back to the looking glass, considering the silvery blue gown.

It shimmered in the sunlight as she moved, and she admitted she had never looked better.

Nervously, she touched a finger to the daunting row of diamonds and sapphires that encircled her throat.

More diamonds and sapphires adorned her wrists and ears, and sparkled in her hair.

She must get used to such things, she supposed, but to wear the Cavendish diamonds was a responsibility for which she had not accounted.

She turned away again, suddenly worrying about her father and all the things he needed to do. “Has Papa got everything ready? Has he remembered to pick up the order of service, and to—”

“He has everything in hand,” Izzy said firmly. “I went through everything with him again first thing this morning and put everything he needs in a leather satchel on his desk. I will ensure he does not leave without it, do not fret. I can do this, Clementine.”

“Of course you can,” Clementine replied, chastened. “I beg your pardon.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Izzy said at once, grinning at her. “Just stop worrying. Everything will be perfect.”

Clementine hugged her father one last time as Izzy pressed another clean handkerchief into his hand. He’d been terribly emotional for the past few days and now, seeing his daughter in all her finery, it had become too much.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, making use of the hanky. “It’s just I so wish your mama could see you. Which is foolish, for of course she is looking down at us and shaking her head at me for turning into a watering pot, but really, Mary, look at her,” he said, raising his eyes to the heavens.

Clementine swallowed down the lump in her throat, but was saved from having to find a sensible reply to such a lovely sentiment, because there was a sharp rap at the front door.

“Oh, who can that be? Devil take them!” Izzy said crossly.

“Language, Izzy,” her father scolded with a fond smile. “All are welcome on this joyous occasion.”

“Not if they make the bride late for her wedding, they’re not,” Izzy grumbled, going to the parlour door to see who it was, but Polly had already run to open it.

“Mind out, child. Don’t keep an old lady standing on the doorstep. Don’t you know your manners?”

Poor Polly stared in shock as the grand old lady barged in.

“You there,” the woman said, pointing at Izzy. “Stop gawking and fetch the reverend for me.”

“I’m here, my lady,” their father said hurriedly, bustling past Izzy and into the hallway.

“That is ‘your grace,’” the woman said, with all the hauteur only many centuries of breeding could give. “I am the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney.”

“I beg your pardon, your grace,” the reverend said, not in the least perturbed whilst his children all gaped at the woman in astonishment. “I had not heard that Hatherley Hall was once more occupied.”

The woman, who was tall and slender, seemed to Clementine to be all angles and pointy corners, with high cheekbones and sharply defined features.

She was dressed superbly, with a large emerald ring on her right hand that flashed in the sunlight.

Her hair shone pure white, and she bore an unmistakeable air of authority and power.

She scoffed at their father’s observation.

“If you ask me, it is occupied by vermin and fools,” she said scathingly.

“But that is why I am here. I need staff. If you would be so good as to give me a list of local people you recommend as being nice in their habits and trustworthy, I should be grateful. Also, I should like you to call upon me during the week. I have not been in residence here for many years, and I should like to reacquaint myself with the goings-on. You will attend me on Wednesday at eleven a.m.. Do not be late. I cannot abide tardiness.”

“Yes, your grace,” the reverend agreed easily.

Clementine opened her mouth to remind her sister of the appointments book, but Izzy had already scurried away to write down the date, knowing he would not remember it otherwise.

“Very good. Now then, what’s this? A wedding?” she asked, her pale grey-blue eyes sharp with interest.

“Yes. My daughter, Miss Honeywell, is to be wed this day to the Earl of Beaumarsh,” the reverend said with obvious pride, drawing Clementine forward to make her curtsy.

“Beaumarsh?” the dowager said with a snort.

“A pretty fribble. Amusing, though, and certainly plump in the pocket. Quite a catch for you , miss,” she said, leaning on her ebony walking stick and regarding Clementine with narrow-eyed interest. “You’re no spring chicken, are you?

At least four and twenty unless I miss my guess. How d’you manage it, eh?”

Clementine blushed, torn between irritation and delight at her outrageous manners. Perhaps she would emulate this kind of audacity when she was old and cantankerous.

“I could not say, your grace,” she replied evenly.

“Hmmm.” The dowager eyed her dubiously, and the reverend hurried to fill the gap before either Clementine or she could say something shocking.

“This young lady is my middle daughter, Miss Beatrice, your grace, and—”

“Here, Papa,” Izzy said breathlessly, sketching a haphazard bob as she returned.

“And this is Miss Isabelle,” he finished with relief.

“Hmph,” the dowager said, regarding Izzy dubiously before turning her attention back to Bea.

“My, you’re an incomparable if ever there was one.

You may visit me when your father comes…

and you,” she added as an afterthought, regarding Izzy.

She looked back at Bea once more, a calculating look in her eyes.

“Why ain’t you the one marrying an earl? ”

Bea turned pink to the tips of her ears and took a step back.

“Because she does not have an ounce of cunning, unlike her elder sister,” Clementine said tartly, moving forward and taking the dowager by the arm.

“Thank you so much for calling upon us, we appreciate you taking the time. My father will call upon you, my sisters too, but if you will excuse me, I am to be married shortly, and the earl would be dismayed were his bride not to arrive at the altar at the arranged hour. I’m sure you understand. Good day to you.”

With that, she hustled the woman back outside and closed the door. Letting out a breath, she turned to see her family regarding her in astonishment.

“Everything will be perfect, hmmm?” she said, giving Izzy the benefit of a sceptical expression.

Izzy pulled a face and shrugged. “The dowager duchess must be the exception that proves the rule.”

Bells rang and the congregation cheered as Beaumarsh emerged from the dimly lit church into dazzling sunlight. Rice rained down all around them, with people he did not know coming up and shaking his hand, wishing him well and smiling.