So Jane went alone. Getting there on the day only before the wedding. Judith as usual was with her—and this was another grievance for Laura; to be left without a maid. In a fit of caprice—it must be called such—Lady Laura had discharged her own maid, Stiffing, at the time of Mr. Carlton’s death, protesting that old faces about her only put her in mind of the past, and Judith had waited upon her since.
The rest of Mr. Carlton’s establishment had been broken up with the home. But Lady Jane would not go to town without Judith, and my Lady Laura had to do the best she could. It may as well here be mentioned that the money left to Clarice by the Earl of Oakburn, and which had since been accumulating, Jane had made over in equal portions to Laura and Lucy, her self taking none of it.
It was a cloudless day, that of the wedding, cloudless in all senses of the word. The September sky was blue and bright, the guests bidden to the ceremony were old and true friends. Portland Place was gay with spectators; carriages dashed about; and Lady Jane seemed to be in one maze of whirl and confusion until she was quietly seated at the breakfast-table.
Man and wife for ever! They had stood at the altar side by side and sworn it faithfully, earnestly, with a full and steadfast purpose in their hearts and on their lips. Not until they were alone together in the chariot, returning home again, could Frederick Grey realise the fact that she was his, as she sat beside him in her young beauty, her true affection, every pulse of her heart beating for him.
There was nothing in the least grand about the wedding—unless it was Jane’s new pearl silk of amazing rustle and richness, and a gentleman in a flaxen wig and a very screwed-in waist, who sat at Lady Oakburn’s right hand at the table. He was Lord Something, a tenth cousin or so of the late earl’s, and he had condescended to come out of his retirement and gout, to which disorder he was a martyr—it ran in the Oakburn family—to give Lucy away. John Grey and his wife were up, and the Reverend Mr. Lycett, now the incumbent of St Mark’s Church at South Wennock, had come to read the marriage ceremony—they were all visiting Sir Stephen and Lady Grey.
It was the first time Jane had seen Sir Stephen since the previous December. She thought he looked worn and ill, as if his health were failing; she thought, as she looked at him, that there might be a fear the young M.D. opposite to her by Lucy’s side might become Sir Frederick sooner than he ought to do in the natural course of age. But Sir Stephen made light of his ailments, and told Jane that he was only knocked up with too much work. He was merry as ever; and said, now that Frederick was making himself into a respectable member of married society, he should turn over the chief worry of the patients to him, and nurse himself into a young man again. “Do you know,” he cried in a whisper, in Jane’s ear, his merry tone changing, “I’m glad Lady Laura did not come. The sight of her face here to-day would have put me too much in mind of poor Carlton.”
Of course the chief personage at the table was the young Earl of Oakburn. The young earl had planted himself in the seat next to Lucy, and wholly declined to quit it for any other. There, with Pompey behind his chair, who was a verier slave to the young gentleman than ever he had been to Captain Chesney, and his hand in Lucy’s, he made himself at home.
“I am so glad to see how Frank improves!” Jane remarked to Sir Stephen. “He looks very much stronger.”
“Stronger!” returned Sir Stephen, “he’s as strong as a little lion. And would have been so long ago but for his mamma and Lucy’s having coddled him. Mind, Lucy! if you attempt to coddle your own boys when they come, as you and my lady have coddled Frank, I shall put a summary stop to it. I shall; and so I give you fair warning.”
Sir Stephen had not thought it necessary to lower his voice. On the contrary it was considerably raised, as he bent his face forward towards Lucy on the opposite side of the table. A fair picture, she; with her flowing white robes, her bridal veil and wreath, and the pretty gold ring upon her finger. One startled glance at Sir Stephen, as he spoke, and then she sat motionless, her eyelids drooping on her crimsoned cheeks. Frederick, by her side, threw his eyes at his father, half amused, half indignant.
“You may look, Dr. Grey, but you won’t look me out of it,” nodded Sir Stephen. “I shall claim as much right in the young Turks as you and Lucy, and I promise you they shan’t be coddled.”
“Meanwhile, Sir Stephen,” interposed the countess, with a laugh, “Lady Jane is sitting by you with nothing to eat”
“I beg Lady Jane’s pardon,” said Sir Stephen, gaily. “But they’ll want keeping in order, those two, and it is well to let them know there’s somebody to undertake it. What do you say you want, Frank?”
“1 want a piece of wedding cake,” responded Frank.
“Now I do protest against that. You must eat some meat first, Frank, and the cake afterwards. I know how it is when cake is begun