And then, less than an hour later, Graham arrived with Lucy and Mr. Nelson. Ralph accompanied her downstairs again to greet them.
Lucy came tumbling out of the carriage first, squealing with a quite inappropriate display of high spirits. She rushed into Chloe’s arms.
“Chlow,” she cried, “you are married. To a duke. But why did you not wait to have a grand wedding and invite us to it, you horrid thing? I will never forgive you. You do look fine in black, I must say. But I remember remarking on that fact after Mama died. You have the coloring to carry it. Does she not, Freddie? I look a perfect fright in black myself. I simply fade away behind dark, dreary colors. But I ought not to run on so, ought I? You have suffered a bereavement, and I daresay you are quite sad about it even if the duke was an old man.”
“My dear sister,” Frederick Nelson said, making Chloe a flourishing bow as though he were on stage, playing to the highest gallery, “or my dear duchess, ought I to say? I suppose you will have to observe a bit of a mourning period, but as soon as you can, before the end of the Season, it is to be hoped, I shall be imploring you to set up your own salon in London and cut a dash entertaining all the best wits and artists and poets and, dare I say, playwrights?”
Chloe gave him a speaking glance. These two never changed. They absolutely deserved one other. Mr. Nelson inhabited his own eccentric world, seemingly unaware of the real one, while what had begun as mere youthful, impulsive exuberance in Lucy had become, with the removal of the refining influence of her father and mother, an amiable near vulgarity. But at least she was amiable. And family.
“Lucy, Mr. Nelson,” she said, “allow me to introduce you to my husband. My sister and brother-in-law, Ralph.”
“Ah, but the Duke of Worthingham and I have a long-standing acquaintance,” Mr. Nelson said effusively.
Ralph acknowledged him with a polite inclination of the head and bowed over Lucy’s hand. He had been shaking hands with and exchanging some pleasantries with Graham, though they had both been looking a bit stiff and awkward about it.
Graham hugged her. “Chloe,” he said for her ears only, “whatever have you done? And without a word to anyone?”
“There was no time to let anyone know,” she told him. “The duke was ailing, and the duchess was eager for us to marry without either fuss or delay. I am glad we did, but I am sorry there was no time for our two families to gather here.”
Mr. Nelson was delivering what sounded like a bombastic speech of condolence and Lucy was gazing at Ralph in some awe when someone else descended the steps of the carriage more slowly and hesitantly than the others. He looked at Chloe and raised his eyebrows, as though he was not sure of his welcome.
She looked back at him and felt as though her heart was breaking.
“Papa,” she whispered, and then she hurried forward and was in his arms, held tight to all his comforting bulk and the familiar smell of his snuff. “I am so sorry.”
He held her away from him and looked inquiringly down at her.
“There was no time to ask for your permission,” she explained.
“You are of age, Chloe,” he reminded her.
“For your blessing, then,” she said. “The duke was ill, and the duchess feared the excitement of grand wedding preparations or even the delay for more modest ones would prove too much for him.”
“It is a brilliant match you have made, Chloe,” he said. “But will you be happy? It was all so very sudden. Was it because you had persuaded yourself you had no home of your own to which to return?”
But there was no time to answer him. Mr. Nelson had finished his monologue and Lucy for once was speechless. Chloe turned. “This is my husband, Papa. The Duke of Worthingham. My father, Ralph.”
The two men shook hands, sizing each other up. Neither smiled.
“I hope to make amends later, sir,” Ralph said, “for not having consulted you before I married your daughter. I thank you for undertaking such a long journey. It will be a comfort to my wife to have her family with her during the next few days.”
“I was in London when Chloe’s letter to my son was delivered,” her father said. “I was there to spend a couple of weeks or so with him and my younger daughter and grandchildren and my sister. I was glad to be able to avail myself of the opportunity to come here to offer my condolences.”
“Do come inside, sir,” Ralph said.
“I will have you taken up to some guest rooms,” Chloe said, slipping a hand through her father’s arm, “and then you must come back down to the drawing room for tea. I am sure you will wish to pay your respects to Her Grace.”
“You are Her Grace, Chlow,” Lucy said. “But I know who you mean. You mean the old duchess. I daresay I shall be awed speechless when I meet her. We are not received by many of the highest sticklers of the ton, you know, but everyone will have to be polite to us for the next few days, will they not? And to you too, Chlow. After last year, I expect—”
“I believe it would be wiser, Lucy,” Graham said, “to hold your tongue.”
“Oh, you are so stuffy, Gray,” she said, rolling her eyes.
But mercifully, she obeyed him.
10
The rest of the day proceeded in a bit of a whirl for Ralph. In a way he was thankful. For the past few days he had gone more than once to spend time with his grandfather, laid out in state for those who wished to pay their respects, and more and more each time he felt his loss. For his grandmother had been right on the morning of his death. His body was there, but he was not. Only memories of him remained.