A Question for Harry (40 page)

Epilogue

From the diary of
the Marchioness of Aylesbury – Jun 1895

This is the happiest day of my life. Even better than playing head to head with Miss Pearson at Wimbledon Commons.

Added by the Marquis of Aylesbury five minutes later

My God, I should hope so.

The chapel at Dinton Grange

Aylesbury, England

June 1895

“Are you ready for this, Blossom?”

Fiona hardly spared a sidelong glance for Francis as he carried her on his arm up the aisle to meet her future husband
, who awaited her at the altar. Never had she seen Harry looking as extraordinarily handsome as he did just then but it had nothing to do with the way his charcoal grey morning suit hugged his muscular frame or the charisma that fairly radiated from him.

It had everything to do with the way he watched her as she neared.

The organ was deafening, bellowing as wretchedly as a drunken sailor, but Fiona didn’t care. All she could really hear was the pounding of her heart as Harry smiled down at her with that same devastating smile that had captured her body and soul so long ago. Beneath his dark brows, his beautiful blue eyes lit with humor, life and joy.

They were always like that now but something new had been added as well
: a fiery light of love and desire that warmed Fiona to her toes each time he looked at her. Which was often.  Fiona knew already that their life might not be the impeccable paradise she had long dreamed of, but it would be the perfect life for them to share together.

In
what was fast becoming the new MacKintosh tradition, they were wedding by special license just two weeks after Fiona thought she had truly lost Harry forever. Two weeks – which was two weeks longer than most of her brothers had managed – to allow Harry to heal from his injuries. Though she would have wed him with his head still lying in her lap that day, Harry had jested that he would need to have all his strength to cope with her night and day.

Fiona
tolerated the wait only because she was sure he would.

“Yes, Francis,” she said through a broad smile
. “I’m very ready.”

In short order, her brother handed her over to the man who would soon be hers forever
. Harry’s warm hand closed over hers and squeezed.

“You
are absolutely radiant,” he murmured as they completed their short walk together. “I like your dress.”

The wedding gown
Fiona had chosen of ivory silk moire was not as lavish as some women might wear when marrying a marquis. With simple lines and only modest leg-o-mutton sleeves, it was only sparingly detailed with pearl and braid trim, and inset chiffon at the low-cut neckline. The subtle detail was in the shining contrast of the ivory satin that was inset in the large open pleats around the skirt and at the belt around her waist.

A lot more time and effort had been put into choosing everything else she was wearing.

“Just wait until you see what I’ve got on under it,” Fiona whispered with a wicked smile that sent the flame in his eyes leaping.

Aylesbury grinned down at his soon-to-be wife. She was undeniably luminous, exuding all the life, love, and mischief he loved about her. No doubt she would keep him on his toes in the years to come. There was even less doubt that theirs would be the tranquil, contented marriage he had once hoped for, but he and Fiona both had agreed that anything as subdued as contentment was not for them.

They would fight passionately but love just the same
… with their whole hearts and their entire selves. For all the years that God blessed them with, they would
live
.

“I can’
t wait,” he whispered, a simple phrase that meant so many things.

“I hear you have some surprises for me as well,” Fiona said
. “Something about a honeymoon?”

Aylesbury raised a brow
. “Do you want me to tell you where we’re going?”

“No,” Fiona said as they reached the clergyman and waited for the music to end
. “I trust you.”

And she did.

Even from a distance, the organ music emanating from the little chapel had sounded worse than a highland banshee during mating season. Connor sprinted toward it anyway, trying to tie his cravat as he ran. He was late! He couldn’t believe it. Fiona was going to kill him.

And he was going to kick his own arse as well
since he had no desire to miss the ceremony. Who would have thought it would take so long to tie a few dozen shoes and cans to the back of Aylesbury’s carriage?

The music stopped abruptly, the blessed silence buzzing in his ears as he bounded up the steps to the chapel, ready to fling open the doors and bolt inside
before anyone noticed he was missing. His hand wrapped around the handle just as slim, black-gloved hand did the same. Connor looked up in surprise at the young woman he hadn’t noticed, standing there.

Then wondered how he could have
possibly missed her. Even draped in the deepest black of mourning, she possessed a sheer splendor that was undeniable. Beneath her dainty black hat, her hair was just as dark, shining like a mirror in the morning sun. Her startled eyes, as brilliantly blue as the skies above, met his.

“
H–” Connor cleared his throat gruffly. “Hullo.”

“Hullo,” she whispered, almost as if she was having the same difficulty as he in finding his voice.

The seconds ticked away as they stared at each other.

“Are you going in?” he asked finally
.

“I
…”  Twisting the fringed black reticule she carried nervously between her hands, she looked wistfully at the door, but shook her head. “No. You go ahead.”

Connor cracked the door, then let it fall shut once more
. “Are you sure? I’m sure the ceremony has barely begun.”

Still
wringing the dear life out of the purse, the woman pressed her full, rosy lips into a tight line and shook her head again. “Are you a friend of the bride or groom?” she asked. She had a marvelous voice, rather low and husky but cultured.

“The bride is my sister
. Pardon me, I’m Connor MacKintosh.” Connor held out his hand to the curiously odd woman but while she shook it with surprising firmness, she didn’t offer her name.

Shifting from foot to foot, Connor waited impatiently
. As lovely as she was and as much as he would like the opportunity to talk … hell, do all sorts of things with her, he couldn’t miss his sister’s wedding. “I’ve got to go. Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

She shook her head
yet again, her short veil swinging from side to side. Turning away, she walked down the steps toward a small pony cart sitting among all the more elegant carriages surrounding the chapel.

Connor watched her go, fighting something within him that urged him to follow
. Black-haired, tall, willowy mysteries wrapped in black gauze apparently had that effect on him. With a sigh, he turned back to the chapel.

“
Mr. MacKintosh!” she called for his attention and he turned, waiting for her to say something more. She worried that poor reticule between her hands again.

“Does he
… does he love her?” she asked, almost choking on the words as if they pained her to say them and Connor almost swore he could see tears glinting in her eyes.

“Aye, he does,” he answered, afraid that he might be breaking her heart in the process.

She bit her lip and swiped at her eyes. “And she …”

“Loves him very much.”

The young woman nodded jerkily and turned, climbing into the small cart. Connor watched as she gathered up the reins and slapped the pony into motion.

He watched her still as she drove away
. There was something about her that compelled him to chase after her.

“Connor!”

He turned to see Dorian hanging out the chapel door. “Och, get in here, mon. Yer missing the whole buggered thing!”

With a nod, Connor followed his brother into the chapel
. Fiona was at the altar staring up at Aylesbury as if he’d hung the moon. He’d never imagined he would see her looking so happy ever again.

He’d be damned if he’d be the one to ruin it by mentioning the woman he’d met
. Clearly there was something between her and Aylesbury, but the past was past and Connor cared only for his sister’s future happiness.

It wasn’t like he knew the woman’s name or where
to find her, anyway.

Author’s Note

The history of women and golf together is a fascinating one as it has long been, and in some cases, still is considered a gentleman’s game.  Back in the 1500s, Mary, Queen of Scots, was an avid golfer.  Some said that she spent more time playing than she did ruling her country.  It was during her reign that the Royal and Ancient Golf Course at St. Andrews was first built.  She is also credited with coining the word ‘caddie’ for the cadets who carried her clubs.

In 1867, the Ladies Club of St. Andrews was founded as the first official association (that I could find) for women’s play in the sport.  Over the latter half of the 19
th
century, similar associations would be formed throughout Great Britain and the United States including Wimbledon in 1872.  In 1893, the first system for a golf handicap was developed, not by a man, but by a woman.  Miss Issette Pearson, who later married in her forties, created the handicap to even the playing field between players of different skill sets, between men and women.  She was also a member of the Ladies Golf Union, also established in 1893.

Then in 1894, the British Ladies Golf Championship tournament began, just in time for Fiona to get there.  I can’t imagine playing as a woman back then when women were required to play in long-sleeved, high-necked blouses, tight jackets and full-length skirts.  Screw-in metal spikes on the bottom of button-up shoes.  They were just as much of a handicap to playing well, I imagine.

Women’s golf has come a long way since then, though it was only in 2012 that the Augusta National Golf Club, home of the Master’s, allowed women to play there for the first time.

I love the late 19
th
century as a setting for my books because so many fabulous inventions were just coming to light at that point.  One of those was the very first cinematographs or movies, ever made.  Credit is given to many inventors for different parts and achievements - Louis Lumiere, Edison and others.  I won’t go into them all but Lumiere is credited for the first public showing of a film was in December of 1895 in Paris.  In Britain the first public showing was a short film – just 39 seconds – by Birt Acres and Robert W. Paul called
Rough Seas at Dover
on January 14, 1896.  Newspapers reported viewers in the front row crying out in surprise as the water lapped toward the edge of the screen, fearing they might actually get wet.  Not many of these early silent, black and white films have survived the test of time but you can see a brief snippet of
Rough Seas at Dover
by clicking
here
.

The film I used in my story, Birt Acres’
Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race
, was filmed on March 30, 1895.  It was first played at the Cardiff town hall on May 6, 1896 so obviously I took some artistic license to make it work for me.

The Empire of India Exhibition did open in London in May of 1895.  The twenty-four acres of the Earl’s Court had been rebuilt beginning in 1894 to house the exhibition, which cost just one schilling to attend and was much as I described it in my narrative.  The 300-foot Great Wheel (also called the Gigantic Wheel or Ferris wheel) was also much as I described it though the forty carriages could accommodate thirty people each.  You can view the
official catalogue of the Empire of India Exhibition
of the event online. 

The 1890s produced some of the most glorious dresses ever seen in any era.  Though the style changed wildly over those ten years, names like Worth, Paquin, de Rouff and Doucet created gowns for the top fashion icons of the time like Alexandra, Princess of Wales, Tsarina Alexandra Romanov and Marie Feodorovna of Romania.  You can see some of them and some that I used as inspiration for Fiona’s wardrobe on my
Tumblr page
or on my
Pinterest board for
A Question for Harry
.

The early 1890s were also some of the most productive years of playwright Oscar Wilde’s career.  Plays like the
Picture of Dorian Gray, Lady Windermere’s Fan
,
Salome, A woman of No Importance,
and
the Sphinx
were performed in London and Paris. 
The Importance of Being Earnest
opened at the St. James Theater in London on February 14, 1895.  Despite being married and the father of several children, rumors circulated through London society of Wilde’s homosexuality.  He was rumored to have begun an affair with Lord Alfred Douglas, the son of the Marquis of Queensberry in the summer of 1891.  That relationship would alter the course of his life.

When Douglas flaunted the relationship over the following years, Queensberry accused Wilde of sodomy, which was illegal according to an 1885 law banning such relations between men.  Though Wilde sued Queensberry for libel, his own charges for “acts of gross indecency” were brought to the courts, though with Queensberry’s influence, his son was never named.

Wilde was convicted and on May 25, 1895 was sentenced to two years of imprisonment with hard labor. 
A friend of his later stated: ‘I have seen many awful happenings at the Old Bailey, but to me no death sentence has ever seemed so terrible as the one Justice Wills delivered when his duty called upon him to destroy and take from the world the man who had given it so much’.

It was a traumatic for Wilde, he wrote about his time in prison often.  After his release, bankrupt and having lost custody of his children, Wilde moved to France and resumed his affair with Douglas
.

He died in Paris on November 30, 1900 at the age of forty-six from cerebral meningitis resulting from a abscess of the ear.  His last words were said to be regarding the terrible wallpaper in his rooms.

“One of us had to go.”

I hope you enjoyed the tale of how Fiona found Harry once again.  Though I know there are some who would say that Fiona took too long to forgive him, there are others out there who’ve had their hearts trounced upon who would say that they would hate a man until their dying day, if he ever treated her like that.

It didn’t take Fiona quite that long.

As Mark Twain once said, “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”