Echoes of a Promise (19 page)

The day of the wedding was bright and cloudless, and the begum insisted that she, herself, would dress the bride in the glorious new ivory gown, and brush her hair into a soft, upswept style to display the sapphire ear-rings that were her gift to Victoria.

‘Think of me each time you wear these, my dear, and know that all my blessings go with you.’

Victoria kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you, madame – for everything. Oh, how I wish that I could have loved my own mother as I’ve come to love you. Do, please, write to me often, and I’ll send you news about all our adventures.’

The begum had declined their invitation to the wedding. ‘Thank you, but I made a vow forty years ago never again to set foot in that cantonment.’ Though she said it with a laugh, she remained adamant.

This morning, a string of pack horses had arrived on the bank, led by porters wearing the thick brown cloaks and caps of mountain tribes, with each man carrying a long-barrelled jezail musket slung over one shoulder.

Victoria’s impatience mounted as the hands of the clock continued to slide around the dial with agonizing slowness towards the time that she was due to stand beside Andrew in the church. Her smile became unstoppable. Every inch of her body was filled with the joy of anticipation.

Andrew was a man whom few people truly understood, and when she’d first come to know him, it had been hard to label the feelings he stirred in her. He was not a man to woo a lady with tender words or shallow flattery. But he’d permitted her to see beyond the uncompromising façade he presented to the world, and what she’d recognized deep inside him was love, pure and simple. A whole, untapped lifetime of it was now waiting for her, and tonight when they lay together she’d show him the first of the pleasures that she had in store for him.

Several
shikaras
were now plying to and fro between the houseboat and the shore with boxes of goods and provisions to be loaded onto the pack horses. They would go on ahead to set up the first camp in readiness for the sahib’s group when they rode in this evening.

The begum placed a veil of the finest lace over Victoria’s head. The moment for departure was drawing near, and in the midst of the bustle, a letter from England arrived. It was from the London solicitor, Mr Bartley-Symes, and contained the most recent statement of her growing fortune.

She tapped her foot in frustration. Obviously, her plans regarding the
Fortitude Foundation
hadn’t yet reached London when he wrote this to her. It was essential for everyone concerned to be perfectly clear about her intentions so that there would be no misunderstandings and delays. Her simple instructions had been for everything from Peter’s bequest – as well as every penny of future profit – to go straight into the Foundation.

There was no time now to sit down and send off a reply confirming this with Mr Bartley-Symes when she was shortly to walk down the aisle with Andrew. He still knew nothing about her plans, and she felt guilty to admit that. Time and again she’d considered discussing her ideas for the Foundation with him, but he’d always been so busy. And, besides, the legalities were still to be finalized and a committee hadn’t yet been formed to assess all the practicalities of finding a building—

Stop it! she scolded herself. It was nothing but pure cowardice that
had stopped her from confiding in Andrew. Frankly, she did feel concern about his reaction if he should discover the current disparity in their fortunes. But once Peter’s money had been put to use by the Foundation and was no longer
hers
, of course, she’d have no hesitation in explaining everything about it to him.

She folded the attorney’s letter tightly and stuffed it into the little purse she was carrying on her wrist. Kitty had arranged a small reception at their house to toast the newlyweds after the wedding ceremony and she was sure to find a moment there to speak privately with Nigel and ask him to respond to the letter on her behalf.

When the time came for Victoria to leave for the church, the begum handed her a bouquet of cream roses that had been picked in the Shalimar Gardens at sunrise, and therefore – so legend said – carried a mystical significance.

Annabelle let everybody know how cross she was when she realized that she was not being taken to the wedding. The adults had discussed it, but in the end it had been Andrew who’d decided against it.

‘No, I want this to be
our
day, Victoria,’ he’d whispered into the warm curve of her neck. ‘We’ll have many other special days to share with Annabelle in the years ahead.’

She’d been incredibly touched by that.

Annabelle’s tantrum quickly ran its course when Victoria pulled a few blossoms from her bouquet and found a lace shawl to throw over the child’s head. ‘There you are, see, now you’re a bride, too. Give me a goodbye kiss, because I’m going off to find your papa, and I promise to bring him straight back here, along with your new mama. And do you know who that will be?’

Annabelle shook her head.

‘Belle, it’s going to be me! I’m going to be your new mama.’

‘My forever and forever mama?’ Her face broke into a smile.

‘Yes, my sweet. Forever and forever you’ll be my little girl and I’ll be your mama.’ She opened her arms and the child ran to be hugged.
‘We’ll play, and draw, and read books – and we must always talk to each other in English because that’s the only language I know.’

They waved to each other when Victoria boarded the begum’s
shikara
to be rowed to the steps on the shore where the beaming Sikh was waiting for her beside the carriage. The begum had decided that he should be the one to drive the bride to and from her wedding – and that he should be dressed for the grand occasion in a dazzling white uniform with an embroidered yellow silk sash across his chest. His huge moustache was heavily waxed to curl at each end, and just for this special occasion, he’d permitted a sparkling aigrette with tall feathers to be pinned to the front of his turban.

Annabelle and the begum continued to wave until the carriage carrying Victoria had gone from view. Then, while Annabelle and her
ayah
played with her dolls on the deck, the begum went to her writing table, smiling to herself as she took out a sheet of monogrammed paper and began a letter to Andrew.

This was something she had been planning to write for the last two years – a surprise that she wanted him to have before he set out to start a new life with Victoria as his wife – and mother to his daughter.

The letter went on to express her deep affection for both himself and Victoria, and her fond wishes for their future together. After signing it with a flourish, the begum sealed it in an envelope and took it to the bedroom where Andrew’s travelling clothes had been laid out, ready for him change into when he and Victoria returned from the wedding. She slipped her letter into a pocket of his brown jacket.

All along the route to the cantonment, heads turned to stare at the sight of the magnificently dressed Sikh driving an open carriage carrying a veiled lady as it clopped past hamlets and farms scattered around the lake. It travelled through the crowded lanes of the old town, and around the corner where the ancient augury had seen Victoria’s future in his hot oil. There was no sign of the old man there today.

Soon they were heading up the hill towards the neat gardens and bungalows of the British cantonment with its steepled church looking as if it had been plucked straight from a village in Kent.

Nigel was waiting for her on the church porch and, as he handed her down the carriage step, she was surprised to hear the notes of the organ coming from within.

‘Yes, I know that you chose to have a very simple wedding, but Kitty decided that we couldn’t let you walk down the aisle on this special day without music to accompany you. So come along now, take my arm.
Andrew and the rector are waiting in there for you. Ready?’

‘Yes, I am. Very,
very
ready, thank you Nigel. But, afterwards, I need to find a brief moment to speak with you privately about a letter that I must ask you to write to my lawyer.’

Kitty had decided also that the church should be filled with flowers, though apart from Sir Ian and Lady Phillips, along with their daughter, Lucy, the only other people in there were a few of Andrew’s friends from the regiment.

The notes of the organ swelled as Victoria and Nigel entered. Andrew was waiting with the vicar at the end of the aisle, looking tall and striking in his full dress uniform, and facing her with an expression of longing that struck up an anthem of joy on her heartstrings. The light slanting in through the stained glass windows touched the gleaming brass ornaments and the massed blooms filling the church, creating a dream-like atmosphere.

But, as she walked slowly down the aisle with Nigel and came to stand beside the man at the altar, she knew that this was no dream. Andrew Wyndham was very real, and with all her heart she made her vows to love, honour and obey this man. His hand was a little unsteady as he slipped a simple gold band on to her finger, and when the rector declared them to be husband and wife, he lifted the veil and touched his lips to hers in a kiss that held a thousand promises.

Her happiness soared. She was loved. She was no longer alone. She and Andrew had become one, and tonight she would sleep in his arms, knowing that she would always be safe and cherished. Her heart overflowed with love and she held his arm tightly as they walked from the church to the accompaniment of the organ.

Kitty had also arranged for a photographer to record the day, and when Victoria and Andrew stepped from the church, he was waiting for them. He positioned them to stand side by side while they smiled into his camera lens and were dazzled time and again by his flash.

‘There!’ Kitty said. ‘Now we’ll have pictures of your wedding for
Nigel to send to your sisters. Everyone will want to see what a distinguished husband you’ve brought into the family.’

With the photographs taken, Andrew kissed her again and they sat closely side by side in the carriage with their legs pressed tightly against each other’s for the short drive to Nigel’s house. When he put a hand on her thigh, she could feel the heat of his palm through the silk.

‘Vicky, I want to say so much more than simply thank you, but I can never find the right words when I need them.’ Her hand touched his and their fingers interlocked. ‘I do love you, Mrs Wyndham, and I’ll never cease to be amazed at your astonishing ability to love a man like me.’

‘Actually, I find it rather easy, sir. I like the tone of your voice, I like the scent of you, and especially the shape of your mouth on those occasions when you decide to smile.’ She turned her head with an unspoken invitation to kiss her again. He was quick to oblige, and she felt a twinge of disappointment when the horse pulled up at Nigel’s house and there was no opportunity to exchange more than one more fleeting embrace.

Duleep was waiting at the door, bowing low and grinning widely. Kitty ushered the guests into the dining room where an elegant little reception was waiting with sandwiches, pastries and jellies, set out on the dining room table, as well as a magnificently decorated three-tiered cake that the cook had copied from one of the new Pelham-memsahib’s books.

Lady Phillips and Kitty each presented the newlyweds with a gift. Her ladyship’s box contained a dozen silver dessert spoons. ‘I feel that one can never have enough spoons,’ she said, and Victoria agreed.

Kitty and Nigel’s gift was a set of three Mogul miniatures painted on ivory – which Victoria knew that Nigel himself must have chosen. They weren’t at all Kitty’s taste. ‘Thank you, both,’ she said. ‘We’ll treasure these.’

When the toasts had been made and the cake had been cut, Victoria noticed Andrew glance several times at the hands of the long-case
clock. She gave him a nod of understanding and began to push her chair back from the table.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, Andrew and I have a long journey ahead of us today, so please forgive us for leaving you so soon. But first, Nigel, I wonder if you and I could have a moment alone? Something arrived from London just as I was to leave this morning and I didn’t have time to reply to it myself.’

He held her chair as she stood. ‘Perhaps, Kitty, m’love, while Vicky and I go into my study, our guests might like to be taken upstairs to see some of the changes we’ve made up there.’

Once alone with Nigel in his study, Victoria handed him the lawyer’s letter. ‘As I mentioned, this reached me this morning, and I’d be most grateful if you’d reply to Mr Bartley-Symes on my behalf. I simply want to make absolutely sure that there can be no confusion about where all the profits from Peter’s ship are to be sent. Please tell him that I will require no part of it to come to me from now on. Everything is to go straight into the
Fortitude Foundation
.’