Bridal Season

Chapter 1 When someone drops a pearl in your palm, make a fist. London, the last decade of Victoria's reign "But how can I?" Lady Agatha Whyte asked Henri Arnoux in a hushed undertone, painfully aware of the other passengers waiting in the lobby to board trains. "The Bigglesworths are depending on me. They fear that unless they make some sort of statement with the wedding ceremony and postnuptial celebration, the Marquis of Cotton's family will never accept young Miss Bigglesworth as their equal, and she will be forever marked as socially inferior to her new in-laws." "But, how is this your problem, my dear, my darling, Lady Agatha?" M. Arnoux begged in his wonderful French accent. Lady Agatha stared at him helplessly, trying to think of some way in which to phrase her unique position, and subsequent power, in Society. It would be immodest to call attention to her undoubted influence, but she had to make him understand just how important her services could be ... couldn't they? Perhaps she was deluding herself, she thought in alarm, and what influence she had was not as extensive as she herself had been led to believe. "The Bigglesworths are convinced only the cachet of my involvement will gain Miss Angela entree into Society. Indeed," she said apologetically, "they say the only reason Society will venture to so remote and provincial a place as Little Bidewell is because I will have planned the postmatrimonial celebration. As I did for your daughter, sir." She felt a blush rise in her cheeks. How many years had it been since she'd blushed? "And a lovely celebration it was, too," Henri Arnoux assured her. "Yet, delightful as it was, it was not the basis for my daughter's future happiness. Unlike the decision I am asking you to make, which most definitely forms the basis for my future happiness and, dare I be so bold, perhaps in some measure your own? That is, if you can feel for me something of the regard I have for you, dear Lady Agatha." He secured her gloved hand and raised it to his lips. Lady Agatha's reservations began to melt. He spoke so chivalrously and his face was so earnest and hadn't it been romantic, the way he'd followed her all the way here, to the train station? Yet, how could she even consider eloping to France with M. Arnoux instead of going to Little Bidewell, the ticket for which she held in her hand? If only she hadn't agreed in the first place. But the bride's aunt, Miss Eglantyne Bigglesworth, was an old classmate of Lady Agatha's favorite cousin. And when dear Helene had asked, it had seemed a fairy-tale sort of endeavor: a simple country girl wedding a man who, as well as being one of theton's most eligible bachelors, was the scion of one of Society's haughtiest families. "I fear Miss Bigglesworth might feel my loss acutely, and how would I forgive myself if " "Ach! I never 'eard such flummery," a disgusted female voice muttered from somewhere behind M. Arnoux. "I don't mean no offense, mum, but believe me, if this 'ere chippy has managed to land 'erself a marquis, she ain't needing no 'elp from you." Nonplussed, Lady Agatha leaned sideways to look around M. Arnoux. She stared. The person who'd delivered this blunt advice was not the Cockney girl Lady Agatha expected to see, but a genteel and well-to-do-looking young lady perched decorously on a bench. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and was remarkably handsome in an unconventional sort of way, withBrockway, Connie is the author of 'Bridal Season' with ISBN 9780440236719 and ISBN 0440236711.