A Dream of her Own by Benita Brown

Elliot aside as she went past.
     
    ‘Don’t worry about my cousin. Esther will always find something to sulk about. Goodness knows what has set her off today.’
     
    Just as John spoke, the car drove past them all, and Constance glanced back admiringly at Esther Barton’s glossy dark curls piled high under a fur-trimmed hat. Constance caught her eye and was shocked at the venom she saw there.
     
    ‘Cold, sweetheart?’
     
    Constance turned to find John looking concerned. ‘Yes.’
     
    ‘You’re shivering. But don’t worry, the journey’s over. You’ll soon thaw out when we get inside.’
     
    Constance watched her new husband as he opened the waist-high, wrought-iron gate of the small grey-brick terraced house. He took her hand and led her up the short path to the front door. The others had waited and now they followed them. At one side of the path, dividing it from that next door, was a tall privet hedge, and at the other side, a tiny square of garden crowded with frosted shrubs. She had never been invited to this house. Since John had proposed to her, and she had accepted, there had hardly been time.
     
    After that first casual meeting in the park, when the band had been playing, John had asked her to meet him in the Willow Tea Rooms the following week. Constance had hardly been able to contain her excitement but, when the day came, she had not really been surprised that Matthew was there too. Indeed, over the next few months she had been unsure whether or not John was truly courting her. He seemed to enjoy her company, otherwise why seek it, but they were hardly ever alone together.
     
    And then one day he had turned up without his friend. John offered no explanation but he had been flatteringly attentive, making Constance deliriously happy. That was the first time he had reached for her hand and held it as he walked her home. Before parting he had brushed her lips with his own. She could still remember the disturbing sensations his first kiss had aroused.
     
    There had been so few kisses after that; they had not had the opportunity. Matthew had even been there, walking a little apart, when John had asked her to marry him. She had been overcome with happiness as she agreed and she had longed for John to take her in his arms and embrace her. But, with Matthew so near, John had simply raised her hand to his lips instead. But he had looked at her with eyes so full of emotion, she was sure she had seen the glint of tears.
     
    ‘You’re supposed to carry the lass over the threshold, you know! I’ll give you a hand, John, if you can’t manage it!’ Albert Green was standing behind them.
     
    ‘Albert!’ His mother hissed. Her large, protuberant eyes stared up anxiously at the son who dwarfed her.
     
    ‘I only meant because John’s such a little fellow, Mam. Not much bigger than his bonny bride. I mean—’
     
    ‘Albert!’ This time his father rebuked him. Mr Green was as tall as Albert, but he was thin and so pale that he appeared almost bloodless. Constance wondered how the pair had produced such a robustly handsome son.
     
    Acute embarrassment made Mr Green address the ground near her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Edington. Our lad’s more brawn than brain but that’s no excuse for bad manners. What will you think of us?’
     
    For a moment Constance was at a loss. Mrs Edington? Of course, he means me! I am Mrs Edington! ‘Oh, I don’t mind.’ She smiled radiantly up at Albert, who grinned back.
     
    The next moment happiness engulfed her as John, with surprising strength, swept her up into his arms. ‘No thank you, Albert, I am quite capable of carrying my bride myself!’
     
     
    ‘I’m sorry that I cannot get up to greet you, Constance.’
     
    ‘That’s all right, Mrs Edington. John has explained that you are not strong.’
     
    ‘Not strong?’ Frances Edington smiled faintly. ‘I hope he has been a little more precise than that.’
     
    ‘Yes, he has.’
     
    After introducing