A Dream of her Own by Benita Brown Page A

them, John left them alone together while he instructed the maid to arrange more chairs at the table. Constance looked at her mother-in-law. She was so unlike John. He was small with angel-blond hair, fair skin and delicate features. His mother had long limbs and a large frame, although it was wasted now with illness.
     
    Before ill health had made her complexion so pallid, she must have been as boldly dark and attractive as her brother’s daughter, Esther, Constance thought. But it was undeniable that, even although she was gravely ill, her beauty still lingered. In fact the consumption had added something - an air of drama, of tragedy that may have made her even more attractive.
     
    Mrs Edington was wearing a plain, dark blue dress and her black hair was parted in the middle and fell in two raven wings before being drawn back into a heavy knot on the nape of her neck. The severe way she has of dressing her hair suits her, Constance thought. In contrast to her hair, her face was unnaturally pale but as she smiled up at Constance, two pink spots appeared and glowed faintly in her cheeks.
     
    Frances assessed her daughter-in-law. She had had so little time to get used to the idea and this was not what she had expected. She remembered the day John had told her that he was getting married. How surprised and how apprehensive she had been.
     
    ‘I thought you would be pleased,’ he had said. ‘I will come into my inheritance, at least some part of it, and if a child is born, Uncle Walter will not be able to withhold the full amount.’
     
    ‘Of course I’m pleased that you are marrying, but I hope it is not just for the sake of the money your grandfather willed to you. Are you sure that ... I mean the girl—’
     
    ‘Don’t worry, she has nobody, no family to object to her alliance with the son of a scoundrel.’
     
    ‘John!’
     
    ‘I’m sorry, I know that you loved him.’
     
    ‘John, I only meant ... the girl is a servant.’
     
    ‘Constance is poor but she’s quite respectable. Don’t you trust me? My good taste?’
     
    ‘Of course. But will she ... ? I mean, will you be happy?’
     
    ‘What do you want to hear, Mother? Believe me, Constance is perfect. She is young, she is beautiful and she adores me. How could I not be happy?’
     
    He had seemed so eager, so like any young man who had found the girl that he wanted to marry, that she had tried to suppress her misgivings. But there had been so much left unsaid. And now Constance was actually married to her son and she realized that she had been staring for rather too long.
     
    ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel unwelcome. If I seem distant it’s because I tire so easily.’
     
    ‘Can I get you anything? Something to eat? Or perhaps a cup of tea?’
     
    ‘Do you know,’ she smiled up at Constance, ‘as it’s your wedding day, I think I would like a glass of wine.’
     
    ‘I guessed you might and here it is, madam!’ John reappeared beside them. He was carrying a plate of cold roast beef sandwiches cut into small triangles and a glass of red wine. ‘Polly has prepared this for you so that you can join in the festivities without tiring yourself too much.’ He turned to smile at his new bride. ‘Would you move that small table a little nearer to my mother? Good. Now we should join our guests.’
     
    As the others were taking their seats, Muriel found time to approach her sister-in-law. ‘Quite a surprise, eh, Frances?’
     
    ‘Surprise?’
     
    ‘Well, what kind of servant girl is it who speaks and dresses like a lady and is friends with the daughter of Sir Hubert Elliot?’
     
    Frances glanced at her unexpected guests, her expression unreadable. ‘Matthew Elliot is John’s friend.’
     
    ‘Really? You’ve never said anything about it.’
     
    ‘Why should I?’
     
    Suddenly, Muriel’s small eyes and mouth formed three speculative circles as something occurred to her. ‘She’s not some castoff of young