noticeably thickening waist. She had decided not to powder her bright crimson hair for the occasion and wore it backcombed and ringleted with roses and orange blossom pinned to the muslin pouf placed on top.
Clementine, Eliza and Phoebe acted as her attendants and stood to the side dressed in long sleeved white muslin gowns with matching pink velvet sashes around their waists and sweet little pink rose nosegays in their hands. Clementine could not help but be moved as she watched her friend blushing and smiling as she repeated the words that would bind her to Comte Jules, pale and nervous looking in a blue velvet suit and cream silk waistcoat embroidered with roses and forget-me-nots, forever.
It was not the first wedding of the day though - early that morning, in front of just two witnesses, Venetia and Jules had been married in a Catholic ceremony in the private chapel of the French ambassador. Catholicism was still very much outlawed in England but Venetia’s parents had insisted upon this first ceremony to ensure that the marriage was equally valid in both France and England: their daughter’s noble husband was not going to be allowed to slip through their fingers.
Clementine allowed her eyes to wander over the few wedding guests as the couple said their vows but did not see the engaging Antoine that she had met at Lady D’Eversley’s ball. She was far too shy to ask Venetia what had become of him and could only suppose that he had returned to Paris and his own life.
When the ceremony was over, they rushed forward to kiss and congratulate Venetia who clung to each of them as though her life depended on it. ‘Oh, I am so happy,’ she whispered to Clementine. ‘It’s terrifying too though.’ She and Jules were due to set out for Paris that very evening, stopping for the night at a hotel in Dover before crossing the Channel in the morning. ‘I wonder when we will all meet again? You will all come and visit, won’t you?’ She was smiling but her trembling voice betrayed how scared she actually was at the prospect of going away for good.
Clementine smiled. ‘Of course. Just try keeping us away from Paris and all those shops.’ She stepped aside as Jules, still pale but smiling now as if with relief, came forward to take his wife’s hand. To the sound of joyful organ music, he led her proudly back down the aisle as their guests filed out after them, to emerge blinking and half blinded from the dusty gloom into bright summer sunshine.
Phoebe heaved a sigh and turned to the others, while shading her eyes with her hand. ‘Which of us do you think will get married next?’ she asked with a grin. ‘Mama is talking about taking Matilda and I back to Bath again soon to see if we can catch husbands as easily as Venetia did.’
Eliza shook her head, fastening her lips rather primly. ‘I love her dearly but I do not like Venetia’s manner of getting a husband,’ she whispered with a meaningful look after the happy couple who were hurrying hand in hand down the church’s steps to a yellow and black carriage that waited for them at the bottom. A trail of white and pink flowers that had fallen from Venetia’s bouquet followed them, blowing this way and that in the dusty breeze. ‘Imagine if he had abandoned her and the baby?’
Phoebe smiled. ‘Very true but our lovely Venetia does not exactly want for admirers does she?’ They linked arms and made their way carefully down the steps, admiring the way that their soft white muslin skirts frothed and billowed against each other. ‘I am sure she would have had no difficulty finding another husband.’
‘I wish that I had your confidence,’ Eliza replied with a shrug before darting a shrewd look at her friend. ‘Surely it isn’t something that you would consider attempting yourself?’
‘Why not?’ Phoebe responded, laughing. ‘You said that you wouldn’t let religion stand between you and the perfect match and I feel the same way about my
Clementine, Eliza and Phoebe acted as her attendants and stood to the side dressed in long sleeved white muslin gowns with matching pink velvet sashes around their waists and sweet little pink rose nosegays in their hands. Clementine could not help but be moved as she watched her friend blushing and smiling as she repeated the words that would bind her to Comte Jules, pale and nervous looking in a blue velvet suit and cream silk waistcoat embroidered with roses and forget-me-nots, forever.
It was not the first wedding of the day though - early that morning, in front of just two witnesses, Venetia and Jules had been married in a Catholic ceremony in the private chapel of the French ambassador. Catholicism was still very much outlawed in England but Venetia’s parents had insisted upon this first ceremony to ensure that the marriage was equally valid in both France and England: their daughter’s noble husband was not going to be allowed to slip through their fingers.
Clementine allowed her eyes to wander over the few wedding guests as the couple said their vows but did not see the engaging Antoine that she had met at Lady D’Eversley’s ball. She was far too shy to ask Venetia what had become of him and could only suppose that he had returned to Paris and his own life.
When the ceremony was over, they rushed forward to kiss and congratulate Venetia who clung to each of them as though her life depended on it. ‘Oh, I am so happy,’ she whispered to Clementine. ‘It’s terrifying too though.’ She and Jules were due to set out for Paris that very evening, stopping for the night at a hotel in Dover before crossing the Channel in the morning. ‘I wonder when we will all meet again? You will all come and visit, won’t you?’ She was smiling but her trembling voice betrayed how scared she actually was at the prospect of going away for good.
Clementine smiled. ‘Of course. Just try keeping us away from Paris and all those shops.’ She stepped aside as Jules, still pale but smiling now as if with relief, came forward to take his wife’s hand. To the sound of joyful organ music, he led her proudly back down the aisle as their guests filed out after them, to emerge blinking and half blinded from the dusty gloom into bright summer sunshine.
Phoebe heaved a sigh and turned to the others, while shading her eyes with her hand. ‘Which of us do you think will get married next?’ she asked with a grin. ‘Mama is talking about taking Matilda and I back to Bath again soon to see if we can catch husbands as easily as Venetia did.’
Eliza shook her head, fastening her lips rather primly. ‘I love her dearly but I do not like Venetia’s manner of getting a husband,’ she whispered with a meaningful look after the happy couple who were hurrying hand in hand down the church’s steps to a yellow and black carriage that waited for them at the bottom. A trail of white and pink flowers that had fallen from Venetia’s bouquet followed them, blowing this way and that in the dusty breeze. ‘Imagine if he had abandoned her and the baby?’
Phoebe smiled. ‘Very true but our lovely Venetia does not exactly want for admirers does she?’ They linked arms and made their way carefully down the steps, admiring the way that their soft white muslin skirts frothed and billowed against each other. ‘I am sure she would have had no difficulty finding another husband.’
‘I wish that I had your confidence,’ Eliza replied with a shrug before darting a shrewd look at her friend. ‘Surely it isn’t something that you would consider attempting yourself?’
‘Why not?’ Phoebe responded, laughing. ‘You said that you wouldn’t let religion stand between you and the perfect match and I feel the same way about my
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