Lady in the Veil by Leah Fleming Read Free Book Online Page B

be enough chairs for the evening visitors and bride cake and
ale for the farm servants and visitors? He had ordered a special frock coat, a tall hat and bathed himself in the tub. His mother was in a fluster of anxiety about how to address the new bride and
would they mind if they threw a plate out of the window to welcome luck on the new couple or would Miss Dacre think that common?
    ‘I hope you knows what tha’s doin’, me laddo,’ she twined. ‘This wedding will beggar us twice over if you’re not careful. I’ve never heard of a bride
having her own room. She’s yer wife, not some visitor! I hope that poor maid of hers can turn her hand to the pump for yon bride of yours has never done a hand’s turn in her life nor
ever will, I venture. It’s a rum do and no mistake. We’ll be the laughing stock of Lawton.’
    ‘Hush, Mother, don’t spoil the day with yer mitherings,’ he snapped but he was too nervous to sleep much that night either.

7
    The wedding day passed off without incident. The groom appeared on horseback with the Parson, both dressed in sombre black and tall hats. No one could say that Farmer Stockdale
did not look like a gentleman. Papa was drunk and none too fresh as he escorted Eliza down the stairs in the half mourning outfit of grey and lilac silk with a full skirt and ruffled hem. The
groom’s mother stood in her widow’s black bombazine, nervous and unsure as to how to proceed, looking to the maid to guide them in all things.
    Eliza struggled to participate in the ceremony, hardly glancing at her husband, muttering her vows so no one could hear. She didn’t touch a morsel of the wedding feast, picking at her
plate, staring down at the embroidery on her sleeve. Mirabel stood behind the chairs feeling both sorrow and anger that the groom could be so easily duped. He looked so eager and expectant but he
was going to be bitterly disappointed in his new bride. If only things had been different, she mused. How eagerly would she have jumped into those strong arms on her wedding night.
    The first moment of concern came when the bridal party left for the bride cake-throwing in the servant’s hall. Eliza refused to go downstairs or even in the garden, making for the chaise
saying she was unwell and wanted to make straight way for the safety of Yewbank but only if her maid would keep her company. Poor Matt had to ride behind his mother in her hired carriage.
    How different the outside of the farmhouse looked from that first visit all those years ago. The new front porch stood out proudly to welcome them and to the left a parlour room and to the right
a dining room almost complete with panelled walls with the tall windows he had promised.
    What a good man he was, she thought, who didn’t deserve such treatment, but he had wanted his Mirabel Dacre and now they were here, both of them and he must be content.
    Eliza glanced up at the walls and headed for the stairs. She was too tired for further conversation and announced she was off to her chamber, leaving her husband looking up in despair.
    ‘She’s very tired,’ Mirabel apologised, lowering her face. No one liked to be reminded of her features. ‘Fresh air disturbs her, I fear. It reminds her of York,
sir.’
    The extra servants hired for the evening supper stood back awkwardly and were later dismissed when no bride appeared to grace the event. The celebrations fizzled out early without any of the
raucous lewdness that usually accompanied a wedding night. Mirabel tried to help clear away the plates and show willing but she, too, was exhausted by the strain and relieved that the deed was
done. She climbed the stairs smelling the fresh paint and polish. Everything was new and bare, spotless and raw. Matt was trying so hard to please them and she was touched by his earnest desire to
give them the best. Somehow she was going to have to make it up to him for this deception but only time would guide her as to how.
    Matt looked over his