The day of the wedding had arrived. Grace had her arms loosely round the bedpost as Eliza attempted to tighten her corset.
'Come now, Grace,' Eliza said, her tone, as usual, dull even in its chiding, 'It would be quite improper for a lady to marry with anything more than a seventeen inch waist.'
Grace grit her teeth as she allowed her cousin to pull hard on the ribbons that encased her body so tight that she found it hard to breathe. She couldn't care less about the size of her waist. Considering the events that were to pass that day it was the least of her worries; but in the absence of a maid, who were all occupied preparing the gardens and the ballroom for the ceremony, she had had to make do with Eliza - to whom she had to pretend she was ecstatic about her marriage lest it ever got back to Jane that it was forced upon her.
'Colonel Tavington will not be impressed if his wife's stomach hangs limply over her waistband,' Eliza said with as much gaiety as her listless soul could manage.
'Indeed, I'm sure he would not,' Grace said, undetected sarcasm heavy in her tone.
'You are lucky,' sighed Eliza. 'What I would not give for a noble man of the crown.'
Grace had to fight hard not to snort. Tavington was hardly a 'noble' man. She had made it her business to find as much out about him as possible in the days leading up to their marriage and had discovered that his dubious reputation was well deserved. Some of the more loosely tongued ladies had relayed to her the predicament of his family – four sisters and the Colonel, left not a penny by their father, who had been a gambling, whoring, scarcely pitiable man. This, however, had not bothered Grace so much (her own family history being as chequered) as the way they spoke about his reputation as the Dragoon commander – ruthless, remorseless, feared. The fate of the colonials he captured seemed as much dependent on his mood as the correct protocol of war, and his casualties were wide and numerous. There were even hints that he had killed innocent villagers who stood in his way, and though Grace knew little of military regulations she could not but think that this was against the very morality of England.
In any case nothing that she had heard had made her relish the opportunity of becoming the Colonel's wife. Their meeting in the library stuck firmly in her mind; the way he had kissed and manhandled her told her that he had no intention of disappointing his reputation by treating her honourably.
Grace's hands grew clammy around the solid oak bedpost as she thought about what may lie in store for her that evening. She was not naïve and she knew what was expected of a wife on her wedding night. Her mother's diary had been quite explicit in some places about the intimate moments between her and her Captain – and the loving kisses and tender embraces had sounded wonderfully exciting to the young Grace. However, there was no excitement now. She had no illusions that the Colonel would treat her equally gently and warmly. Her only desperate hope was that he may not wish to become acquainted with her in such a way. After all their marriage was part of a mercenary pact. Perhaps he would have no interest in making such advances. In the back of her mind, however, she couldn't shake his words in the library when he spoke of their wedding; 'Perhaps you will be in a slightly more amiable mood.'
'Arms up, Grace,' Eliza said. She pulled a heavy gown over Grace's head, smoothing it down over Grace's corset and petticoats. Lord Cornwallis had brought the gown to the colonies specifically for his Granddaughter's use. It had been his late wife's, intended eventually for Grace's mother as the eldest daughter. It had been hanging untouched in a back room of Cornwallis's mansion since her death and it had been with reluctance that Cornwallis had ordered it to be taken out of its concealment, the dust of sixteen years brushed off as though it had never gathered - but he felt that it was a fitting tribute to his daughter that Grace be wed in the dress intended for her.
When Grace had been presented with it she had at first been indignant, as it suggested to her Grandfather had planned her engagement from before they had even left England's shores; however, when she had learned the history behind the dress she had been slightly appeased – it made for a wonderful story.
In any case it was beautiful. Eliza gave an unexpected gasp of pleasure as Grace stood before the full-length looking glass regarding her reflection. She was a picture of striking youth. The dress was white brocade, pulled in acutely at the waist but billowing out below it like an opened tulip. It was punctuated by a modest amount of small, harshly cut, precious stones - emeralds, sapphires and diamonds – twinkling as magnificently as stars in a clear sky. The top half was woven from the finest silk and rose high over her chest. She wore pearls round her neck; each one had been a birthday present from her Grandfather so that the thick gold chain now bore seventeen – the largest, positioned at her throat, had been given to her this morning.
'Oh Grace,' Eliza said, with perhaps the first genuine pleasure Grace had ever heard in her voice, 'It's as though it were made for you.'
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Colonel Tavington stood in position at the end of the aisle that had been constructed in the gardens. He was dressed in a crisp new Dragoon uniform that Cornwallis had had made by one of his personal tailors. It was cut with the best cloth that Tavington had ever felt against his skin, and the buttons on his tunic glistened like gold in the mid-morning sunshine. Uniforms were hard to come by and Tavington felt some satisfaction as he saw the other men looking at him with faces almost as green as his tunic; there were going to be definite advantages in having the commander of the British army as family.
He was making small talk with Ederick, who had been granted the day off from his duties to attend the wedding as Tavington's groomsman. Irritatingly, and despite Lord Cornwallis's assurances of a 'small ceremony', Tavington found himself at the center of a congregation of around sixty or seventy people sat in quickly erected pews to witness his marriage to Grace. The gardens had been elaborately decorated with red, pink and white English roses and there was a bountiful feast laid out indoors, contained on freshly polished silver platters and accompanied by matching goblets ready to be filled with the best wine Cornwallis could procure in war time. It seemed far too lavish a wedding to bestow upon for the daughter-of-a-whore, but then Cornwallis always had an extremely high opinion of himself and his family. Tavington fumed silently, not because he was displeased at being surrounded by such luxury – it would do his status in the eyes of his men no harm at all – but because it appeared to suggest that his marriage to Grace was a most romantic attachment, rather than what it was in actuality – a mercenary exchange.
'Humph, ' Ederick muttered as the violinists began to play the wedding march, 'I see the General has given the wench his own wife's dress, when everyone know that it is by rights Eliza's to wear.'
Tavington turned his gaze to where Ederick indicated. As he did so a thin eyebrow raised slightly on his bronze forehead. Grace was dressed in the most ostentatious dress that he had ever seen on a lady. He had to admit that she did not at all make a displeasing sight as she walked towards him escorted by Cornwallis – her face flushed, either by the heat or by apprehension of having every pair of eyes gaping in her direction. Several hushed gasps could be heard as she walked down the aisle. It was perhaps not surprising as the dress was decorated with real gems and must have cost more than a full year's salary.
Tavington held out his hand for Grace's as she and Cornwallis reached him. Cornwallis nodded sagely at the Colonel and kissed Grace's cheek as though in farewell. Grace reluctantly placed her hand in the Colonel's and his fingers clamped down on her own much harder than was necessary, his expression malevolent.
Grace grew more and more light-headed throughout the ceremony. Her stays cut cruelly into her chest, restricting her breath, and the dress felt like a heavy blanket swaddling her in the baking heat. As the minister progressed through the rites, Tavington tonelessly echoing the vows put to him, she had the vague notion that she was on a rack being stretched relentlessly bit by bit.
'Grace Victoria Cornwallis, wilt though have this man to thy wedded husband, wilt thee love him, and honor him, and obey him, in health and in sickness, as a wife should a husband, and forsaking all others on account of him, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?'
'I –I,' she said, her head swimming.
The minister looked enquiringly at Grace as she felt the words stick in her throat.
'Miss Cornwallis?' he prompted again.
There were a few murmurs from the crowd, and Tavington, his irritation reaching its peak dug his nails painfully into her hand.
'Pull yourself together,' he hissed, 'and answer.' She looked blankly at his cold eyes, as sharp as razors in his rigid face.
'I – I do,' she said at last, the pain in her hand restoring some of her senses. Tavington let go of her hand. The crowd exchanged knowing looks – they assumed that Grace had been too overcome with emotion to speak and that her groom had offered some kind words of encouragement to steel her. A few moments later Grace and the Colonel were married.
After the ceremony Grace had scarcely a moment to think. The feast was noisy, the wine flowed freely, and there were endless toasts to her and her new husband's health. Tavington had said not a word to her since the ceremony, except to instruct her that she was to have no more than two glasses of wine. Grace had felt indignant at this order, as she noticed that he filled his own glass liberally and often, but he had looked at her with such challenge that she had decided to comply. Anyway it was not done for ladies to drink to excess, and particularly not at their own weddings – where, as she had discovered quickly, she had a duty to speak to each and every old goat who her Grandfather had deigned to invite.
She now looked absentmindedly around the extravagant ballroom. Tavington, though not directly responsible for the guest list, had invited a band of dubious looking Redcoats. He had been challenged earlier by her Grandfather about the choice, but had simply said that he felt his men ought to be represented. They were not a bad-looking set of men, but Grace knew that they were probably amongst those in the British army who had been enlisted on the promise of freedom from jail and she was surprised that he would show them such gratuity. They were seated closely to Eliza and Jane, and Grace had noticed with some amusement that Jane had shot more than a few interested glances in their direction. She wondered what her Uncle would make of such a display by his youngest daughter, but he seemed to preoccupied with the copious consumption of brandy to pay too much attention.
The one thing in the entire day that had given Grace pleasure was the appearance of her younger uncle, Joseph Cornwallis. He had been given a few days furlough to make the journey from the south for the wedding and she had been delighted to see him in the congregation, though she had thus far not had the chance to speak with him. He made his way over to their table now. He was the most handsome of the Cornwallis family; his brown eyes twinkled with merriment and his short brown hair hung in pleasant waves around his face. His most defining feature was a large regal nose, crooked, though not unpleasantly, from a childhood injury.
'Grace!' he exclaimed, as she rose to kiss him, 'How wonderful to see you – you look quite the picture of elegance in my mother's dress.'
'Uncle,' she said, allowing him to take hold of her hands and twirl her around, 'You too look well! I see that a military life agrees with you.' He smiled.
'I don't doubt that it has,' Tavington cut in, drawing himself away from a conversation with one of the Dragoons. 'I do not believe that your Uncle has as yet had the pleasure of seeing much of battle.' Tavington wore a placid smile indistinguishably close to a sneer. Joseph's face darkened.
'Tavington,' he said in curt recognition.
'Colonel Tavington actually.'
'Yes I have heard of your reputation,' Joseph said quietly.
'And I have heard nothing of yours,' Tavington said, watching the man carefully for his reaction.
Grace looked angrily at the Colonel. She had the feeling that he was trying to provoke her uncle, but she did not understand the motive. As far as she knew the two knew little about each other, and certainly their paths had never crossed.
'Perhaps, Sir, that is because the notoriety that surrounds such a name as your own is not something that I seek to gain.'
'No indeed,' Tavington said, smiling lazily, 'one has to be willing to put oneself in the line of fire to gain such infamy. I confess to having such inclinations. On the other hand there are those who – well, what could you say? – like to play a more secondary role in the military campaign - much safer, though just as important I'm sure.'
Even Grace could see that this was a definite slight. Her Uncle's jaw clenched, his face crimson – Tavington had struck a nerve.
'I do not believe that war is won solely through the spilling of blood, Sir, - especially not innocent blood.'
'Evidently,' Tavington said with an annoying smile, 'and I suppose the son of a Lord has more need of protection than the rest of the officers…'
Grace thought for a moment that Joseph was about to reach for his sabre. To her relief, however, he seemed to think better of it – she knew he was no match for Tavington.
'Perhaps, Sir,' he said coldly, 'you will grant me the company of your wife for a few moments. There is a gift I wish to bestow upon her.' Tavington waved his hand dismissively.
'You may go, my very dear wife,' he said, placing a sarcastic emphasis on the last words. 'But please, Lieutenant, do not keep her for long. I shall be requiring her company later on.' He looked Grace up and down pointedly as he said this, his eyes lingering over the hidden cleavage of her bosom. He seemed intent on provoking Joseph, and by the look on her Uncle's face it had worked.
Joseph led Grace out into the corridor. Once they were out of earshot he fumed.
'Whatever possessed father to betroth you to such a repulsive man!' Joseph said, pounding a nearby wall furiously. 'He is nothing but a villain and a cad.'
'I – I – He thought it was for the best,' Grace said, taken aback at the venom in her Uncle's voice - he was usually so good natured.
Joseph turned to look at her gravely, his forehead lined with concern and his eyes dark.
'Grace, I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me truthfully.' Grace nodded. He paused for a long moment before going on. 'Did you … have you – ' he seemed unable to word what was on his mind - 'that is, did the Colonel seduce you?'
Grace was stung.
'Certainly not! Do you think I would let a man like the Colonel anywhere near me unless Grandfather instructed it?' She was furious that her Uncle would think such a thing of her and she turned away from him. He put his hand on her shoulder.
'Look, I'm sorry. Its just that – well, my sister …'
'So you think that I would make her mistake? Like mother like daughter? Oh, you're just as bad as everyone else. Just leave me alone.' But Joseph didn't remove his hand; he pulled her gently to face him. As he did so she forgave him immediately – his eyes were so filled with remorse.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I just refuse to believe that my father would permit you to marry the Colonel with his blessing.'
'It is at his request that I am joined with the Colonel,' she said. As Joseph shook his head sadly Grace looked searchingly up at him. 'Is he really as bad as all that?' she asked, not wanting to know the answer. The panic that had been threatening to overcome her all day began to rise; it encircled her body like a serpent constricting its prey.
Joseph seemed to weigh up his words carefully.
'He has a dreadful reputation,' he said at last. 'Though a reputation can of course be greatly exaggerated,' – Grace thought immediately of the 'Ghost', he had a terrible name but had acted like a gentleman with her.
'Still I know at least that he is ruthless,' Joseph went on. 'One of the Redcoats that I command was once a corporal who served in Tavington's regiment. He witnessed his brutality first hand when Tavington ordered the execution of several young …' Joseph suddenly cut himself off. 'Sorry my dear Grace,' he said noting her stricken face. 'I did not mean to frighten you. A man may do many things in battle that he would not do in his everyday life.' Grace was not convinced by his change of tack.
'It is too late,' she said. 'I am married.'
Joseph grabbed hold of her arms.
'Listen to me Grace,' he said with vehemence. 'I will do what I can to protect you. Should Tavington hurt you I want you to get word to me.'
'And what would you do Uncle?' Grace said. 'I am Tavington's wife. The law says that he is my protector. Its says that I am his to command.' Joseph let go of her arms.
'I said I will do what I can Grace. It would not take much persuasion for me to break the law for Tavington.' Grace appreciated his words, but she had the feeling they were born from foolish bravado. After all, Tavington was a superior officer; he was older, stronger, and, if some of the ladies were to be believed, was an accomplished sword fighter. Grace would not allow her Uncle to be killed on her account. She did not voice this however, feeling that Joseph had already been provoked enough that afternoon.
'Thank you Uncle,' she said instead. He smiled, evidently glad that he had been of some assurance.
'Well, I shall say no more of the matter today, but I wanted to give you this.' He held out a handkerchief embroidered with his initials. Wrapped in it was a thin silver bracelet, the letter 'G' engraved on a small oval plaque in the center.
'Oh, it's beautiful,' she exclaimed.
'It was your mother's,' he said. 'Goderick left it in my possession before he went abroad.' Grace was overcome with emotion. She embraced her uncle tightly.
'Just promise me Grace,' he whispered into her hair, 'Promise me if he does anything to you …'
'I promise,' she said quietly, her fingers crossed tightly behind his back.
