The Brigadier's Daughter. Catherine March

paused for a moment as he eyed Captain Bowen. ‘I trust you have no objection that Georgia is married from her own home and at the Church of St Ann?’

      ‘No, sir, of course not. I have no family of my own, apart from Uncle Percy. My parents and my elder brother all died in a sailing accident off the Isle of Wight when I was a young boy.’

      The Brigadier stared at his feet and murmured his condolences, then he looked up and said in a brighter tone, ‘I gather your plans to sail for St Petersburg at the end of April still hold fast?’

      ‘Indeed. It has been impressed upon me by the Foreign Office that I should not fail to make that sailing. They are expecting me at the Embassy as soon as may be.’

      ‘Very good. That means we have just under two months to plan this wedding.’ The Brigadier almost rubbed his hands with glee, relishing the challenge of achieving a tricky objective and clearly about to apply all his military expertise to the task.

      Sasha and Georgia exchanged a nervous glance, yet already the wheels of a fast-moving train were greased and rolling into action. They were all aboard and as the days flew swiftly by and the train picked up speed, it seemed impossible for anyone to even think about jumping off.

      That night it was Sasha who lay upon her bed and cried, but her tears were silent ones that dripped from the corners of her eyes and soaked unseen into her pillow. She chided herself, reminding herself that it had never been a reality that Captain Bowen would desire her, merely her own little fantasy. Now was no time to be moping and feeling sorry for herself; she knew how much Georgia, strangely pale and listless for a bride-to-be, would need her love and support in the next few weeks.

      Georgia would be married at eleven o’clock on the twentyninth of April. After the wedding ceremony there would be a luncheon in the Officer’s Mess of the Light Dragoons for a hundred guests, and then the happy couple would depart for their ship and set sail for Russia on the evening tide.

      The invitations were ordered and sent without delay, and Lady Packard set about enjoying herself as she had not done for many years, poring over dressmaker patterns for Georgia’s wedding gown, choosing the material, the ribbons and pearls, the shoes, the veil, and stockings and garter, even the nightgown Georgia would wear to bed. She chose the flowers for the church, posies of pink tulips, cream carnations, baby’s breath and ivy to decorate the pew ends, and several large and lavish floral displays to stand on either side of the altar. The colour theme was cream, pink and lilac, which Sasha pointed out would clash horribly with Captain Bowen’s bright red military mess dress. Her mother merely shrugged, murmuring that there would be many guests in different military uniforms and they could not be expected to colour coordinate for all of them, surely?

      The sisters would all be Georgia’s bridesmaids, and their gowns, in palest pink, were also made by the French seamstress creating the bride’s. The wedding cake was ordered, five tiers of ornately decorated rich fruit cake, the champagne and the food agreed with the Officer’s Mess, bon-bonnières of fine net and sugared almonds ordered as gifts for the ladies on the tables, and hymns were agreed with the organist at the church.

      The days melted one into the other, and it alarmed Georgia how quickly time seemed to fly. The dark cold days of winter had ended and there was now a warmth and brightness to each day, the evenings more pleasant as dusk lingered, and the gardens were brightened by shy snowdrops and nodding yellow daffodils. Captain Bowen called less frequently, much to Georgia’s relief, and when he did suggest a ride in the park, or lunch at a nearby hotel, she always made sure that Sasha came along, too. He seemed much preoccupied with his forthcoming posting to Russia, and now that he had settled the matter of a wife, he saw no need to make a nuisance of himself. Sasha was somewhat chagrined to watch as the now-engaged couple seemed to have little to say to one another. She did not like to mention to Georgia that surely there should be some emotion if she was to spend the rest of her life with this man, share his bed and give birth to his children. Yet she could not say such a thing to Georgia, all too aware how fragile she was, and how much she pined for Felix. On most nights she could hear the telltale sniffs and nose-blowing that indicated Georgia was weeping in the privacy of her own bedroom. She ached for her sister, and there were many moments when she felt guilty for persuading her to allow Captain Bowen to court her.

      It was very true that he was a good man, they had no evidence to suggest otherwise, and he was indeed very pleasing to look at, with his blond hair, blue eyes, firm chin and jaw, intelligent brow and his firm yet sensual mouth. Sasha sighed, forcing herself not to think about Captain Reid Bowen, soon to be her sister’s husband. Once they were married, all would be well; Georgia would be happy and would forget all about that Felix Westfaling. Though Sasha feared that it would take her much longer to forget about Captain Bowen; already he was part of her thoughts and had found a place in her heart. She tried to remind herself that it was wrong and sinful to have such feelings for a man who would soon be her sister’s husband, yet this did nothing to soothe the ache in her heart, aching for a love that she had hoped would blossom between her and this Captain.

      On the eve of the wedding, a quiet sense of expectation descended upon the household. There was a hush, as at last all the hasty preparations had been accomplished and all that remained was for the great day to dawn. Gowns hung on cupboard doors, uniforms pressed and medals polished. The sweet scent of flowers filled the air, and the house was full of guests from all over the country.

      No one seemed to notice that both the bride and her chief bridesmaid were afflicted by a sense of melancholy and had retired early to their bedchambers. Georgia could not bear all the hearty congratulations and the knowing looks as everyone wished her good luck for the next day, and she went to her room to nurse her sense of impending doom in private. Sasha, too, found the company hard to take; it was much easier to bear her aching heart in solitude. As she sat on the window seat in her bedroom, gazing up at the stars and the pearly glow of a half-moon, she reflected on how she would get through tomorrow and not reveal by so much as a word or a glance how much she envied Georgia: Georgia, the beautiful golden girl, her personality like champagne, bubbly and intoxicating and hard to resist; Georgia, who did not even seem to appreciate how lucky she was and that from tomorrow onwards, for the rest of her life, she would never be alone again. Georgia would awaken every day to the warmth and comfort of Reid lying beside her, in whose arms she would experience the joy of passion. Georgia would have his help in all matters of daily life, and she would have his friendship and companionship simply by mere virtue of being his wife.

      Sasha swallowed back another wave of tears, just as a knock sounded upon her door, followed quickly by the entrance of Victoria and Philippa, bearing a dish of purloined marzipan fruits and chocolate peppermints. They giggled and Victoria went to fetch Georgia, who reluctantly allowed herself to be towed in.

      With a smile Sasha descended from the window seat and went to join her sisters on the bed. All four girls gathered close together in a circle around the dish of sweets, their nightgowns billowing in a froth of white muslin, long unbound hair swirling in shades of gold and sable, richly glossy against the pale skin of their slender arms. The two younger girls were full of excitement for the drama of the big day—The Wedding—talked about and planned and anticipated constantly in these weeks past. And there was burning curiosity in their round eyes as they looked at Georgia.

      Victoria blushed, leaning closer as she whispered in confidence, ‘What do you think it will be like?’

      Georgia frowned as she licked chocolate from her fingertips. ‘What?’

      ‘You know.’ Victoria giggled. ‘It!’

      Philippa snorted and buried her face in the bedcovers as she stifled her laughter, and then she lifted her head and asked, ‘Has Mama said anything?’

      Seeing the look of puzzlement on Georgia’s face, Sasha admonished the two younger girls. ‘Leave her be.’

      ‘Oh, Georgia, you are so lucky!’ sighed Victoria, rolling onto her back and gazing up at the canopy of the bed. ‘I couldn’t imagine anyone nicer than Captain Bowen to be surrendering my bloomers too!’

      ‘I don’t think it’s just her bloomers he’s interested in.’ The earthy Philippa grinned.