The Society Bride. Fiona Hood-Stewart

It simply can’t be right,’ she ended, sobbing.

      ‘I’m afraid I’ve already done all that,’ he responded sadly, stroking the mane of tawny hair fanned out on his lap and soothing her tears. ‘That is why I have had to make provision for you.’

      ‘Pro-provision?’ she gulped, raising her head, still trying to absorb the horrible news he’d imparted.

      ‘Yes, my love. You must be taken care of, provided for.’

      ‘Please, Grandfather, don’t talk about it,’ she sobbed.

      ‘I’m afraid I must. Time is short and measures must be taken.’

      ‘Wh-what measures?’ she gulped sadly, trying to regain some control as the truth sank in.

      Don Rodrigo hesitated, then, with a sigh, forged ahead. ‘Yesterday you met Ramon Villalba.’

      ‘Yes,’ she whispered, taking his handkerchief and blowing her nose hard.

      ‘And you found him—pleasant?’

      ‘Yes, I suppose so. He was polite. Look, Grandfather, what has that got to do with you being ill?’ she burst out, leaning back on her heels, eyes pleading.

      ‘Ramon Villalba has proposed marriage.’

      ‘Marriage?’ Nena let out a horrified gasp and stood up, clutching the damp handkerchief between her nervous fingers. ‘But that is absurd, Grandfather. How can I get married to a man I don’t know, whom I don’t love? I don’t want to get married. I—’

      ‘Shush, child, do not get so agitated. Come here.’ He held out his hand and she sank once more to the footstool. ‘I have talked to the Villalbas. We all agree that this marriage is a good thing.’

      ‘How—how can you say that, Grandfather? It’s archaic. Nobody is forced to marry any longer; it’s unheard of. Oh, please, Grandfather, this can’t be real. There must be a mistake. I’m sure if you went to another doctor—’

      ‘Now, now. I want you to listen, Nena. Carefully. I am absolutely decided on this marriage. And I want the wedding to take place as soon as possible.’

      ‘You mean he came here to inspect me, as he might a horse or a piece of cattle?’ she cried. ‘Why would he propose an arrangement like this?’

      ‘I can think of several reasons—all of them perfectly valid,’ Don Rodrigo answered firmly. ‘He needs a wife from a good family and of excellent upbringing who is unsoiled. Also he is adequately prepared to take care of our business ventures.’

      ‘So that’s it,’ she whispered bitterly. ‘A business arrangement. Oh, Grandfather, how can you auction me off like this? It’s all too horrible.’ She turned, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed. Her pain at learning of her grandfather’s terminal illness was somehow increased by the knowledge that a man whom she’d ended the afternoon finding most agreeable was in fact nothing but a dirtbag. ‘You talked with him without knowing if I wanted this?’ she whispered at last, turning back to him, her eyes glistening with tears.

      ‘Yes, Nena, I did. Villalba is a practical man. I have informed myself, followed his career over a period of several years. He will take care of you, look out for you and the fortune you are going to inherit.’

      ‘I don’t care about any of that!’ she exclaimed.

      ‘Maybe not, but I do. Please do this for me,’ he added, a softer, pleading note entering his voice. ‘I can die in peace knowing that you are in his hands.’

      ‘Oh, please don’t talk like that,’ she begged once more, kneeling next to him.

      ‘Then agree to my request,’ Don Rodrigo said, exercising a considerable amount of emotional pressure. He sighed inwardly. It was the only way to bring the matter to a fast and satisfactory conclusion. ‘Answer me, Nena. Tell me you’ll do as I ask.’

      Nena stared through her tears at the carpet, her emotions in turmoil. The last thing she wanted was to be married to a man she barely knew. A wave of frustration overtook her. This was, after all, the most important step in her life—yet she had no control over it. Despite her feelings, she already knew what the answer must be.

      ‘I’ll do it, Grandfather,’ she whispered.

      At that moment she hated Ramon Villalba.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE wedding—a small, intimate affair, with only the two families present—took place at the fashionable church of St James, Spanish Place, in London, two weeks later. Afterwards they returned to Don Rodrigo’s house in Chester Square to quietly celebrate the nuptials.

      Nena wafted through the ceremony in a daze, her emotions blunted, the pain of seeing her grandfather withering daily barely allowing her to think clearly about what the future next to a man she despised would hold.

      ‘Are you okay?’ Ramon asked quietly, touching her arm as they moved into the hall. She deposited the bouquet of flowers on the hall table and allowed the butler to take her wrap.

      ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she answered coldly.

      ‘Are you sure?’ He looked down at her, noting the dark rings around her beautiful green eyes and the sadness they held. ‘A bride should be happy on her wedding day.’

      ‘Happy?’ she jeered, sending him a glare. ‘How could any bride be happy, married in these circumstances?’

      ‘I know these are not the happiest of times,’ he agreed levelly, glancing at Don Rodrigo, mounting the stairs with extreme difficulty. ‘Still, I want you to know, Nena, that as your husband I shall do my best to make you happy.’

      ‘How very gracious of you,’ she responded bitterly, barely attempting to conceal the anger in her voice. How dared he pretend he cared? Wasn’t it bad enough that she was losing her grandfather, whom she adored, without having Ramon’s odious presence thrust upon her?

      She sent him an angry look, then spun on the heel of her designer shoe and marched towards the stairs.

      Ramon followed her at a distance. To his consternation Nena had not unbent, as he’d hoped she would. She had refused to receive him again before the wedding and had barely addressed a word to him since leaving the church. He sighed. This did not bode well for the future. But it was done now. The knot had been tied and the vows exchanged. All that remained was for them both to make the best of it.

      ‘I thought you would prefer to come here to the island rather than be with a crowd,’ Ramon said above the purr of the engine as the helicopter hovered over the Aegean.

      Nena could distinguish an island below, and a small port, with a yacht and a number of colourful fishing boats bobbing in the harbour. Then she saw a rambling white villa, surrounded by smaller dwellings with little blue shutters and, in the distance, a windmill. At any other time she would have been enchanted. But right now being in Greece on her bride-groom’s private island or being in Battersea would have meant about the same to her. All she wanted was to be alone, to think, to assimilate the shock that having her world tipped topsy-turvy from one moment to the other had left her in.

      As they alighted Ramon took her hand firmly, and they walked up a small winding path from the beach where the chopper had landed. A soft evening breeze blew in from the sea, gulls twirled overhead, and villagers sat on the wall waving at them with bright smiles. As they approached the villa a little girl ran forward and, curtseying, handed her a bouquet of wild flowers. Despite her numb state and her sadness, Nena smiled down at the child and thanked her.

      She gazed at the flowers, reminded that this was her wedding day.

      The saddest day of her life.

      For a moment tears welled, but she suppressed them as fast as they came. She had no right to be unhappy. At least her grandfather would have a happy end to his life. And that mattered more than anything.

      Then