“Why, twenty girls might be going to be married, instead of one,” she said.
“Yes,” said Lady Wyndover. “But this one is going to marry the future Duke of Belfayre. My dear, this is going to be the wedding of the season!”
Madame Cerise was urged to the point of distraction. She was given carte blanche in the matter of the bridal robe, which Lady Wyndover intended should surpass anything that had hitherto left the distinguished artist’s hand; other dresses were also ordered from Worth and costumes from Redfern. No expense was to be spared. As Lady Wyndover said: “Why should it be?”
More presents came pouring in. The duke sent a loving message and a set of pearls, with a reminder that the Belfayre diamonds would be hers on the day of her wedding. Lilias sent a simple ring, which had belonged to her mother, and Esmeralda valued it more highly than anything else she had received.
Trafford sent nothing. He shrunk from buying an expensive present, which must be paid for, ultimately, with her money.
The days passed rapidly. Lady Wyndover, and all about her, were kept in a flutter of excitement. The society papers were full of the coming wedding, spreading themselves over descriptions of Belfayre and the other ducal places, and hinting at the magnificence of the bride’s presents and trousseau.
Of all concerned, Esmeralda seemed the calmest. She was perfectly happy, and would have been as happy if she had been going to marry Trafford in book muslin and an artificial wreath. She did not see very much of him during the three weeks, for, when a marquis is about to be married, he has a great deal of business to go through. There were lawyers to see, deeds to sign, arrangements to be made, all of which took up his time. But when they were together, he was as attentive and devoted as ever.
And, strange to say, he was not unhappy. He felt that he ought to be so; that he ought to ache with remorse every time he thought of Ada; but he did not do so. Indeed, he was conscious of a feeling of satisfaction when he was with Esmeralda. She was so beautiful and so sweet, and her love for him, which shone in her eyes whenever he approached, and sung in her voice whenever she spoke to him, touched him and affected him strangely.
On the night before the marriage, he went round to Grosvenor Square, and, of course, found everything in a state of confusion. Esmeralda was having a dress tried on—she declared that she had spent the whole of the three weeks trying on dresses—but she came to him presently, picking her way through the disorder of the drawing-room.
“Isn’t it a terrible fuss!” she said, with a smile, as she put up her lips for him to kiss.