Amidst the magnificent strains of the “Wedding March” the bridegroom led the newly-created Countess to the vestry. The register having been signed and attested, the bridal party left the church for the Gordon Hotel, where a sumptuous déjeûner was prepared for the bridal party and friends. The bill of fare was quite a curiosity in the way of luxurious indications of the feast, and the tables were adorned with the most exquisite ornaments and rare flowers. The bride-cake was designed by an artist of high repute, and was surmounted by a design of the noble Earl’s magnificent castle of Montem.
Before the company retired from the dining-room, Lord Tufton rose, and in a few appropriate sentences proposed “Health and happiness to the Bride and Bridegroom.” The toast was received with rapturous applause. In reply, Lord Verner said that a year ago he had not even dreamed of such a day as this; but the time would never be effaced from his memory as one of the greatest happiness he could possibly experience: it not only was a day never to be forgotten by him, and always to be remembered with gratitude and delight as that upon which his dear wife had given herself up to his keeping; but it was to be remembered also with unfeigned pleasure on account of the many friends it had brought around him, and from whose society his former bachelor habits had, to a great extent, excluded him. It was indeed the happiest, the most important, the one red-letter day of his existence. Loud cheers greeted his lordship’s earnest speech, and then the bride retired to prepare for her departure for Horton Hall, Essex, the seat of Lord Tufton, where they would spend the honeymoon. The Marquis of Questfield then proposed “the Bridesmaids,” and Mr. Tallant acknowledged the deserved compliment in eloquent terms.
At three o’clock the bride and bridegroom took their departure, proceeding by special train to Corfield. The lady’s travelling dress was pronounced to be in the best possible taste.
The journals then gave a list of the presents to the bride, which we need not republish; the gifts were from great people mostly, and were of the costliest character. They included necklets, with pendants of diamonds and pearls; bracelets set in brilliants, diamonds, brooches, workboxes inlaid with gold, dressing cases, Sévres vases, antique china, crosses set with diamonds, writing tablets, watches, fans, and a hundred other things of gold and silver and precious stones, and woods and china, and leather work.
The monitors of the Press, who gave to the world this interesting account of the marriage, may almost be said to have been everywhere on that eventful day. They had been to Mr. Tallant’s residence and seen all the wedding presents; they had talked with the fashionable dressmaker and milliner who had had the making of the trousseau. They had seen the déjeûner laid out in that fine room of the Gordon Hotel; but it was only the privilege of the writer of this history to follow the lady into her chamber.
How handsome she looked! Those observant newspaper gentlemen might well speak of her charms and graceful carriage. When her maid had removed the long lace veil, and the bride’s hair had fallen loosely upon her shoulders, she presented a picture of débonnaire gracefulness and beauty. And what a contrast they were,—the Countess, and Phœbe, with the Miranda-like simplicity and sweetness!
“You may leave me now,” said the bride to her maid.
“Yes, your ladyship,” said the woman.
The title sounded strange and harsh somehow to the newly-made countess. It seemed to cut her off from the people whom she had known from childhood; and yet her heart beat with pride when she felt that she had reached the highest point of her ambition—that all her wild dream had come true.
“How charming you look, my pet!” she said to Phœbe.