easy-chair, and in making me take some immediate refreshment. Tea would be brought in half an hour, she said, but I must take something first. I had a glass of wine and a biscuit in my hand, and was beginning to feel quite at my ease, when the sound was heard of a horse’s hoofs on the drive outside, followed immediately by a loud ring at the door. “Can this be Fanny arrived on horseback?” exclaimed one of the Mr. Hortons junior.
“Nonsense!” began his sister Lucy, which word was scarcely out of her mouth, when a servant entered the room, and gave a paper into Mrs. Horton’s hand.
“A telegram!” exclaimed that lady, turning pale, “do you read it,” she added, reaching it to her husband, who opened it, glanced at it for a moment, and said:
“Nothing that need alarm you, my dear, but still a disappointment to you all. He then read aloud:—
FROM FANNY HEATH TO MRS. HORTON.
Dear Aunt,—Sprained my ankle this morning, getting into the carriage—so sorry I cannot come to the wedding.
They did all look disappointed, and Arthur (the young gentleman who had suggested the possibility of Fanny’s coming on horseback) vented his disappointment loudly in words.
“Can’t we put off the wedding?” was his very likely proposal.
“Indeed, I think Augusta can better do with five bridesmaids instead of six,” replied the indignant bridegroom elect.
Hereupon Lucy looked at me, and whispered something to her mamma.
“My daughter proposes,” said the latter to me, “that you should be Augusta’s bridesmaid instead of her cousin. What do you say to her idea?”
Before I could answer the sisters loudly urged the request: “Oh, do,” said one; “An odd number is so unlucky,” cried another; “You really seem sent by a kind Fate in Fanny’s place,” asserted a third. “And we shall be so glad to have you,” they all chorussed.
Here was an opportunity—how unlooked for!—of gratifying my long cherished wish, of calming the ruffled surface of Henry’s and my own course of true love, of removing the one hitherto insurmountable barrier to our union. But I had no bridesmaid’s dress. This hindrance I brought forward.
“Fanny’s dress is here, all ready,” cried the eager Lucy. “Our dressmaker took her measure, and made all the dresses that they might be exactly alike. And you are just Fanny’s height and figure, it was that made Mary and me take you for her the first minute. Do come upstairs, and let us try the dress on at once, and then if any alteration is required, our maid will have time for it before the morning.” She drew me, nothing loath, from the room, Mary following. “White tarlatan with blue trimmings, and a wreath of convolvuluses to match—it will be the very thing to suit your complexion, and you will look lovely,” continued nonsense-talking Lucy, as we went upstairs.
It was a pretty dress, and really could not have fitted better had it been made for me. The maid had nothing to alter when it was tried on. The sisters would have me go down to show myself, and all the ladies agreed it fitted perfectly. The gentlemen, of course, were not allowed to have an opinion on the subject.
“So that is settled,” said Mrs. Horton.
“Thank you; indeed I should like it so much, but grandmamma—” I faltered.
“Oh,” continued she, “I don’t think Mrs. Meredith could object. One of the grooms shall ride over to-night to let her know where you are, and to bid her not expect you till the day after the wedding.”
“But if she is very ill—” I began.
“That she is not,” interrupted Mr. Horton. “I am her physician: I saw her this morning, and can set your mind at rest on that score. Besides, she deserves to lose you for a day, for not having sent her carriage in time to meet you.”
I made no more objections; indeed I was very glad at heart. The coachman, who was just about to proceed to the station a second time, had his drive countermanded. The groom was despatched to Myrtle Grove, and I gave myself up to enjoyment.
The wedding was a very pretty one, the beauty of the bride and bridesmaids—of course I am not supposed to speak of myself, whatever I may think—eclipsed that of their dresses; the bridegroom and his men were also sufficiently well-looking. I think I fared the worst in this respect, not but that Arthur, my groomsman, was as handsome as any, but his thoughts happened to be a good deal with Fanny of the sprained ankle, so that I found him only a dull companion.
Yet, in spite of this, I enjoyed it all. Yes, I think I enjoyed it all nearly, if not quite as much as I had expected. There were six clergymen to tie the nuptial knot. After the service in church—from “Dearly beloved,” down to “Amazement”—there was a splendid wedding-breakfast, then the bride and bridegroom left us, en route for Paris, and in the evening we had a ball, by which time Arthur had nearly recovered his spirits, and proved not at all a bad partner. He danced remarkably well, by-the-way.
The next morning, not very early,–for we were up late after the ball,—I was forwarded to Myrtle Grove, where I found grandmamma almost convalescent, and not particularly angry with me for my little escapade. She had sent her carriage to meet me on the evening in question, but it had reached the station five minutes after the train had passed, when I was already on my way to the Hortons. It was very stupid of me to mistake the latter’s handsome equipage and horses for grandmamma’s shabby turn-out, though, as it happened, I had cause only to congratulate myself on my want of observation.
My visit to grandmamma’s was less dull than usual, owing to the kindness of the Hortons. Henry, my betrothed, came to fetch me home at the end of three weeks, and, as I have had my wish, and been somebody’s bridesmaid, I suppose now I may be a bride before Barbara Hemming.