Free Blaze Wyndham by Bertrice Small

maidenhead, which he will pierce, thereby ending your state of virginity. Now, dear child, I shall leave you to the kindly ministrations of the good Heartha. You are a good daughter, Blaze, for all your high-spiritedness. I know you will make us proud in your new life as the Countess of Langford.” Then, giving her eldest a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, Lady Morgan departed the room.
    Heartha came, and wisely sensing the bride’s pensive mood, refrained from chatter. Removing the girl’s chemise, she helped her into the small tub, bathed her, and washed her hair. Rubbing her down with linen cloths, the tiring woman noted the girl’s well-shaped limbs, the broad span between her hipbones, so unlike poor Lady Catherine’s, and the girl’s small round breasts. It was a body much more suited to childbearing than the late countess’s had been. Wrapping Blaze in a large rough towel, Heartha carefully removed the snarls from her long wet hair, then brushed it until all the excess water was gone from it.
    “Now, my lady,” she said, “let me sit you by the window. If I spread your hair out over the sill, it will soon be dry in that lovely September sun.”
    While Blaze sat quietly, almost dreamily, her lovely golden-brown hair blowing in the gentle breeze of early morning, Heartha moved busily about the room, laying out the silk stockings and other undergarments that the bride would be wearing. The door opened to admit a serving woman who carried the bridal gown.
    The time seemed to pass in a haze after that. It was as if her body were merely a vehicle from which she peered out at what was going on around her. She could hear her sisters exclaiming with delight as they donned their own gowns. Only the tiniest of alterations had been needed upon the beautiful velvet dresses that Edmund Wyndham had so thoughtfully provided for his sisters-in-law-to-be.
    Sky-blue for Bliss and Blythe. Scarlet for Delight. Rose-pink for Larke and Linnette. Peach for Vanora, who had almost swooned with pleasure over the first gown she had ever owned that had not been handed down to her. For five-year-old Glenna with her chestnut-red hair there was a gown of dark green velvet. Nor had Gavin, her twin, been forgotten. He strutted about quite proudly in a black velvet suit with the first pair of breeches he had ever owned.
    “Ohh, my lady, you are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen!” exclaimed Heartha. “I only wisht there was a glass here that you might see yourself in, but no matter. There’s a lovely pier glass in your apartments at RiversEdge. Tomorrow you will wear this gown once more for our people to see. You can see yourself in it then.”
    Lady Morgan entered the room. “Good, my dearest, you are ready. Your sisters have made you this wreath of Michaelmas daisies for your head.” She placed the flowery little circlet of white and yellow atop Blaze’s soft hair, which was loose and unbound, testifying to her virgin state.
    Together, Lord and Lady Morgan led their eldest child into the family chapel. It was overcrowded with Blaze’s family, the servants, and major tenants belonging to Ashby. Just below the carved oak altar with its beautifully embroidered white linen cloth stood Father John, a man of middle years with receding sandy hair and light blue eyes that peered myopically in the candlelight of the room. With the priest stood Anthony Wyndham, who would act as proxy for his uncle, the earl. The proxy bridegroom was garbed in black velvet.
    Blaze was now so benumbed by the last twenty-four hours that the wedding ceremony was more like a dream to her. Blindly she spoke her part when requested to, staring down almost in bewilderment when Master Anthony shoved a heavy band of Irish red-gold carved round with hearts and flowers upon her hand. She somehow managed to stumble through the Mass that followed. The host upon her tongue melted away like a sugar drop; then her mouth was suddenly dry. It was not like any wedding