A Mourning Wedding Read Online Free PDF

in the least interested in her sons, far less her husband’s nephew. She reverted to Lucy’s unaccountable behaviour, for which Lady Haverhill had no patience.
    â€œIn my day, girls were brought up to do as they were told,” she said tartly, and departed, leaving Daisy to take up the soothing where she had left off.
    One of the girls who had been brought up to do as she was told drifted up to them. Lady Ione Fotheringay, Lord Haverhill’s spinster daughter, was a vague, drab creature whose mind usually seemed to be otherwhere. According to Lucy, in youth Lady Ione had fallen in love with an unsuitable young man but meekly acquiesced when her father forbade the match. She lived at Haverhill, dowdy and dull, disregarded by all. Her time was spent knitting lumpy garments to give to ungrateful relatives who had never been known to wear them.
    Her dismal example was one reason Lucy had reached for independence with both hands and set up as a photographer.
    The crowd on the terrace was dispersing. Among the younger and more energetic, Sally Fotheringay was rounding up a foursome for tennis and others were heading for croquet or to walk to the folly. Jennifer Walsdorf came to take Daisy to the nurseries to see her daughter.
    It was a relief to Daisy to talk pregnancy and babies instead of Lucy’s vagaries. Emily Walsdorf was a blond cherub about the same age as Sally and Rupert’s little boy, Dickie, much too young to be a bride’s train-bearer even if Lucy had wanted him. Also present, Lucy’s brother Timothy’s children were the right sort of age. At present they were far too busy pestering their nursemaid to take them down to the lake to care about being excluded from the ceremony.

    After half an hour in the nursery admiring children and half an hour in the conservatory admiring orchids and hibiscus and rare palm trees, Daisy went to take a much-needed bath before changing for dinner.
    Several more relatives arrived in time for dinner, most unknown to Daisy. At the long mahogany table, she was seated beside Sir James Devenish, a brawny, red-faced man with a bristling moustache. A thoroughgoing hunting-shooting-fishing country squire, he was not at all in sympathy with his daughter’s views on the treatment of animals. He confessed he’d only turned up early for the wedding because he wanted to fish Lord Haverhill’s stream.
    His incredibly boring recital of every detail of his angling day required no more of Daisy than an occasional “Not really?” She was happy to be able to give most of her attention to the excellent meal.
    The Haverhills were truly splendid hosts, she thought with a replete sigh as the ladies withdrew via the Long Gallery to the crimson-and-gold drawing room. If it weren’t for Lucy’s troubles, she’d be looking forward with pleasure to a peaceful and relaxing few days in the country.
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    After a good night’s sleep, Daisy was enjoying a warm, comfortable drowse when a maid brought morning tea, with two Bath Oliver biscuits. Since the end of her morning sickness she always woke ravenous. Before she even sat up in bed, she reached for a biscuit and bit into it.
    So her mouth was full of crumbs when the screaming started.

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    D aisy scrambled out of bed, reaching for her dressing-gown. A crumb went down the wrong way and the subsequent choking cough brought tears to her eyes. Unable to locate her slippers, she hurried out to the passage barefoot.
    The housemaid who had brought her tea stood in a doorway further down the hall, facing into the room. Her hands were clapped over her ears as if to drown out her own shrill screams.
    Daisy had been quick off the mark, but now doors started opening and heads popping out. Several people emerged a few steps from the safety of their rooms. From one room came another housemaid, an older woman. She marched up to the screaming girl, swung her around and slapped her face. The girl started