Read Online The Colours of Love by Rita Bradshaw - Free Book Online

stickler for the proprieties. It would go a long way to placate her, over his determination to marry Esther, that his bride was in virginal white and the wedding was an elaborate affair. When Esther had argued that in these days of austerity a white wedding with all the trimmings was wrong, he had agreed with her in part. Consequently the wedding list had been halved and then halved again, and the reception at the Wynford estate was relatively simple in comparison to what it might have been, had Hitler not reared his head. Nevertheless, it was a far more showy undertaking than either he or Esther had wanted – his mother had made sure of that. She was a formidable woman, his mother. And difficult. Very difficult.
    ‘Do you, Montgomery Hubert Charles Grant, take . . . ’
    The minister’s solemn voice brought his mind fully to the matter in hand and, as he gazed down into Esther’s glowing face, he forgot everyone else as he made his vows.
    The service and then the reception were voted a resounding success by all those present. Montgomery’s mother even complimented Esther on her dress and was quite fulsome in her praise; she had been convinced that Esther would walk down the aisle in one of those awful suits girls were making do with these days, and had prepared herself for the worst. Instead, for once Esther looked a fit companion for her son. Her beautiful son, who could have had any girl he wanted as his bride, but who had chosen a virtual nobody.
    Clarissa Grant’s thin mouth tightened. Lord Bainsby’s daughter, Annabella, a dear sweet girl with impeccable breeding, had made it clear that she liked Montgomery on more than one occasion; and Sir Rudolph Shelton had indicated to Hubert two summers ago that he would have no objection if Montgomery paid court to his eldest daughter. And there had been others – all far more suitable than Esther Wynford.
    Clarissa glanced at her husband, who was sitting next to Harriet on the curved top table, where they all faced the assembled guests. She could tell by the silly smile on his face that Hubert had already drunk too much wine, but at least he merely became more and more comatose when he was intoxicated, unlike Theobald Wynford. Seated next to Esther’s father, as she was, she’d had to endure his close proximity for hours, and with each glass of wine he tipped down his throat he became louder. Ghastly little man. How someone with the background of Esther’s mother could have so far forgotten herself as to marry such an individual, she didn’t know. Of course rumour had it that no one else had asked for Harriet all those years ago, and that Wynford had been her only hope of ending her spinsterhood.
    Clarissa’s bony chin lifted. She knew what she would have done in the same circumstances.
    She stiffened as the master of ceremonies called their attention to the fact that the speeches were about to begin. Goodness only knew what Theobald Wynford would come out with, but at least this charade would soon be over and they could leave for home. Esther’s parents had extended an invitation that they were very welcome to stay with them for a few days, but she had made it plain to Hubert that she would rather be hanged, drawn and quartered than stay one night under their roof. Not that the house and grounds weren’t beautiful; they were, and far better maintained than their own home, which was in a state of disrepair. But that was by the by. Esther’s father was everything she disliked about ‘new’ money, and she had no intention of suffering his company one minute longer than was necessary for the sake of appearances. She had already intimated to Montgomery that in the future he would do well to exert his authority as Esther’s husband and see to it that the girl drew away from her parents – subtly of course, but consistently. She herself would not be averse to taking the girl under her wing, as it were, and instilling the finer facets of high society into her. But