The Huxley Letters: Part 8 - A Blessed Bride, A Waltzing Wife

29th November 1888

Dawsbury Manor, The Levick Estate, Dawsbury, England

Dear Rachel,

My heart is full of happiness. After so many lost and lonely years, my brother is a bachelor no more!

In the week following my previous message to you, Montague's engagement was celebrated. Fiona, Pippin, Mrs. Chattoway and I marked the occasion with afternoon tea, whilst the gentlemen opted for a more raucous evening celebration. My brother led Kit and Huxley down into the village of Dawsbury - or, rather more specifically, an alehouse: the Penny Farthing. They remained there for some time. (Several hours, so I am told.) After that, now in an intemperate and merry state, they progressed to a curry house for a feast: Monty keen to introduce them to the cuisine he had discovered in the Raj. Huxley ate little – his stomach complaint shows no sign of alleviation.

The three apparently arrived home in the early hours. I found Montague the next morning asleep at the foot of the grand staircase. His copper arm was missing. It was later recovered from the roof: he had thrown it up there following a wager with Kit for five guineas as to whether or not he could successfully do so. Kit, meanwhile, was reposed in a linen cupboard, having made himself a nest out of freshly pressed bedsheets – much to Mrs. Chattoway's chagrin.

As for Huxley, he was in the parlour, slumbering as he laid prostrate on the chaise longue. As I covered him with one of the few blankets Kit hadn't sullied, he stirred, and softly mumbled "Thank you, Lucy." Odd. I don't know anyone by that name. A lapse in memory, perhaps?

Two weeks later, after much hubbub and hurly-burly, the blessed day arrived. In a small ceremony in the parish church, Montague and Fiona were wed. The guests, which included the new Countess' kilt-clad relations and Montague's fellow squadron members, were all invited to the Manor for dinner and a ball.

During the toasts, my brother bade Pippin – the flowergirl, in a most immaculate dress – to come up to the top table. As he placed a glimmering, golden, heart-shaped locket around her neck, he broke the marvellous news that Pippin was to become his ward: his adopted daughter. Though my new niece can never inherit a family title, not being a child by blood, she is guaranteed wealth, a grand education and the love of a mother and father, as well as a true and proper name: Philippa Cox Levick. However, she shall always be "Pippin" to us!

At the ball, I politely shared dances with my brother, his Army companions, and one or two McDearmids... but as the music slowed to a soft waltz, I found myself standing face-to-face with Kit. He looked most dapper in his newly-acquired suit, and despite a vast effort to brush his raven hair back into a tamed coiffure, several strands continued to break away.

As the music began, he bowed, and meekly offered me his hand, which I took without hesitation. Not being familiar with formal dances, he whirled me somewhat clumsily around the floor – and yet, I felt as if I were floating freely on the softest cloud. As silence fell, I stayed stood in Kit's arms... until I saw Huxley, cold and aloof as always, glaring at me from the corner of the ballroom.

He had no right to complain. After all, he had not offered me, nor any other woman, a single dance all night. Regardless, I feared a public confrontation. Imagine my shocked relief, then, when Huxley did and said nothing – he merely walked away into the hall, then upstairs towards his quarters. All the same, I felt it best not to be seen alone with Kit for too long, and spent the remaining hours circulating around the party. Huxley has said nothing of the dance since.

For their honeymoon, Fiona suggested we should all board the Aurora, and finally take our postponed trip to Switzerland for the Christmas season: giving her new husband the opportunity to experience his first airship flight. We all considered this a capital idea – excluding Huxley, who complained about his stomach yet again, but I paid him no heed. Pippin is especially excited at the chance to finally build that snowman, and with the autopilot now fully operational, it should be a relaxing voyage for us all.

With all best wishes, I remain, your dear friend,

Clara