Will You Love Me in September

The day had begun. I lay in bed listening to the sounds of the house beginning to stir. In the cupboard was my wedding dress. Lance was staying at Eversleigh Court and Uncle Carl was there too. Jeremy was going to give me away, and Priscilla had wanted the traditional wedding as she remembered it in the past.

While I was brooding on all this my door was pushed open and a small figure came into the room. This was Sabrina, nearly four years old now, a high-spirited and enchanting little girl. She climbed onto my bed and snuggled down beside me.

"It's the wedding," she whispered.

I held her tightly. I had always been very fond of Sabrina. She was exceptionally pretty; they said she had a look of my mother, Carlotta, who had been one of the beauties of the family. Moreover, she was well aware of her charm and made good use of it to get her own way. She was always darting about the house. She would be in the kitchen one minute, standing on a chair watching them make pies and cakes, sticking a greedy finger into sweet mixtures when no one was looking, dashing out to the stables and coaxing one of the grooms to take her round the paddock on her newly acquired pony the next, playing with the gardeners' wheel- barrows, hiding in the minstrels' gallery, jumping out at Gwen, the parlormaid, who believed in ghosts, finding an irresistible desire to do everything she was told not to do-that was Sabrina.

But she had the greatest charm, and she had quickly discovered that one of her enchanting smiles coupled with an air of penitence could extract her from most trouble.

Now she was chattering about weddings. It was mine, wasn't it? When was she going to have a wedding? She was going to wear a pink silk dress. Nanny Curlew was still sewing it. She was going to have flowers in her hair ... and she was going to stand beside me. So it was really her wedding too.

She put her arms round my neck and her face was close to mine.

"You're going away from here," she said.

"Well, I shall be back often.”

"It's not your home anymore. You're going to Uncle Lance's home.”

"We'll, he'll be my husband.”

Her face puckered a little. "Stay here," she whispered. She tightened her arms about my neck and added pleadingly, "Stay here with Sabrina.”

"Wives always live with their husbands, you know.”

"Let Lance come here.”

"We'll be here often. You'll see.”

She shook her head. It wasn't the same. "I don't want you to get married.”

"Everyone else does.”

"Sabrina doesn't." She looked at me calculatingly, as though that was the best of all reasons for calling off the affair.

"When you are older you can come and stay with us," I said.

"Tomorrow?" she asked brightly.

"That's a little soon.”

"I'll be older.”

"Only one day. It'll have to be more than that.”

"Two days? Three days?”

"Months, perhaps. Go and open the cupboard door and you'll see my dress.”

She leaped out of bed. "Ooo," she said, stroking a fold of satin.

"Don't put your fingers on it," I warned.

She turned to look at me. "Why?" she asked. Sabrina always wanted an explanation of everything.

"They might be dirty.”

She looked at them and then at me; she smiled slowly and deliberately touched the dress. That was typical of Sabrina. "Don't touch" meant "I must touch at all costs.”

"Not dirty," she said reassuringly. Then she pounced on my shoes, which were of white satin with silver buckles and silver heels. She picked one up and smiled at me, stroking the satin and looking at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, presuming, I supposed, that if the dress must not be touched, nor must the slippers.

There was a knock on the door. It was Nanny Curlew.

"I knew I'd find you here, miss," she said. "Begging your pardon, Miss Clarissa.

The child is into everything.”

"It's a very special morning, Nanny," I said. "She has caught the general excitement.”

"It's my wedding, really," announced Sabrina.

"Come along," said Nanny Curlew firmly. "Miss Clarissa has other things to think about than you, my lady.”

Sabrina looked puzzled. "What things?" she asked, as though it were inconceivable that there could be any subject more absorbing than that of herself.

But Nanny Curlew had her firmly by the hand, and with an apologetic smile at me, dragged the child away. Sabrina gave me one of her enchanting smiles as she disappeared.

My next visitor was Jeanne. She came in bristling with importance.

"Ah, is it awake, then? To do ... there is so much. I have sent for a tray for you.

That is best.”

"I couldn't eat anything, Jeanne.”

"That is not the way to talk, milady. You must eat. Do you want to faint at the feet of this new 'usband?" Jeanne had never completely conquered her h's and could manage them only in calm moments. "Oh, this is the great day," she went on. "I am so 'appy.

Sir Lance, he is a good man. He is the charming man." She closed her eyes and blew an imaginary kiss to Lance. "I say to myself, I say, 'This is the one for my little bebe. This is the 'usband for Clarissa.' So beautiful ... the brocade waistcoat ... 'e dresses like a Frenchman.”