Debutantes Don’t Date (25 page)

After a while the servants slowed to a trickle and the first of the carriages full
of guests began to arrive. With a heavy heart he turned and walked back the way he
had come. It was time to go home and pick up the pieces of his shattered life.

“Jasper!” A voice called from a carriage that pulled up alongside him. “I have been
looking for you for hours. Where in the blazes have you been?” Philip Blade alighted
from the vehicle dressed in formal attire, as if he was on the way to something important…like
a wedding. “I found your coach at Harrison’s but no one seemed to know where you had
gone. Miss Lancaster has been frantic that you wouldn’t show up.”

“Grace is gone,” Jasper stated to his friend. He turned away and continued walking
as fast and as far away from the chapel as he could get.

“Wait!” Philip called out before chasing him down. “Jasper, wait, she’s here,” he
called again before Jasper disappeared around the corner.

Philip’s huffed words stopped Jasper in his tracks. “What do you mean, here?” He turned
around and stared hard into his friend’s eyes. Did he dare to hope? Joy and confusion
both scrambled together in his heart. The breath caught in his chest and he felt light-headed,
the world shifted under his feet as he waited for Philip to explain. He dared not
get his hopes up; Hoskins said she was gone.

“Miss Lancaster is waiting at the chapel.” Philip had barely finished his sentence
before Jasper was running full-tilt towards the church that just a few moments ago
he wished to never see again.

Taking the steps two at a time Jasper crashed through the doors of the chapel and
came to a skidding halt in front of the astonished eyes of the guests he had invited
to celebrate today. Philip, who was close behind, ran into his back sending them both
careening into Mrs Hillary Barrett’s lap.

“I do beg your pardon!” Mrs Barrett gasped in shock at having two fervid young men
fall onto her legs. Her fingers dug into the skirt of her new dress to stop her hands
from holding the men against her.

“Grace!” Jasper disentangled himself from Mrs Barrett’s skirts and charged through
the church, shouting Grace’s name until, at last, she emerged from the vestibule in
a vision of white. The crystals on her dress danced in the sunlight streaming through
the stained-glass windows.

Grace paced the small room at the front of the church. Where was he, she wondered
for the millionth time? She was the one supposed to be late, not the groom. As it
was, she was here an hour early in anticipation of her wedding. She could hardly wait
to see Jasper again…she needed to say sorry too.

When he had left last night she’d been in shock from finding out she could go home.
The last thing she expected was for him to storm out in anger that she didn’t understand.
Now she was afraid she’d said the wrong thing. She was so excited she had unravelled
the mystery of her time travel she didn’t think before blurting out she could go home.
What a ninny. Now she was terrified he was so mad he wouldn’t show up for their wedding.
Or maybe he didn’t feel he needed to marry her now. She could go home and he could
marry Anne, like he planned. Her heart twisted at the thought. But he wouldn’t leave
her standing here just waiting for him, would he? How on earth would she get the nerve
to stand at the front of the church and announce that the groom was a no-show?

“He’ll be here,” Anne said, touching her shoulder. “He is a good man and he loves
you dearly. I know, I saw him when Robin took you. He was frantic trying to find you.
Grace, I’m so sorry for what happened. I didn’t think he would try to kill you but
I did know Robin wanted me to marry Lord Bingham. I guess I should have seen it coming.”

“The men did. Jasper told me all about it on the way home yesterday. I told him it
would have been helpful if they had let us know what was going on. I would never have
left the house if I had known your brother hired Rupert to kill me! It’s not your
fault, Anne. I don’t hold it against you at all. Besides, we would never have become
friends if your brother didn’t suggest it to you, am I right? And I wouldn’t miss
our friendship for anything.” Her mind wandered back to Jasper. “Where is he?”

“Robin? I thought they told you. They sent him to Australia. Lucky really, I thought
for sure they would’ve hung him, but I think Lord Harrison spoke to the authorities.
I just wish we could find Rupert. I hope he is not in any difficulty.”

“I’m sure Rupert can look after himself. He’s managed to stay alive all these years
without our help. And I know about Robin. I meant Jasper. He should’ve been here by
now.”

“I’m sure that he is on…” Anne stopped mid-sentence. “Do you hear that? What is it?
It’s coming from the church.”

Grace listened hard. Her face cracked into a beaming smile when she heard Jasper calling
her name. She picked up her skirts and rushed from the room.

“You’re late,” she said when his eyes met hers. “Where have you been? Philip and Neal
have been looking everywhere for you. Did you forget?”

“Forget? How could I forget?” Jasper continued towards her up the aisle. When he finally
had her at arm’s length he pulled her into a fierce embrace and whispered into her
hair, “God, I love you.” He took a step back to look in her eyes. “I thought you went
home. Hoskins said that you had gone.”

“You silly man.” Now he was here, her heart ceased its frantic beat and she found
she was able to laugh again. “I only went shopping for your wedding present. Did he
not show you the note I left your sister?”

Jasper blushed. He remembered Hoskins telling him Grace had left a note. “He said
that you wouldn’t be coming back.”

“That’s right. I won’t be going back. I will be moving in with you…after the wedding.”
She smiled up at him. His lips turned up at the edges and she saw relief and joy shining
in his eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said last night. I didn’t mean I was
going
home, just that I
could
, if I wanted to.”

“So you don’t want to go back? Won’t you miss it?” He was still not willing to believe
she was here to stay.

“I told you I loved you, didn’t I? What’s running water and central heating compared
to having you?” she whispered just as his lips descended onto hers, his tongue sweeping
urgently into her mouth. She ignored the gasps coming from every lip in the room and
the vicar loudly clearing his throat; the passion for her man was overriding everything
else.

It was only fitting they started their marriage with a scandal to rival the one which
had brought them together.

Loved
Debutantes Don’t Date
?

Then turn the page for another fantastic, page-turning story

Doubting Abbey
by Samantha Tonge

LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY

Welcome to this blog. Your visit is appreciated. May I introduce myself – I am Lord
Edward, the son of the Earl of Croxley. Our home, Applebridge Hall, is in the final
of the
Million Dollar Mansion
competition. For regular updates of our progress, please do grace this blog with
your presence.

Monday 27
^th
August

7p.m
. Good evening, readers. Finally I write my first entry. Do bear with me, as I am
new to blogging, which I see as a modern twist on my ancestors’ habit of keeping journals.
The programme-makers insist you will be interested in my thoughts on the competition,
so I shall attempt to bring honesty and some perspective to this diary.

Honest thought number one? Chaos has descended. The film crews arrived again today—cue
a refresher course on camera and sound procedures. A national tabloid interviewed
Father. To my irritation, the photographer suggested we both wore monocles and borrowed
a cluster of the Queen’s corgis. Regardless of the fact I don’t know Her Majesty,
my response equalled “over my dead body”.

Some perspective? I await a phone call from my, um, dear cousin, Abigail Croxley who,
I’m sure, will confirm her intention to join us imminently. How we intend to beat
the other finalist, the Baron of Marwick Castle, is still top secret. However, here
is an exclusive clue: my cousin’s cooking knowledge will be an instrumental part of
our tactics. I am very much looking forward to seeing her.

Best bit of today? Right now, sitting by myself in our tranquil library.

Worst? Gaynor, the director, handing me a DVD of
Pride and Prejudice
, along with a frilly white shirt and breeches. I made it quite clear that I am a
down-to-earth gentleman who will
never
, under any circumstances, resemble some sort of romantic hero like Mr Darcy.

Chapter 1

Abbey was born to sophistication, whereas I was more Barbara than Buckingham Palace
Windsor. The two of us had just got back from a goodbye lunch with our Pizza Parlour
colleagues, and were standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Having toasted each
of our redundancies, I felt a bit tiddly, but still sharp enough to realize this idea
was bonkers.

‘Look, Abbey, I don’t know what’s behind this plan, but seriously…’ I smiled ‘…wise
up. I could never trick people into thinking I was you, a member of the aristocracy.
Ask me to mimic a…a pop star or footballer’s wife, then I’d give it a shot, but even
then I dunno if I could live a lie for very long.’ With a grin, I shrugged. ‘Run this
idea past me again.’ Perhaps I’d misheard.

Abbey’s bottom lip quivered. ‘It’s…um, no joke, Gemma – please, pretend to be me.
Just for two weeks.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘Who else could I trust with such a mission?’

My jaw dropped. ‘Are you out of your mind? You know I’d flog all my make-up and fave
shoes on eBay if it meant helping you get out of a scrape… But this? Abbey, mate…’
My eyes narrowed for a second. ‘Marcus next door hasn’t given you one of his funny-smelling
cigarettes has he?’

‘Goodness, no!’ Abbey’s face broke into a smile. ‘Honestly, I quite understand your
apprehension, but…’ She fiddled with the waistband of her skinny white trousers. ‘It’d
only be for a fortnight and it is in a good cause.’ She took my hands and squeezed
them. ‘Oh, please, Gemma. You’re the only person in the world who can pull this off.
Remember when Laurence, the son of one of Mummy’s friends, stayed over a few weeks
ago?’

Ooh, yeah. Hotter than Dad’s chilli con carne, he was, in that white scarf and tux.

‘He caught you fresh-faced in the morning,’ she said, ‘and insisted we looked terribly
alike. If you dyed your brunette hair blonde, he joked we could pass as sisters, what
with the same shape nose and blue eyes.’

‘He must have still had his beer goggles – or champers shades—on.’ I let my hands
drop from her grip and looked down at my skimpy skirt, the streak of fake tan and
high-heeled shoes. ‘Mind you…’ I giggled ‘…remember my first day at work?’

Abbey leant towards me and joined in the laughter. My chest glowed, glad to have cheered
her up – but then it
was
funny, me being mistaken for her. Several members of staff had thought that Abbey
– who already worked there – had suffered some sort of identity crisis and undergone
a chavvy makeover. Or, in their opinion, make
under
. I should have been insulted at their relief when she’d turned up looking her usual
sophisticated self.

‘Even the regular customers were fooled.’ I turned to the bathroom mirror for a moment.
Personally, I couldn’t see a strong resemblance but time had taught me that the world
at large occasionally considered us each other’s doppelganger.

Abbey’s grey-haired aunt came in, picked up a bottle of cleanser and passed it to
me. ‘Do hurry up, Gemma – we only have ten days to complete your transformation.’

A bubble of laughter tickled the inside of my chest. Really? I mean,
really
? This wasn’t a wind-up? To humour them, I removed the make-up from half of my face.
Minus one false eyelash and a cheek of bronzer, I resembled an unsymmetrical Picasso
portrait.

I leant towards Abbey and whispered, ‘Come on, spill—tell me what this is really about
and what
she
’s actually doing here.’

‘
She
has a name,’ said the old dear, who clearly had bionic hearing and a strict dinner
lady stare.

‘How rude of me not to introduce my aunt formally,’ said Abbey with a sheepish smile
at the old dear. ‘Gemma, this is Lady Constance Woodfold, my mother’s sister—she used
to run her own finishing school.’

‘I’m sure you’ll look delightful without all that bronzer, Gemma,’ said Lady C (posh
titles were too long to say in full, unless you were Lady Gaga). ‘Surely your mother
would prefer to see your skin au naturel?’

‘No idea. She um…’ I cleared my throat ‘…Mum got ill when I was little and…’

Lady C’s cheeks tinged pink. ‘Do accept my apologies. Of course. Abigail told me of
her demise.’ Her wrinkled face softened. ‘Was there no female relative on hand during
your formative years?’

I almost chuckled. Didn’t people only speak like that on old BBC news reels?

‘Auntie Jan’s cool. If it wasn’t for her, I’d know nothing about clothes and make-up.
People always mistook me for a boy, as a kid. When I hit the teen years, she intervened
and even bought my first chicken fillets.’

‘She’s a proficient cook?’ said Lady C, brow furrowed.

I grinned. ‘They’re the inedible kind that you stick down your bra, to up the cup
size.’

Lady C pursed her lips. ‘Those fake appendages must disappear, along with your heavy
eye-liner. Then we can concentrate on the more important things you need to learn,
like the art of good conversation and table manners.’

Huh? What
was
all this about?

The old woman glanced at Abbey. ‘Does Gemma not know yet that your Uncle James is
in the final of
Million Dollar Mansion?’

‘
Whaaat
?’ I almost choked on the word. ‘Your Dad’s brother? The one who inherited the family
home—Apple…?’