The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories

THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY

Mary Jo Putney

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

JESSE'S WIFE

Kristin James

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

SEDUCED BY STARLIGHT

Charlotte Featherstone

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mary Jo Putney

To Mama Rekus, who always loved a good story.

Swindon Palace
Spring 1885

A
FTER TWO WEEKS OF DIZZYING
social activity in London, a visit to the English countryside was an enchanting change of pace. Nature had cooperated by blessing the garden party with flawless weather. Puffs of white cloud drifted through a deep blue sky, the grass and trees were impossibly green, and the famous Swindon gardens were in glorious flower.

Yet the grounds were not half so splendid as the guests, who were the cream of British society. All of the men were aristocratically handsome and all of the women graceful and exquisitely dressed. At least, that was how it seemed to Miss Sarah Katherine Vangelder, of the New York Vangelders. As she surveyed her surroundings, she gave a laugh of pure delight.

The woman beside her said, “Don't look so rapturous, Sunny. It simply isn't done.”

Sunny gave her godmother a teasing glance. “Is this the Katie Schmidt of San Francisco who scandalized English society by performing Comanche riding stunts in Hyde Park?”

A smile tugged at the older woman's lips. “It most certainly is
not,
” she said in a voice that no longer held any trace of American accent. “I am now Katherine Schmidt Worthington, Countess of Westron, a very proper
chaperon for her exceedingly well-brought-up young American goddaughter.”

“I thought that we American girls were admired for our freshness and directness.” A hint of dryness entered Sunny's voice. “And our fortunes, of course.”

“The very best matches require impeccable manners as well as money, my dear. If you wish to become a duchess, you must be above reproach.”

Sunny sighed. “And if I don't wish to become a duchess?”

“Your mother has spent twenty years grooming you to be worthy of the highest station,” Lady Westron replied. “It would be a pity to waste that.”

“Yes, Aunt Katie,” Sunny said meekly. “If I'm very, very impeccable, may I view the rest of the gardens later?”

“Yes, but not until you've met everyone worth meeting. Business before pleasure, my dear.” Katie began guiding her charge through the crowd, stopping and making occasional introductions.

Knowing that she was being judged, Sunny smiled and talked with the utmost propriety. She even managed not to look too excited, until she was introduced to the Honorable Paul Curzon.

Tall, blond and stunningly handsome, Curzon was enough to make any woman gape. After bowing over her hand, he said, “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Vangelder. Are you newly arrived in England?” His question was accompanied by a dazzling smile.

If it hadn't been for her rigorous social training, Sunny would have gaped at him like a raw country girl. Instead, she managed to say lightly, “I've been in London for the last fortnight. Before that, we were traveling on the Continent.”

“If you'd like to visit the Houses of Parliament, Miss
Vangelder, I'd be delighted to escort you. I'm a member.” Curzon gave a deprecatory shrug. “Only a backbencher, but I can show you what goes on behind the scenes and treat you to tea on the terrace. You might find it amusing.”

“Perhaps later in the season Miss Vangelder will have time,” Katie said as she deftly removed her charge.

When they were out of earshot, Sunny said with awe, “Mr. Curzon is the handsomest man I've ever seen.”

“Yes, but he's a younger son with three older brothers, so he's unlikely ever to inherit the title.” Lady Westron gave a warning look. “Not at all the sort your mother wants for you.”

“But as a Member of Parliament, he actually does something useful,” Sunny pointed out. “My grandfather would have approved of that.”

“Admiral Vangelder would
not
have wanted a penniless younger son for his favorite granddaughter,” Katie said firmly. “Come, I want you to meet Lord Traymore. An Irish title, unfortunately, but an earl is an earl, and he's charming. You could do worse.”

Dutifully Sunny followed her godmother to the next knot of guests, though she promised herself that she would slip off and view the famous water garden before she left. Until then, she would enjoy the color and laughter of the occasion.

She was also guiltily glad to be free of her mother's rather overpowering presence for a day. Augusta Vangelder was the most devoted and solicitous of parents, but she had very firm ideas about the way things ought to be.
Very
firm. Unfortunately, she was laid up in their suite at Claridge's with a mild case of the grippe, so Sunny had the benefit of the more liberal chaperonage of her godmother. Not only did Lady Westron know everyone,
but she made racy comments about them. Sunny felt very worldly.

While a courtly old judge went to fetch them refreshments, she asked, “Where is the Duke of Thornborough? Since he ordered a special train to bring his guests from London for the day, I should at least know whom to be grateful to.”

Katie scanned the crowd, then nodded toward the refreshment marquee. “That tall, fair chap.”

After a thorough examination, Sunny observed, “He's almost as handsome as Mr. Curzon, and has a most distinguished air.
Exactly
what one would expect of a duke.”

“Yes, and he's delightfully witty, as well,” Katie replied. “Very prominent in the Prince of Wales's Marlborough House set. I'll introduce you to him later.”

Sunny glanced at the other woman suspiciously. “Am I to be paraded in front of him like a prize heifer?”

“No,” Katie said with regret. “Thornborough won't do—his taste runs to ladies who are…rather excessively sophisticated. He's expected to offer for May Russell soon.”

“The American Mrs. Russell?” Sunny asked, surprised.

“Mad May herself. She's a good choice—having had children by two husbands already, she shouldn't have any problems giving Thornborough an heir, and her fortune is immense.” Katie gave a little sniff. “Heaven knows that Thornborough needs it.”

“Who's the man standing by the duke?”

“Oh, that's just the Gargoyle.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sunny glanced at her godmother, not sure that she'd heard correctly.

“Lord Justin Aubrey, Thornborough's younger brother, better known as the Gargoyle,” Katie explained. “He man
ages the duke's estate, which means he's scarcely more than a farmer.”

A line etched between her brows, Sunny studied the dark young man. While not handsome, his face had a certain rugged distinction. “Why was he given such an unkind nickname? He's no Mr. Curzon, but neither is he ugly.”

“The Aubreys are known for being tall, blond and aristocratic, and Lord Justin is none of those things. He's always scowling and has no conversation at all.” Katie smiled naughtily. “One would have to question what his dear mother had been up to, except that every now and then the Aubreys produce one like him. The youngest Aubrey daughter, Lady Alexandra, resembles him, poor girl. I imagine she's around here somewhere. She's known as the Gargoylette.”

Sunny's frown deepened. “I'm sorry to think that these handsome people have such cruel tongues.”

“They are no more and no less cruel than New York society,” Lady Westron said dryly. “Human nature is much the same everywhere.”

Sunny's gaze lingered on Lord Justin. Though not tall, neither was he short; he appeared to be of average height, perhaps an inch or two taller than she. She guessed that he was in his late twenties, but his stern expression made him seem older. He also looked as if he thoroughly disapproved of the splendid gathering around him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Katie exclaiming, “Lord Hancock is over there! I had hoped that he would be here today. Come along, dear, you must meet him.”

After another wistful glance at the gardens, Sunny obediently followed her godmother.

 

T
HE EIGHTH
D
UKE OF
T
HORNBOROUGH
sampled a strawberry from one of the mounds on the refreshment table.
“Splendid flavor.” He reached for another. “You've been getting remarkable results from the greenhouses.”

Justin Aubrey shrugged. “I only give the orders, Gavin. It's the gardeners who do the real work.”

“But someone must still give the right orders, and it isn't going to be me.” The duke consumed several more strawberries, then washed them down with champagne. “Relax, Justin. You've worked for weeks to make my fete a success, so you should try to enjoy the results. Everyone is having a cracking good time.”

“That's fortunate, considering that this little event is costing over two thousand pounds.” Money which could have been much better spent.

Gavin made an airy gesture. “The Duke of Thornborough has an obligation to maintain a certain style. After I marry May, there will be ample money for those boring repairs that you keep talking about.”

Justin gave his brother a shrewd glance. “You and Mrs. Russell have reached a firm understanding?”

Gavin nodded. “We'll be making an announcement soon. A late summer wedding, I think. You can plan on fixing the roof directly after, so it will be right and tight by winter.” He cast an experienced eye over the crowd. “I see that Katie Westron has a lovely creature in tow. It must be the Gilded Girl. I hear she's cutting quite a swath through London society. The Prince has already invited her to visit Sandringham.”

“Then her social reputation is made,” Justin agreed with barely perceptible irony. “But who
is
the Gilded Girl?”

“Sarah Vangelder, the fairest flower of the Vangelder railroad fortune.” The duke's tone turned speculative. “They say she's the greatest heiress ever to cross the Atlantic.”

Justin followed his brother's gaze to where the heiress
stood talking with three besotted males. As soon as he located her, his heart gave an odd lurch. Sarah Vangelder was the quintessential American beauty—tall, slender and crowned with a lustrous mass of honey-colored hair. She also had an engaging air of innocent enthusiasm that made him want to walk over and introduce himself. A beautiful woman, not his. The world was full of them, he reminded himself. Aloud, he said only, “Very fetching.”

“Perhaps I should reconsider marrying May,” Gavin said pensively. “They say Augusta Vangelder wants to see the girl a duchess. Should I offer her the noble name of Thornborough?”

Justin's mouth tightened. Though he loved his brother, he had no illusions about the duke's character. “You'd find a young innocent a flat bore.”

“Very likely you're right,” Gavin agreed. His gaze lingered. “Still, she's quite lovely.”

Three peeresses and two Cabinet ministers came over to pay their respects to their host. Justin seized the opportunity to escape, for the constant chatter was driving him mad. He would have preferred to be elsewhere, but he could hardly avoid a party taking place in his own backyard.

Avoiding the formal parterre where many of the guests were strolling, he made his way to the rhododendron garden, which had been carefully designed to look like wild woods. There was a risk that he would find some of Gavin's fashionable friends fornicating beneath the silver birches, but with luck, they would all be more interested in champagne and gossip than in dalliance.

Half an hour in the wilder sections of the park relaxed him to the point where he felt ready to return to the festivities. Not that anyone was likely to miss him, but he liked to keep an eye on the arrangements to ensure that everything ran smoothly.

As he walked through a grove of Scottish pines, he heard a feminine voice utter a soft but emphatic, “Drat!”

He turned toward the voice, and a few more steps brought the speaker into his view.

It was the Gilded Girl. But that was too flippant a nickname, for the sunlight that shafted through the pine needles made her honey hair and creamy gown glow as if she were Titania, the fairy queen. He halted unnoticed at the edge of the clearing, experiencing again that strange, unsteady feeling.

A vine had snagged the back hem of Miss Vangelder's elegant bustled walking gown, and she was trying to free herself by poking with the tip of her lace parasol. Any other woman would have seemed ungraceful, but not the heiress. She looked playful, competent and altogether enchanting.

In the wooden voice he used to conceal unseemly feelings, he said, “May I be of assistance?”

The girl looked up with a startled glance, then smiled with relief. “You certainly can! Otherwise, my gown is doomed, and Mr. Worth will be terribly cross with me if he ever finds out.”

Justin knelt and began trying to disentangle her hem. “Does it matter what a dressmaker thinks?”

“Mr. Worth is not a dressmaker, but an
artiste.
I'm told that I was singularly fortunate that he condescended to see me personally. After examining me like a prize turkey, he designed every ensemble right down to the last slipper and scarf.” She gave a gurgle of laughter. “I was informed in no uncertain terms that any substitutions would be disastrous.”

The vine was remarkably tenacious. As Justin tried to loosen it without damaging the heavy ecru silk, he asked, “Do you always do what others wish you to do?”

“Generally,” she said with wry self-understanding. “Life is easier when I do.”

Her skirt finally came free, and he got to his feet. “I'm Justin Aubrey, by the way.”

“I'm Sarah Vangelder, but most people call me Sunny.” She offered her hand, and a smile that melted his bones.

She was tall, her eyes almost level with his. He had assumed that they would be blue, but the color was nearer aqua, as deep and changeable as the sea. He drew a shaken breath, then bowed over her hand. Straightening, he said, “You should not be here alone, Miss Vangelder.”

“I know,” she said blithely, “but I was afraid that if I didn't take the initiative, I'd leave without having a chance to really see the gardens.”