The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories (2 page)

“Are you rating them for possible future occupancy?” he said dryly. “I regret to inform you that my brother is no longer in the marriage mart.”

“I simply like gardens, Lord Justin,” she said crisply, her aqua eyes turning cool. “Are you always so rude?”

So the exquisite Miss Vangelder had thorns. Suppressing a smile, he said, “Always. I took a first in rudeness at Oxford.”

Her expression instantly transformed from reproval to delight. “You have a sense of humor!”

“Don't spread such a base rumor around. It would utterly ruin my reputation.” He offered his arm. “Let me escort you back to the fete.”

As she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, she asked, “Could we take an indirect route? I particularly want to see the famous water garden.”

He knew that he should return her before her chaperon became concerned. Yet when he looked into her glorious eyes, he found himself saying, “Very well, Miss Vangelder.”

As they started down the pine-needle-carpeted path, he was very aware of the light pressure of her hand on his arm and the luxuriant rustle of her petticoats. And her perfume, a delicate fragrance reminiscent of violets…

He took a deep, slow breath. “I assume you are related to Admiral Vangelder?”

“You've heard of my grandfather?”

“It would be surprising if I hadn't.” He held a branch aside so that she could pass without endangering her deliciously frivolous hat. “He was one of the great American success stories.”

“Yes, and something of a robber baron, as well, though he was always a darling to me. I miss him.” She chuckled. “He liked people to think that he was called Admiral because of his magnificent yachts, but actually, he got the nickname because his first job was tending mules on the Erie Canal.”

“Really?” Justin said, amused by her artlessness.

“Really. In fact, there are grave suspicions that his papa was not married to his mama.” She bit her lip guiltily. “You're dangerously easy to talk to, Lord Justin. I shouldn't have said so much—my mother would be horrified if the Admiral's dubious parentage became common knowledge.” She grinned again. “Her own family has been respectable for at least a generation longer.”

“Your secret is safe, Miss Vangelder,” he assured her.

She gave him another entrancing smile that struck right to the heart. For a mad instant, he felt as if he was the only person who existed in her world. She had charm, this gilded girl, a quality as unmistakable as it was hard to define. He drew a shaken breath and returned his gaze to the winding path.

Though she had said he was easy to talk to, in fact he found himself talking more than usual as they strolled
through the park. He told her about the history of the estate, answered questions about the crops and tenants. Together they stood in the gazebo that was designed like a miniature Greek temple, and when they visited the picturesque ruins of an old monastery he described what the community would have been like in its heyday.

She was a wonderful audience, listening with a grave air of concentration that was occasionally punctuated by an incisive question. After she asked about the effects of the agricultural depression on the farm laborers, he remarked, “You have a wide range of interests, Miss Vangelder.”

“Education is something of an American passion, so my father insisted that I have a whole regiment of tutors. Shortly before he died, he had me take the entrance exams to Oxford and Cambridge. He was quite pleased when I passed with flying colors.” She sighed. “Of course there was never any question of me actually going to a university. That would have been shockingly bluestocking.”

At least she had been well taught. Like most English girls, his own sisters had received the sketchiest of educations. Only Alexandra, who loved to read, had a well-informed mind. The man who married Sunny Vangelder would be lucky in more ways than one.

Justin had chosen a path that brought them out of the park's wilderness area right beside the water garden. It was an elaborate series of pools and channels that descended across three levels of terraces before flowing into the ornamental lake.

Sunny stopped in her tracks with a soft exhalation of pleasure. “Exquisite. The proportions—the way the statues are reflected in the pools—the way the eye is led gradually down to the lake. It's masterful. And the grass surrounding it! Like green velvet. How do the English grow such perfect grass?”

“It's quite simple, really. Just get a stone roller and use it on the lawn regularly for two or three hundred years.”

She laughed and gave him a glance that made him feel as if he was the wittiest, handsomest man alive.

His heart twisted, and he knew that he must get away from her before he started to act like an utter idiot. “I really must take you back now.”

“I suppose so.” She took a last look at the water garden. “Thank you for indulging me, Lord Justin.”

Their walk had taken them around three sides of the palace, and it was only a short distance to the Versailles garden where the fete was being held. As they approached the festivities, a tall man saw them and walked over swiftly. It was Paul Curzon, who had gone to Eton with Justin, though they had never been more than acquaintances. Curzon had been active in the most social set, while Justin had paid an unfashionable amount of attention to his studies.

After giving Justin a barely civil nod, Curzon said, “Lady Westron has been wondering what happened to you, Miss Vangelder.”

Justin glanced at his companion and saw how her face lit up when Curzon spoke to her.

“I was in no danger, Mr. Curzon,” she said, her voice proper but her eyes brimming with excitement. “I'm an avid gardener, you see, and Lord Justin very kindly consented to show me some of the lesser-known parts of the park.”

In a careless tone that managed to imply that Justin was scarcely better than an under gardener, Curzon said, “You could not have chosen a better guide, for I'm sure that no one knows more about such matters than Lord Justin.” He offered Sunny his arm. “Now I shall take you to Lady Westron.”

Sunny turned to Justin and said with sweet sincerity, “Thank you for the tour, my lord. I enjoyed it very much.”

Yet as soon as she took Curzon's arm, Justin saw that she forgot his existence. He watched them walk away together—two tall, blond, laughing people. They were like members of some superior race, set apart from the normal run of mankind.

For the first time in his life, Justin found himself resenting Gavin for having been born first. The Sunny Vangelders of the world would always go to men like Gavin or Curzon.

His aching regret was followed by deep, corroding anger. Damning himself for a fool, he turned and headed toward the house. Gavin's fete could progress to its conclusion without him.

Swindon Palace
Summer 1885

J
USTIN STARED OUT THE STUDY
window at the dreary landscape, thinking that rain was appropriate for the day he had buried his only brother. After a gray, painful interval, a discreet cough reminded him that he was not alone. He turned to the family solicitor, who had formally read the will earlier in the afternoon. “Why did you ask to speak with me, Mr. Burrell?”

“Though I'm sorry to intrude at such a time, your grace,” the solicitor said, “there are several pressing matters that must be addressed without delay.”

Justin winced inwardly. Five days of being the ninth Duke of Thornborough was not long enough to accustom him to his new status. “I assume that you are going to tell me that the financial situation is difficult. I'm already aware of that.”

Another little cough, this one embarrassed. “While you are extremely well-informed about estate matters, there are, ah, certain other items that you might not know of.”

With sudden foreboding, Justin asked, “Had Gavin run up extensive personal debts?”

“I'm afraid so, your grace. To the tune of…almost a hundred thousand pounds.”

A hundred thousand pounds! How the devil had Gavin managed to spend so much? Justin wanted to swear out loud.

Seeing his expression, Mr. Burrell said, “It was unfortunate that your brother's death occurred just when it did.”

“You mean the fact that he died while on his way to marry May Russell? It certainly would have been more prudent to have waited until after the wedding,” Justin said bitterly.

It would have been even more prudent if Gavin had stayed in the private Thornborough railway car. Instead, he had been taken by the charms of a French lady and had gone to her compartment. When the train crashed, the duke and his inamorata had both died, locked in a scandalous embrace. If Gavin had been in his own car, he would have survived the crash with scarcely a bruise.

Oh, damn, Gavin, why did you have to get yourself killed?

Justin swallowed hard. “Obviously drastic measures will be required to save the family from bankruptcy.”

“You could sell some land.”

“No!” More moderately, Justin said, “The land is held in trust for future generations. It should not be sold to pay frivolous debts.”

Burrell nodded, as if he had expected that response. “The only other choice is for you to make an advantageous marriage.”

“Become a fortune hunter, you mean?”

“It's a time-honored tradition, your grace,” Burrell pointed out with dignity. “You have a great deal to offer a well-dowered bride. One of England's greatest names, and the most magnificent private palace in Great Britain.”

“A palace whose roof leaks,” Justin said dryly. “Even as we speak, dozens of buckets in the attic are filling with water.”

“In that case, the sooner you marry, the better.” The solicitor cleared his throat with a new intonation. “In fact, Mrs. Russell hinted to me this morning that if you were interested in contracting an alliance with her, she would look with favor on your suit.”

“Marry my brother's fiancée?” Justin said incredulously. He thought of how May had looked earlier at Gavin's funeral, weeping copiously, her beautiful face obscured by her black mourning veil. Perhaps if he had looked more closely, he would have seen a speculative gleam in her eyes. “It's hard to believe that even she would go to such lengths to become a duchess.”

“The lady implied that she has a certain fondness for you, as well,” Burrell said piously.

“The lady has a deficient memory,” Justin retorted. It was May Russell who had first called him the Gargoyle. She had been demonstrating her wittiness. Even Gavin had laughed.

“She has a very large fortune under her own control,” the solicitor said with regret. “But I suppose you're right—it would be unseemly for you to marry your brother's betrothed. Do you have another suitable female in mind?”

“No. For the last several years, I've been too busy to look for a wife.” Justin returned to his position by the window and stared blindly across the grounds. Burrell was right—marriage was the only plausible answer. Justin wouldn't be the first, and certainly not the last, to marry for money.

Even as a younger son, Justin would have had no trouble finding a wife, for he was an Aubrey, had no appalling vices and he had inherited an adequate private income. Yet though Gavin's entertaining had brought a steady
stream of polished, fashionable females through Swindon, there had never been one whom Justin had wanted for a wife.

Except…

He closed his eyes, and instantly the memory he had tried to suppress for months crossed his mind—a perfect spring day, a tall, graceful young woman with a smile of such bright sweetness that she was nicknamed for the sun. The image was more real than the foggy landscape outside.

Though Justin had hated himself for his weakness, he had compulsively tracked Sunny Vangelder's triumphant passage through English society. Scarcely an issue of the
Morning Post
had arrived without mentioning her presentation at court, or her glowing appearance at a ball, or the fact that she had been seen riding in Rotten Row. Rumor said that many men had asked for her hand, and daily Justin had steeled himself for an announcement of a brilliant match. Yet at the end of the season, she had left London still unbetrothed.

He drew a painful breath. It was absurd to think of such an incomparable female marrying someone as ordinary as himself. But Gavin had said that she was the greatest heiress ever to cross the Atlantic, which meant that she was exactly the sort of wife Justin needed. And it was also said that her mother wanted to see her a duchess.

Scarcely daring to hope, he asked, “Do you know if Miss Vangelder has contracted a marriage yet?”

“You want to marry the Gilded Girl?” Burrell said, unable to conceal his shock at such effrontery. “Winning her would be quite a coup, but difficult, very difficult. There's a mining heiress from San Francisco who might be a better choice. Almost as wealthy, and I am acquainted with her father. Or perhaps…”

Interrupting the solicitor, Justin said, “I would prefer Miss Vangelder. I met her once, and found her…very amiable.”

After a long pause, Burrell said doubtfully, “Of course, you
are
the Duke of Thornborough now. Perhaps it could be done.”

Justin smiled humorlessly at the slate-gray pools of the water garden. “How does one go about selling oneself, Burrell? My experience is sadly deficient.”

Ignoring the sardonic tone, the solicitor said, “I shall visit Lady Westron. She's the girl's godmother, you know. If she thinks the idea has merit, she can write Augusta Vangelder.”

“Very well—call on her ladyship before the roof collapses.”

“There is one thing you should consider before proceeding, your grace,” Burrell said with a warning note. “Certainly there are more American heiresses than English ones, and they tend to be much more polished, but the drawback of such an alliance is that the families usually drive hard bargains. You would probably have restrictions placed on your control of the dowry, and you might have to return the balance if the marriage ends.”

Justin's mouth tightened. “I wouldn't be marrying the girl with the intention of divorcing her, Burrell.”

“Of course not,” the solicitor said quickly. After a shuffle of papers, he added, “If I may say so, you're very different from your brother.”

“Say what you like,” Justin said tersely. Yet though he told himself that a rich wife was strictly a practical matter, the possibility of marrying Sunny Vangelder filled him with raw, aching hunger.

If she came to Swindon, there would always be sunshine.

Newport, Rhode Island

L
AUGHING AND BREATHLESS
from the bicycle ride, Sunny waved goodbye to her friends, then skipped up the steps of The Tides, the Vangelder summer home. Like most Newport “cottages,” it would have been called a mansion anywhere else. Still, the atmosphere was more informal than in New York, and she always enjoyed the months spent in Newport.

And this summer was the best ever, because the Honorable Paul Curzon was visiting the Astors. He had arrived in Newport three weeks earlier, and the first time they had waltzed together he had confided that he had come to America to see Sunny.

She had almost expired from sheer bliss, for she had been thinking of Paul ever since their first meeting. They had carried on a delicious flirtation throughout the season, and she had sensed that there were deeper feelings on both sides; certainly there had been on her part. It had been a bitter disappointment that he had not offered for her then.

As they danced, he explained that he had not spoken earlier for he had feared that he would not be considered an acceptable suitor. But after weeks of yearning, he had finally decided to come to America and declare his love. Breathlessly she had confessed that she also had tender feelings for him.

Ever since that night, she had been living in an enchanted dream. Each morning she woke with the knowledge that she would see Paul at least once during the day, perhaps more than that. The business of Newport was society, and there was an endless succession of balls and dinner parties and polo matches.

Though the two of them had behaved impeccably in public, on two magical occasions they had had a moment's
privacy, and he had kissed her with a passion that made her blood sing through her veins. At night, as she lay in her chaste bed, she remembered those kisses and yearned for more.

His courtship had culminated this morning, in the few minutes when the two of them had cycled ahead of the rest of their party. After declaring his love, he had asked her to marry him. Dizzy with delight, she had accepted instantly.

As Sunny stepped into the cool marble vestibule of The Tides, she tried to calm her expression, for she knew that she was beaming like a fool. It was going to be hard to keep her lovely secret, but she must until the next day, when Paul would ask her mother's permission. It was not to be expected that her mother would be enthralled by the match. However, Sunny was sure that she would come around, for Paul came from a fine family and he had a distinguished career in front of him.

She handed the butler her hat, saying gaily, “It's a beautiful day, Graves.”

“Indeed it is, Miss Sarah.” Taking the hat, he added, “Your mother has asked that you see her as soon as you return home. I believe that she is in her private salon.”

Such summons were not uncommon, so Sunny went upstairs with no premonition of disaster. She knocked on her mother's door and was invited in.

When she entered, Augusta looked up from her desk with triumph in her eyes. “I have splendid news, Sarah. I'll admit I was tempted by some of the offers I received for your hand, but it was right to wait.” After a portentous pause, she said, “You, my dear, are going to become the Duchess of Thornborough.”

The shock was so stunning that at first Sunny could only say stupidly, “What on earth do you mean?”

“You're going to marry Thornborough, of course,” her
mother said briskly. “For the last several days cables have been flying back and forth between Newport and England. The essentials have been settled, and Thornborough is on his way to Newport to make you a formal offer.”

“But…but I thought the Duke of Thornborough was going to marry Mrs. Russell.”

“That was Gavin, the eighth duke. Unfortunately he was killed in a train wreck several weeks ago, two days before he was to marry May.” Augusta smiled maliciously. “I would wager that May tried her luck with his successor, but clearly the ninth duke has better taste than his brother.”

Feeling ice-cold, Sunny sank into a chair. “How can I marry a man whom I've never even met?” she said weakly.

“Katie Westron said that you did meet him. In fact, you spent a rather indecent amount of time strolling through the Swindon gardens together,” her mother said tartly. “He was Lord Justin Aubrey then, younger brother to the duke who just died.”

The fete at Swindon was when Sunny had met Paul. Beside that, other events of the day had paled. Dazedly she tried to remember more. The gardens had been superb, and she vaguely recalled being escorted through them by someone. Had that been Lord Justin? She supposed so, though she could remember nothing about him except that he was dark, and quiet, and…unmemorable.

But it didn't matter what he was like, because she wasn't going to marry him. Steeling herself for battle, Sunny said, “I can't marry Thornborough, because I'm betrothed to Paul Curzon.”

There was an instant of ominous silence. Then her mother exploded. “I considered putting a stop to that earlier, but I thought it was a harmless flirtation. I couldn't
believe
that you would be so foolish as to entertain
thoughts of marrying such a man.” Her eyes narrowed. “I trust that at least you've had the sense not to tell anyone about this so-called engagement?”

Sunny shook her head. “Paul only asked me this morning.”

“I shall send him a note saying that he is never to call on you, or speak to you again. That will put an end to this nonsense.” Augusta drummed her fingers on the elaborate desk as she thought. “Thornborough will be here in nine days. I shall give a ball in his honor a week later, and we can announce the betrothal then. The wedding should take place in October, I think. It will take that long to make suitable arrangements.”

Knowing that she faced the fight of her life, Sunny wiped her damp palms on her skirt, then said evenly, “You must cable the duke and stop him from coming, Mother. Paul Curzon and I love each other, and I am going to marry him.”

It was the first time she had ever defied her mother, and Augusta's jaw dropped in shock. Recovering quickly, she said in a low, furious voice, “You are a Vangelder, my girl, and I've devoted my life to training you to be worthy of the highest station. I will never permit you to throw yourself away on a worthless, fortune-hunting younger son.”