The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories (3 page)

“Paul is no fortune hunter! He said that if you refused permission, we could live on his income,” Sunny said hotly. “And he isn't worthless! He's a British aristocrat, exactly what you wanted for me, and he has a great future in British politics. He was recently made a junior minister, and he says that with me by his side he'll soon be in the Cabinet.”

“Your money would certainly help his career,” Augusta said grimly, “but he'll have to find himself another heiress, because I will never give my consent.”

“I don't need your consent!” Sunny said fiercely. “I'm of legal age and can marry whomever I wish. And I
will!
”

“How dare you speak to your mother this way!” Augusta grabbed Sunny's elbow, then marched her down the hall to her bedroom and shoved her inside. “If you think a humble life is so splendid, you can stay locked in here and live on bread and water until you change your mind.”

As the key turned in the lock, Sunny collapsed, shaking, on the bed. She had never dreamed how painful defiance could be. Yet she could not surrender, not when her whole life's happiness was at stake.

She must see Paul; he would know what to do.

The thought steadied her churning emotions, and she began to consider what to do. Her bedroom opened onto the roof of one of the porches, and her older brother Charlie had showed her how to climb to the ground. Her mother had never dreamed that her well-bred daughter would behave in such a hoydenish fashion.

Paul was staying at Windfall, which was only a mile away. Would he be there this evening? Yes, he had mentioned that the Astors were giving a dinner party. She would wait until her mother retired, then escape and walk to Windfall. With a veil over her face, no one would recognize her even if she was seen. She'd go to the servants' entrance and ask for the butler. He knew her, and she thought that for a suitable consideration he would summon Paul and let them have a few minutes of privacy.

Once they were together, everything would be all right.

 

S
UNNY'S PLAN WENT SMOOTHLY,
and by ten o'clock that evening she was pacing nervously around the Windfall servants' sitting room. She hoped that Paul would be able
to slip away quietly when the butler delivered her message. But what if the butler betrayed her to Mrs. Astor? Or if Mrs. Astor suspected that something was amiss and decided to investigate?

The door opened and she whirled around, ready to jump from her skin. With a wave of relief, she saw that it was Paul, devastatingly attractive in his evening dress. Coming toward her with concern on his face, he said, “Darling, you shouldn't risk your reputation like this—but it's wonderful to see you.”

He opened his arms, and she went into them eagerly. She loved his height, which made her feel small and feminine. It was the first time they had real privacy, and his kiss far surpassed what they had shared before. Her resolve strengthened. She would never give up his love for the dubious pleasure of marrying a nondescript duke.
Never.

Remembering the reason for her visit, she reluctantly ended the kiss. “Oh, Paul, something dreadful has happened!” she said miserably. “Today my mother told me that she has arranged for me to marry someone else. I told her about our betrothal, but she won't hear of it. She locked me in my room and swore I'd stay there on bread and water until I changed my mind.”

“How dare she treat you in such a way!” Paul exclaimed. “I won't permit it.”

“I refused to agree to her wishes, of course, but it was so difficult. I…I think we should elope. Tonight.”

“Right now?” he said, startled. “That's not what I want for you, darling. You deserve the grandest wedding of the century, not a furtive, hole-in-corner affair.”

“What does that matter?” she said impatiently. “I'm trying to be strong, but my mother is…is not easy to resist.”

“Who does she want you to marry?”

“The new Duke of Thornborough, Justin Aubrey. His brother, Gavin, just died, and Justin needs a rich wife.”

Before she could say more, Paul said in a stunned voice, “The Duke of Thornborough! You would be one of the most influential women in England.”

“And one of the unhappiest.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back angrily. “I need to be with you, Paul.”

“We must reason this out.” He stroked her back soothingly. “Your mother flatly refused to consider me as a suitor?”

“She said that it was unthinkable that I should marry a nobody.” Sunny relaxed again, comforted by his touch. “Such nonsense! Titles mean nothing. What matters is being a gentleman, and no one is more gentlemanly than you.”

There was a long pause. Then Paul said gravely, “Sunny, I can't marry you against your mother's wishes. Though I knew that she would not be enthusiastic about my suit, I thought I would be able to persuade her. But to be Duchess of Thornborough! With that in prospect, she will never accept me.”

A tendril of fear curled through Sunny. “It is not my mother's place to choose my husband,” she said sharply. “It's mine, and you are my choice. That's all that matters.”

“If only it were that simple!” He sighed. “But it's not, my dear. You are not simply my own sweet love, but a national treasure—one of America's princesses. What kind of cad would I be to take advantage of your innocence to keep you from a glorious future?”

Sunny stared at him, thinking that this scene couldn't be real. Perhaps she had fallen off her bicycle and injured her head, and everything that had happened since was
only a bad dream. Very carefully she said, “You're saying that you don't want to marry me?”

“Of course I do, but clearly that is impossible. If you marry me, you will become estranged from your family. I don't want to be the cause of that.” He gazed lovingly into her eyes. “This won't be so bad, darling. In fact, one could see it as a piece of good fortune. With your influence to further my career, I'll be in the Cabinet in no time.”

“Is that what matters most—your career?” she said brittlely.

“Of course not!” He pulled her close again. “The most important thing is our love, and your mother can't take that away from us. After you've given Thornborough an heir and a spare, we'll be free to love each other as we were meant to.”

She went rigid, unable to believe what he was saying.

Feeling her withdrawal, he said tenderly, “I don't want to wait, either. If we're discreet, we can be together as soon as you're back from your honeymoon. Believe me, I would like nothing better! We'll have to be careful, of course—it wouldn't do to foist a bastard on Thornborough.” He gave a wicked chuckle. “Though if the Gargoyle is unable to perform his duty, I'll be happy to help him. I look more like an Aubrey than he does.”

“In other words, I make you a Cabinet minister, and my reward is adultery in the afternoon,” she said numbly. “No, thank you, Mr. Curzon.” Knowing that she would break down in tears if she stayed any longer, she headed for the door.

He followed her and caught her shoulders. “Don't look at it that way, darling. I promise you that this will turn out all right. We'll be able to enjoy the very cream of love, with none of the dreariness of daily living that kills romance.”

He turned her around so that she was facing him. He was as heart-stoppingly handsome as ever, his golden hair glowing in the gaslight, his blue eyes limpid with sincerity.

She drew a shuddering breath. How could she have been such a fool?

His voice richly confident, he said, “Trust me, darling.” Then he started to pull her toward him for another kiss.

She slapped him with all her strength. “You're right that this is a fortunate turn of events, because it's given me a chance to see what a swine you are,” she said, her voice trembling. “I hope I never see you again, though I don't suppose I'll be so lucky. Goodbye, Mr. Curzon, and good riddance.”

As he gaped with shock, the imprint of her hand reddening on his face, she spun on her heel and raced from the room. When she was outside the cottage, she took refuge in the shadowy lee of a huge hedge. There she fell to her knees, heart hammering and tears pouring down her face.

Ever since her childhood, she had dreamed of finding a man who would love her forever. She had wanted a marriage different from the carefully concealed hostility between her parents, or the bored civility common between many other fashionable couples. In Paul, she thought she had found the man she was seeking.

But she had been wrong, so wrong. Oh, he desired her body, and he lusted after her family's money and influence, but that wasn't love—she doubted that he knew what love was. Obviously she didn't know much about it, either. Perhaps the love she craved had never been more than a romantic girl's futile fantasy.

Blindly she stumbled to her feet and began the slow walk to The Tides. After Paul's betrayal, there was no reason to go anywhere else.

 

T
HE NEXT MORNING, WHEN
a maid delivered a half loaf of freshly baked bread and a crystal pitcher of water on a tray decorated with a fresh rosebud, Sunny summoned her mother and said that she would accept the Duke of Thornborough's offer.

J
USTIN FOUND
A
MERICA
a mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous. He liked the bustling energy of New York City and the cheerful directness of the average citizen. Yet in what was supposedly a nation of equals, he found people whose craven fawning over his title would have shamed a spaniel.

Newport society, which considered itself the
crème de la crème
of America, apparently wanted to out-Anglo the English when it came to formality and elaborate rules. Augusta Vangelder was in her element as she escorted him to an endless series of social events. She invariably referred to him as her “dear duke.” He bore that stoically, along with all the other absurdities of the situation.

But the habits of the natives were of only minor interest; what mattered was Sunny Vangelder. He had hoped that she would greet him with the same sweet, unaffected good nature that she had shown at Swindon, perhaps even with eagerness.

Instead, she might have been a different person. The laughing girl had been replaced by a polished, brittle young woman who avoided speaking with him and never once met his gaze. Though he tried to revive the easy companionship they had so briefly shared, he had no success. Perhaps her stiffness was caused by her mother's rather repressive presence, but he had the uneasy feeling that there was a deeper cause.

His fifth morning in Newport, he happened to find
Sunny reading in the library during a rare hour when they were at home. She didn't hear him enter, and her head remained bent over her book. The morning light made her hair glow like sun-struck honey, and the elegant purity of her profile caught at his heart.

It was time to make his formal offer of marriage. A flurry of images danced through his mind: him kneeling at her feet and eloquently swearing eternal devotion; Sunny opening her arms and giving him that wonderful smile that had made him feel as if he were the only man in the world; a kiss that would bring them together forever.

Instead, he cleared his throat to get her attention, then said, “Miss Vangelder—Sunny—there is something I would like to ask you. I'm sure you know what it is.”

Perhaps she had known that he was there, for there was no surprise on her face when she lowered her book and looked up.

“All of Newport knows,” she said without inflection.

She wasn't going to make this easy for him. Wishing that he was skilled at spinning romantic words, he said haltingly, “Sunny, you have had my heart from the first moment I saw you at Swindon. There is no one else…”

She cut him off with an abrupt motion of her hand. “You needn't waste our time with pretty lies, Duke. We are here to strike a bargain. You need a fortune and a wife who knows what to do with a dinner setting that includes six forks. I need a husband who will lend luster to my mother's position in society, and who will confirm our fine American adage that anything can be bought. Please get on with the offer so I can accept and return to my book.”

He rocked back on his heels, feeling as if he had been punched in the stomach. Wanting to pierce her contemptuous calm, he said with uncharacteristic bluntness, “We're
talking about a marriage, not a business. The first duty of a nobleman's wife is to produce an heir, and knowledge of which fork to use will not help you there.”

“I've heard that begetting children is a monstrously undignified business, but didn't the Queen tell her oldest daughter that a female needs only to lie there and think of England?” Sunny's lips twisted. “I should be able to manage that. Most women do.”

Damning the consequences to Swindon, he said tightly, “There will be no offer, Miss Vangelder, for I will do neither of us a favor by marrying a woman who despises me.”

Sunny caught her breath, and for the first time since he had arrived in Newport looked directly at him. He was shocked by the haunted misery in her aqua eyes.

After a moment she bent her neck and pressed her slim fingers to the center of her forehead. “I'm sorry, your grace. I didn't mean to imply that I despise you,” she said quietly. “I recently…suffered a disappointment, and I'm afraid that my temper is badly out of sorts. Still, that does not excuse my insufferable rudeness. Please forgive me.”

He guessed that only a broken heart would cause a well-mannered young lady to behave so brusquely. He had heard that Paul Curzon had been in Newport until the week before. Could Sunny have fallen in love with Curzon, who had as many mistresses as the Prince of Wales? Recalling how she had looked at the man when she was at Swindon, Justin knew it was all too likely.

The disappointment was crushing. When he had received Augusta Vangelder's invitation, he had assumed that she had obtained her daughter's agreement to the marriage. He should have known that he would never have been Sunny's choice. It was Augusta, after all, who
was enthralled by the idea of a dukedom; Sunny was obviously unimpressed by the prospect.

In a voice of careful neutrality, he said, “You're forgiven, but even if you don't despise me, it's clear that this is not a match that you want.” His throat closed, and it took an immense effort to add, “I don't want an unwilling bride, so if there is someone else whom you wish to marry, I shall withdraw.”

She stared at her hands, which were locked tightly on her book. “There is no one I would prefer. I suppose that I must marry someone, and you'll make as good a husband as any.”

He studied the delicate line of her profile, his resolve to do the right thing undermined by his yearning. Then she raised her head, her gaze searching. He had the feeling that it was the first time she had truly looked at him as an individual.

“Perhaps you would be better than most,” she said after a charged silence. “At least you are honest about what you want.”

It was a frail foundation for a lifetime commitment, but he could not bear to throw away this chance. “Very well,” he said formally. “I would be very honored, and very pleased, if you would consent to become my wife.”

“The honor is mine, your grace,” she said with equal formality.

If this was a normal engagement, he would kiss his intended bride now, but Sunny's expression was unwelcoming, so he said only, “My name is Justin. It would please me if you used it.”

She nodded. “Very well, Justin.”

An awkward silence fell. Unhappily he wondered how achieving the fondest hope of his heart could feel so much like ashes. “Shall we go and inform your mother of our news?”

“You don't need me for that. I know that she is interested in an early wedding, perhaps October. You need only tell her what is convenient for you.” Rubbing her temples, she set aside her book and got to her feet. “If you'll excuse me, I have a bit of a headache.”

“I hope that you feel better soon.”

“I'm sure I shall.” Remembering that she had just agreed to give her life, her person and her fortune into this stranger's keeping, she attempted a smile.

It must not have been a very good attempt, because the duke's face remained grave. His thoughtful eyes were a clear, light gray, and were perhaps his best feature.

“I don't wish to seem inattentive,” he said, “but my brother left his affairs in some disarray, and I must return to London the day after your mother's ball. I probably won't be able to return until a few days before the wedding.”

“There is no need for romantic pretenses between us.” She smiled, a little wryly, but with the first amusement she had felt since discovering Paul's true character. “It will be best if you aren't here, because there will be a truly vulgar amount of publicity. Our marriage will inevitably be deemed the Wedding of the Century, and there will be endless stories about you and me, your noble ancestors and my undistinguished ones, my trousseau, my flowers, my attendants and every other conceivable detail. And what the reporters can't find out, they will invent.”

His dark brows arched. “You're right. It will be better if I am on the other side of the Atlantic.”

He opened the door for her. When she walked in front of him, on impulse she laid her hand on his arm for a moment. “I shall do my best to be a duchess you will be proud of.”

He inclined his head. “I'm sure you will succeed.”

As she went upstairs to her room, she decided that he
was rather attractive, in a subdued way. Granted, he wasn't much taller than she, but she was a tall woman. The quiet excellence of British tailoring showed his trim, muscular figure to advantage, and his craggy features had a certain distinction.

The words echoed in her mind, and as she entered her room and wearily lay on the bed, she realized that she had had similar thoughts when she first saw him at Swindon Palace.

That memory triggered others, and gradually fragments of that day came back to her. Lord Justin had been quiet but very gentlemanly, and knowledgeable about the gardens and estate. He had even showed signs of humor, of a very dry kind. It had been a pleasant interlude.

Yet he was still almost entirely a stranger, for she knew nothing of his mind or emotions. He didn't seem to be a man of deep feelings; it was his duty to marry well, so he was doing so, choosing a wife with his head rather than his heart.

Her eyes drifted shut. Perhaps this marriage would not be such a bad thing; she had heard that arranged marriages were happy about as often as love matches. She and the duke would treat each other with polite respect and not expect romance or deep passion. God willing, they would have children, and in them she might find the love she craved.

Certainly the duke had one great advantage: he could hardly have been more different from charming, articulate, false-hearted Paul Curzon.

 

T
HE MAID
A
NTOINETTE MADE
a last adjustment to the train of Sunny's ball gown. “You look exquisite, mademoiselle.
Monsieur le Duc
will be most pleased.”

Sunny turned and regarded herself in the mirror. Her cream-colored gown was spectacular, with sumptuous
embroidery and a décolletage that set off her bare shoulders and arms perfectly. After her hair had been pinned up to expose the graceful length of her neck, fragile rosebuds had been woven into the soft curls. The only thing her appearance lacked was animation. “Thank you, Antoinette. You have surpassed yourself.”

The maid permitted herself a smile of satisfaction before she withdrew. Sunny glanced at the clock and saw that she had a quarter of an hour to wait before making her grand entrance at the ball. The house hummed with excitement, for tonight Augusta's triumph would be announced. All of Newport society was here to fawn over Thornborough and cast envious glances at Sunny. There would also be sharp eyes watching to see how she and the duke—Justin—behaved with each other. Antoinette, who was always well-informed, had passed on several disturbing rumors. It was said that Sunny had at first refused to marry the duke because of his licentious habits, and that Augusta had beaten and starved her daughter into accepting him.

Even though there was a grain of truth in the story about her mother, Sunny found the gossip deeply distasteful. She must make a special effort to appear at ease with her mother and her fiancé. She looked in the mirror again and practiced her smile.

The door opened and a crisp English voice said, “How is my favorite goddaughter?”

“Aunt Katie!” Sunny spun around with genuine pleasure. “I had no idea that you were coming for the ball.”

“I told Augusta not to mention the possibility since I wasn't sure I would arrive in time.” Laughing, Lady Westron held Sunny at arm's length when her goddaughter came to give her a hug. “Never crush a Worth evening gown, my dear! At least, not until the ball is over.”

After a careful survey, she gave a nod of approval. “I'm
madly envious. Even Worth can't make a short woman like me look as magnificent as you do tonight. The Newport cats will gnash their teeth with jealousy, and Thornborough will thank his stars for his good fortune.”

Sunny's high spirits faded. “I believe he feels that we have made a fair bargain.”

Katie cocked her head. “Are you unhappy about the match?”

Sunny shrugged and began carefully drawing an elbow-length kid glove onto her right hand. “I'm sure that we'll rub along tolerably well.”

Ignoring her own advice about crushing a Worth evening gown, Katie dropped into a chair with a flurry of satin petticoats. “I made inquiries about Thornborough when his solicitor first approached me about a possible match. He'll make you a better husband than most, Sunny. He's respected by those who know him, and while he isn't a wit like his brother was, and he's certainly not fashionable, he's no fool, nor is he the sort to humiliate you by flaunting his mistress.”

Sunny stiffened. “Thornborough has a mistress?”

“Very likely—most men do.” Katie's lips curved ruefully. “There's much you need to learn about English husbands and English houses. Living in Britain is quite unlike being a visitor, you know.”

Sunny relaxed when she found that her godmother had been talking in general rather than from particular knowledge. Though she knew that fashionable English society was very different from what she was used to, she disliked the idea of Thornborough with a mistress. Acutely.

She began the slow process of putting on her left glove. “Perhaps you had better educate me about what to expect.”

“Be prepared for the fact that English great houses
are
cold.
” Katie shuddered. “Forget your delicate lace shawls—to survive winter in an English country house, your trousseau should include several wraps the size and weight of a horse blanket. You must have at least one decent set of furs, as well. The houses may be grand, but they're amazingly primitive—no central heating or gaslights, and no hot running water. And the bathrooms! A tin tub in front of the fire is the best you'll do in most houses.”