The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  He gestured in a magnanimous manner. “Please do. I can hardly wait.”

  “I have given serious consideration to the installation in my house in London of . . .” She cast him a smug smile. “Electricity.”

  He gasped and clapped his hand over his heart. “Oh no, not that! What will the neighbors say?”

  “The neighbors are interested in it as well. It’s not necessary to completely abandon tradition and all that one holds dear in order to embrace the conveniences offered by modern life. We are nearing the twentieth century after all.”

  “My, my, how very forward thinking of them.”

  “You needn’t be sarcastic,” she said coolly. “It’s most unbecoming.”

  “You like my sarcasm.”

  “Not always.”

  “But that wasn’t sarcasm.” He grinned. “That was nothing less than smug superiority.”

  “Enjoy it while you can.” She pushed her plate aside—she couldn’t eat another bite—folded her hands on the table, and smiled in as pleasant a manner as she could muster. “And how is your motorwagon?”

  His expression fell. The tiniest twinge of guilt stabbed her. She tried to ignore it; after all the man had deserved what he had gotten. Still, this was important to him and she suspected the motorwagon’s failure to run weighed on his mind. It wasn’t at all nice and really beneath her to use his vehicle’s problems as a weapon against him.

  Sam shook his head, his manner abruptly serious. “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Jim yet.”

  “Why don’t you find Mr. Moore and see if the problem has been resolved.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” She nodded. “Everything seems to be well in hand for the moment, although I daresay that will change when everyone starts feeling better. Hopefully we’ll have more help by then. So you should take this opportunity to check on your motorwagon.” She cast him an encouraging smile. “I shall write a note to Lady Fairborough and begin the notes cancelling the party. I’ll add the names later.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  “It is,” she said smugly. “There is nothing like a plan to make one feel life is once again under control.”

  He chuckled and got to his feet. “I won’t be long.” He started to leave then stopped and studied her. “You are the most confusing woman I have ever known.”

  “Why thank you, Sam. How very kind of you to say so.”

  “It’s not really a compliment.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t think it was.”

  “But it’s not a criticism either.”

  “Simply an observation?”

  He nodded. “One minute you’re completely helpless and the next you have the entire world under control.”

  She sipped her coffee and smiled. “Again, thank you.”

  “What I don’t understand, well, one of the many things I don’t understand about you is why someone as intelligent as you are and as willing to accept progress—”

  “In certain areas,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, when it might make your life easier.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And yet you are unrelenting on the subject of my motorwagon.”

  “I can see why you’re confused.” The man was right, her attitude might well be construed as confusing. “I simply think some things are beneficial and others absurd.”

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s pointless to argue with you on this, isn’t it?”

  “My goodness, Sam, you do know me after all.” She grinned.

  “I said I did.”

  “Still . . .” She considered him thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I don’t prefer you confused.”

  “Imagine my surprise,” he said dryly.

  She studied him for a long moment then nodded. “Very well then.”

  “Congratulations, Dee, once again you have me confused.” His brows drew together. “Very well then what?”

  “Very well then.” She shrugged. “I shall ride in your motorwagon. But only once,” she added quickly.

  He stared for a moment then grinned. “I knew you were weakening.”

  “Not at all,” she said in a lofty manner. “You have simply shown me that my tendency to pick and choose only those advancements of this modern age we live in that appeal to me might be a bit shortsighted.” She shrugged. “There’s nothing more to it than that. You needn’t think of this as some sort of victory.”

  He grinned. “Oh, but it is.”

  “Enjoy it for the moment.” She smiled pleasantly. “It won’t be quite so enjoyable if your infernal machine doesn’t work.”

  He chuckled. “You have me there.”

  She raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Yes, I know.”

  “If we’re lucky, you can have your ride today.”

  “Oh that would be lucky,” she murmured.

  He laughed. “And then tonight . . .” He smiled in an altogether too wicked manner and she held her breath.

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight, for dinner, I’ll show you how to make a sandwich.”

  Relief and the oddest sense of disappointment washed through her. She suspected even she could slap some meat between two slices of bread. “I’ll count the hours until then.”

  “If you like that, next . . .” He met her gaze and lowered his voice. Excitement shivered up her spine. Good Lord, the bloody man was addictive.

  Without thinking, she leaned forward. “Yes? Next?”

  “I’ll teach you to make coffee.”

  “My heart is positively fluttering at the thought.”

  He laughed and she joined him. A moment later he had taken his leave. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. He made her laugh and she did like that. The funny thing about their exchange though wasn’t so much in their laughter or their witty banter.

  But when she’d said her heart was fluttering, it was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thirteen days before the wedding . . .

  “How on earth have you been managing?�� Camille studied her sister with a fair amount of concern and more than a little doubt.

  “I’m not entirely sure really.” Delilah sat by her sister’s bedside and debated the merits of complete honesty versus something a bit more fictional.

  Her initial impulse had been to tell Camille everything was perfectly fine, that she and Sam had been more than up for the challenge of dealing with a house full of the indisposed. And indeed they had been, thanks to the very gracious Lady Fairborough who had sent over a small army of her own servants as soon as she’d received Delilah’s note yesterday and this morning had sent someone to cook as well. Still, Delilah didn’t want it to sound as if she and Sam had had it too easy. They had been willing to do much more after all.

  “But we have managed to muddle through somehow.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  “I daresay it was fortunate that you and Sam were delayed in London and missed dinner.” Camille sighed. “Otherwise you would probably be in the same state as the rest of us.”

  “That was lucky.”

  “You haven’t, well . . .” Camille winced. “Killed him or anything, have you?”

  “No.” Delilah bit back a smile. “He is quite well.”

  “And you haven’t been rude to him?”

  “I’ve been most pleasant.” She ignored a twinge of annoyance at her sister’s comment. Although one could scarcely blame Camille for her concern given Delilah’s behavior when Sam had first arrived. “In fact, we’ve been getting along quite nicely.”

  They’d had sandwiches again last night for dinner and afterward had played chess together, although she had forgone any whisky with their game. It did seem wise given how she had thrown herself at him the night before. Besides there was that pesky vow of hers that she would not share his bed again.

  He was a better than average player and as competitive at chess as he had been at tennis. But then, so was she. It had
been an easy and delightful evening. She wasn’t sure when she had laughed quite so much. Sam was amusing and intelligent and well read. Their conversation had ranged from music and art and history to more personal matters. He’d confided that his mother wasn’t at all pleased by his broken engagement, which he found most disloyal. She’d confessed that while forging a new relationship with her sisters wasn’t especially easy she was rather pleased with their progress thus far. Even when it came to Beryl. They prudently stayed away from the topics of her plans for marriage and his horseless carriage. By the time they retired, they were both weary from the long day. Even so, she had wondered what she would do if he were to take her in his arms again. And was a bit disappointed when he had made no effort to do so but had instead warmly bid her a good evening. Exactly as she had said she wanted.

  She was asleep very nearly the moment she laid her head on her pillow and had slept quite soundly. Her slumber marred only by a strange yet lovely dream of flying along in a carriage pulled by a mechanical horse with a laughing American by her side.

  “Delilah?” Camille frowned. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Of course.” She paused. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m glad that you and Sam have put aside your differences.” Camille’s brow furrowed. “Not that I knew what those differences were other than the fact that you think his motorwagon is absurd.”

  “To be perfectly honest, neither did I. He simply struck me the wrong way upon our initial meeting, I suppose. Probably because my mind was occupied with my financial difficulties. It was foolish of me, of course, but there you have it.” Interesting how very easy it was to embellish a mistruth although, if one thought about it correctly, he had indeed struck her the wrong way as she had planned never to see him again. “But that’s all behind us now. Indeed, Sam and I have become friends.”

  “Have you now?” Camille’s brow rose. “Who would have imagined?”

  “Not me.” Delilah grinned. “But, as it turns out, he’s very nice. And intelligent. He’s quite good at chess. He very nearly beat me last night. Only the fact that we ended the game when we were both too tired to continue saved me from defeat.”

  “Did it?”

  “Yes, but don’t tell him that. He thinks he was about to lose.” She grinned. “He can be most amusing as well and has a sort of wry sense of humor. And he’s quite dedicated to his family, which I find most admirable. Did you know he has five sisters?”

  Camille stared. “I had no idea.”

  “The oldest is closest to him in age. She’s married and has children. Boys, I think. He’s very fond of them.” She thought for a moment. “He does seem to like children.”

  “Always good to know,” Camille murmured.

  “The rest of his sisters range in age from sixteen to twelve,” Delilah continued. “The two youngest are twins. But they have each other so I daresay they’ll always have someone to confide in.”

  Camille winced.

  “Apparently, it’s not easy being a practical sort of man in a house full of women. He’s worried about their futures and whether he’s capable of providing them with the steady hand he’s certain they’ll need.” She leaned forward confidentially. “He’s not sure his mother is up to the task. She sounds a bit flighty.”

  “Not unlike our mother.”

  Delilah nodded. “That’s what I told him. Did I mention that he’s intelligent?”

  “I believe so.”

  “It bears repeating.” She nodded. “You should hear him talk about his ideas for promoting his vehicle. I suspect if anyone can make this motorwagon nonsense successful it will be Sam. With Grayson’s help of course.”

  “I don’t think it’s help so much as a partnership,” Camille said with a frown.

  “Yes, well, whatever.” She waved off her sister’s comment. “The man is really quite brilliant and terribly successful. Why, he built a business started by his grandfather into something of an empire.”

  “Did he?”

  “He didn’t use those exact words but it was evident. He’s entirely too modest to proclaim his own accomplishments and yet he is extremely arrogant as well.” She shook her head. “One of those men who thinks he knows what’s best for everyone. I feel rather sorry for his sisters.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do indeed. I can’t begin to imagine the battles they’ll have with him when they attempt to make their own choices in life.” She bit back a laugh. “He is certainly in for a time of it.”

  “No doubt.”

  “He wants only the best for them and as his father is dead, he takes that responsibility very seriously. He has a great sense of responsibility. He is, well, a good man.”

  “How very interesting.” Camille studied her curiously. “Why the man sounds practically perfect.”

  “Oh no, not at all. He’s not the least bit perfect.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Well . . .” Delilah thought for a moment. “He’s quite arrogant.”

  “You mentioned that.”

  “He thinks his way is right and everyone else’s way is wrong.”

  “That is the very definition of arrogant,” Camille said slowly.

  “Beyond that . . .” What was wrong with him? Certainly there were basic and insurmountable differences between them but other than those questions of background and heritage and their opposing views on progress, she couldn’t really put her finger on anything specific. Aside from his arrogance of course. Still, what man didn’t think he was always right? And what woman didn’t know he was wrong? “Admittedly, I can’t think of anything at the moment but I can assure you, he is not perfect.”

  “Few men are.” Camille chose her words with care. “And you like him.”

  “He is a most likable sort.” She shrugged. “It’s very hard not to like him.”

  “As a . . . friend?”

  “He is an excellent friend. And he knows how to make coffee.”

  “That is good to know.” Camille studied her sister for a long moment.

  “You’re staring at me.” Delilah narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  “No reason really.” Camille shrugged. “I just find it interesting that you and Sam have become civil, let alone friends. I would not have wagered on that.”

  “Life is full of surprises. This is neither the first I’ve experienced in recent months nor do I think it shall be the last.” Her tone hardened. “One can either let the unexpected twists of life devastate you or one can carry on. I have chosen to carry on.”

  Camille’s brows drew together. “Are we still talking about Sam?”

  “We’re talking about everything,” Delilah said. “And as we are, we should probably discuss the wedding.” She picked up Teddy’s notebook from the bedside table where she had placed it earlier.

  Camille’s eyes widened. “Teddy relinquished her notebook to you? She must be feeling horrid for her to do that.”

  “Even so, it wasn’t easy to pry it from her hands. But I managed.” She cast her sister a smug smile. “She is feeling better though—”

  “As am I.”

  “Regardless, you are both to remain in bed today.” She adopted a no-nonsense manner. “The wedding is less than two weeks away and you do need to recover your strength. Especially since Beryl and Mother and Father and who knows who else will be arriving any day and then there will be no chance to rest at all.”

  “Very well then. I shall refrain from futile protesting and enjoy being taken care of.” Camille leaned toward her sister and lowered her voice. “Was I dreaming or was there a new maid here this morning?”

  “Lady Fairborough sent some of her staff to assist us.”

  “Including a cook?”

  Delilah nodded.

  “I see.” Camille nodded in a knowing manner. “Well, that explains why you have managed so well. The broth, by the way, was excellent.”

  “Then you should have realized I didn’t make it.” Delilah flip
ped open the notebook. “Now then, we have cancelled the dinner scheduled for tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, but by tomorrow—”

  Delilah leveled her the same look a long-ago governess had perfected.

  Camille paused then nodded. “Very wise.”

  “I thought so.” Delilah glanced at the notebook. “You should be aware that Mrs. Gilbert, the seamstress, is expected for your final dress fitting tomorrow. And . . .” She flipped through a few pages although the moment she had wrestled the book from Teddy she had thoroughly gone through it. Partially out of curiosity as to just how efficient her friend really was. The answer was very. But then Teddy had always been resourceful and well organized. “Aside from that, there really isn’t anything that can’t wait until Teddy can give it her full attention.” She snapped the notebook closed. “And that is that for the moment.”

  “Can you believe in less than two weeks I will finally marry Grayson?”

  “Well, less than two weeks plus the nearly twelve years it took the two of you to get to this point.”

  “All in the past now, my dear sister.” Camille breathed a sigh of pure happiness. “I shall soon be Mrs. Grayson Elliott and nothing else really matters.”

  “You won’t mind being Mrs. Elliott rather than Lady Lydingham?”

  “Not in the least,” she said in a lofty manner. “Indeed I think being Mrs. Elliott is far superior to any title I can imagine.”

  “Do you?” Delilah bit back a grin. “And yet just this past Christmas your goal was to win the hand of a prince and thereby become Princess Camille.”

  “Oh, I was much younger then.” Camille grinned. “And quite, quite foolish. And I had no idea Grayson would come back into my life. I am eternally grateful I came to my senses before it was too late.”

  “As are we all.”

  “I will admit that I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss being Lady Lydingham at all. But it seems a minor trade.”

  Delilah tossed the notebook onto the bed, then stood and picked up Camille’s tray, setting it on a table by the door. She’d have one of the maids bring it down to the kitchen. It was a huge relief to have enough servants to see to everyone’s needs. Delilah was under no illusion as to her own abilities in that regard and was grateful she wasn’t put to the test. “I still have things I need to accomplish today so I should be off. I must say I am most grateful everyone invited for your next party lives fairly close. Otherwise, I would have had to send Sam back into London.”