Wedding of the Year

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  “Very well, then, my lord,” she murmured. Hearing the challenge in her voice, he braced himself for what she'd say next. Even in the dark, he could see the glint in her eyes. “Then perhaps you would like to dance with me.”

  “Here?”

  “Of course.” Holding out her arm, she began to dance with an invisible partner. “You should learn to enjoy life, Lord Wykham.”

  It alarmed him to realize just how alluring her offer was, to know that he would like to gather her in his arms, forsaking all sense of propriety and reason for a sweet moment of pleasure. “You're being awfully presumptuous, Lady Catherine. I happen to enjoy my life.”

  She stopped dancing, allowing her arms to fall to her sides. “Do you truly enjoy it? Or do you merely find it comfortable?”

  “What is the difference?” he countered swiftly. “I happen to enjoy being comfortable.”

  Her brilliant laughter teased at his senses. “Quite the clever answer, my lord.”

  John shook his head, completely at a loss as to how to deal with Lady Catherine. “I believe we should return to the ballroom,” he finally said.

  “Before anyone notices we are gone?”

  “Precisely,” he replied, pleasantly surprised at her grasp of the situation.

  Lady Catherine sighed dramatically. “I don't suppose I could get you to take a walk around the garden with me then?”

  “No, I don't suppose.” Obviously her insight into the ramifications was fleeting. John held out his hand. “Please allow me to escort you back into the house.”

  Tilting her head to the side, she studied him for a long, silent moment. “I know you can't possibly enjoy life with such a staid attitude . . . and the fact that you can't even comprehend the difference between a comfortable existence and really living saddens me.” She shook her head. “For how can you ever correct the problem if you can't even understand it.”

  Good Lord! He found transcribing Latin far easier than trying to understand this vexing creature. “Will you please allow me to escort you inside?” he demanded in frustration.

  “What if I said no? What if I preferred to . . .”

  Unable to make her see reason, John ignored her questions and simply reached out, clasped her elbow, and began to guide her toward the glass doors.

  “What on earth do you think you're doing?” she demanded, trying to tug away from his grasp.

  “Escorting you back into the ballroom,” John ground out, not even trying to hide his annoyance. “Since you won't listen to reason, you leave me no choice but to perform my gentlemanly duties without your consent.”

  “Dragging me into the Anderson's townhouse is hardly the action of a gentleman.”

  “On the contrary, Lady Catherine, it is precisely how a gentleman should proceed when a lady is in danger of destroying her precious reputation.” He glanced down at her. “It amazes me that you're related to Lady Elizabeth. Did she get all the sense in your family?”

  “I've had all I can take of your irksome person,” she muttered softly.

  As he opened the door, John allowed Lady Catherine to sweep in before him. “I can assure you, my lady, I share your sentiment.”

  Lifting her chin, she marched away without bidding him farewell. Just as well, John thought, watching the brunette beauty weave her way through the crowd, for she tested the limits of his restraint.

  Lord, she'd test the restraint of Saint Peter himself.

  Comforting himself with that fact, John forgave himself his boldness in escorting her inside without her permission. After all, it was obvious that the chit had no concept of what was best for her reputation. Indeed, he'd helped guide her into the proper actions. He'd behaved like the perfect gentleman.

  Then why did he feel this odd sensation inside him, as if he'd just lost something? Pushing aside the bothersome thought, John headed toward the study to enjoy a brandy and cigar. Hopefully, he'd given Richard enough time alone with Lady Elizabeth to aid their romance.

  If not, that was Richard's problem.

  “How was your evening?” Catherine asked as she sat down on Elizabeth's bed. “Lady Andersen mentioned that you danced with Lord Vernon twice . . . and in a row, no less.”

  Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees. “The reason I danced with him in the first place was to escape the presence of a most horrid gentleman.”

  “Horrid?” Catherine lifted her eyebrows. “But I thought Lord Wykham was with me.”

  Laughing, Elizabeth shook her head. “I thought you agreed that you'd judged Lord Wykham too hastily.”

  “Indeed I had,” Catherine conceded as she smoothed her nightgown over her curled legs. “But now that I have spent more time with him, I'll stick with my original opinion of him. Come now, Elizabeth, even you must admit that Lord Wykham would tempt anyone to see if they could get him to unbend.”

  “Why would you wish to provoke him?”

  Catherine shrugged lightly. “I don't know. It's just that, tonight, I wanted to see if he'd act less staid and dull.”

  “Less like a gentleman?”

  “No . . . more like a person.” Catherine waved her hands. “Enough about him. You've yet to tell me why you danced twice with Lord Vernon.”

  “As I said, I accepted his invitation to dance simply to escape that horrid Lord Morrow,” Elizabeth explained. “Then Lord Vernon and I got into a . . . discussion, so I wasn't even aware of beginning a second dance.”

  Catherine clasped her hands against her chest. “How lovely that you were swept away by Lord Vernon.”

  “ ‘Swept away’ is hardly the phrase I'd use,” Elizabeth corrected. “Though I must admit that I enjoyed Richard's company far more than I'd ever expected possible.” She hugged her knees closer. “It's odd that I didn't particularly like the man, yet tonight he made me want to trust him.” Elizabeth thought of how he'd overcome her determination to avoid him. “It's also amazing how easy it is for me to converse with him. I'm so often at a loss for words, but with Richard, I always know what to say.”

  “Richard, is it?”

  Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm.

  Catherine sighed softly. “That's wonderful.”

  The scariest part for Elizabeth was that she'd indeed felt wonderful this evening. “I hope I'm not making a terrible mistake,” she admitted to her sister.

  “I doubt you are,” Catherine assured her. “In fact, the more I think of the two of you together, the more convinced I become that it's a perfect match.”

  Elizabeth gave her sister a weak smile. “Then why am I so scared?”

  “Because I imagine falling in love can be frightening.” Catherine tipped her head to the side. “Why else would they refer to it as falling? Somewhere along the line, someone must have figured out that it can hurt.”

  Elizabeth had to laugh at her sister's observation. “All I pray is that if I do indeed fall, I don't fall too far.”

  “Good evening, Margaret,” Douglas said cheerfully as he pulled off his cravat. “I'm glad you're here.”

  “I come every evening, Douglas,” she pointed out.

  “That you do, my love.” Unbuttoning his vest, he tossed it over the back of his changing screen. “And I look forward to seeing you every night.” He paused in removing his shirt as he looked fully at his wife's ghostly form for the first time since entering the room. “Why do you seem so pale this evening? Indeed, you actually look like a ghost.”

  “That's because I am one.”

  His wife's beautiful smile tugged at his heart, making him think of all he'd lost. “I know, my darling, but usually you appear before me looking quite . . . solid.”

  Margaret lifted her eyebrows. “Solid? I assure you, Douglas, I am lighter than ever.”

  He laughed at her quip. “True enough, love, but that's not what I meant. You usually look as if you were alive and with me once more, as if I could walk up to you and hold you in my arms.” He shook his head. “But this evening, I can almost see through you. You actuall
y look like a ghost for the first time.”

  She gave him a knowing smile. “How lovely,” she said softly, offering no further explanation. However, before he could question her, Margaret asked, “How did our plan work with the girls?”

  “Splendidly,” replied Douglas, his jovial mood brightening again. “Have you ever met the Marquess of Wykham and his brother, Lord Vernon?”

  Margaret's brow drew together. “I believe so. Wasn't the marquess that spendthrift who used to make the silliest wagers over foolishness like who could toss a rock the furthest?”

  “That was the current marquess’ father,” Douglas corrected. “If you recall, the old boy passed away when his eldest son, John, was only a lad, but that didn't stop John from taking over the family fortunes and refilling the coffers despite his tender age.” Douglas sat down to remove his boots. “Quite an admirable fellow.”

  “And which one of our girls has caught his eye?”

  “That's just the thing, Margaret,” Douglas said as he set his second boot down by the bed. “I'm not sure.”

  Margaret frowned slightly. “How can you not be sure? To which girl does he pay attention? Elizabeth or Catherine?”

  “Both,” Douglas admitted with a laugh. “Last night, he spent time with Elizabeth, but tonight he spent quite a bit of time with Catherine.”

  “He sounds like a philanderer of the worst sort!” exclaimed Margaret.

  Douglas shook his head. “He's quite the steadfast fellow.”

  “A steadfast person doesn't play with two girls’ hearts at once.”

  “Who said he was playing with their hearts?” Douglas-asked incredulously. “I merely said he seemed interested in our daughters. After one meeting, it is highly unlikely that the hearts of our daughters are in peril.”

  Margaret appeared somewhat mollified by his reply. “I suppose that's true enough, but I still don't like the thought of him leading our daughters into believing he might be interested in them.”

  “Well, then, you won't like it any better when I tell you his brother, Richard, is doing the same thing.”

  “What?”

  Douglas grinned at his wife. “Indeed, last night he spent time with Catherine and this evening with Elizabeth.”

  “Are you telling me that those two brothers switched our daughters between them?”

  “Yes,” he replied simply, settling back to await his wife's explosion.

  It wasn't long in coming.

  Thrusting to her feet, Margaret glared down at him. “And you merely stood by and watched them trade our daughters as if they were common trollops?”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” he assured her. “You are making far too much of this, Margaret. Now, please take a seat, as looking up at you is causing a crick in my neck.”

  With a disgruntled huff, Margaret settled back into her chair. “I don't like thinking that these two gentleman are toying with our daughters . . . and I'm not around to do anything about it.”

  Understanding softened Douglas. “I know you regret not being able to guide our daughters through this, but I assure you, they seem to be doing fine these past few days. Elizabeth is more animated that I've seen her in years, while Catherine seems more contemplative that ever before. Whatever these brothers are doing, it is a good thing for our girls.”

  “But which daughter will end up with which brother?”

  “Who cares?” Douglas retorted with a laugh. “As far as I'm concerned, there are two girls and two gentlemen, both respectable and upstanding, so it really doesn't matter who winds up with whom.” He lifted a shoulder. “The way I see it, what we have here is a nolose situation.”

  Smiling softly, Margaret shook her head. “In matters of love, Douglas, things are never that easy.”

  * * *

  The next morning, with her maid in tow, Elizabeth entered a crammed, dark shop filled with broken parts and pieces from various machines and other sorts of devices. The tiny room smelled of oil, dirt, and mildew.

  She was in Heaven.

  “Good day, Lady Elizabeth,” greeted the proprietor as he came bustling out from the back room. “It's always a treat when you honor my shop with a visit.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dunfee,” she said, smiling at the old man. With a scraggly beard, flyaway gray hair, and his bent, thin body, he looked more like a gnome than a man, but his warmth, charm, and generosity made up for his lack of stature. “Though I know I was just here a few days ago, I'm in the midst of a project and needed a specific piece to make my experiment work.”

  He nodded sagely. “I know just what you're saying, my lady. You get set on finishing something and there's no stopping you until you do.”

  “Precisely,” she replied warmly, feeling more comfortable in the dark confines of the shop than in the spacious glory of a ballroom.

  “Then you just enjoy yourself and poke around to your heart's content, Lady Elizabeth.” He gestured toward the back room. “I'll be in there, unloading a new shipment if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dunfee.” Giving him a smile in farewell, she turned toward the jumbled parts lying on the table in front of her.

  “Can I be of assistance, my lady?” asked her maid, Alice.

  Glancing toward the young girl, Elizabeth almost laughed out loud at the disgusted, yet determined expression on her face. “No, thank you, Alice. I'm just going to putter around the shop, so if you prefer to wait for me in the carriage, that is fine with me.” She waved toward the open doorway. “Mr. Dunfee is here with me.”

  Elizabeth could tell from Alice's expression that she was torn between staying with her mistress and escaping the odorous, cluttered room. Apparently, Alice's sense of smell won the battle. “Very well, my lady. I shall be right outside with the footman.”

  As soon as Alice scurried out the door, Elizabeth tugged off her gloves, stuffing them haphazardly into her reticule, and began to sift through the treasures. Grease soon stained her fingers and smudged her dress, but Elizabeth felt happier than she had all week.

  Well, she thought, that wasn't entirely true. Last night, matching wits with Lord Vernon had been most enjoyable as well.

  “I'd hoped to find a treasure here today, but not one as delightful as you.”

  At the sound of Richard's voice, Elizabeth spun around, startled to find him standing in the open doorway to the back room.

  “My lord,” she gasped. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  A corner of his mouth quirked upward. “I was just about to ask the same thing of you, Lady Elizabeth.”

  She searched for an answer that would make her presence in this shop acceptable, but she couldn't think of one. “I . . . I was just looking for a piece I need to complete an experiment I'm working on,” she admitted, finally settling upon honesty.

  “Experiment?” Richard lifted his brows. “I thought you told me you didn't know anything about machines, that you were only teasing.”

  Embarrassed at having been caught in a fib, Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat. “I didn't wish to admit my penchant for tinkering with machines.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” he replied amicably. “ Besides, your sister mentioned it for you.”

  “She what?” she exclaimed.

  “Last night she told me all about your hobby; I'm quite certain she didn't mean to, but I'm afraid I flustered her and she let this piece of information slip. I assured her she could trust me not to reveal your hobby to the ton.”

  Elizabeth hoped Cat's trust wasn't misplaced.

  “Now, tell me—what sort of experiment would bring a lady such as yourself to a humble shop like this?”

  “I'm trying to build a catapult,” she replied.

  “A catapult?” he asked, surprise coloring his tone. “Did you design the machine all by yourself?”

  Eagerly, she answered his question. “I took the original-design from Mr. da Vinci's treatise, but I'm in the process of sizing it down.”

  “Really?” Richard's enthusiasm touch
ed a responding chord within her. “Isn't it hard to get the measurements exact?”

  “Yes, but I'm managing,” she agreed, thrilled at having found someone who shared her passion for experiments. “I'm having a problem finding a bolt to secure the arm of the sling.”

  “It's amazing how one small part can make such a huge difference in the outcome of your experiment, isn't it?”

  “Yes, it is.” The freedom of discussing her hobby exhilarated her. “And what of you? Why are you here?”

  Shrugging, Richard retrieved a J-shaped pipe from a nearby table. “Since I enjoy tinkering as much as you, I often tour Mr. Dunfee's shop just to see if he's gotten in any unusual parts.” Seeing her look of confusion, he hastily added, “It's not as if I'm in trade or anything.”

  “Heavens, no!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Even the mere suggestion of going into trade would be enough to get you ostracized forever.”

  Glancing away, Richard set down the pipe. “Indeed, it would,” he agreed finally. “Perhaps it would be best if you kept my interest in machines to yourself.”

  “If you will return the favor,” she replied quickly. “It wouldn't do to have the patronesses of Almack's finding out about my . . . habit. Especially when it took me so long to obtain a voucher in the first place.”

  “I'm glad we could reach this understanding, for it would do my reputation as a rake irreparable harm if anyone were to discover I had other pursuits aside from gaming, drinking, and womanizing.”

  “Heaven forbid,” she responded with a laugh. Brushing back a loose strand of hair, Elizabeth inadvertently touched her cheek with her finger, leaving a blackened streak behind. She glanced down at her oil-stained hands before looking back at Richard. “I've just made a mess, haven't I?”

  “A particularly lovely one at that,” Richard said cheerfully. Stepping forward, he produced a handkerchief from his pocket. “If I may?”

  At her nod, Richard held her chin between his forefinger and thumb and gently wiped her cheek with the cloth. “There you are, Elizabeth, as good as new.”