A girl liking you or not liking you has nothing to do with self-confidence, he amended. You accepted that she didn’t, and you hurt and you moved on.
The way you moved on, Boone? he asked himself. In ten years he hadn’t felt about a woman the way he’d felt about Holly. He’d dated, he’d had lovers, he’d had some short-term relationships. But no one had ever captured his heart the way Holly had.
It was strange that she still had the power to affect him so strongly. This afternoon, in his office, it was all he could do to keep from reaching across his desk to touch her silky hair, to feel her hand in his, to come up with some excuse to hug her just so he could be that close to her.
But there was no excuse to hug her and he was sure there never would be.
He’d dropped by Lizzie’s a couple of hours ago to make sure she was all right and to have a look at the dirt and the note. And to make sure that Holly wasn’t off investigating on her own, not that there was much to go on. Lizzie had assured him that Holly was safe and sound upstairs, taking a nap, and then she’d told him the same thing Holly had about coming home to find the dirt pile.
The note was typed—computer printed like the others. Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that indicated the computer was a special kind or the printer had some quirk that might lead to the culprit. He’d questioned the neighbors, hoping someone had spotted the person going in or out of Lizzie’s house, but no one had.
Dammit, who was it? He’d made a wild list of suspects, anyone who disliked Lizzie Morrow or the idea of the Dunhill-Morrow union. The list was long.
“Someone’s waving at you,” Jimmy said, jerking up his chin toward Dunhill Mansion’s stately porch.
Jake glanced up at the house to find Dylan’s mother, Victoria Dunhill, with gardening shears in one hand and her Boston terrier in the other.
“Is she going to kill the dog with the shears?” Jimmy asked.
Jake swatted the boy’s shoulder with the Troutville Gazette, but couldn’t hide his smile. “My guess is that she’s going to trim the hedges.”
Jimmy was incredulous. “Herself?”
“Yes, herself.”
“But doesn’t she have a gardener?” Jimmy asked. “She could pay someone to do it.”
“She could pay someone to do it, but she enjoys gardening.”
Jimmy glanced around the manicured grounds. “I’d like to be rich enough someday to do things I like even though I could pay someone to do them for me.”
“Like what?” Jake asked.
“Like wash my Harley-Davidson motorcycle,” Jimmy said. “I’m gonna have one someday, and I’m going to take care of it myself.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jake responded, waving at Victoria Dunhill as she started down the walkway, the dog trailing after her. “Hello, Mrs. Dunhill,” he called out. “Have you seen Dylan?”
“No,” she said, her silver bob not moving as she shook her head. “But then again, he’s not exactly pleased with me today, so he might be keeping his distance.”
Jake had learned a long time ago that you never had to pry for more information; if you just listened, people generally told you everything you wanted to know. And, he’d gotten to know Victoria Dunhill pretty well over recent years. She was a talker. It was one of the reasons she was so far down his list of suspects of who was trying to scare Lizzie out of the marriage. If Victoria had paid someone to scare Lizzie’s bridal party or dump a pile of dirt on her bed, the woman would surely discuss it at length to anyone who would listen.
“I made one small comment about Lizbeth,” Victoria went on, as Jake knew she would, “and Dylan got all upset. He’s so touchy these days.”
Victoria refused to refer to Lizzie as Lizzie, which bothered Dylan enough as it was.
Mrs. Dunhill let out a harrumph. “All I said was that I hoped she’d take me up on my offer to treat for a makeover for her wedding and get rid of that garish makeup and big hair. And he insisted he liked Lizzie exactly as she was and huffed and puffed as though I insulted the girl!”
“Well, you did,” Jimmy muttered under his breath.
“Come, Louis,” she cooed to her dog. “Let’s go trim the rosebushes.” She turned to Jake. “Bye, dear. If you do see Dylan, please talk some sense into him about his moodiness lately. It’s really unbecoming. If he acts that way at the engagement party, perhaps he should rethink his choice in his bride. She’s clearly not making him happy. Come, Louis. Stop dawdling!”
As Mrs. Dunhill walked around the lawn to the backyard, Louis scampering after her, Jimmy jumped off the car with a grin. “It’s most unbecoming, Louis!” Jimmy repeated in an upper-crust accent before doubling over with laughter. “Stop dawdling this minute, Louis!”
Jake couldn’t help but laugh, too. “She treats that dog like he’s one of her children.”
Jimmy snorted. “More like she treats her children like they’re dogs instead of people with minds of their own. I would’ve liked to have been a fly on the wall when Dylan told Mother Dearest he was marrying Lizzie.”
Jake glanced at Jimmy; he was often surprised at how perceptive the teenager was, how much he took in, how much he understood about the people around him. “I’m sure she was delighted that her son is in love and found the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with,” Jake said, shooting Jimmy a gently disapproving look.
“Ha. Like Queen Dunhill wants a Down Hill daughter-in-law,” Jimmy said.
Jimmy was right on the mark about that, but Jake wasn’t about to get into the Dunhills’ private affairs with the boy. Jake had been there when Dylan told his mother that he and Lizzie were marrying. Not in the same room, but just outside. The night before Dylan and Lizzie planned to tell Mrs. Dunhill of the engagement, Dylan had asked Jake if he’d mind feigning some reason to meet with his mother around noon. Dylan figured that if his mother flipped out about the engagement, Jake, who Mrs. Dunhill adored and trusted, would be there to calm her down, talk some sense into her.
She had flipped.
While Jake did some paperwork in the library just outside Mrs. Dunhill’s office, Dylan and Lizzie sat across from Mrs. Dunhill and told her the news.
First, though, he’d had to introduce Lizzie. It was the first time the two women had met.
“You’re introducing me to your intended?” Mrs. Dunhill had asked, rising from her imperial desk chair behind her huge mahogany desk. “You are planning to marry a woman in three weeks whom you have never introduced to your own family?”
“I would—” Dylan started to say.
“Dylan,” his mother interrupted, “for a young man with a good head on his shoulders, you clearly haven’t thought this through. If I didn’t even know you were dating this ... young woman, how is it possible you’ve been dating long enough to marry?”
“Mrs. Dunhill,” Lizzie said, her voice warm and strong, “first let me say that it is so nice to meet you. I’ve heard—”
“I’m sure you’re a very nice person, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Dunhill interrupted. “However—”
“Actually, my real name is Lizbeth, not Elizabeth,” Lizzie said cheerfully. “No one’s ever called me Lizbeth, though. I go by Lizzie.”
Mrs. Dunhill eyed Lizzie. “Well, Lizbeth, as I was saying, I’m sure you’re a lovely girl, but what could you possibly have in common with Dylan? You’re from two different worlds. Why not continue dating, if you enjoy each other’s company, but leave marriage to the right people for you. I’m sure there’s a wonderful young man waiting for you. Why, just the other day, when my car broke down on Troutville Plaza, a very handsome mechanic came to help. He wasn’t wearing a ring and—”
Dylan stood up. “Mother! That’s enough.”
Lizzie hadn’t said anything.
“I just meant—” Mrs. Dunhill said, affecting innocence.
“We know what you ‘just meant,’” Dylan snapped. “And I’m going to tell you right now that I will not stand for it. I love Lizzie, she loves me, and we’r
e getting married. We kept our relationship a secret to avoid everyone’s comments and opinions—we didn’t want the negativity we knew would come our way to have any effect on us, on how we feel about each other.”
“Clearly, Dylan, you expected negativity,” said Mrs. Dunhill. “So I don’t see why you’re getting so annoyed by my ... surprise at your announcement.”
Dylan shook his head, but sat back down. “I want you to be happy for me, Mother. I love Lizzie so much. For the first time in my life, I know what it means to be in love.”
“Oh, Dylan,” Mrs. Dunhill tsk-tsked as though her son were a teenager. “Don’t confuse being in love with enduring love. Of course you’re in love. She’s”—she glanced at Lizzie—“very attractive.” Mrs. Dunhill ran her nose up and down the length of Lizzie, from her wild blond curls to her high-heeled hot-pink pumps.
“Mother,” Dylan said. “Lizzie and I came here to tell you in person that we’re in love and we’re getting married in three weeks. I wanted to tell you before you heard it elsewhere. I wanted to tell you before you received the invitation.”
Mrs. Dunhill froze. “Invitation? What?”
“You should receive it tomorrow or the next day,” Lizzie said. “They’re really lovely. Gold embossing—”
“Invitations have gone out?” Mrs. Dunhill interrupted, the color draining from her face.
“Yes, Mother,” Dylan said.
“So you’re serious,” she returned.
“Very serious,” Dylan responded.
Mrs. Dunhill looked from Dylan to Lizzie and then rang her little silver bell that she took everywhere. Walker, her butler, hurried into the room. “Walker, I’m feeling a bit faint. Will you help me upstairs?”
“Of course, madam,” Walker said. “Shall I reschedule Mr. Boone’s visit?”
“Jake is here?” she asked, visibly relaxing. “No, no, Walker. I’ll see him. In fact, send him in.” The butler stepped out. “If you’re finished,” she said to Dylan and Lizzie, “I have some important business to discuss with Jake.”
Dylan smiled. “That’s fine, Mother. Perhaps you’ll invite Lizzie and me over for dinner so you can get to know her.”
Mrs. Dunhill smiled nervously, then shot up when Jake came into the room. “Ah, Jake. Do come in. Bye, now, Dylan. Lizbeth.”
Lizzie smiled warmly. “Please, call me Lizzie. I’m really looking forward to getting to know—”
“That’s fine, dear. Close the door on your way out, will you, Dylan?”
Dylan shook his head and Lizzie bit her lip, and Jake dropped down in the chair Dylan vacated, knowing he had a long afternoon ahead of him.
The sound of an approaching car shook Jake out of the memory. Jimmy jumped off the hood of Jake’s car and then kicked at the tire.
“It’s not Dylan,” Jimmy grumbled as the car continued past. “Where is he? He’s twenty minutes late!”
Jake slung an arm over Jimmy’s shoulder. “Looks like Dylan got tied up at the office, Jim. C’mon, it’ll be you and me.”
Jimmy’s face crumpled. “This is, like, the fifth time he’s blown me off. He’s probably having sex with Lizbeth somewhere.”
“Hey,” Jake scolded. “Watch it.”
“Ever since he started seeing her, he’s been too busy to hang out with me,” Jimmy complained. “I once had a friend like that—blew me off whenever he got a girlfriend. It really sucks.” He picked up a rock and threw it hard against a tree in the yard. “Whatever.”
Jake eyed the teenager. Jimmy was angry and hurt and sulking.
Enough to try to scare Lizzie out of marrying Jake?
As the boy slumped into Jake’s car, he very reluctantly added Jimmy to his very long list of suspects.
“Good morning, Lizzie and party! Welcome to Bettina’s Bridal!”
Bettina Tutweller, proprietor and snob, held open the door to her tony salon on Troutville’s most exclusive shopping street. She wore a tight smile. Two assistants flanked her on either side, each with a tape measure around her neck.
As Lizzie, Holly, Gayle, and Flea entered the shop, the assistants swooped, handing out delicate china cups of tea and water with lemons floating.
“I’m simply delighted that you’ve chosen my shop for your wedding gown and your bridesmaids dresses,” Bettina gushed, her curly blond bob shaking wildly.
Of course you are, Holly thought, mentally shaking her head at the woman. Now that Lizzie is going to be a Dunhill and is spending Dunhill money, she’s welcome.
And you are going to work for every penny! Holly silently promised Bettina.
“Thank you so much, Bettina,” Lizzie replied. “You know Flea, of course. She’s done some work for you, and this is Gayle and my cousin, Holly. My bridal party.”
“Isn’t Prudence coming?” Bettina asked, looking out the windows. “She has such wonderful taste.”
Lizzie’s face fell. “Pru isn’t in the bridal party.”
“Isn’t in the bridal party?” Bettina repeated. “But she’s the groom’s sister. Usually—”
“Lizzie introduced you to the bridal party,” Holly interrupted. “The three of us.”
Bettina eyed Holly, then slid her beady gaze back to Lizzie. “I see.” She clapped her hands loudly. Her two assistants flew to her side. “Why don’t you four gals start looking around,” Bettina said. “If you need anything, Jenny and Mary here will help you. I’ve closed the shop so that you and your party will have our complete attention.” She and her assistants smiled and flitted away, but Holly noticed that Bettina stood behind her tiny marble desk, watching the group like a hawk.
“Don’t let her comment about Pru bother you,” Holly whispered.
“I’ve already forgotten it,” Lizzie said. “I’m too excited to let anything bother me this morning.” Lizzie could barely contain her enthusiasm. “I feel like a kid in a candy store! You don’t know how much it means to me that the three of you are my bridal party, standing up with me, sharing it all with me. I love you all so much!” Lizzie’s eyes filled with happy tears.
Holly laughed and threw her arms around her cousin. “Oh, Lizzie. We love you, too.”
“We sure do,” Gayle said.
Flea nodded. “I especially love you since for the first time in forever, I don’t have to make my own dress!”
Lizzie laughed. “All right, let’s get started. Since the three of you have such different taste, why don’t each of you individually pick dresses you like for yourselves. And then we’ll see if everyone can agree on just one.”
Gayle nodded and winked at Lizzie. “Oh, miss,” she called to Bettina. “I’d like to see your sexy red bridesmaid dresses in size eight and ten.”
“And I’d like to see your more conservative black dresses in petite sixes,” Flea called out.
Holly smiled at Lizzie. Apparently, Lizzie had shared with Gayle and Flea her prior experience with Bettina. “I’ll just look around and let you know when I’ll require your help,” she said to Bettina.
The woman smiled tightly, then clapped twice, and her automaton assistants flew around the store, collecting dresses.
“Ooh, look at this one,” Gayle exclaimed, ogling a bright red, low-cut, drapey number. “Hot, hot, hot!”
Holly’s own gaze landed on a pale pink gown with an empire waist and delicate beading. “Wow—that dress sure is pretty.”
“Ooh, I love it,” Flea agreed, her expert gaze admiring the craftsmanship. “And pink would suit all of our coloring.”
“It’s just the right pink for my red hair, too,” Gayle said, caressing the silky material. “Holly, I think you’ve found our dress in less than one minute!”
Bettina’s curiosity and business instinct won out and she scurried over. “That dress is pure silk and hand-beaded. A lovely choice.”
There was that word again. Lovely. Holly glanced at Lizzie, who was ogling a wedding gown on one of the few mannequins. It matched the description of Lizzie’s Victorian gown—but it didn’t match Lizzie o
ne bit. There was absolutely nothing about the dress that said Lizzie. If she likes it, she likes it, Holly scolded herself.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Lizzie breathed. “It’s so elegant! It’s definitely the one.”
Gayle stared at the gown. “It’s very pretty, Lizzie. But not what I would have thought you’d go for.”
“Yeah, Liz. It’s not your style at all,” Flea agreed. “I’m surprised you even like it.”
“I know,” Lizzie said, caressing the lace on the high neck, which reminded Holly of a mock turtleneck. “I surprised myself, too! But when I saw it in the window, I knew it was the one.”
“The lace is exquisite,” Holly said.
“And you’ll look amazing in it,” Gayle added.
“The puffing at the shoulders is a beautiful old-fashioned detail,” Flea said. “This dress is very difficult to make. It must cost a small fortune!”
Lizzie smiled and shook her head. “No looking at price tags. That’s a direct order from Dylan himself.”
“It’ll look just lovely on you, Lizzie,” Bettina rushed to say. “Why don’t I put it in the dressing room for you.”
“Before you do that, Bettina,” Gayle said, “be a dear and return all these others to the racks.” She dumped a pile of slinky red dresses in the woman’s arms.
Holly smiled.
“These, too,” Flea said, piling Bettina’s other arm with a collection of black dresses. “But maybe not this one,” she said, removing the top one. “It’s so well made, I’d love to try it just to examine the cut.”
Bettina harrumped, then clapped and filled her assistants’ arms with the dresses. “I’ll go get your dress for you, Lizzie,” she said. “Size fourteen?”
“Eight,” Lizzie corrected.
“Sometimes you can’t tell with very busty women,” Bettina said coolly. “I’ll need to go into our stockroom. I only have a four and six on the display racks.”
Holly rolled her eyes, and Lizzie laughed.
“I’m going to try this one on before the pink one,” Flea said. “Be back in a jif.” She headed back into the dressing room.
Lizzie fingered the pink silk dress draped over Holly’s arm. “You have great taste, Hol. You always did. I wish I had your taste, but even when I try to dress ‘appropriately,’ I always go back to my wild clothes. They’re me, I guess.”
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