by Kim Izzo
“Congratulations,” Marianne said and hugged me.
“You look every inch the lady who lunches.” Brandon grinned and kissed me on each cheek.
“Can I hold him?” I asked Marianne as I squatted down to Thomas, smiling from his carrier.
“I thought you hated holding babies,” she said as she picked him up and handed him to me.
“Thomas is different, he’s yours.” I smiled and held the baby. He was cute, all right, though he looked far more like Frank than Marianne. Not that I would ever tell her.
“I know, he’s got Frank’s face.” She grinned sourly.
“Well, Frank is handsome,” I said and tried to balance Thomas in my arms but he was starting to fidget. Marianne looked around the foyer, eyeing the space. To prepare for the wedding extra cleaning staff had swept in over the past few days and Penwick was looking more spiffy.
“I have to hand it to you, when you research a story you really research it,” she said. “Have you finished it yet? You still owe the magazine a finished draft at the end of this month. We’re counting on it.”
By now Thomas had wiggled so much in my arms I was grasping him around his tummy, which he didn’t seem to mind all that much. Marianne scowled, though, and grabbed him from me.
“And you’ll have it. Is that your way of saying you approve?” I asked tentatively.
“I just want you to be happy,” she answered and put her hand on my arm. “I admit I thought your idea to marry a man just because he was rich was a great idea—for a story. But in reality? But if Scott makes your life complete, then who am I to judge?”
“Nonsense,” Brandon cut in. “Of course she’s judgmental; she’s Marianne—she’s perfect!”
Marianne slugged him with her handbag and all three of us burst out laughing. Brandon could always be counted on to break up an awkward moment.
“It’s wonderful, Lady Kate,” Brandon continued.
“That’s me,” I said quickly. “And this is my estate!”
“Nice digs,” he joked. “This is some place. I’d love to shoot a film here. Can we check it out?”
Again I gave the tour. Emma had loaned me a stroller that she’d bought used in the village and I pushed Thomas along as we walked. And once again, no Griff. “This is frustrating,” I said. “I wanted you to meet Griff Saunderson; he’s the manager of Penwick and he trains all the horses I showed you. You’d love him.”
“Would we?” Marianne asked with a raised eyebrow. “As much as we’re going to love Scott?”
“Of course not!” I smiled. “You will meet my fiancé tomorrow. Tonight, we’re having dinner in. You’re going to enjoy Fawn, Emma, and Clive.”
“Yes, you’ve talked a lot about this Fawn; she sounds special, all right,” Marianne said severely. I knew there was a risk they wouldn’t like each other. I knew on some level that Marianne held Fawn responsible for everything that had happened to me. Fawn might find Marianne aloof and prudish. Oh well, they only had to endure each other’s company for the weekend.
As we strolled back to the house, I inquired after the magazine, Brandon’s latest epic commercial, and, finally, Lucy.
“So, did you break up?” I asked.
He shook his head. “What makes you ask that?”
“Only that I offered to fly her over and you refused the invite,” I explained. “What other reason could there be?”
“She’s pregnant,” he said and beamed proudly. “But it’s a high-risk pregnancy; the doctor said she can’t fly.”
I was stunned. Brandon was going to be a father? I never thought it would happen, certainly not with Lucy.
“Say something, Kate,” Marianne admonished me.
“Congratulations!” I shouted, feeling guilty about not saying it sooner. “Sorry, I’m in shock! Hope she’s okay.”
“Baby and mother are both doing well,” he said. “Just a no-fly zone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I chastised him.
“I didn’t want to steal your thunder,” he said. “This is your big weekend, after all.”
“Yes it is,” I agreed with a laugh. I should have been happy; after all, I had everything I wanted. Yet as I sat through an elaborate dinner that Doris had prepared, accompanied, I might add proudly, by two steaming lasagnas baked to perfection by me (without barbecue sauce), surrounded by my closest friends, I felt lonely and sad. I told myself I was missing Scott; if he were here I’d be joyful, bright, and full of energy. But he wasn’t here, and I was none of those things. Still determined to appear the happy bride, I tried harder to focus on the dinner conversation to take my mind off my melancholy.
Brandon, Marianne, Clive, Emma, and Fawn had never been in the same room before and it was amazing how they all seemed to get on. Even Marco managed to speak enough English to tell us a funny story about a coffee farm in Africa. In fact, given my state of mind, it was fortunate that the conversation continued without me. They were so fascinated with one another’s careers and children and upcoming children that they didn’t seem to notice I’d stopped talking.
The night would have continued this way if Griff hadn’t strolled into the room unannounced. For the first time since I’d been at Penwick, he wasn’t in riding or work clothes, but a dark purple fitted shirt, flat-front black trousers, and patent leather shoes. Shockingly, there was only one word to describe him: stylish. His usually unkempt black hair that I’d grown to like glistened beneath the light of the chandelier and as he stood leaning on the back of an empty chair I noticed that his hands were clean of stable dirt.
“You must be Scott!” Marianne exclaimed with a huge smile and gave me an approving look. “Kate, your man is a day early! He must love you!”
“Everybody, this is Griffith Saunderson. Griff,” I said in a rush and leapt up to intervene before Marianne went in for a hug and kiss. “This is a surprise,” I told him but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I decided to make sure our guests were settled in.” He smiled cordially. “And to say hello to Emma and Clive.”
His voice, his expression, his entire demeanor was dark and broody. Not at all like he’d been during the past several weeks. I could only imagine what caused the change because it had changed something in me, too: With my friends here and Scott arriving tomorrow, the wedding was really happening. In two days, I’d be Mrs. Scott Madewell. No longer free to spend hours strolling across Penwick, gabbing about movies and books as Griff taught me things about plants and animals. I felt anxious all of a sudden. I wasn’t sure how to handle this new Griff and Kate.
“You know everyone here except Marianne, Brandon, and Marco,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Pleased to meet you,” Griff said quietly and shook their hands.
“So nice to see you again,” Fawn said politely before shooting a warning glare at me. “There’s an empty seat beside me, Griff.” She patted the vacant chair that was farthest from me, obviously determined to keep us as far away from each other as possible. She needn’t have bothered; Griff barely looked in my direction. Clearly he was showing me how things between us must be from now on.
“So, you work here?” Marianne asked brightly.
“Yes,” Griff said. “Hasn’t Kate told you? I’m a glorified stable hand.”
“Charming way to earn a living, I’m sure,” Fawn said. “Keeps you out of trouble.”
“Until Kate showed up, it did,” he said slyly. Fawn looked horrified and made another face at me. I rolled my eyes at her. And even though he spoke my name, he wouldn’t so much as glance at me. Then again, why should he be attentive to me? I was marrying another man in two days.
“I want to propose a toast,” Fawn announced suddenly and held up her glass. “Here’s to Kate, who has single-handedly proven that Jane Austen, though long dead, knew a thing or two about snagging a rich husband. And by that, I mean Scott,” she said as her eyes darted from Griff to me.
“What about Austen?” Griff asked Fawn.
“It�
�s a story my magazine assigned Kate months ago,” Marianne explained, a little drunkenly, I might add. “Our features editor Jennifer had this crazy idea that women could use the same tactics that Austen’s characters used to make a good marriage. Kate has been obsessed with those novels her whole life so she was the perfect writer for it. And now look at her! Kate’s our modern-day Austen. She set out to make a wise match and played her cards right and here we are.” Marianne grinned widely, then stuck her fork into the leftover lasagna.
Griff said nothing and I felt the urgent need to make light of the subject.
“Jane Austen did create the blueprint for marrying well.” I laughed awkwardly.
“Yes, but in reality she died a spinster,” Griff said, twirling his glass of wine on the table.
“Lighten up, Griff,” Marianne said through her mouthful of lasagna. “Here’s to Kate having her cake and eating it, too! This is delicious.” Marianne continued to dig at her plate. “And not just the food, but the whole thing. In fact, I could get used to having a rich best friend.”
Everyone laughed but Griff and me. I forced a smile but as the conversation turned to money and being rich, I began to get a bad taste in my mouth. I gulped my champagne, desperate for it to relax me. The bubbles swirled and popped on my tongue like fireworks, little explosions to take the edge off. I could almost feel the stress lessen with each burst. Then he spoke.
“You’ve all known the bride-to-be for some time,” began Griff, addressing the room with an authoritative tone I’d not heard from him before. I glanced around the table fearfully; all eyes were transfixed on him. “So, tell me then: Just who is Kate? Describe her to me, each of you.”
Silence greeted his direction. I stared at him until finally our eyes met. Neither of us gave away an ounce of emotion but I had never felt more self-conscious in my life.
“Why would you want to know about me?” I practically squeaked.
“I want to know who you are,” he answered firmly. Moments before he wouldn’t look at me; now his gaze was so unwavering it forced me to look away.
“To know me is to love me,” I teased, unsure where to look. Still, his eyes never left me.
“Consider me warned,” he said, then turned his attention to the other end of the table. “Marianne, why don’t you start?”
I knew I should rescue my friends from Griff’s game, but it was no use. My friends, once recovered from his provocation, took up the challenge with gusto.
“Oooh, this is better than truth or dare,” Marianne said and clapped her hands together. “Let’s start with her fashion sense. She’s very into the whole retro 1940s look. Pencil skirts, sweaters, dresses, and heels. Kate very rarely wears trousers or jeans. She’s a bit formal that way.”
“I know much of this already,” he said, as though disappointed. “Would you say she’s old-fashioned?”
“Classic,” Brandon countered. “Kate is a classic.”
“Kate is a true Anglophile,” Brandon continued. “And not just Austen, but music, movies, you name it. She’s a sucker for an accent like yours. In fact, you’re lucky she met Scott first. I would have thought you were more her type.”
“Brandon!” I scolded.
“I think what Kate is trying to say is that I’m definitely not her type,” Griff corrected him, then turned his ice blue eyes on me once again. “Nor is she mine. We are merely good friends.”
Fawn coughed. I swallowed hard.
“Yes, good friends,” I agreed and smiled, but he didn’t smile back. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was angry with me.
“Kate thinks the fight scene between Colin Firth and Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones’s Diary is porn,” Marianne said suddenly.
At this everyone laughed, even me.
“They’re both so sexy!” I giggled. “You never know which one to cheer for.”
“She never wanted to get married,” Emma chimed in. “That’s so shocking to us all, that we’re here for Kate’s wedding.”
“She’s always been independent,” Brandon added. “To a fault.”
“That is interesting,” Griff said.
“Her father walked out when she was little,” Marianne volunteered. I shot her a scathing look. She grimaced back and continued. “Her mother never recovered; Kate and her sister, Ann, have had to be the grown-ups. Except for her dear grandmother, of course. Since she died, Kate had to find inventive ways of supporting them all, hence the Austen story for the magazine and of course, Scott.” Marianne took a big chug of wine and looked away from my glare. Why did she feel so compelled to out me in this manner? I could feel Griff staring but I couldn’t look at him.
“My grandmother and mother had such unhappy marriages that I didn’t want to make the same mistake,” I admitted. “They couldn’t count on any man. I suppose I take after them.”
“Except Scott, of course,” Griff said. “You can count on him. He must be an exceptional man to change your mind on marriage.”
“Exceptionally rich!” Fawn giggled. But everyone else was silent. I stared down at my plate, thoroughly uncomfortable.
Then Griff took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “Your friends would have me think you’re shallow and superficial,” he said coolly.
“She’s not!” Marianne leapt to my defense. “She’s extremely loyal. And she looks after everybody, her family and even me. She doesn’t even want children, yet she’s made sure Thomas has a nanny and all the gear necessary to keep him, and me, happy while we’re here.”
“And that makes her thoughtful and considerate,” added Brandon.
“She loves deeply,” Emma said firmly. “Even unconditionally.”
“Though she’s extremely single-minded,” Marianne tossed in half jokingly. “Asks for advice but never takes it.”
Griff nodded and silence fell across the room once more.
“Then Scott is a lucky man,” he said at last and sipped his champagne. “I hope one day to be as fortunate in my choice of wife.”
I glared at him, knowing he was being sarcastic.
“I’m sure you’ll meet a lovely country girl to help you run this place for the owners,” Fawn added. It was his turn to glare. Thankfully, Marianne stood up and raised her glass.
“You once asked us if it was too late to marry well,” Marianne said to me with a smile. I felt a pang of horror at what was coming next and made sure not to look at Griff. “I think we know the answer to your question. Here’s to forty and it never being too late, or a woman too old, to have it all!”
More cheers and clinking. I forced myself to laugh along with everyone else but I saw that Griff wasn’t laughing. Once again, his eyes wouldn’t meet mine.
“I hate to change the subject,” Fawn said brightly.
“Please do,” I begged.
“What are you wearing to your party tomorrow night?”
“There is only one dress that suits the occasion,” I said confidently.
“The Chanel.” Marianne nodded. “Of course.”
“We can’t wait to meet Scott!” Brandon said.
Griff stood up so abruptly his chair went crashing to the floor. He picked it up awkwardly before clearing his throat.
“I have to go check on the horses,” he announced. “Good night, everyone.”
“Oh, don’t leave,” Emma pleaded. “You just got here.”
“Never come between a man and his work,” Fawn countered, her own agenda in play. “If he has to leave, he has to leave.”
“Have a lovely evening,” he said politely.
I gazed at him, expecting, hoping, for some knowing look to be exchanged between us. But there was nothing.
“Will we see you tomorrow night?” Marianne asked. “At the party or at the wedding on Saturday?”
“I’m going to London on Saturday morning,” he answered and walked out the door.
When he was gone, there was a collective sigh of relief. Then again, it might only have been mine.
�
��What a strange dude,” Brandon exclaimed.
“He’s very handsome,” Marianne said with a smirk. “And he works here?”
“He’s the manager,” Clive said, speaking for the first time in ages.
“My, my,” Marianne joked. “It’s a good thing you’re engaged, Kate. Otherwise, you’d have a tough time turning your back on that one.”
“I quite agree,” Fawn chimed in. “Keep him away until you’re married.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; Kate hates horses and he’s not rich,” Brandon said with a sniff.
Emma coughed. “I’ve had too much champagne,” she explained. “I really shouldn’t have any. The baby and all that.”
“One glass now and then won’t hurt,” Marianne said calmly.
And then what always happens when women of a certain age are pregnant happened again—the conversation went from my upcoming nuptials and the mysterious Griff Saunderson to baby talk. This time even Brandon joined in. I didn’t mind, really. In fact, I was pleased for all of them. It was nice to see people I loved get what they wanted. I only hoped it was the same for me. I was getting married the day after tomorrow and I had only one man on my mind and it wasn’t Scott.
I had consumed too much champagne. I knew this because whenever I drink too much I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. That was how I found myself, clad in my nightgown and robe, descending the staircase at 3:00 A.M. I wanted to heat up some milk, even though I detested the taste, as it had been proven to work on more than one occasion. But as I reached the landing, I noticed a light coming from under the mahogany doors to the private wing of the house. The family must have returned home—I was dying to meet a Penwick. I pictured the patriarch, a man in his eighties, rotund and bald, sipping brandy and smoking a pipe, seated in a leather club chair. I tiptoed over and pressed my ear to the door and clasped my fingers around the handle. The doors were heavy and as much as I wanted to pry one open, I daren’t.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I nearly screamed. It was Griff.
“You scared me to death!” I began to speak, then quickly brought my voice down to a whisper.