“We? Doesn’t look like the kind of wedding Gregory would want. The only time he goes anywhere that remote, it’s because his company has business there, like the South American deal that got him kidnapped. I don’t remember hearing that there’s a plant being built in the British Isles.”
“The place isn’t important,” she replied tightly.
“No, but who you invite is. Gregory has been dedicated to his career since he graduated from business school. Why else does anyone go to Harvard School of Business?”
Brynn’s expression was defensive. “Perhaps because you want to be the best at what you do.”
“Exactly. And for Gregory that means networking. Constantly. And photo ops. What better combination than a high-profile wedding? One he could parlay into a spread in Town and Country. I can’t believe Gregory would give up an opportunity like that.”
Two bright spots of color dotted her cheeks and her brilliant blue eyes were lit with a fevered intensity. “When you’re in love, people compromise. And they do things simply because they love you. It doesn’t have to make sense, or fall into predictable patterns. That’s not what love’s about.”
Matt fiddled with the unwanted cup of tea, quieted by her fervent declaration. Apparently love could change even Gregory. “So you had your dream wedding?”
Her color didn’t fade. Instead she clutched the teacup closer. “Yes. Even though it doesn’t meet with your approval.”
He pushed frustrated fingers through his hair. From her wounded expression, it was clear his questions had hurt her, and that hadn’t been his intent. He’d only wanted to discover why nothing about Brynn and her relationship with Gregory made sense. He still had dozens of questions, and an unresolved feeling that he couldn’t identify.
But he sensed it was time to back off. The last thing he needed was his brother’s bride in tears. “Actually, a casual wedding would meet my approval—it suits me. I never have seen the reason to fill a church with so many people that the bride and groom nearly get lost in the crush. But, then, I don’t think much like Gregory.”
She took a sandwich, then lowered it to her plate without tasting it. “I suspected it might upset your family that we...that there wasn’t a big wedding for them to see.”
“As long as it’s what makes you and Gregory happy, I don’t think anybody cares about missing the show.” He thought for a moment. “It might have bothered my mother—you know how they are about sentimental stuff.” A sudden thought struck him. “What about your family? Weren’t they upset about missing the wedding?”
Brynn felt a sudden constriction. Her mother wouldn’t be upset to miss her wedding. Even the real thing. She cleared her throat. “It’s just my mother, and she’s very...understanding.”
“You’re lucky, then. I thought the mother-of-the-bride thing was a pretty big deal.”
Brynn thought of her mother who tried to pretend she didn’t have a twenty-six-year-old daughter because it brought her age into view. “We’re not a real traditional family, so she wasn’t that surprised by my choice.” Brynn wondered why she hadn’t been struck by lightning with all the lies she’d been telling. While she got caught up in Stephanie’s daring, she was also caught in a mounting dose of guilt.
“You always do the unusual?” he asked, enjoying the soft play of emotions crossing her face. He had the urge to reach out and remove her glasses, to see her huge eyes without the barrier of oversize lenses and heavy rims, to monitor their reactions.
She pushed at those glasses, ducking her head a bit. “I’m not sure you could say that.”
“No? You don’t consider eloping to an isolated spot in Ireland unusual?”
“I guess that depends on your idea of unusual,” she replied.
“Coming from a long line of Magees, I’m surprised you didn’t fill the church with relatives.”
“As I said, my family’s small. The only true Magee I knew was my grandmother.” Brynn’s voice softened as truth overtook fantasy. “She was wonderful...kind, always having lots of time for me, telling me incredible stories, encouraging my dreams—even my silly daydreams.”
“Your father died young, then?”
She paused. “No. He and my mother divorced when I was very young. He moved to Australia and we didn’t see him, or hear from him. But, my grandmother Magee insisted on taking care of me. I think she felt guilty because my father disappeared and she tried to make it up to me.”
“Sounds like you were close.”
“Very. She was everything to me. And her stories opened up a whole world for me.” Lost for a moment in those memories, Brynn forgot that she was sharing her most private thoughts with him—thoughts she hadn’t shared with anyone else.
“Having divorced parents isn’t unusual anymore. Sounds like you had a stable home life.”
Brynn laughed at the irony. Moving constantly from city to city, as her mother searched for an inexplicable happiness that constantly eluded her, had been anything but stable.
Shy to begin with, Brynn hadn’t lived anywhere long enough to form friendships. And that timidity had remained with her through adulthood, leaving her no confidantes for all the thoughts and emotions she had. As she had when she was a child, Brynn still turned to daydreams as her way of coping, a way of playing out her thoughts and desires. But that would change when Gregory returned. He would listen patiently to all her hopes and dreams. He would be friend, confidant...lover.
“Brynn,” Matt repeated, wondering where he’d lost her. “You were telling me about your home life.”
Jerked back to reality, rather than answering Matt’s question, she picked up the teapot. “More tea?”
He pointed to his still-full cup. “I’m not sure where you’d pour it.”
“Oh, I guess I wasn’t thinking,” she replied, flustered, Daydreaming again. It had often made her look and feel foolish.
“You looked like you were a few galaxies away,” he commented, not telling her that he’d enjoyed the unguarded expression, the dreamy look on her face. Since she hadn’t noticed, he’d taken the opportunity to study her translucent ivory skin—a true stamp of her Irish ancestry, along with her shiny black hair and remarkable blue eyes. Eyes that he suspected reflected the color of the Irish skies. Catching himself, Matt realized his thoughts were taking a distinctly unbrotherly turn.
Brynn drew her fingers over the rim of her cup. “I...I tend to have an overactive imagination—which helps me in drawing the strip—but it also takes me on flights of fancy.”
“Looked like a nice trip.”
For a moment her eyes met his. Even with her glasses between them he could see a new awareness—one he realized he shouldn’t be seeing; one that neither of them should be feeling.
Her smile was a quick, darting thing, a brief quiver. “I think Lancelot deserves a treat, don’t you?” Blindly she turned in the dog’s direction. “How about a sandwich, boy?”
Lancelot politely accepted the offer, gently taking part of the tiny sandwich she tore in half.
Watching her jittery movements, Matt wondered if her thoughts had also taken an unexpected turn. He shook his head. That was impossible. She’d just told him how much she loved Gregory, had fiercely defended their unusual elopement. He must have imagined that glint in her eye. It was too bad he hadn’t imagined his own.
MIRANDA AND BRYNN DUG through the trunks in the attic, searching for costume ideas for the upcoming Octoberfest
“Sorry I roped you into this.” Miranda spoke from the bottom of an ancient steamer trunk, her voice muffled. “But this morning’s telegram about Gregory put me in a good mood. I know there’s not any new news, but he’s alive and they’ve convinced Matt not to go off half-cocked—at least for now.”
Brynn nodded. “That’s how I felt and maybe next time there’ll be real news. I just wish I could do something.”
Miranda shook out an ostrich feather duster. “You are.”
Brynn picked up a dusty book. “This isn’t exactl
y what I meant, but actually, I like doing this. It’s kind of fun. We never had an attic. It’s like a treasure trove.”
Miranda. laughed. “Or a junk pile.” She pulled out another bowler hat and set it aside, muttering. “Can’t ever have enough of these.” Then she glanced at Brynn. “Never had an attic, did you?”
“No. We always lived in apartments. That’s why I like my place in Salt Lake. Since it’s a converted house it’s not so much like an apartment.”
“Most young people like slick high-rises. Gregory does. So whose place were you planning to settle in?”
Brynn scrabbled for an answer. This was getting to be a difficult game. “Well, we hadn’t exactly decided yet. Maybe neither place,” she fabricated. “A new place that’s both of ours.”
“One you can make your own.” Miranda nodded. “That’s wise. That way no one’s too territorial. Course, you might have a time finding a place that’ll take your pets.”
An image of the picket fence she’d always dreamed of popped into Brynn’s mind. “Perhaps a house, where no one else sets the rules.”
“A house?” Miranda’s brows rose. “I thought Gregory only wanted a condo. No snow to shovel, no grass to cut.”
No yard for children to play in. Brynn shrugged away the disloyal thought. “Well, we all change.”
“Change? Heavens, that boy’s gone through a complete transformation.” Miranda patted her blond, lacquered hair.
Brynn turned to another trunk. “There’s so much interesting stuff in here. So many memories.”
Miranda picked up a dusty scrapbook. “That’s for sure. None of us seems to be able to throw anything away. The MacKenzies’ history could fill the library, but I suspect the guests would rather have the latest bestsellers.”
“They’re foolish, then. This is all so real.” Brynn’s words hit her as she spoke. It was all so real, with one glaring exception—herself.
“‘Real’ doesn’t always translate into ‘interesting,”’ Miranda noted wryly. “I do have an idea, though. We could put a few of your bound strip books in the library, perhaps autographed ones. Maybe put a few Stephanie mugs in the gift shop. Once they know you’re part of the MacKenzie family, the guests will eat it up.”
Such a permanent reminder of her presence at once both pleased and unnerved her. Brynn didn’t want to damage the resort’s reputation by perpetuating a fraud. “I’ll have to check with my distributor.”
“Of course. It’s all business these days.” Miranda took out a ruffled blouse and held it up to the light. “Somewhere, there’s a skirt that goes with this.”
Brynn searched through her trunk. “Look! Lederhosen! Who wears these?”
“Frank always has. I don’t know, though. He’s lost so much weight since he’s been sick, he might not want to this year.” Miranda laughed. “And of course my handsome nephew shows off his good-looking legs in a pair.”
“Gregory does?” Brynn asked in delight.
“Why, no.” A small frown creased Miranda’s forehead. “I was talking about Matt. Gregory wouldn’t be caught dead in those. When we can talk him into coming to Octoberfest. he looks like a page out of the L.L. Bean catalog.”
“Oh, of course. I...I thought maybe he just got into the spirit of the day—and did something uncharacteristic. That’s how I’d feel.”
“But I think you’re more daring. Don’t get me wrong. I love Gregory. Since he was Frank’s first child, he was my first nephew and there’s something special about that. Since I don’t have children of my own, I’ve always interfered with Frank and Ruth’s. Luckily, they don’t mind.” Miranda laughed. “Or if they do, they don’t tell me. So, I kind of feel like their kids are partly mine. And, despite how different we are, I’m close to Gregory. Close enough to know it’s important to him to stay within the guidelines. As a child, he never even drew outside the lines in his coloring books.”
Brynn digested this, not sure quite how it fit into her picture of Gregory. “No one’s ever called me daring before.”
“That’s because I don’t think even you know it.” Miranda pulled out another skirt and blouse. “This should look good on you. You’re tall and delicate enough for it.”
Delicate. No one had ever termed her build that way. She’d always thought she was simply too skinny. “A rack of bones,” as the unkind teenage boys had once called her. “If you say so.”
They continued their exploration and Miranda shook her head. “We may be here till Christmas.”
Brynn lifted up an ancient hatbox. then set it aside. “Miranda, why does everyone call Gregory by his full name instead of Greg? I mean, you don’t use Matt’s full name.”
Miranda didn’t look up. “I guess because Gregory’s always been a Gregory. Never occurred to anyone that he’d be anything else. And Matt. Well, he’s always been Matt. Unaffected, unpretentious.”
Brynn frowned briefly at the implication. Surely his own family didn’t consider Gregory to be pretentious.
But Miranda was making an excited noise as she lifted out tissue-wrapped packages, handling them carefully. “If there are any treasures up here, we’ve just found them.” She untied the string that was tied around the top parcel. As she folded the tissue back, her mood became nearly reverent. Then she lifted up what seemed to be yards and yards of material. It was a dress, an incredible-looking dress.
“It’s beautiful!” Brynn exclaimed, reaching out to touch the delicate ice-blue silk.
“I always thought so,” Miranda replied in a far more subdued voice than usual.
“Then it’s yours?”
Miranda ran one hand over the iridescent folds of silk. “It was. I suppose in a way it still is.”
“Was it for a special occasion?”
“Yes. For the Harvest Ball that’s at the beginning of the festival. But I never wore it.”
Brynn sensed currents of sadness. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you would have looked beautiful in it. I’m sure you still would.”
Miranda’s lips trembled for a moment. “You are a truly sweet girl.” Her hand strayed toward the wrinkles that had etched an irreversible path over her face. Wise, often cagey eyes now looked sad. “But I’m afraid my day’s past.”
Impulsively, Brynn reached out to cover the older woman’s hand. “I don’t believe that. Sometimes life has a way of surprising us. And I don’t think we can ever stop trusting in love...or that our soul mate exists. Sometimes the path is just a little rockier for us than we’d like, but it’s still a path.”
“How can anyone as young as you have collected all that wisdom? If I didn’t know better, I’d guess your path was rocky, and definitely filled with soul-searching.”
“I think a lot,” Brynn admitted. “Internalizing is what they call it, I believe. I suppose it came from being an only child, with just one parent.”
“It sounds lonely,” Miranda surmised accurately.
Brynn shrugged away the sympathy she heard. “I’m sure it sounds worse than it was. I simply became a daydreamer—and that’s not such a bad thing.”
Miranda studied her face. “No, I don’t suppose it is. Whatever shaped you made you a compassionate person and that is always a good thing.”
Brynn swallowed at the catch in her throat, unused to visible displays of emotion. She must have been right about Gregory, his sensitivity and depth. He would have to possess those qualities, coming from such a giving, caring family. “Thank you.” This time she didn’t duck her head at the compliment as she was accustomed to doing. Instead she smiled, realizing how very much she was growing to like Miranda.
“You’re welcome. Now, shall we keep digging?”
Brynn bent toward the nearest trunk.
“Wait!” Miranda’s voice took on a note of excitement.
Startled by the sudden change in Miranda, Brynn abandoned the trunk. “What is it?”
“The dress.” Miranda retrieved the blue silk and held it up.
“You’re going to wear it after all?
”
“No. But you are.”
Brynn stared between Miranda and the beautiful dress. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”
“I thought you liked it.”
“I do. It’s gorgeous. Too gorgeous. It would make me stand out. People would notice.”
“Notice? Child, you’d be the belle of the ball.”
“And the center of attention,” Brynn agreed glumly.
“And this isn’t a good thing?”
“Not for me. I’m not comfortable in situations like that. In fact, I like nothing better than to be a wallflower.”
Miranda stared at her. “I truly can’t imagine how you and Gregory wound up together. That boy thrives in the spotlight. And if you’re going to be a successful wife for him, you’ll have to get used to it.”
Brynn’s stomach clenched. “But just because Gregory likes the spotlight doesn’t mean—”
“Who do you think he’ll be sharing that spotlight with?”
Brynn was stumped for an answer. “Still, I couldn’t wear anything that gorgeous and... Well...”
Miranda held the low-cut bodice up higher. Although tasteful, it exposed more skin than Brynn had ever dreamed of showing. Nearly backless, it was a dream of a dress. And with vintage styles still imprinting the fashion scene, Brynn knew it would be a knockout. But certainly not the sort of thing she’d choose to wear. It was simply too beautiful. Too attention catching.
Her lips curled in a knowing manner, Miranda cocked her head. “Gorgeous and...daring?”
Brynn nodded.
“Then it sounds like it just suits you.”
“I never said I was daring. You did.”
Miranda lifted her brows. “But you just said that at something like the festival you’d do something uncharacteristic—just like you thought Gregory might.”
Caught. In a trap of her own making. “But that dress is special to you,” she protested. “Too special to be worn by someone else.”
“Not just someone,” Miranda reminded her. “By family. I’ll have someone bring this trunk to your room.”
Before Brynn could answer, Miranda tugged her toward the full-length antique cheval mirror that rested in one corner of the attic. Once in front of the mirror, Miranda held the dress up to Brynn. Of their own accord, Brynn’s hands moved to hold the dress in place.
The Accidental Mrs. Mackenzie Page 8