The Accidental Bride (Black Lace)

by Portia Da Costa

  ‘Well, if you couldn’t tell, you must have been well out of it yourself,’ she pointed out. ‘It’s a wonder we weren’t reported by someone in the Piazza, and the police sent for.’

  ‘I was in heaven, Shell,’ he said simply. ‘I always am with you.’ He took a sip of coffee, as if fortifying himself. ‘I meant what I said before, about us being together, you know. And, well, for what it’s worth, I love you too. We can make a go of it. If you’ll have me.’

  ‘Of course I’ll fucking well have you, you idiot!’ Taking Sholto’s cup from him, and setting it aside, with her own, Shelley hugged him. Her heart was overflowing.

  They kissed again, gently this time. Another sealing of their pact. Words didn’t seem to be necessary, and when they broke apart, and saw that the last night bus that would take them to the end of St Patrick’s Road was pulling in, they rose as one, and walked towards it, hand in hand.

  ‘One thing, though,’ said Sholto as they took their seats, ‘when we’re a bit more established, and we’ve saved a bit, let’s buy the St Patrick’s Road house off His Lordship. I know it’ll involve a mortgage and all that, but I’d like it to be ours, at a proper going rate price, not as some grace and favour gift of Lizzie and her billionaire, no matter how decent a guy he is.’

  There was a quality of hope in Sholto’s eyes. He was offering a commitment. A tougher route for them. But a shared one. And a goal she’d be prepared to work harder than she’d ever worked to achieve.

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘OK. I’m cool with that. To be honest, I’d prefer it.’ She darted forward and planted a quick kiss on Sholto’s smiling mouth. ‘Although, maybe we could still hope he names a slightly low-balled price, eh? Nothing stupid and patronising, but a bit on the bargain side?’

  Sholto gave her a long look. She almost started to worry. But then he smiled again, broadly, shaking his head. ‘OK, OK, just to please you, babe. I won’t complain if we get it as a snip. But apart from that, we pay our own way, right?’

  ‘Right!’ concurred Shelley, snuggling up to the side of her strong, stubborn, irredeemably proud man, and knowing it was exactly the place in the world that she should be.

  Not even Lizzie’s fairy tale could be as wonderful as this.

  17

  Power Couple

  Lizzie looked up from her sewing.

  Your sixth sense must be catching, Mr Smith.

  Even though she hadn’t heard the smooth-driving limousine pull up, she knew John was home. He’d been out and about today, travelling a fair distance to meetings, so he’d been chauffeured, as he usually preferred when he had to prepare for negotiations. He had a new driver nowadays, seconded from a local luxury travel hire firm that he’d recently bought out. Jeffrey, his old driver, was London born and bred, and hadn’t wanted to relocate his family to the North, so John had put some capital into a Thames-side premium car maintenance garage that Jeffrey and his brother were now running with great success.

  You’re a good man, John. You always take care of everybody. Most of all me.

  Part of her wanted to leap up, and fly down the stairs to greet him, but the rest of her thought that if she did that every single day from now on, it was pretty soon going to start seeming slightly demented, and juvenile, and not in the least bit ladylike. So, she just took a few deep breaths, completed the last bit of hand finishing on the section of a bodice she was working on, and then started neatly folding the garment.

  But she’d barely got it tucked away in her sewing bag when the sitting-room door flew open, John strode in and, in a heartbeat, threw himself down onto the settee with her and was kissing her as if they were a pair of sixteen-year-olds who’d been apart for months, rather than two working people who’d spent only the length of a normal, if slightly lengthy, business day separated.

  John obviously hadn’t got the memo about trying to play it cool and act like a grown-up power couple!

  Lizzie laughed, hugging him back and giving in to her urges, which were, as so often, to smother his handsome face with kisses and grope him slightly.

  ‘That’s more like it!’ John drew back, grinning at her. ‘I thought you’d come charging down the stairs to greet your new fiancé, and instead you’re sitting here as prim and buttoned up as Miss Marple, busy with your needlework as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.’ He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it, then nibbled the tips of her sewing fingers. ‘If you’re not careful, I might have to spank your bottom for lack of enthusiasm.’

  Lack of enthusiasm? Good grief, she’d have torn his clothes off and jumped on top of him right now, if she hadn’t thought that Mrs Thursgood would knock at the sitting-room door any minute, asking if they wanted tea. There was nothing quite as desirable as a golden god of business at the end of the day, still in his perfect Savile Row suit, but looking just ever so slightly tousled and frazzled around the edges.

  ‘I was practising for being a lady,’ she answered, giving him a mock-haughty look. ‘You know, showing a bit of reserve and decorum and stiff upper lip and all that, don’t you know, old chap.’

  John cradled her face. ‘You don’t have to be anything other than what you are already, Lizzie. Not for me. You’re absolutely perfect as is.’

  Lizzie’s heart pounded. She felt as if her world were whirling. Sometimes, it still all seemed like a dream.

  ‘At the risk of sounding like a soppy mare … Well … ditto,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh Lizzie.’ Flinging off his suit jacket, John launched himself forward again, kissing hard, subduing her with his tongue. Lizzie wound her arms around him, dragging him yet closer.

  That was, until a hard object jabbed her in the ribs. A hard object located in a more northerly part of his anatomy than the usual hard object that jabbed into her, although she’d noticed that he had a hard-on too.

  ‘Oops, yes, forgot about that.’ John drew away, reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat and bringing out a small, burgundy-leather-covered box.

  A ring box. Oh God, his Aunt Constance’s ring. Delivered by secure courier during the day.

  Instead of flipping the box open, John slid gracefully off the settee and on to his knees in front of it, and then undid the tiny catch, popped up the lid, and displayed its contents to Lizzie.

  ‘I know I’ve already asked you once … but … Miss Elizabeth Aitchison, will you do me the enormous honour of becoming my bride?’

  Words seemed to be glued to the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t form them. Not only was she swept away by the sweetness of John’s new, kneeling proposal, but the ring he offered to her was … was … amazing!

  ‘Nothing to say, love? Don’t you like it?’ The note of anxiety in John’s voice freed her from the spell. How could he possibly believe she wouldn’t like something so beautiful? Or even have the slightest second thoughts, despite everything, about marrying him?

  ‘Oh John, it’s divine! It’s just the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.’ Apart from you, her heart appended. ‘It’s … It’s so much more beautiful than the image on the iPad. And … um … it’s a lot bigger too!’

  Aunt Constance’s marquise-cut diamond was probably the biggest gem Lizzie had ever seen in real life, surrounded by square-cut rubies, and with smaller diamonds set in white gold, or was it platinum, on the shoulders. John had described it as less valuable than her own diamond earrings, but Lizzie found that hard to believe. It was a sublime work of the jeweller’s art and simply had to be priceless.

  ‘Yes, I think you’re right about that,’ said John, slipping the ring from its velvet bed. ‘It does seem bigger than I remember. But don’t worry, love, you’ve got the lovely, elegant hands to carry it off.’ Gently, he took her left hand, lifting her ring finger so he could slide the exquisite jewel on.

  It was huge. It was dazzling. Despite its antique provenance, it was a delicious chunk of mega-bling. But somehow, it also looked right. At home on her finger. Fitting perfectly, as if made for her.


  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, a tremor in her voice as the central diamond wavered and scintillated, made more dazzling by the lens of sudden tears. ‘Oh John, thank you. It’s wonderful … wonderful … I’ll try to do your aunt’s memory proud. I …’ Overcome, she pressed her lips to the glorious gem. It felt strangely warm, almost alive to the touch.

  John blinked. Was he feeling the same? Lizzie grinned at him, watching him purse his lips, fighting for control. ‘She’d be very happy, Lizzie. She wanted me to find a good woman to love, and now I have!’

  They fell back into an embrace. Just hugging, just savouring the loving closeness, nothing sexual. Pressing her face into John’s shoulder, glorying in his warmth and the solid, real presence of his body, Lizzie imagined she could still see the ring on her finger, as well as feel its light weight, resting against her skin.

  I’m engaged. I’ve got the ring. Oh God, it’s all true.

  Holding him tight, she felt a shaking. Was it her? Or him? She was just about to ask when a knock came at the door.

  ‘The traditional toast,’ whispered John with a smile, before calling out, ‘Come in!’

  Thursgood entered with an ice bucket and glasses on a tray, the door held open by his wife.

  ‘Thank you, Jim. Thank you, Sheila,’ John said as Thursgood set down the tray on the sideboard and, at a nod, expertly opened the bubbly, not spilling a drop. ‘I wanted you both to help us celebrate our engagement.’

  John, having sprung to his feet, handed around the glasses. ‘To my beautiful fiancée, Lizzie! Gracious, smart, and bloody brave too, to take on a challenge like me!’

  Lizzie blushed as they all clinked their glasses.

  ‘Lizzie!’

  ‘Miss Aitchson!’

  ‘Miss Aitchison!’

  The Champagne was reviving, and despite its heady bubbles, it steadied her.

  ‘Thanks, everyone,’ Lizzie said after a good sip. ‘And to John. Also brave, to take me on.’

  They chatted for a few moments, the ring being duly admired and the Thursgoods offering the congratulations of the entire staff, before preparing to retreat.

  ‘Take a couple of bottles of Champagne from the cellar for yourselves, will you?’ said John, nodding to the bottle. ‘And make sure each member of staff gets a bottle too. I’d like even the ones who aren’t in today to get a chance to celebrate.’

  When they were alone, Lizzie darted across and kissed John quickly. ‘That was a nice thing to do. With the Champagne.’

  ‘Well, I’m happy and I’m lucky and I want to share it with people around us. Those “few” we mentioned are … Well, more than a few now.’ He smiled; a strangely gentle little smile yet also, aglow, excited. ‘I’ll arrange for some to be sent round to St Patrick’s Road, and to Buttercup Cottage too. Oh, and Rose and Hannah like a drop of bubbly too. Better send them some as well. I think they’ll be pretty pleased for us too.’

  ‘I’ve a feeling they will,’ said Lizzie, but she was puzzled too. ‘Buttercup Cottage, who lives there?’

  ‘That’s Tom’s place. In the interests of familial harmony, he doesn’t actually live at Montcalm itself, most of the time. The old man finds it easier to ignore the fact that my brother is what he is that way.’ John took her hand, and kissed it, his lips brushing the diamond ring. ‘It’s a very nice little place on the edge of the park. That’s where Brent will be living, well, probably already is, I should imagine.’

  Again, Lizzie was reminded that it wasn’t just her life that was changing. Shelley and Brent were both moving on too. Six months ago, who would have thought it? How bizarre life was. How fast it could change.

  Her first week as an engaged woman was crazy. So much happening. So much to do. And she really hadn’t expected so much ‘financial’ stuff.

  Suddenly she had new bank accounts, new credit cards, although still in her own name. They’d decided not to think about actual wedding dates until both sets of parents had been visited, and their reactions gauged. Lizzie had tried not to protest on discovering the opening balance of her newly set up current account; nor when she was presented with her credit card. A black one of her own, to match John’s. It still all seemed completely surreal.

  But she did speak up when her fiancé announced the engagement gift he intended giving her.

  ‘I know you won’t let me buy the entire business as your gift, but I’ve made the Kissley Magna property over to you,’ he’d said, over breakfast, all booted and suited for a three-day trip to Scandinavia to look at several construction projects. ‘The shop on the village green is yours now, free and clear, to do with as you wish. I’d also like to stand the cost of the shopfitting.’

  Oh John, you’re doing it again!

  ‘John, that’s too much! Even Marie doesn’t own the shop in town outright. I don’t want things to be … be awkward between us.’ Marie had been almost beside herself with joy when Lizzie had announced her engagement news, and the entire day at New Again had become decidedly festive, with the older woman discreetly whispering the news to anyone who happened to be browsing in the shop at the time.

  ‘They won’t be,’ John answered, giving her a steady look and reaching for her hand. ‘I’ve spoken to Marie, and she’s delighted. And I said I’d point out to you the fact that Marie brings an established business, customer base and retail experience to the table, which is perfectly balanced by your raft of skills and the material assets you can now offer.’

  Lizzie took a deep breath. He was so generous, but still oh so controlling. She was going to have to find a way to get used to that. It was a fact of her life now. But by the same token, he was going to have to get used to another fact of life. Consulting her … as an equal.

  ‘You’re taking over again, you monster.’ She gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘It’s not that I’m ungrateful … I’m incredibly grateful, and I love you for making so many things possible for me. But I thought we’d decided you were going to consult me about big stuff like this? No more fait accompli moves without asking me about them first. Equals, remember?’

  John frowned for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I know … I’m hopeless, aren’t I? Mea culpa, mea culpa …’ His look of guilt morphed then, into an irresistible blend of boyishly shame-faced and self-assured ‘like a boss’ smug. The way he waggled his blond brows at her made Lizzie half forget what she’d been laying the law down about. But only half …

  ‘And don’t do that, either. Trying to bamboozle me with your gorgeousness, just to get your own way, Mr Smith!’

  ‘You’re the one that’s gorgeous, Miss Aitchison. I just want to give you all the things in the world … because you’re worth it!’ He winked and ran his free hand through his hair, like he was in a shampoo ad. But then his beautiful face grew more serious. ‘But I hear you too, love. Consultation first. No more guerrilla tactics and pre-emptive strikes, I promise.’ He inclined over her hand, raising it to his lips for a fierce little kiss, as if sealing the pledge. ‘Equals,’ he whispered against her skin.

  It had been hard to say goodbye to him, knowing he’d be away three nights and not back until the day before their trip to her parents. Sleeping together was gradually, so gradually becoming more natural. There were still times when she woke in the night, and found John either sitting up and reading, or lying open-eyed in the darkness. But equally, there were times when she woke up before him in the morning, and found her sleeping prince at rest, slumbering peacefully.

  She spoke to her mother on the phone. She spoke to Caroline. She spoke to Rose, and to Hannah, Rose’s carer who’d become her life-long lover. She even chatted at length to Tom, not just about her own news, but his relationship with Brent. She didn’t reveal her engagement to her parent, though, not yet. If she said anything to her mum, the celebration on Saturday would be all about herself and John, eclipsing her father’s birthday completely.

  It was impossible to resist wearing her ring, though, even though she made a point of not flashing it about. John had enc
ouraged her to wear it, even though she’d take it off again at her father’s party, until John had formally ‘asked’ for her.

  ‘Oh my God! It’s … It’s gobsmacking!’ Shelley had announced, over a small celebration lunch in their favourite bistro in the Piazza.

  ‘Yes, it is rather wonderful, isn’t it?’ said Lizzie, running her thumb over the central gem, nervously polishing it. ‘I keep thinking I should wear a glove over it, for safe keeping, you know?’

  ‘Looks perfect on you, though.’ Shelley’s eyes were a bit misty. ‘It’s like a fairy tale, you and John. I’m so happy for you. He’s a wonderful man, and I don’t only mean the money and the manor houses and title and whatnot. Or the movie star looks. He’s good guy, with it.’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘And I’m glad you’re properly engaged. I’m glad it’s official and you’re going to be married.’ Shelley’s voice was brisk. ‘That way, that bitch of an ex you told me about won’t get any more stupid ideas about getting him back!’

  Yes, that was true. Lizzie had been trying hard not to think about the fly in the ointment. Clara. The one who may, or may not, have inadvertently prompted the engagement in the first place. She still experienced niggles of disquiet over that. It was hard to hear them over the noise of excitement, of plans, and the roller-coaster momentum of her new life rolling out before her, but they were still there.

  ‘I hope you’re right, Shell. I really do. I still do worry a bit about her … to be honest.’ Still her thumb circled over the ring. ‘I know I shouldn’t, but I do.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to worry about.’ Shelley took her hand, calming the action. ‘John loves you. He adores you. It was blindingly obvious when we were at Dalethwaite. He has eyes only for you. It’s like you’re the sun of his world.’

  The sun? How strange. That was how she always thought of him. Golden. The shining radiance in her world.