Miles smiled down at her. ‘It looks lovely.’
‘Put her down, Miles,’ Rachel said as she came to stand behind Jemima. ‘There are people watching.’
‘Just getting the paint out of her hair.’
‘So I see.’
He calmly released Jemima’s hair. ‘One son returned without too much damage.’
Jemima didn’t know how he managed to sound so cool. She felt hot and flustered. Knowing Rachel was watching them for the slightest sign of anything made her feel self-conscious and jumpy.
‘Why don’t you go through to the kitchen? Get yourself a coffee…or something,’ she said, hardly daring to look Miles in the eye.
As soon as he had taken Ben through to the kitchen, Rachel leant forward and gave Jemima a light kiss on the cheek.
‘What?’
Rachel grinned. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
Chapter Ten
MILES felt peculiar as he stood in the banqueting hall of Manningtree Castle. Really quite nervous—and he wasn’t sure why that would be.
Candles flickered everywhere and the soft light created the kind of romantic setting that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Hollywood version of Robin Hood. Flowers were studded through intricate swags of dark green foliage and atmospheric music wafted down from the gallery above.
It was incredible how everything had come together in such a short time. Rachel was going to have the wedding day of her dreams.
Miles reached into his pocket to check for the ring. It was still there. He must have checked for it at least half a dozen times in the last few minutes. He’d no idea why. This was his fourth outing as best man, so one would have thought he’d be icily calm and a real pillar of strength.
Instead he felt as if he was the one about to sign his life away. Alistair, by contrast, looked completely cool. He’d been happily chatting to the eighty or so guests who’d assembled dutifully on dark red velvet chairs and he looked like a man who was thoroughly enjoying himself.
‘Okay?’ Alistair asked, looking across at him.
‘Shouldn’t that be my question?’
His friend merely smiled.
Miles glanced down at his watch. ‘The girls are late.’
‘That’s their prerogative…’ And then the music changed. ‘Here we go.’ Alistair turned to watch his bride walk over the polished floorboards towards him.
Miles swivelled round as the wedding guests all stood up as though they were one entity and he let his breath out in a steady stream. He was so nervous. And he didn’t have the faintest idea why. Anyone would think he was the one getting married, instead of which…
He stopped thinking as Rachel came into view, but it wasn’t the bride that had caused this cessation of all normal functions. It was Jemima. She looked…unbelievable. Beyond beautiful.
Miles smiled, feeling a strange mixture of pride and care for her. He knew how nervous Jemima had been about today. She didn’t like being in the limelight, so this was always going to be difficult for her, but there was more to it than that.
She hadn’t had to tell him how apprehensive she was about so many of her university friends coming to the wedding. For many, if not most, this was the first time they’d have seen her since her divorce. She had pride, his Jemima.
His.
That was how he thought of her now. Her worries had become his worries. He had this overwhelming need to make life better for her. Easier.
But, looking at her now, he couldn’t imagine she’d ever need anything from him. She looked confident and breathtakingly lovely. Her rich copper hair had been left loose with the front sections twisted back and held in place by small white flowers. His eyes travelled lower to the simple column dress in an unusual russet brown and skimmed over the curves of her body. She’d told him she thought she looked ridiculous and that if there was a strong wind she might take off because of the sleeves. It was a description that didn’t come close to doing justice to the fine gauze-like fabric, slashed from the elbow and elegantly falling to ground level.
She was stunning. And he felt a little in awe of her.
Jemima stepped forward and took Rachel’s artfully natural bouquet and added it to her own. Miles wondered whether she’d had a chance yet to notice where Russell was sitting. He knew. His eyes had instinctively searched him out. Russell was sitting on the bride’s side, six rows back.
Miles wondered, too, what Russell was thinking when he looked at Jemima. He felt nervously in his pocket for the ring as the short civil ceremony moved on. If memories crowded in on Jemima, surely they’d crowd in on her ex-husband too.
These were such new feelings and thoughts for him. In some kind of abstract way he’d always known that people came with a past. He’d known that specific incidents and even the general tenor of his childhood had shaped the man he was now. But…he’d not really been interested in any one other human being to want to know what had formed them.
Jemima was different. He was fascinated by her. She was reserved, self-effacing, witty, strong, beautiful… There were so many facets to her personality. She endlessly surprised him. In fact, she was like no other woman he’d spent time with. He loved being with her. Loved saying something that brought a burst of laughter. Loved making her blush.
And she never bored him. He reckoned she never would. Even after a lifetime. Lifetime?
Miles turned to look at Jemima, a little amazed by where his thoughts had taken him. She was so still. Her hands were clasped loosely on the bouquets she was holding and her eyes were focused on her friends. She hadn’t looked at him. Why hadn’t she even glanced across in his direction?
‘The ring?’
He’d almost missed his moment. Miles pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. He’d been to scores of weddings over the past decade, but this was the first time he really listened to the promises the bride and groom were making. Understood what it really meant when Alistair slipped the gold band on Rachel’s finger. Big promises, but it was actually quite beautiful.
Instinctively he glanced across to where Jemima was standing. She’d made those same promises to Russell. Had made them with the intention of keeping them. What was she thinking now? Was she reminded of her own wedding? Hurting?
Looking at her face, he thought not. She looked poised and strong. No one seeing the outward Jemima would guess she felt anything but pleasure at her friends’ wedding. She was doing well, but he knew, because she’d let him glimpse beyond the capable façade, how much more complicated her emotions were.
His eyes wandered over to where Russell was sitting, presumably with Stefanie beside him. The man had made a poor trade, he thought. Why would any man choose a petulant-looking imitation blonde, who didn’t seem to like his children, over Jemima?
But thank God he had, otherwise Miles knew he would never have had the opportunity to get to know her, learn to love her…
Love her. He loved Jemima.
That should have come as a blinding revelation, but it didn’t. Miles smiled slowly. Of course, he loved her. In the end it was as simple as walking from one room to another. He loved her.
And it felt terrific.
Suddenly ‘for ever’ didn’t seem quite long enough. And what did she feel about him? Was it very arrogant to think she might love him too?
And then the ceremony was over. Miles reached out and took hold of Jemima’s hand, threading it through his arm for the short walk across the banqueting hall. She looked up and smiled at him, the first time since she’d arrived.
‘I’m glad that’s over,’ she whispered quietly. ‘It went well, though, didn’t it?’
‘Now, as long as the marquee holds up we’re on the home straight.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, heck, and it’ll be my fault if it doesn’t. If ever I get married again I want to do nothing but turn up. This is too stressful.’
‘I’ll remember that.’
Jemima looked up at him and then away, but he’d caught the glimmer of
something in her eyes. What did it mean? Then she moved away in order to help Rachel manage her long train as she walked down the stone spiral staircase.
The next three hours were strange. In many ways they were predictable. There were the endless photographs on the tulip lawn with the castle as a dramatic foil. Yet more had been taken on the Tudor bridge which spanned the dry moat. Then they moved seamlessly through a champagne reception and on into a wedding breakfast comprising six courses with a very twenty-first century feel.
What was strange was how much of a spectator he felt, despite being so involved in what was happening. He felt as if he was on the sidelines watching, waiting for his real life to start. And real life could only happen when he’d been able to speak to Jemima.
His speech as best man was everything Alistair and Rachel had hoped it would be, but it was Jemima’s calm green eyes he looked at for approval. It was her slow smile that warmed him. He was anxious to know how she was doing, eager to be near her, but there was little possibility of that. Despite preferring to leave the limelight to others, Jemima was continually surrounded throughout the long afternoon.
In the end she found him.
‘My feet ache,’ she said, coming to stand beside him. She lifted up the hem of her dress and revealed matching shoes with viciously pointed toes.
He wondered how women could squeeze their feet into that tortuous shape and spared a moment to think how glad he was that male fashion hadn’t evolved that way. ‘That’s twelfth century footwear for you.’
Jemima gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘They’ll be going soon. Have you done anything about Alistair’s car?’
‘It’s all under control. I’ve organised rose petals to be put in the air vents and streamers practically everywhere else.’
He turned to look at her, loving the way her copper hair framed her beautiful face.
‘I even managed to dissuade Alistair’s young cousin from putting stones in the hub-caps and fish in place of the rose petals. Can you imagine how awful that would smell?’
‘And how long it would have lasted,’ Miles added. Then, ‘Are you tired?’
‘Shattered. My face aches from continually smiling and I’m longing for a cup of tea.’
Miles laughed and reached out for her hand. ‘Come and find five minutes quiet. They won’t leave for a good half an hour yet.’
She hesitated, he thought, but then she let him lead her away from the hubbub of noise and along by the lake. ‘It is beautiful here,’ Jemima remarked, looking out across the lake. ‘I would never have changed my wedding venue so late in the day, but I can see why Rachel felt she had to do it. There’s something rather special about standing where kings and queens have been entertained.’
Miles moved to stand beside her. He had to tell her what he was feeling. And he had to tell her now. It wouldn’t wait.
There was a moment’s silence and then he said, ‘I love you.’ His voice was quiet and his eyes were focused far in the distance.
He felt her turn to look at him and he moved so that he could see her face. He noticed the small pulse in her neck and her wide eyes. His smile twisted at her surprise.
‘I love you.’ Miles swallowed, searching for the words that would convey to her exactly how far he’d travelled in the past three months. ‘I didn’t know… I haven’t ever felt…’
Words never failed him. But now, when they really mattered, he couldn’t find them. There was so much he wanted her to understand. He pulled an agitated hand through his hair. ‘I love you,’ he repeated, reaching for her hands and holding her listless fingers in his firm grasp.
‘You love me?’
‘And I want you to marry me. I want for ever.’
He’d said it. The words he’d thought he’d never say to anyone. He wanted a future with Jemima as his wife more than he wanted his freedom. He knew with complete certainty that she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. That if she said no his life would always be a pale imitation of what it could have been with her beside him.
He looked into Jemima’s face, searching for some reaction other than surprise. He found it in the soft shimmer of tears that covered her green eyes.
‘Miles, I—I can’t.’
His mouth moved soundlessly and his body felt cold.
Jemima pulled her hands away and covered her trembling mouth. ‘I’m so sorry, Miles.’
‘Why?’
She shook her head as though she didn’t want to explain, but then the words were drawn from her anyway. ‘I never thought…’ Jemima moved nearer. ‘You said you didn’t believe in marriage,’ she said, almost accusing.
‘I know. I didn’t.’ His eyes willed her to understand, to feel how much he loved her. Would always love her. ‘I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never been in love, so it took me a while to understand what I was feeling. And…then, today, I listened to the promises Alistair and Rachel were making and…I want that. I want to know you’re going to walk the rest of your life beside me, loving me, supporting me.’
Jemima’s hand felt for a coil of her hair and twisted it round her finger. Her green eyes were full of fear and pain. ‘When I married Russell I really believed it would be for ever. I thought he was a steady kind of man who really loved me.’
Miles went to speak, but she stopped him.
‘You…you’re not safe enough for me. I’ve got two boys—’
‘I know, I—’
‘And I’m not brave enough. I can’t risk them being hurt…and I can’t risk being hurt myself. I’d always be wondering why you were with me. Whether you’d met someone you found more attractive, more amusing, more… Well, more.’
Miles felt as though something had reached deep inside him and had taken hold of his heart and was squeezing it with long, tenacious fingers. ‘Jemima, I love you.’
He watched with an acute kind of pain the moisture well up in her eyes and fall in soft tears down her cheeks. Miles went to move, but she held him off. ‘I’m so sorry. Really s-sorry.’
And then she walked away, back along the lakeside path. Miles remained still for a moment, too wounded to move. Loving, he realised, came at a cost. Until this moment his understanding of rejection had been entirely cerebral, but if Jemima had experienced a fraction of the pain he felt now…
He would wait for her, he thought with quiet determination. Slowly he would win her round, make her love him enough to be prepared to risk anything.
‘What’s happened?’ Rachel asked, looking anxiously at Jemima’s tear-stained face.
‘Nothing. I’m sorry. It’s nothing.’
‘Is it Russell?’
Jemima shook her head.
Rachel looked past her and saw Miles coming out of the woods. ‘Miles?’
‘It’s nothing, really,’ Jemima said, summoning up a brave smile. ‘I’m being ridiculous. Are you and Alistair about to leave?’
‘We were,’ she said, still looking concerned. ‘Alistair was going to look for Miles and then we were going back to the cottage to get changed. But if you’re upset we can—’
Jemima reached out to hug her friend. ‘I really hope you’ll both be very happy. I’m just feeling emotional. It’s nothing. It’s been a very emotional day,’ she said, pulling back and smiling bravely.
It was amazing to Jemima that Rachel believed her. Even more amazing that her over-bright smile appeared to fool everyone else as well.
Inside she was falling apart, piece by piece. All she wanted was solitude where she could begin to unpack the emotions that were building inside her. Miles loved her. If she hadn’t known that was an impossibility she might have been more prepared. But that he loved her enough to marry her… There was no amount of preparation that would have made her ready to hear that.
It was a fairytale. It was the knight on horseback climbing up the tower to rescue his princess. Or the foreign prince waking his love with a kiss. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of…just there within her reach. If she o
nly had the courage to reach out and take hold of it…
As soon as she’d waved Alistair and Rachel away, Jemima quietly slipped back into the woodland. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so sure of Russell she might feel braver now. But…
She had been sure of him. She’d skipped through her wedding day with the confidence of someone who knew she’d be happy for the rest of her life.
And yet… It had all come down to a rainy Sunday afternoon when she’d been told she’d become boring. That the man she believed loved her no longer found her physically attractive…
‘Jemima.’
She turned to see Russell standing there, almost as though he’d been conjured up by her thoughts.
‘May I… talk to you?’
Jemima felt too empty to care whether he stayed or whether he went. He probably wanted to ask if he could have the boys longer over the summer. No doubt his mother wanted them to visit her in Devon.
Russell must have taken her silence for tacit agreement because he sat down beside her. He cleared his throat with a dry cough. ‘You look lovely.’
She looked across at him, surprised. ‘Thank you.’
Russell looked down at his hands and cleared his throat again. He seemed tense and nervous. Jemima waited for what would come next.
‘Stefanie…’
She was too tired, too heart-sore to sit here while Russell talked about Stefanie. She didn’t care any more what they did. She just wished she didn’t have to see them or think about them.
Again that irritating dry cough. ‘Stefanie is pregnant.’
Jemima turned to look at him. ‘Pregnant?’
‘Four months.’ Russell nodded. ‘Not planned.’
‘Oh.’ What else could she say? It didn’t seem quite appropriate to say ‘congratulations’. She didn’t quite know why he thought he ought to tell her. It was nothing to do with her any more…
Except, of course, that the baby would be a half-brother or sister to Ben and Sam. Even so, she thought it was his responsibility to tell them the news. Ben would hate it. Sam would probably be pleased.
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