by Penny Jordan
“I never wanted... ”
Letter to Reader
Title Page
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Copyright
“I never wanted... ”
Claire stopped, but Brad knew what she was going to say.
“You never wanted me here in the first place,” he guessed wryly.
“Why can’t you leave me alone to live my life the way I want to?” she demanded fiercely. “You...even Sally with that ridiculous trick to force us to catch her bouquet. As though anyone places any credence on that ridiculous superstition these days.”
“What superstition?” Brad asked her curiously.
“The one that says the girl who catches the bride’s bouquet will be the next to marry,” Claire told him angrily. “Sally arranged it so that both her two bridesmaids and I were tricked into catching it.”
Claire glowered at him furiously as she saw the way he had started to grin.
“Look, I’ve got to go,” he said, “but I am coming back, and when I do...don’t even bother to think about running away.”
Dear Reader,
What is more natural than a bride wanting her closest friends also to find happiness in love? For Sally, this means tricking three of her wedding guests into catching her bouquet! Three women, each very different, but all with their own reasons for never wanting to marry. That is why they agree to a pact to stay single, but just how long will it take for the bouquet to begin its magic?
Penny Jordan has worked her magic on these three linked stories. One of Harlequin’s most successful and popular authors, she has written three compelling romances—all complete stories in themselves—which follow the lives—and loves—of Claire, Poppy and Star. Woman to Wed? is Claire’s story. She is Sally’s youthful stepmother, whose calm, well-ordered world is about to be shattered forever.
THE BRIDE’S BOUQUET—three women make a pact to stay single, but one by one they fall, seduced by the power of love
Look out for:
#1889 Beat Man to Wed? June 1997
#1895 Too Wise to Wed? July 1997
PENNY JORDAN
Woman to Wed?
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM •ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN
MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
PROLOGUE
THERE has been a long tradition at weddings that the one to catch the bride’s bouquet as she throws it will be the next to marry.
The bride emerged from the hotel bedroom, giving her skirts a final shake, turning round to check on the long, flowing satin length of her train before turning to smile lovingly into the eyes of her new husband.
Her two adult bridesmaids—her best friend and her husband’s young cousin—and her stepmother had been dismissed for this, her final appearance in her wedding gown. Chris could be her attendant on this occasion, she had told them.
‘Come on; we’d better go down,’ he warned her. ‘Otherwise everyone will be wondering what on earth we’re doing.’
Laughing, they walked to the top of the stairs and then paused to stand and watch the happy crowd in the room below them. The reception was in full swing.
The bride turned to her husband and whispered emotionally, ‘This has been the happiest day of my life.’ ‘And mine too,’ Chris returned, squeezing Sally’s hand and bending his head to kiss her.
Arm in arm they started to walk down the stairs, and then, somehow or other, Sally missed her footing and slipped. The small group of people clustered at the foot of the stairs waiting for them, alerted to what was happening by Sally’s frightened cry, rushed forward, James, the best man, Chris’s elder brother and two of the ushers going to the aid of the bride, whilst the two bridesmaids and the bride’s stepmother reacted immediately and equally instinctively, quickly reaching out to protect the flowers that the bride had dropped as she’d started to fall.
As three pairs of equally feminine but very different hands reached out to grasp the bouquet, the bride, back on her feet now, smiled mischievously down at them and warned, ‘That’s it! There’ll be three more weddings now.’
‘No!’
‘Never!’
‘Impossible!’
Three very firm and determined female voices made the same immediate denial; three pairs of female eyes all registered an immediate and complete rejection of the bride’s triumphant assertion.
Marry? Them? Never.
The three of them looked at one another and then back at the bride.
It was just a silly old superstition. It meant nothing, and besides, each of them knew that no matter what the other two chose to do she was most definitely not going to get married.
The bride was still laughing as she swept down the few remaining stairs on her husband’s arm.
Her two bridesmaids had both already separately and jointly informed her that they had no intention of taking part in any silly old rituals which involved the degradation of them vying for possession of her wedding bouquet, and as for her stepmother...
A tiny frown pleated Sally’s forehead. When would Claire accept that, at a mere thirty-four and widowed, she was not, as she always insisted, too mature to want to share her life with a new partner?
While Sally and Chris made sure that they spoke with every guest once the speeches were over, the two bridesmaids and Claire worked together to gather up the scattered wedding presents. Poppy, Chris’s cousin, suddenly spotted Sally’s wedding bouquet lying on one of the tables. Unable to help herself, she went over to it and picked it up, tears filling her eyes.
‘Forget it,’ Star, her fellow bridesmaid, instructed her, grimly removing the flowers from her tense grip. ‘It’s just a stupid superstition. It means nothing, and I for one intend to prove it by saying publicly and unequivocally here and now that I never intend to marry.’
As her eye was caught by an unopened bottle of champagne, she reached for it, opened it deftly and poured the foaming liquid into three empty glasses, challenging the other two, ‘I’m willing to make a vow not to marry. What about you two?’
‘I certainly have no plans to remarry,’ Claire, Sally’s stepmother, agreed more gently.
Tearfully Poppy nodded. ‘I shan’t marry now. Not now that Chris... Not now...’ Fresh tears filled her eyes as she solemnly joined the other two in a pledge of solidarity.
All three of them raised their glasses, none of them aware that their conversation had been overheard...
CHAPTER ONE
CLAIRE MARSHALL gave a rueful look at the now empty, still confetti-strewn reception area of the hotel.
Was it really less than a couple of hours since her stepdaughter and her new husband had run laughing down those stairs, trying to dodge the happy bombardment of rose petals?
Most of the guests had left now, just a small nucleus remaining in the hotel lounge. She had only come back in here to check that nothing had inadvertently been left behind.
It had been a lovely day, a perfect wedding, marred only by the fact that her husband, Sally’s father, had not been with them.
It was over two years now since his death but she still missed him; he had been a good husband—kind, loving, protective. As she bent to touch the bouquet which Sally had so cleverly tricked the three women into catching, Claire acknowledged that the adjectives she was using to describe her husband were more those that she would use to describe a loving father.
‘You should ma
rry again,’ Sally had urged her more than once recently. Sadness darkened her eyes. She had been lucky to find one loving and understanding man; she doubted that she would ever be lucky enough to find a second. And besides, she didn’t really want to marry a second time—to make explanations, excuses or apologies.
She was distracted from her thoughts as both the adult bridesmaids came to join her. Poppy, the bridegroom’s cousin, glowered angrily at the bridal bouquet and curtly echoed Star’s earlier bitter comment.
‘No one pays any attention to those silly old superstitions these days anyway...’
Claire gave her a gentle smile. Sally had confided to her that it was an open secret in her new husband’s family that his cousin had been hopelessly in love with him for years.
Poor girl, Claire thought compassionately. No wonder she looked so pale and strained; the whole day must have been an unbearable ordeal for her, and the bridegroom’s brother hadn’t made things any easier for her. She had accidentally come across the pair of them deep in the middle of a very angry quarrel earlier and she suspected now that at some point in the day Poppy had been crying.
‘I never want to get married—never!’ Poppy announced savagely now.
‘A statement with which I fully concur,’ the third member of the trio murmured calmly.
Claire turned her head to smile at her stepdaughter’s closest and oldest friend. Claire could remember quite vividly how as a young teenager Star had always insisted that she never intended to marry and that her career was going to be the most important thing in her life.
‘Such a shame that none of us truly appreciated Sally’s gesture,’ Claire commented ruefully as she picked up the bouquet and studied it.
‘Careful,’ Star warned her drily. ‘You don’t know what effect holding it could have...’
Claire laughed but she still replaced the bouquet. ‘It is only a tradition,’ she reminded the other two.
‘Mmm... but perhaps for safety’s sake we ought to do something constructive to ensure that we stick to the vow we made earlier and remain unmarried,’ said Star.
‘Such as what?’ Poppy demanded, adding bitterly, ‘Not that I shall ever change my mind...if I can’t...’ Tears were already filling her eyes. Angrily she blinked them away.
‘Look, why don’t we agree to meet, say, once every three months just to remind each other that we intend to stay husband-free? Then if one of us does start slipping we’ve always got the others to turn to for support,’ Star suggested.
‘I won’t need any support,’ Poppy declared.
But Claire, who could sense already how Sally’s marriage was bound to alter the relationship they each had with her and one another, said firmly, ‘I think that’s a very good idea. Let’s make a date to meet here three months from now. We can have lunch together... my treat.’
‘Great, I’ll put it in my diary,’ Star confirmed.
Claire looked across at Poppy. She didn’t know her as well as she did Star, who had been Sally’s best friend ever since they had started senior school together, but she could sense how unhappy the younger girl was. It must have been hard for her, seeing the man she loved marrying someone else.
Sally had confessed that when she had first heard about Poppy she had been inclined to feel very wary of her but that once she had met her, and knowing how strong Chris’s love was for her, she had simply felt desperately sad for her.
‘It must be so awful loving someone who can’t love you back in the same way,’ Sally had said. ‘Chris likes her, of course—she’s his cousin-but...’
‘But he loves you,’ Claire had agreed.
Sally had come over to her and given her a quick hug. They had always got on well together from the moment John had introduced them. Sally had been a pupil at the huge comprehensive where Claire had done her teacher-training practice.
She had often wondered if one of the reasons why Sally had accepted her so lovingly and so readily as her stepmother had been that she had never known her own mother. Sally’s mother, John’s first wife, had died just after Sally’s birth.
‘Paula will always be part of my...of our lives. I shall always love her,’ John had told her seriously when he had proposed to her.
She had accepted that, felt warmed by it, almost reassured... Knowing how much he had loved his first wife and still loved her made her feel...safe.
Sally had once asked innocently when Claire was going to have children of her own and when she was going to have a little brother or sister. Claire had had to turn away from her, leaving it to John to answer, to defuse the situation.
She sighed faintly now. Of course she would have liked children, if things had been different. As a girl she had always imagined that one day she would have them.
‘I think we ought to be going now,’ she told the two bridesmaids. ‘I don’t think we’ve left anything behind. I can’t see anything, can you, Poppy?’
‘No. There’s nothing left,’ Poppy agreed drearily. ‘Not now.’
Claire gave her a quick look but said nothing. It seemed kinder not to.
‘So now that the wedding is over, what do you intend to do with the rest of your life?’
‘Oh, I don’t plan to make any major changes,’ Claire told her sister-in-law. ‘I’m thinking of putting in a few more hours at the school but apart from that...’
Claire worked part-time as a volunteer at a local school for mentally and physically handicapped children. John had left her very well provided for financially but, as she had explained to his sister, Irene, when she had first started working at the school, she felt that she wanted to put something back into the community, and since she had originally trained as a teacher...
‘Mmm, you wouldn’t be interested in taking a lodger, I suppose?’
‘A lodger?’ Claire stared at her.
‘Mmm... a colleague of Tim’s who wants somewhere “home-like” to stay. A service flat is out of the question. He doesn’t care for that kind of anonymity. He’s an American and from a large family and he doesn’t want to live alone.’
Irene went on to give her details of his background, before concluding, ‘He’s in his late thirties, not a young student, and it simply wouldn’t be appropriate to put him in to just any kind of lodgings. He holds quite a high position in the company,’ Irene said. ‘In fact his family own it.’
‘How high?’ Claire asked her, alarm bells ringing.
‘He’s Tim’s boss,’ Irene told her a little stiffly.
‘Ah, I see.’ Claire grinned. ‘He’s Tim’s boss and it’s down to Tim to come up with somewhere suitable for him to stay, is that it? I can’t see why you don’t move him into your house, Irene,’ Claire told her mockinnocently. ‘After all, you’ve got the room,,with Peter away at university and Louise working in Japan.’
‘No, I don’t think that would be a good idea: Things aren’t going all that well for Tim at the moment—sales have dropped and there have been problems with delivery and installation. I keep telling Tim that he should be tougher, more assertive—’ She broke off, shaking her head.
‘Would you do it, Claire?’ she asked with unfamiliar humility. ‘Tim is getting himself in a dreadful state about the whole thing. Apparently this American, his new boss, is something of an...individual—’
‘An individual...? What does that mean?’ Claire asked her warily.
Irene started to frown. As Claire knew from past experience, likeable though her sister-in-law was, she was inclined to steamroller people in order to get her own way when it suited her, and Claire could tell that she wasn’t particularly pleased at having been interrupted and questioned.
‘I’m sure he’s not an awkward character. Oh, Claire, I wouldn’t ask you,’ Irene pleaded, ‘but Tim is feeling so vulnerable about his job at the moment. He has convinced himself that this American is coming in very much as a new broom; psychologically it will make him feel so much more confident if he feels that he’s done something constructive ahead of his arrival
...’
‘“Something constructive”? Are you sure this man is going to want to be my lodger? From the sound of it, it seems to me that he’s used to a far more luxurious lifestyle than I enjoy. You know how quietly I live, Irene. I’ve never been a keen socialiser.’
‘No, maybe not, but people like you, Claire; they feel drawn to you—your house is always full of callers, your phone never stops ringing.’
Claire digested her comment in silence, knowing that it was an argument she could not refute.
John had often remonstrated with her about her tendency to attract people who needed a shoulder to cry on. The only time the big Edwardian house had ever really been quiet had been during those pitifully brief weeks leading up to John’s death, and then only because Claire had specifically asked people not to call. She still missed him dreadfully—his support, his wise counsel, his protection.
His protection.
A tiny tremor shook her body.
‘Irene, I don’t think that it would be a good idea... I—’
‘Oh, Claire, please.’
As Claire looked at her sister-in-law she could see that her anxiety was genuine. She gave a small sigh.
‘Very well, then,’ she agreed. ‘But I doubt that this man, Tim’s new boss, is going to be very thrilled when he discovers—’
‘Nonsense. Your house complies with all his stipulations,’ Irène told her, then proceeded to tick them off on her fingers as she listed them.
‘It’s a proper home right in the centre of the community—well, at least in the best residential part of the town. You’ve got a proper guest suite—or at least you will have now that Sally’s gone. He can have her old room and bathroom and he can use one of the other bedrooms as an office. After all, you have got five of them.