Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas(25)

“No, tor the last several years, I’ve been too busy to look for a wife.” Justin returned to his position by the window and stared blindly across the grounds. Burrell was right that marriage was the only plausible answer. Justin wouldn’t be the first, and certainly not the last, to marry for money.

Even as a younger son, Justin would have had no trouble finding a wife, for he was an Aubrey, had no appalling vices and he had inherited an adequate private income. Yet though Gavin’s entertaining had brought a steady stream of polished, fashionable females through Swindon, there had never been one whom Justin had wanted for a wife.

Except...

He closed his eyes, and instantly the memory he had tried to suppress for months crossed his mind. A perfect spring day, a tall, graceful young woman with a smile of such bright sweetness that she was nicknamed for the sun. The image was more real than the foggy landscape outside.

Though Justin had hated himself for his weakness, he had compulsively tracked Sunny Vangelder’s triumphant passage through English society. Scarcely an issue of the Morning Post had arrived without mentioning her presentation at court, or her glowing appearance at a ball, or the fact that she had been seen riding in Rotten Row. Rumor said that many men had asked for her hand, and daily Justin had steeled himself for an announcement of a brilliant match. Yet at the end of the season, she had left London still unbetrothed.

He drew a painful breath. It was absurd to think of such an incomparable female marrying someone as ordinary as himself. But Gavin had said that she was the greatest heiress ever to cross the Atlantic, which meant that she was exactly the sort of wife Justin needed. And it was also said that her mother wanted to see her a duchess.

Scarcely daring to hope, he asked, “Do you know if Miss Vangelder has contracted a marriage yet?”

“You want to marry the Gilded Girl?” Burrell said, unable to conceal his shock at such effrontery. “Winning her would be quite a coup, but difficult, very difficult. There’s a mining heiress from San Francisco who might be a better choice. Almost as wealthy, and I am acquainted with her father. Or perhaps...”

Interrupting the solicitor, Justin said, “I would prefer Miss Vangelder. I met her once, and found her...very amiable.”

After a long pause, Burrell said doubtfully, “Of course, you are the Duke of Thornborough. Perhaps it could be done.”

Justin smiled humorlessly at the slate-gray pools of the water garden. “How does one go about selling oneself, Burrell? My experience is sadly deficient.”

Ignoring the sardonic tone, the solicitor said, “I shall visit Lady Westron. She’s the girl’s godmother, you know. If she thinks the idea has merit, she can write Augusta Vangelder.”

“Then by all means call on her ladyship before the roof collapses.”

“There is one thing you should consider before proceeding, your grace,” Burrell said with a warning note. “There are more American heiresses than English ones, and they tend to be much more polished, but a drawback of such an alliance is that the families usually drive hard bargains. You would probably have restrictions placed on your control of the dowry, and you might have to return the balance if the marriage ends.”

Justin’s mouth tightened. “I wouldn’t be marrying the girl with the intention of divorcing her, Burrell.”

“Of course not,” the solicitor said quickly. After a shuffle of papers, he added, “If I may say so, you’re very different from your brother.”

“Say what you like,” Justin said tersely. Yet though he told himself that a rich wife was strictly a practical matter, the possibility of marrying Sunny Vangelder filled him with raw, aching hunger.

If she came to Swindon, there would always be sunshine.



*

Newport, Rhode Island



Laughing and breathless from the bicycle ride, Sunny waved goodbye to her friends, then skipped up the steps of The Tides, the Vangelder summer home. Like most Newport “cottages,” it would have been called a mansion anywhere else. But the atmosphere was more relaxed than New York City and she always enjoyed the months spent in Newport.

This summer was the best ever, because the Honorable Paul Curzon was visiting the Astors. He had arrived in Newport three weeks earlier, and the first time they had waltzed together he had confided that he had come to America to see Sunny.

She had almost expired from sheer bliss, for she had been thinking of Paul ever since their first meeting. They had carried on a delicious flirtation throughout the season, and she had sensed that there were deeper feelings on both sides. She'd been bitterly disappointed that he had not offered for her then.

As they danced, he explained that he had not spoken earlier for he had feared that he would not be considered an acceptable suitor. But after weeks of yearning, he had finally decided to come to America and declare his love.

Breathlessly she had confessed that she also had tender feelings for him. Ever since that night, she had been living in an enchanted dream. Each morning she woke with the knowledge that she would see Paul at least once during the day, perhaps more than that. The business of Newport was society, and there was an endless succession of balls and dinner parties and polo matches.

Though the two of them had behaved impeccably in public, on two magical occasions they had had a moment’s privacy, and he had kissed her with a passion that made her blood sing through her veins. At night, as she lay in her chaste bed, she remembered those kisses and yearned for more.