Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas(28)
She went rigid, unable to believe what he was saying.
Feeling her withdrawal, he said tenderly, “I don’t want to wait, either. If we’re discreet, we can be together as soon as you’re back from your honeymoon. Believe me, I would like nothing better! We’ll have to be careful, of course. It wouldn’t do to foist a bastard on Thornborough.” He gave a wicked chuckle. “Though if the Gargoyle is unable to perform his duty, I’ll be happy to help him. I look more like an Aubrey than he does.”
“In other words, I make you a Cabinet minister, and my reward is adultery in the afternoon,” she said numbly. “No, thank you, Mr. Curzon.” Knowing that she would break down in tears if she stayed any longer, she headed for the door.
He followed her and caught her shoulders. “Don’t look at it that way, darling! I promise you that this will turn out all right. We’ll be able to enjoy the very cream of love, with none of the dreariness of daily living that kills romance.”
He turned her around so that she was facing him. He was as heart-stoppingly handsome as ever, his golden hair glowing in the gaslight, his blue eyes limpid with sincerity.
She drew a shuddering breath. How could she have been such a fool?
His voice richly confident, he said, “Trust me, darling.” He started to pull her toward him for another kiss.
She slapped him with all her strength. “You’re right that this is a fortunate turn of events, because it’s given me a chance to see what a swine you are!” she said, her voice shaking. “I hope never to see you again, though I don’t suppose I’ll be so lucky. Goodbye, Mr. Curzon, and good riddance.”
As he gaped with shock, the imprint of her hand reddening on his face, she spun on her heel and bolted from the room. When she was outside the cottage, she took refuge in the shadowy lee of a huge hedge. There she fell to her knees, heart hammering and tears pouring down her face.
Ever since her childhood, she had dreamed of finding a man who would love her forever. She had wanted a marriage different from the carefully concealed hostility between her parents, or the bored civility common between many other fashionable couples. In Paul, she thought she had found the man she was seeking.
But she had been wrong, so wrong. Oh, he desired her body, and he lusted after her family’s money and influence, but that wasn’t love. She doubted that he knew what love was. Obviously she didn’t know much about it, either. Perhaps the love she craved had never been more than a romantic girl’s futile fantasy.
Blindly she stumbled to her feet and began the slow walk to The Tides. After Paul’s betrayal, there was no reason to go anywhere else.
*
The next morning, when a maid delivered a half loaf of freshly baked bread and a crystal pitcher of water on a tray decorated with a fresh rosebud, Sunny summoned her mother and said that she would accept the Duke of Thornborough’s offer.
Chapter 3
Justin found America a mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous. He liked the bustling energy of New York City and the cheerful directness of the average citizen. Yet in what was supposedly a nation of equals, he found people whose craven fawning over his title would have shamed a spaniel.
Newport society, which considered itself the crème de la crime of America, apparently wanted to out-Anglo the English when it came to formality and elaborate rules. Augusta Vangelder was in her element as she escorted him to an endless series of social events. She invariably referred to him as her “dear duke.” He bore that stoically, along with all the other absurdities of the situation.
But the habits of the natives were of only minor interest; what mattered was Sunny Vangelder. He had hoped that she would greet him with the same sweet, unaffected good nature that she had shown at Swindon, perhaps even with eagerness.
Instead, she might have been a different person. The laughing girl had been replaced by a polished, brittle young woman who avoided speaking with him and never once met his gaze. Though he tried to revive the easy companionship they had so briefly shared, he had no success. Perhaps her stiffness was caused by her mother’s rather repressive presence, but he had the uneasy feeling that there was a deeper cause.
His fifth morning in Newport, he happened to find Sunny reading in the library during a rare hour when they were at home. She didn’t hear him enter, and her head remained bent over her book. The morning light made her hair glow like sun-struck honey, and the elegant purity of her profile caught at his heart.
It was time to make his formal offer of marriage. A flurry of images danced through his mind: him kneeling at her feet and eloquently swearing eternal devotion; Sunny opening her arms and giving him that wonderful smile that had made him feel as if he were the only man in the world; a kiss that would bring them together forever.
Instead, he cleared his throat to get her attention, then said, “Miss Vangelder—Sunny—there is something I would like to ask you. I’m sure you know what it is.”
Perhaps she had known that he was there, for there was no surprise on her face when she lowered her book and looked up. “All of Newport knows,” she said without inflection.
She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. Wishing that he was skilled at spinning romantic words, he said haltingly, “Sunny, you have had my heart from the first moment I saw you at Swindon. There is no one else...”