At the Billionaire’s Wedding (10 page)

“It’s all very well to say that, but you’ve still got all this.” Arwen stretched her arms out to encompass the house, the gardens, and all the other magnificence that was Brampton. “It’s easy to dismiss what you were born with since no one can take it away from you.”

He took her hand and held it tightly, almost, but not quite, to the point of pain. “You think so? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to hold onto a place like this? If I had any sense I’d have let my father sell it when he wanted to.”

“Sell it?” Naively, perhaps, she hadn’t thought much about the history and economics of Brampton. They had a big house and decided to turn it into a hotel. End of story. But of course it wasn’t.

He spoke quietly, with an urgency unlike his usual relaxed, amused tones. “Three years ago, my parents decided they’d had enough of the place. It cost a fortune to maintain, even in a rundown state, and they wanted to move to Bali, where living is cheap and the weather is great. As a matter of form, since I’m their only child, they asked for my opinion. I was living in London and opened my mouth to say yes, of course, it was their house and their decision. But the words wouldn’t come out. I realized I didn’t want to give it up.”

“I wouldn’t either.” Arwen stopped trying to pull her hand away, and he relaxed his grip. “It is gorgeous, though a bit on the large side.”

“They thought I was mad and sometimes I think so too. I couldn’t bear the thought of not having Brampton to come home to. So we came to an arrangement. My father handed the estate over to me and, as long as he lives seven years, I won’t have to pay death duties on the value of the property. We sold the good pictures; the Rembrandt made enough after taxes to keep my parents forever, while some other paintings funded the conversion of the house. Between the hotel itself, shooting parties, and holiday rentals of cottages around the estate, we should be able to keep going.”

“You were set to open this fall. Why did you agree to Duke’s request to hold the wedding here? It seems like an awful lot of hassle.”

“Come with me.”

Off the hall, next to the Gold Saloon, there was a room Arwen hadn’t seen before. Used to the high state of gloss that characterized the rest of the house, in the library she might have been in a different world. Twice as long as it was wide, it was lined with cases of deep brown wood that reached almost to the beautiful ceiling. Fancy plasterwork had been painted bright white, in contrast to the shabby state of the rest of the fixtures. Although the furniture—chairs and tables, Arwen guessed—was covered in dust cloths, the parquet floor was scratched with numerous loose sections. Odors of paint and dust hung about the room. The principal cause of the atmosphere of neglect was easily identified: the bookcases, covered over with giant sheets of clear plastic, were almost all empty.

The library was like a sleeping beauty, waiting to be reawakened to its former glory.

“What a beautiful room, and how sad,” Arwen said.

“This is why I need Duke Austen,” Harry said simply. “He offered me enough money to finish the restoration in here. It’s my favorite room and a house isn’t a house without a library.”

“I agree. In my New York apartment, I give the name to a few shelves on either side of the fireplace.” She stopped and smiled. “In terms of percentage of available space, mine might be bigger.” She walked over to a couple of sections of shelves in the wall opposite the marble fireplace, the only ones occupied.

“Be careful,” Harry said. “All the bookcases were removed from the wall so we could deal with dry rot in the wainscoting. They haven’t been screwed back in securely.”

Arwen stepped back and peered at the titles from a distance. Lots of novels and history and eastern philosophy, reflecting the interests displayed on Harry’s nightstand. “Why so few books? Did you have to sell most of them?”

“It was a toss-up between a painting and the library, but in the end I couldn’t part with rare editions that had been bought new by my ancestors.”

“I can understand that. Books are personal. Knowing what people read brings them closer.”

“My feelings exactly. The collection has been stored away, so when we ran out of money a year ago, it was too depressing having no books. I unpacked the books I had in my flat in London and stuck them in here. They’re not properly arranged, but you are welcome to borrow anything you like.”

“I’ll be too busy with the wedding, I expect, but it’s good to know I have options.” He looked at her anxiously and she found that it was hard to stay really mad at a man in the middle of a library. “Thanks for showing me this, Harry. I understand now why you were so anxious for the wedding plan to go through.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

She wanted to say yes; already she’d had to restrain herself from kissing him. Not a sexual kiss, but one on the cheek, between friends; a gesture of solidarity. But while her anger had subsided, her hurt had not. “You should have told me who you were. It wouldn’t have affected my opinion of the hotel. And you especially should have told me who you were before we slept together.”

He nodded. “No more lies, I promise. Can we revisit the issue after the wedding?”

“If everything between now and next Sunday goes perfectly, you may find me in a forgiving mood.”

“That’s something to look forward to. What would you like me to do?”

“Duke has his heart set on a hunt for his bachelor party. Most of these guys are from Silicon Valley, for God’s sake. Can you prevent a bunch of geeks with guns from shooting each other? It’s bad for business when half the wedding party is dead or in intensive care.”

Harry gave the sleepy grin that never failed to make her insides quiver. “The gamekeeper who organizes the shooting at Brampton is thoroughly used to managing lunatics.”

Only four more days until the wedding and Harry couldn’t wait.

The strain of a weeklong event with almost one hundred residential guests was beginning to tell on him. He couldn’t imagine how Arwen stood it. Her only outward sign of stress was a derangement of her sleek, shiny hair, but he knew she worried about everything. He had some excellent ideas about how to make her relax as soon as this damn thing was over. He’d enjoy them too.

“Good morning, Elf,” he said, finding her staring at and baffled by the espresso machine in the family kitchen. “Let me do that. Did you hear that Nanny caught the Next Gordon Ramsey shagging one of the guests on a saddle horse in the stables?”

“Is Nanny okay?”

“She’s pretty unflappable. I trust you’re over your infatuation with the man. Faithless bastard.”

“The guy is impossible. I wish the Original Gordon Ramsey had been available. Much less trouble. All in all things could be worse. Jane seems to have lost her mind, but that’s normal for brides.” She leaned in to breathe the freshly ground coffee while he enjoyed her proximity and her scent.

“She’s not going to call it off, is she? I’m not sure I have a cancelation clause in my contract.”

“It’s her wedding dress. She has an incredibly beautiful designer wedding gown, but now she wants to check out a bridal shop in Melbury. Is it conceivable she’ll find anything she likes there?”

“I have no idea, but I expect they can produce something suitably meringue-like. Do you have to go with her?”

“Thank God, no. She hasn’t asked me and I only heard about it from Mark. Just an attack of the last-minute crazies, I expect.”

He tightened the portafilter and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t you ever want a wedding dress for yourself?” That was a dangerous thing to ask, the kind of question he shied away from, not wishing to give rise to expectations. Antiquated institution or not, there was something about the peerage that put a gleam into the eyes of otherwise sensible women.

Not his Elf. She stepped away as though scalded. “While the coffee brews I’ll run over to the hotel kitchen and make sure that lecher has breakfast running smoothly. Also make sure he hasn’t put anything in the refrigerator reserved for the desserts being delivered from London. And that Sheila and he haven’t gotten into a knife fight over the vegan dishes.”

Babbling away, she backed out of the room. Harry whistled optimistically. Arwen was rattled and, if he wasn’t mistaken, it had nothing to do with work.

Two days until the wedding and Arwen felt like she was running a marathon, overseeing the meals and entertainment for a solid week and dealing with one small crisis after another.

And then there was the tabloid photographer. This was particularly worrisome, given the heavy secrecy that had surrounded the wedding. As far as they could tell, there was only one. His phallic camera lens had been spotted peeking around a corner or sticking out from shrubbery. He’d been surprised several times, but the man was nimble on his feet.

He had to be driven off by Saturday because
People
magazine had an exclusive on the wedding itself in exchange for a hefty contribution to an animal rescue charity. No way was Arwen going to lose the chance of getting
her
wedding—all right, technically Duke and Jane’s—in
People
, thanks to the squalid British tabloids.

On the whole, things had gone well and she worked well with Harry and Mark. Once the hotel was properly staffed it would be a fabulous location for any event. She was already thinking about how she could sell Brampton as a destination wedding site to American clients. Most importantly, the bridal couple was happy and the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Meanwhile, she had a relatively easy day ahead of her. Harry had arranged to take all the men off, hopefully to kill birds and not each other. Jane and her maid of honor Roxanna were leading a bachelorette expedition off the premises. Arwen looked forward to a quiet morning at the gazebo, going over her lists, checking e-mail, and making calls to suppliers, then an afternoon overseeing the tent people and the florist.

First coffee and a soothing chat with Nanny in the giant kitchen. Since Harry was away she’d have to tackle the espresso machine herself. She’d watched him often enough. She found those big sure hands twisting the little metal containers of coffee into place very sexy.

“Arwen, honey.” The last voice she would have expected greeted her at the kitchen door.

“Mom? What the f—… What are you doing here?” A familiar waft of patchouli hit her nose.

“Language, honey. You’ll shock Nanny.”

Nanny was taking the appearance of an eternal hippy from Pennsylvania with the same calm with which she’d witnessed the chef’s sexual shenanigans. “Come in, Arwen. Molly and I are having a nice cup of green tea. Isn’t it lovely that she’s come to see you?”

Arwen and Molly hugged each other. “It’s good to see you, Mom. You’re looking great.” She always did. Though Arwen often complained to her friends that her fifty-year-old mother hadn’t changed her style since she was a teenager, the flowing floral skirts and gauzy tops suited her. She kept her skin in good shape by always wearing a hat outside on the farm and if her long curly blond hair contained any gray, it didn’t show. Flamboyant beaded jewelry, collected around the world before she and Benjamin settled down, complemented her wardrobe.

“And you’re looking tired, though I do like your hair like that. Makes you look less uptight.”

“Thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “Why are you here and where’s Dad?”

“I’ve left him.”

Tottering to the table, Arwen pulled out a chair and collapsed. “No.” The one thing in her whole life she’d have bet on was her parents’ devotion to one another. “Tell me what happened. No, first coffee.”

“She’s had a shock,” Molly said to Nanny. “Give her some of that green tea.”

“I need caffeine, preferably through an IV.”

Molly handed her a mug of pale liquid. “Drink this. You need the antioxidants.”

For all her new age airs, Molly didn’t take disobedience well. It was easier to give in. “Explain,” she said, taking a sip and wishing it was a latte. On top of everything else, she really didn’t need green tea and parental drama.

“We were at a folk festival on the Isle of Man.”

“I wondered what you were doing there.”

“We took a trip to celebrate our thirtieth anniversary.”

“Of what?”

“Don’t be so ordinary, honey. Of the day we pledged our eternal love in the ashram in India. We’ve often told you about that.”

“I didn’t realize you did anything so ‘ordinary’ as observe an anniversary. So what happened to the pledge of eternal love?”

“Benjamin asked me to marry him.”

“Mom, that’s so sweet and romantic.” Arwen had to get up and give her another hug. “Can I do the wedding? I promise it’ll be just the way you want it.”

Molly held her daughter convulsively. “We have never believed in the shackles of marriage. Without absolute freedom I cannot live with him.”

“So don’t marry. I think it would be lovely if you tied the knot, but it won’t matter either way. Not after all these years.”

“You don’t understand,” she cried, releasing Arwen and stretching her arms toward the ceiling. “Benjamin has betrayed everything I thought we held sacred. Nothing will ever be the same again.”