Bad Brides (3 page)

Like we all do
, Brianna Jade thought now, smoothing down the pleated silk skirt of her Balenciaga dress with its exquisite chiffon pintucked sleeves. It was totally gorgeous, but she
still couldn’t pronounce most designer names right. She suspected Minty of guessing that fact and trying to catch out Brianna Jade by repeatedly asking her who had made her clothes, but
Brianna Jade just smiled seraphically in return, flicked her glossy, perfectly blow-dried hair from one shoulder to the other, and said:

‘Oh, I couldn’t tell you. Mom and I have so many pretty things.’

Foiled, Minty had sneered again, tossed her own hair – the British society girls were all proud of their hair, though Brianna Jade’s was lusher than any of theirs – and slinked
away. Brianna Jade had heard that Minty had nicknamed her BJ, but that was water off Brianna Jade’s back, rain off her bouncing, lacquered, hairsprayed locks. It sure wasn’t the first
time she’d been teased about that. Tamra had apologized years ago for not realizing the consequences of naming her daughter after Brianna Jade’s dead father – Brian
Schladdenhouffer, who had done the decent thing and proposed when Tamra got knocked up, only to die in a combine-harvester accident before he could either get married or see his daughter born
– and after the stone in the engagement ring, a jade he’d given Tamra till he could afford a Kay’s diamond from the local mall. (‘Every kiss begins with Kay!’)

Tamra had suggested that Brianna Jade change her name: Brianna Jade had promptly burst into tears, said that she wouldn’t dream of it, that her name had not one, but two lovely references
to her dad, and that her mom should never raise the idea again. Being called BJ really wasn’t such a big deal, she had insisted bravely. Tamra had burst into tears as well, and they’d
hugged and cried for a long time before deciding to hitch into Kewanee and go spend some money they didn’t really have on Bananas Foster ice-cream sundaes at Carvel, their favourite
treat.

And look at me now! I’m going to be Brianna Jade, Countess of Respers, with the Honourable Araminta and her friends dancing at my wedding!

An ecstatic smile spread over Brianna Jade’s face at the prospect of their sour expressions as they saw her walking up the aisle of the Respers family chapel in a couture gown, her train a
mile long, her diamonds sparkling and her head held high and triumphant. Edmund walked into the morning room to see her big hazel eyes wide, her glossed lips curving ecstatically, her
strawberry-blonde hair tumbling around her face, and her cheeks pink with sheer pleasure at her imminent engagement: she looked so stunning that he almost dropped to one knee there and then.

‘You look like a Sienese icon,’ he blurted out, unable to take his eyes off her.

‘I do?’ Brianna Jade directed the full wattage of her smile at him. ‘That’s a good thing, right?’

Brianna Jade was quite unfazed by her lack of cultural knowledge. Rich, upper-crust people didn’t talk about opera or ballet or paintings, not back in Florida and not here in Britain
either. When she and Tamra were invited to the Royal Opera House, no one in the private box they sat in would ever say a word about the singing or dancing: they just gossiped about whose husband
was looking to upgrade to a trophy wife, or whose wife was taking ‘extra sessions’ with her personal trainer. She’d worked out long ago that, for these people, culture was either
an excuse to dress up, go out and spend money, or a stick to beat the peasants with because they didn’t know about . . . well, that Siamese icon thing Edmund had just mentioned.

Her eyes softened even more sweetly as she gazed at him. He’d meant to be nice, and now he was going to explain to her what he’d been talking about. Plus, it was sweet of him to
assume that she
might
know what the Siamese thing was . . .

‘Icons are paintings of saints,’ Edmund said. ‘Mostly done on a gold background, because they were so special – they were supposed to be worshipped. The ones from the
Siena School are all pale-skinned like you, with hazel eyes and blonde curls. I’ll find some to show you.’

‘I’d love to see them,’ Brianna Jade said politely.

‘So, um, anyway—’ Edmund had planned out where he thought the proposal should take place – ‘I was wondering if you’d like to go for a stroll with me in the
grounds before dinner? The lake always looks lovely at this time of day.’

Brianna Jade was already rising to her feet, which she had sensibly clad in two-inch Lanvin slingbacks with a square heel. She and Tamra had learnt early that British aristocrats thought it was
really ‘common’ for women to wear high heels when any kind of walking on lawns was involved: that was for what they called ‘plebs’, which seemed to mean anyone but them.
Brianna Jade remembered polo matches where Minty and her crew had audibly mocked young women digging divots in the grass with the heels of their Jimmy Choos. Instead, the posh girls (although Tamra
and Brianna Jade avoided saying that word, as posh people loathed it) showed off their skinny bare legs in Le Chameau or Hunter wellies and miniskirts that barely covered their tiny bottoms.

As Edmund held out his hand to her, Brianna Jade noticed his eyes flickering down for a second to assess her footwear, and his almost imperceptible nod of approval that she wasn’t wearing
stilettos.

Hey, I may not be Ivy League material, but I’m a quick learner,
she thought proudly.
I’ll do fine as a Countess. He’ll never have to be embarrassed by me.

‘Shall we?’ he said, the little phrase that posh men used to mean ‘Let’s go’, and he tucked her arm through his so that she was resting on him just a tad. It was
very gentlemanly; she loved it. They proceeded out through the French windows, onto the terrace, and down the stone steps to the gravel path that looped scenically around the gardens. They had been
designed by someone with the weird name of Capability Brown, who Tamra assured Brianna Jade was like the biggest deal ever in gardening, and they needed a whole lot of maintenance. Edmund had
apologized on their first visit because what he called the ‘vistas’ weren’t what they should be; trees and bushes needed to be pruned away so that you could really see the
views.

Well, that’s what he’s got me for, isn’t it?
she thought now, tripping along happily next to Edmund; after years of stepping elegantly up and down pageant stairs in
killer heels, a stroll along a gravel path in two-inch slingbacks was nothing. Gardeners cost money, and that’s what she was bringing to the table. Soon this place would have vistas up the
wazoo. Stanclere would be vista heaven. They could invite magazines just to take photos of the vistas . . .

She giggled a little at her own silliness, and Edmund, looking down at her pretty face for a moment, smiled at how charming she was. They rounded some overgrown shrubbery and the lake appeared,
a soft green grassy slope dropping away to the oval expanse of water below, which shimmered gently in the light of the afternoon sun even with the green algae at its shoreline.

‘It’s supposed to be much more dramatic a sight,’ Edmund said apologetically. ‘The rhododendrons should really frame the first approach to the lake, and the stand of
silver birches has been awfully neglected . . .’

‘It’s a
great
vista,’ Brianna Jade reassured him, and he burst out laughing.

‘You have truly lovely manners,’ he said, patting her hand.

‘Let’s walk over the bridge,’ she said eagerly, looking at the low pale stone bridge that arched so elegantly over the water. Secretly she was thinking how very romantic it
would be to be proposed to there, the sun behind her making her hair glow rosy with its golden light, Edmund on one knee . . .

‘Ah, I’m so sorry,’ Edmund said, grimacing, ‘but the groundskeeper told me this morning that he’s worried about the foundations. It needs shoring up, apparently. He
was supposed to put a plank across each side to stop people walking over it, just in case, but he clearly hasn’t got round to it yet. I’ll have to have a word with him tomorrow.
Can’t blame him too much though, I suppose – there’s just so much to do around here . . .’

I am totally getting that fixed first thing!
Brianna Jade thought, staring at the beautiful picture –
vista
– before her, the white bridge standing out in front of
a background of soft greens, a gentle slope rising beyond, planted with foliage in which mauve and white flowers flashed out here and there in the emerald bushes, the pewter lake like the base of a
bowl.
Now I’m seeing myself in my wedding dress standing there, Edmund beside me, with flowers floating in the lake . . . white roses . . . and white ribbons all wrapped around the
bridge, maybe some lavender ones too . . .

‘I thought we might walk up to the gazebo?’ Edmund was saying. He led her up the short stretch of path to the open stone building that looked like a small temple, with pillars in
front of lots of statues of Greek gods and goddesses in stone drapery.

‘I love the statues,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Mom does too.’

Edmund had extracted the Tiffany box and was holding it behind his back now. ‘All from Greece,’ he informed her. ‘An Earl of Respers brought the statuary back after his Grand
Tour in the late eighteenth century.’ He coughed. ‘Not that the Greek government knows they’re here. I’m afraid he bribed a lot of people to be able to take them out of the
country. We should probably give them back.’

‘Hell, no!’ Brianna Jade shook her head decisively. ‘That was ages ago, and they look great here. Finders keepers. Plus,’ she added, ‘I saw on the news that Greece
is totally bankrupt, so they’d just sell them to someone else anyway, and they could never look as nice as they do right here.’

‘I’m very glad you’ve taken that position,’ Edmund said. ‘Because I’m hoping, more than I can say, that you will agree to, um, take up a permanent
position—’

Oh God
, he thought,
you sound as if you’re making a speech in the House of Lords! For God’s sake, Edmund, there’s a beautiful young woman looking up at you,
waiting for you to propose to her – try to sound like a man and not a stuffed shirt!

He cleared his throat.

‘What I mean to say,’ he continued, ‘is that in the time that we’ve spent getting to know each other, I’ve come to appreciate you more than I can say. You are a
truly lovely, sweet girl who would adorn any position into which she was placed—’

Position! Why on earth do I keep saying that?

But mercifully, as he seemed to be irredeemably tangled up in unnecessarily pompous verbiage, understanding was dawning on Brianna Jade’s face.

‘
Oh!
’ she exclaimed. ‘I get it now.’ She shook back her cascades of hair. ‘Take your time,’ she added reassuringly. ‘It’s not like
we’re in any rush. And I want this to be special.’

This helped considerably.
I really am hugely lucky,
Edmund thought.
When Lady Margaret McArdle told me about the most beautiful American heiress London had seen for donkey’s
years, what were the odds that she’d also turn out to have a lovely temperament and a sensible head on her shoulders?

‘Brianna Jade,’ he found himself saying very simply, ‘I honestly don’t even feel I
deserve
to ask you to marry me. And I want very much for us to be able to be
honest with each other, which is why I’m not going to tell you that I’m madly in love with you, and I certainly don’t expect you to tell me the same – not right now, anyway.
We’re both aware that in some aspects this is an arrangement. I’m very happy about it, and I do hope you are too.’

It was formal, he knew, and it was not the romantic declaration that a young twenty-four-year-old woman might want to hear. But it was the truth, and he had resolved beforehand that she –
and he – deserved nothing less. It was common knowledge in his circle that Prince Oliver, heir to the throne, had proposed to Lady Belinda Lindsey-Crofter under entirely false pretences,
basically tricking a young woman who was genuinely in love with him into thinking that her sentiments were fully returned, that it was a love match; when the truth had eventually dawned on Belinda,
she was trapped, not only married but pregnant with the heir to the throne. The general view among the upper classes was that Oliver had behaved very badly by deceiving her. After all, many
aristocratic young women would have been more than happy with the bargain he had to offer, a complaisant husband and a royal crown awaiting them.

But that was not how Edmund intended to treat Brianna Jade. No deception, no trickery. They were both going into this with their eyes open.

Hers were indeed wide as he gazed down at her, but not with surprise or indignation. She was listening intently to every word he said, hands clasped in front of her, lips slightly parted to show
her extraordinarily perfect American teeth, a string of pearls behind her velvety pink lips.

‘I honestly think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,’ Edmund said. ‘But you’re also very quick, and curious, and spirited, and funny, and I truly
enjoy spending time with you. Goodness knows if you feel the same about me—’ he grinned self-deprecatingly – ‘I know I can’t possibly be the most handsome man
you’ve ever met! But I do have all this to offer you.’

He gestured around him, encompassing not just the gazebo and the illegally looted Greek statuary but the entire sweep of Stanclere Hall.

‘You would make a wonderful mistress of the Hall,’ he said. ‘And of course, a wonderful Countess of Respers. But you’ve got to decide if this really is what you
want.’

Her smooth tanned forehead crinkled into the faintest of lines as she looked up at him: clearly, she was baffled by this suggestion.
Of course I want it!
her expression said.
I’m standing here waiting for you to propose, aren’t I?

‘I know this is what the Fra— your
mother
wants for you,’ he clarified. ‘But I do think it’s crucial that you’re free to make your own decision. Your
mother can be very – um, err . . . your mother has a wonderfully vibrant and decisive personality, and of course she only wants the best for you—’