Open Invitation? (18 page)

Roddy continued. “And here you are, a big brute as promised. Where's the rope, then?”

Claire laughed.

“In my suitcase,” said Dan. “Don't give me an excuse to go get it.”

Louella gasped. Lovely Nigel said, “Now see here!”

Roddy laughed. “Well, of
course
I will. Otherwise we'll have no fun at all.” He clapped Dan on the shoulder and the two men exchanged a look of amused understanding.

Roddy continued, “I've been waiting a dog's age for my man Nigel, here, to at least clean his gun over an interview in the parlor—but he seems distressingly partial to the idea of me taking his daughter off his hands.”

“Nothing to do with the Blackthorne name, Roderick, eh?” Nigel winked. “My daughter could do worse.”

Roddy, the amusement dying from his face, shot him a carefully neutral glance. “She could do better, sir. She's quite a catch.”

Louella put a fond hand on his arm. “Aren't you sweet.”

Roddy looked down at her manicured fingers and stepped away from them to sling an arm around Claire, who wore a fixed smile.

Dan's smile, on the other hand, was becoming quite genuine as he watched the nuances and ugly truths bloom in the foyer of Leighton House. The AristoCat he'd been sent to charm school to impress despised people who were overly conscious of his name and title. He couldn't care less about his status—to the point that he didn't comb his hair. And Dan liked him for it.

Louella, who didn't seem to have noticed the subtle snub dealt to her by her prospective son-in-law, exclaimed that they should all go into the drawing room and have some tea.

Lil settled herself on a chaise longue that looked beautiful but was, in fact, hideously uncomfortable. She watched as Dan handled himself with more grace than anyone in the room.

Louella was far too stiff and formal, Nigel made no effort to keep the conversation flowing and Roddy, though he did make an effort to conceal his dislike of the couple, didn't go out of his way to charm them, either. Claire seemed uncomfortable, torn between her parents and her fiancé.

Dan was nice to everyone. He asked his mother about her dress, Nigel about business, Claire about wedding preparations. He talked about changes in the agricultural industry with Roddy and brought up topics that he knew Lil and Louella could converse about.

He handled his teacup with grace and his food with simple competence. Himself he handled with certainty.

Perhaps she hadn't been able to change his accent, but Lil had grown to love it, and she felt pride swelling within her for Dan. All she'd done was give him a few pointers. The qualities that made him a true prince were all his own: kindness, generosity and intelligence.

Lil was impressed with him, especially since she knew that anger at his mother bubbled underneath his poised surface. The truth had come out: she'd lied to him about it being Claire's idea that he go to Finesse. Claire couldn't care less about Dan's manners. What would he say to Louella later?

A
FTER TEA
, Dan and Lilia were shown to their rooms in Leighton House. Louella tried to have the housekeeper do this, but Claire waved her away and took them upstairs herself, after kissing Roddy goodbye. They would see him at the rehearsal dinner that night.

The English didn't do big rehearsal dinners in the American way, but the Leightons were having their out-of-town guests over for drinks and an informal buffet so that they wouldn't be at loose ends for the evening.

Dan cast a glance through the house as they headed for the stairs. He shook his head. The whole place was huge and sparkling with knickknacks. Floral chintz and coordinating stripes and plaids abounded. So did oil portraits of grumpy old men and women who looked as if their hair was pulled too tight.

He saw no signs of a pet to get hair on anything or spread unpleasant odors. In his opinion, the place could use a few dog or cat hairs. It looked like a decorating magazine, and it smelled artificial—as if the whole house had just been carefully unwrapped from cellophane.

His father's old ranch house wasn't too pretty, but at least it was comfortable, smelled like a real home and
didn't have a useless object or plastic plant perched on every available surface.

How Claire had grown up here and still retained her natural, bright personality he didn't know.

She led Lilia to her room first, an airy feminine space in lilac and yellow. Then she took Dan to his, a darker, more masculine room with heavy furniture, done in deep greens and burgundies.

“How many bedrooms are in this damned place again?” Dan asked. “It's the size of a hotel.”

“Twelve,” said Claire. “A bit much for three people, isn't it? And soon they'll be down to two. They won't be able to find each other—but that may suit them.”

“Why, are they not getting along?”

“Oh, Danimal. They get along fine—they just don't spend any time together. They lead separate lives.” She looked sad. “I do hope that Roddy and I won't end up like them.”

“You won't, baby.” He pulled her close and gave her a hug. He kissed the top of her blond head. “It's work, I hear, but you can keep your lives intertwined.”

She looked up with a grateful smile.

“Nervous?”

“A bit,” she admitted.

“He seems like a good guy.”

“He is.” She scuffed her toe around the rug. “They like him for all the wrong reasons, you know.”

“Yes. But you like him for the right ones. That's all that matters. I was ready to hate him—the only thing I knew was that his father had a seat in the House of
Lords and that you wanted me—” He broke off, feeling the anger rise in him again.

“What?”

“Clary, were you worried that your rude cowboy half brother might embarrass you at your wedding?”

Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened. “No. What are you talking about?”

“You never asked Mama to get me into etiquette classes or to change my wardrobe?” He scrutinized her, his jaw tight, but he already knew the answer.

“She
didn't!
She used me to get to you!”

He nodded.

“That explains why you look so different, why you even speak differently. I told Roddy to expect a real cowboy—he's been looking forward! I told him you'd show up in your boots. Instead you're a New Yorker with a Texas accent.”

Claire actually kicked the foot of his bed. “Sometimes I really
hate
her. I'm so sorry, Dan.”

Dan surprised himself. Instead of agreeing with his little sister, he said, “Don't talk like that, Clary. She may have behaved in an underhanded way, but she did it for you. She didn't want me to mortify you in front of your new family and everyone.”

Claire folded her arms across her chest and gazed at him with eyes much older than her twenty-one years. “Mummy was worried about herself, and you know it. She spends more time and energy trying to cover up her background than she does on decorating or living. And the ironic thing is that people find her past fascinating
and wish she would talk about it. How she was married to a real cowboy who swept her off her feet and onto a ranch. It's a lot more exciting than being stuffy and sedate and pretentious.”

Dan threw back his head and laughed. “They want to know about Dad?”

“Yes! And I think Father has a giant complex about him. That's why we weren't allowed to visit much, you know.”

“No, I didn't know.” The idea of Lovely Nigel being intimidated by his poor old dad was difficult for Dan to wrap his mind around. “She never even asks about Dad.”

“She's dreadful.”

“Clary, don't talk about her like that. She loves you. She's your mother, for all her faults. You owe her some respect.” He couldn't believe the words were coming out of his mouth. But just because he had a dysfunctional relationship with Louella didn't mean that Claire should.

“I can't believe you're sticking up for her like this, after she lied to you and manipulated you.”

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. “What're you gonna do, Claire? Nobody gets to choose his mother. Just like mothers don't get to choose their children. Sometimes it's a bad match, but it's the only match we got. Know what I mean? You may as well love the parts of her that are lovable. And she's got some. Remember the Mickey Mouse hotcakes she'd make? And how she'd put green food coloring in the milk on St. Patty's Day?”

Claire grinned. “Yes. She was great when we were
small, wasn't she? Did she make you elaborate birthday cakes?”

He nodded.

“I will never forget the castle cake she made when I turned thirteen. Turrets, flags, a drawbridge and a moat! A work of art.”

“She hasn't made your wedding cake, has she?”

Claire laughed. “No, but I think she wanted to try her hand. She settled for driving the pastry chefs mad.”

She took his hands and squeezed them. “Did you bring your boots, Danimal?”

“Would I travel without them?” He smiled down at her.

“Then I want you to wear them to my wedding.”

“You what? I can't do that. Mama will have my head, and Lil told me never, ever to—”

“Will you wear them as a personal favor to me? With a bolo string tie?”

He looked down into her fresh, flushed face, the big blue eyes pleading with him not to change for her. How he loved his baby sister. “Yeah.”

“Stetson, too?”

“I didn't bring it. But I do have a couple of gag gifts for you and Roddy that you can open tonight.” He was glad he hadn't let Lilia talk him out of leaving them behind.

“Excellent! Now, why would Lilia—who seems very sweet, by the way—forbid you to do anything? She's not a general, she's your girlfriend.”

“She's not my—” Dan shut his mouth. It sure would be nice if she'd be his girlfriend.

“I can tell by the way she looks at you that she loves you.”

“Say what? Bull. Claire, Lil is my, um, etiquette consultant.”
Damn, does that sound lame or what?
“I wouldn't even know her, if Mama hadn't tricked me.”

“Your etiquette consultant? You mean you paid her to come with you?” Claire looked upset.

He nodded. “I mean, I'd like her to be more than that, but we're still figuring that part out, if you know what I mean.”

“I don't know what to say. Honestly, I don't.” Claire moved to the door. “Just promise me that you won't let her change you in any way that counts. I don't care if you use the right fork at tomorrow's banquet.”

“I do,” Dan said quietly. “I'm still your brother, honey. But I don't want anyone to have to apologize for me. Not ever again. And if Lil can help me accomplish that, she is worth her weight in gold.”

 

L
IL WAS WORTH
her weight in gold in a hundred other ways, too, Dan reflected as he escorted her downstairs for drinks and dinner. She looked gorgeous tonight in a red silk cocktail dress with an asymmetrical neckline, and pearls that glowed against her warm, honey-colored skin.

She had legs to die for, and he tried not to think of them wrapped around him, as it was neither the time nor the place.

He himself wore a dark suit with a silk tie and a snowy-white shirt. His shoes and his manners were pol
ished to perfection. Lil had nodded with approval upon seeing him, but she seemed subdued—sad?—for some reason.

“You feeling all right?” Dan asked her.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Just a little jet-lagged, thanks.”

She'd seemed stiff and formal ever since they'd woken up together, and he didn't think it was due to jetlag. But he didn't press her.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Winger, led them to a grand reception room at the back of the house, where French doors had been thrown open to an elegant, covered back porch and carefully tended gardens surrounding a fountain.

Louella and Nigel were already there and a maid inquired as to what they'd all like to drink.

Dan placed his two wrapped packages on a low table. At his mother's raised brow, he explained. “Just a couple of small gifts for the happy couple.”

Louella was dressed in royal-blue, and Nigel in a dark suit much like his own. They chit-chatted until the maid came back in with a large tray. She'd brought their drinks, but also a large pitcher with margarita glasses. Dan stared at it in disbelief, while next to him, Lil stiffened.

“Your sister, Daniel, requested that we serve Texas margaritas in your honor,” Mama said through a painfully bright smile. Nigel grunted with disapproval.

“How thoughtful of her,” Dan said, his lips twitching. There was obviously a domestic skirmish going on behind the scenes, and Claire had just won this round. He turned to Lil. “Margarita for you, darlin'?”

Her beautiful black eyes snapped at him, and her color rose. “No, thank you.”

She seemed wooden, almost a caricature of the Miss Manners he'd first met in her Connecticut office. The warmth, wit and sexiness that he'd seen begin to blossom in her was nowhere to be seen. Had he failed some test of hers without even knowing it? Dan's jaw tightened, but he tamped down the stirrings of anger. This was neither the time, nor the place for that, either.

As the guests began to arrive, he was half gratified, half irritated when Mama went out of her way to introduce him as her “marvelously successful rancher son from Texas,” and gush about how proud she was of him.

She'd certainly never told anyone she was proud of him when he'd worn scuffed boots, jeans and T-shirts. But now that he sported a thousand-dollar suit, she adored him.

He told himself he was being irrational. Wasn't this what he'd wanted? To force her to acknowledge him? To stand tall in her eyes? Why was the taste of victory so bitter?

Lil mingled easily with every guest, knowing just the right thing to say and charming everyone she met. She was charming to him, too. Yet she treated him with the same amount of politeness that she treated these total strangers. His anger at her grew.

How could she hold him at arm's length after the things they'd experienced together? After she'd thrashed and whimpered in his bed? After he'd been inside her and all over her?

The maid brought out a gorgeous cheese tray, a sliced fruit tray, a platter of pâtés. Then, looking around nervously, she brought out a huge plate of…
nachos?

He had to be seeing things. Dan looked down at his drink, wondering if someone had slipped something into it. But no, those were big, fat, greasy nachos dotted with plenty of jalapeños, on a silver plate that looked as if it had been in Lovely Nigel's family for generations.

He glanced at his mother's face, which had begun to mottle with fury. The poor maid dodged her and ran—almost bumping into Claire and Roddy as they made their entrance to the party.

Everyone clapped and toasted them. Claire wore an angelic blue dress, discreet diamond earrings and a devilish expression. She winked at Dan and smiled when she saw the margarita pitcher and nachos. He shook his head at her.

Lil glided up and murmured, “I think the entrance of the Tex-Mex food has just instigated World War III.”

“I'm afraid you may be right.” Dan took her elbow and skimmed her back lightly with his fingers. She shivered but stiffened and then moved away.

“What's wrong, Lil?”

She smiled that polite smile of hers. “Nothing at all. Why?” She smoothed the skirt of her dress unconsciously.

“Do you regret coming?”

“Why on earth would you ask me that? I'm having a lovely time—though the mother-daughter feud is a little worrisome.”

He wasn't going to get beyond her social facade.
That much was clear. His anger grew even more. Why was she making herself unavailable to him?

Suddenly he knew the answer. Her job was almost finished. She'd had her fun with him, but the time was fast approaching when they'd part ways—and she had no intention of seeing him again because he wasn't refined enough for her. She'd taught him to fake it. But she'd seen the raw material, and just like his mother she rejected that.

He wasn't good enough for Miz Lilia London, and she was letting him know that, in her ever-so-polite way.

Dan didn't try to touch her again. What was the point? She was only here earning a paycheck, making sure the monkey didn't fart at the dinner table or swing from the chandelier. How could he have thought there might be anything else between them?

Dan avoided talking to Lilia as much as he could for the rest of the evening, only attending to her as much as etiquette required of him.

He sat next to her at dinner, but conversed mostly with the lady on his other side. He stood up after dessert and made an articulate and heartfelt toast to Claire and Roddy. And he laughed as loud as anyone when they opened his gag gifts.

Roddy, the supposedly stuffy aristocrat, blinked twice in shock at the baby-blue Western belt that said, Groom. Then he chortled and donned it with his suit trousers while his father the viscount shouted with mirth. Claire put hers on over her dress, a pink belt that said, Bride. Then they posed for pictures.