The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (31 page)

Sarah had tossed that little word, the one with four letters and huge repercussions, between them like a bomb, then promptly retreated. He'd let her go, but it hadn't been easy. But then, it was so much easier for a man to concentrate on his physical desires for a woman than on the emotional ones. Trying to understand his own feelings was like tiptoeing across a frozen loch in stocking feet. It made him cold, off balance, and afraid he'd misstep and drown.

As the sounds of the city gave way to the bucolic music of the countryside, the questions that had plagued him throughout the night returned to torture him once more. Did he love her? The true, bone-deep, man-woman forever kind of love that she apparently wanted? Was he ready to answer the question with a yes, he did, beyond a shadow of a doubt?

One moment he thought he was. The next, he couldn't help but wonder.

He knew he cared for her more than any other woman who'd ever entered his life. She was his friend, his best friend, and he couldn't imagine his life without her in it. The very thought of it left him feeling queasy.

Then there was the question of other women. Since the moment he'd decided to send for Sarah last year, he had not taken another woman to his bed. He hadn't wanted any other woman. He wanted only his wife.

Sure, he'd gone through the public motions of courtship with Helen, but he suspected the reason for that lay with the unattainable Lady Steele's willingness to take him as a lover while denying every other man in town. Shallow fellow that he was, Nick liked the feeling of having come out on top. In a manner of speaking.

In that respect, escorting Helen about London had more to do with winning than anything else. It's what the lady herself had charged, anyway, when they met upon his return from Scotland and he told her he wouldn't be seeing her anymore.

So, what did all these truths tell him? Anything? Everything? Did he truly want to know?

Perhaps not. Perhaps in some ways, Nick was just as fearful as Sarah. Love had a way of knocking a bloke in the chops now and again, and from the moment he found out his parents weren't really his parents, Nick had begun building walls around his heart. Ten years ago Sarah breached the first line of his defenses, and in the years since then his sisters had certainly built a village there. But was he ready to admit anyone, even Sarah, to the innermost fortress?

Or was it a
fait accompli?
Was she there already in the deepest recesses of his heart? Was he in love with his wife?

Perhaps he didn't want to know. Perhaps he didn't want to risk that deep a look until she decided what she wanted.

Perhaps his walls were higher than he'd thought.

At that point, Nick decided he'd had enough of trying to peer into his own head or heart or whatever the proper body part was. At least he always knew what his loins were thinking. Around Sarah, he was always on point.

At that, his thoughts took a gratifying turn from the emotional toward the physical. On more familiar ground now, he spent the rest of his trip engaged in a fantasy involving him and his wife and veils made of silk he'd brought home with him from the Orient.

Silk he'd promised to give her. He'd forgotten all about it. "I should go ahead and give it to her now," he murmured as he made the turn onto Lord Cherryholm's estate. She'd like that, he knew. He had a whole stack of lovely gifts he intended to give her along with the Pillow Book entries, but those she'd view as blatant attempts at seduction. Which they were. The silk, however, she'd view as a promise upheld. It would be a subtle reminder of the man Nick was rather than another attempt at seduction.

Damnation. Seduction was the part of this relationship he especially liked, the part at which he excelled. But when she said she wanted time, he realized that meant she wanted his seduction efforts to cease.

Though it went against his inclinations, it made sense. She wanted to make her choice without undue influence or pressure. She didn't want to be seduced into staying. She wanted to make this decision with her mind, not her heart, which in abstract sounded smart.

In reality, the Sarah he had come to know would make her choice instinctively. Fear wouldn't cause her to leave him, nor would womanly desires compel her to stay. Sarah would stay with him if she trusted him. It was as simple and as complex as that.

So if Nick wanted to keep her, which he did, he needed to alter the course of his campaign. The goal was no longer to win her delicious little body, but instead to gain her trust.

All in all, he liked the first plan better. Lust was so much easier to achieve than trust

He drove the coach and four to the apex of the circular drive in front of Cherryholm's manor house, and as he reined the horses to a halt, he settled on his new plan. He would give her the silk, but hold back the rest of the gifts until a more appropriate time. He'd quit flirting with her, teasing her, and sending her those silent, steamy, I-want-you-in-my-bed-right-now looks.

He would back away, prove he deserved her trust, and allow her to make her choice. Then, when she chose to stay with him, the victory would prove all the sweeter.

Besides, if she did something silly and made the wrong choice, he could always go back to writing letters about her breasts.

"Weston!" called Lord Cherryholm as he and another man exited the country house through the front door and made their way down sweeping stone steps. "Excellent timing. We're on our way to the stables now."

"Good morning, Cherryholm," Nick said, shaking the gentleman's hand, then turning his attention to the second man as his host added, "Do you know Endicott?"

"No," Nick responded with a social smile. "I haven't had the pleasure."

Endicott bowed. "Robert Endicott, Lord Weston. I believe you and I share a common interest."

"Horses?"

"Actually, I was referring to your wife."

* * *

Sarah and the girls left Weston House as women on a mission. Lady Pratt had sent word that one of her acquaintances had mentioned seeing a magnificent silver epergne that fit Charlotte's engagement ball theme to a tee. The silver centerpiece stood at least thirty inches tall, with four-leaf-clover filigree and hand-painted porcelain bowls, vases, and candle-holders that repeated the lucky pattern, and it was available for purchase at a shop in Dover Street.

At least, Lady Pratt's friend thought the shop was in Dover Street. She wasn't entirely certain. The stores all ran together after a long day spent shopping, and it was possible she'd seen the epergne in Wigmore Street or Vere Street or maybe even Regent Street.

Despite the challenge of locating such a prize, Sarah and the girls agreed that a concerted effort be made to locate the item. Little touches such as this would set the tone for all the festivities surrounding what Sarah had promised to be the wedding of the Season.

As she gave their driver the address of their first planned destination, Sarah admitted she could have sent servants to track down the prize. Indeed, that's exactly what most women of her class would have done. But one never knew what treasures one might find among the bric-a-brac, so Sarah liked to do her shopping herself.

Besides, shopping in London was nothing like shopping in Fort Worth or New Orleans. If she ended up leaving Nick, shopping would be one of the many things she'd miss.

As the girls settled into their seats, Charlotte mentioned she'd decided on the design of the party favors for the wedding. Each guest who attended the wedding would be given a beautiful calling card case, and though she'd settled on the item itself while making their plans when still in Scotland, she had dithered over which good luck symbol to have engraved upon the silver case. Melanie had proposed horseshoes. Aurora wanted orange blossoms.

"I think the four-leaf clover is best because Rodney's title is Irish and it seems appropriate. If we find this epergne and it's as glorious as Lady Pratt claims, it will tie together nicely. Sarah, will we use the centerpiece at both the ball and the wedding breakfast?"

"That depends," Sarah answered, pondering the question. "I can't really say until I've seen it. We want to make a bold statement of our Good Luck Wedding theme at the engagement ball, keep it subtle and understated at the wedding, then display it in joyful abundance at the wedding breakfast. It's possible the epergne could form the centerpiece of the altar floral arrangements."

"Wait a moment," Aurora cautioned. "I thought you said green was considered an unlucky color for weddings."

"For the wedding
gown,
yes," said Melanie. "Not the decorations, correct?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes. In fact, green is a lucky color for the bride's headdress, although it's not at all in fashion."

They chatted about symbols of luck until they reached their first destination, Donegal House. Sarah hoped to find the epergne in this shop because Mrs. Earnest Hart carried a wonderful selection of Irish goods, and the porcelain on the centerpiece was apparently Belleek. However, Mrs. Hart wasn't aware of the piece, so they were forced to continue their search—after picking up some adorable hairpins decorated with four-leaf clovers for each of them to wear to Charlotte's ball.

Sarah and the girls then embarked on a shopping
flaneuse
through Piccadilly, Regent Street, and into Vere Street, when the girls took a peek at one of Marshall and Snelgroves's side windows, and paused for a moment at the mass of lovely silks on display. Then they walked north to Mmes Edmonds and Orr at 47 Wigmore Street because Aurora needed to get some of the special combination garments.

After consulting the
Journal
for an appropriate restaurant, the ladies rested from their hunt with a luncheon at a tea shop in Regent Street. They resumed their search in Bruton Street and an hour later passed the plate-glass window of a whatnot shop just in time to see the shopkeeper hang a red "sold" tag around an arm of the object of their quest.

"That's it!" said Aurora.

"It's been sold!" cried Melanie.

"Oh, no," moaned Charlotte.

"It's perfect," murmured Sarah grimly as she imagined the epergne on the buffet table at the wedding. "We must have it."

"But it's been sold!" Charlotte's moan rose to a near wail.

Sarah squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Then it's time I tested the power of being a wealthy marchioness. Girls, let's go inside."

The chime on the door tinkled merrily to herald their entrance as Aurora led the way into the shop. She halted almost immediately, and her sisters and Sarah had to step quickly to keep from plowing into her back. At the same time Sarah noticed the tall, regal woman standing beside the shopkeeper's counter, she heard Aurora mutter, "Oh, wonderful."

The woman turned, and Sarah recognized her as the lady who'd taken a seat at the next table at the restaurant just as she and the girls were leaving. The girls' attention had been elsewhere, and they hadn't seemed to notice the woman. Sarah couldn't help but notice.

The woman was beautiful, with the kind of beauty that would make Helen of Troy look plain in comparison. Dark hair framed an aristocratic face. Her pale blue eyes, slim, straight nose, Cupid's-bow mouth, flawless complexion, and perfect figure were the kind of features that aroused lust in men and envy in other women. She wore a smart hat and a stylish dress, and carried herself in such a regal manner that even Queen Victoria could take lessons from her.

As Nick's sisters bristled visibly, Sarah assumed their reactions were the natural result of feminine jealousy. Then the woman spoke, and Sarah began to revise her conclusion.

"Oh, my, it's dear Nicholas's sisters. I'm caught. I've just purchased a little gift for you, and I intended to have it sent around to Weston House tomorrow. But since my surprise is discovered, perhaps you'd care to take it with you now? I've heard all about your plans for your engagement ball, and I believe you'll find my gift will come in useful." Then, meeting Sarah's gaze, she smiled politely and said, "And you must be Sarah Simpson. I recognize you from Nicholas's description."

A number of facts hit Sarah at once. She might be new to the scene when it came to proper British manners, but she knew it wasn't proper for this woman to refer to Nick by his first name unless she was family or, perhaps, an intimate friend. And not even in Texas, where formality was often relaxed, was it proper for one woman to refer to another by her first name
and maiden name
before being properly introduced. It was a veiled insult, and Sarah knew it.

She also realized this glorious woman's identity. If she hadn't figured it out on her own, the girls' reaction would have told her. Her stomach took a dive just as Melanie spoke up. "Allow me," the young woman said, laying a supportive hand on Sarah's arm. "Lady Steele, may I introduce my dear sister-in-law, Lady Weston."

The meeting deteriorated from there.

"I understand that back at your home in Texas you have a little wedding business."

Little wedding business?
Sarah eyed the epergne the shopkeeper carried past and envisioned wrapping it around the other woman's neck.

"I think it's wonderful that you are able to work for Charlotte in a professional capacity during your visit to England," Lady Steele continued. "Nicholas tells me your efforts thus far are quite competent."