The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride (24 page)

“One can always use another friend.”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“Still . . .” Camille began in an offhand manner. “There is more to life than friendship.”

“Still,” Delilah said in a hard tone, “friendship will not break your heart. At least
not in the manner that love will.”

“I suppose not.”

“Tell me this, Camille.” She met her sister’s gaze directly. “Are you so certain that
Grayson will never break your heart?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I am. There’s a great deal to be said for second
chances, Camille. Grayson and I both were wrong in the past and we paid a price for
that. We both hurt each other. Now, we have a second chance. Given that Mother has
taken Father back, even she would agree with that.

“Trust and faith and all of that goes hand in hand with love. You cannot have love
without the rest of it.” Certainty rang in her voice. “Admittedly, I would be a fool
to think that the rest of our lives will be blissful. There are no assurances in life.
Life is not perfect. I’m certainly not perfect, nor is Grayson. There are bound to
be difficulties and problems and even tragedy in the years ahead. My heart may well
be broken by any number of things as the years go on but we shall have each other
to see us through. You may call it blind faith if you will. There isn’t a doubt in
my mind, or in my heart, that he will be exactly where I need him to be, by my side,
as I will be by his until the day I breathe my last. And the one thing I am utterly
and completely confident of is that Grayson will not break my heart.”

“That’s . . .” Delilah hesitated. It was hard not to envy her older sister for having
found the very thing that Delilah wished to avoid. But Camille was absolutely right.
Love and trust did go hand in hand. One could not have one without the other. Delilah
wasn’t sure she could trust anyone enough to allow herself to love him. She had trusted
Phillip after all. “That’s remarkable and quite wonderful.”

“I know,” Camille said with a smug smile then sobered. “It’s not just words, you understand.
It’s how I feel. Grayson would never hurt me.” She hesitated. “Love, Delilah, is much
more important than anything else.”

“And much harder to find.”

Camille grinned. “But half the fun is finding it.”

Delilah laughed. “I’ll give you that.”

“It’s magic, Delilah. Simply magic.”

“I’ve never been one for magic. I’m entirely too practical.” Still, hadn’t the thought
of magic already occurred to her? “But it is something to consider, I suppose.”

“Have you changed your mind then?” Camille’s brow rose. “Have I given you something
to think about?”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “But you’ve been ill and I thought I would humor you.”

“I would just hate for you to miss something that might be everything you’ve ever
wanted.”

“I have every intention of getting everything I want.” She cast her sister an affectionate
smile, picked up Teddy’s notebook, and started for the door. “So you needn’t bother
worrying about me.”

“I believe worrying about my younger sister is part and parcel of being a better sister.”

“And it’s most appreciated.” Genuine affection for Camille washed through her. Who
would have imagined a year ago that she and Camille and Beryl would truly become sisters?

“I will give you this,” Delilah said. “It was recently pointed out to me that an intelligent
woman does not close her mind to possibilities.”

“You’re not talking about love though, are you?”

“No, but as an intelligent woman I am willing to admit I may, on occasion, have been
too hasty in my convictions. Therefore, Camille, in the interest of being open-minded
. . .” She grinned. “I am about to take my first ride in a horseless carriage.”

Sam stood in the drive by the carriage house studying his motorwagon and going over
a checklist in his head. He was no engineer but he knew nearly as much about the vehicle
as Jim did. When he’d checked on Jim yesterday, he had the motorwagon sputtering but
it hadn’t actually run. This morning, however, Jim had managed to get it going. He
and Sam had spent the last few hours checking and double-checking the machine’s parts.
They’d driven the vehicle up and down the drive in a halting fashion with Jim muttering
about incomprehensible connections and damned foreigners and stopping every few feet
to make adjustments. Until at last, with a satisfied grin, Jim had pronounced it fit.
Sam had sent him back to the village for more fuel but there was enough left in the
small tank for a decent ride. If, of course, his passenger would ever make an appearance.

Sam grinned. Delilah could deny it all she wanted, but she was weakening. Definitely
about the motorwagon and certainly about never seeing him again. After all, they were
friends now even if he wasn’t sure friendship was enough. She was without a doubt
the most confusing woman he’d ever met although perhaps much of his confusion was
in his own mind. Or possibly his heart. One minute he wanted to take her over his
knee and thrash her and the next he had to resist taking her into his arms and never
letting her go.

Adding to his confusion was the simple fact that he liked her. He genuinely liked
her. His gaze wandered along the intricate gears and belts and mechanicals of the
motorwagon. He couldn’t recall ever simply liking a woman before. Surely he had liked
Lenore but, in hindsight, maybe not. At least not in the same way he liked Delilah.
Lenore had never shared confidences with him as Delilah had. They’d never had a quiet
evening of chess and conversation. They’d never simply enjoyed one another’s company.
Of course, she’d never argued with him either, which now struck him as odd.

Lenore was an intelligent woman. And as much as he liked to think he was always right,
in truth he wasn’t. No one was right all the time, not even him. But Lenore had never
argued or questioned, although she did seem to get whatever she wanted. She had been,
in very many ways, simply perfect. Good Lord. If one looked at it in the right way,
couldn’t one say he had been ready to marry her for many of the same reasons Delilah
intended to marry?

Was he in love with Delilah? He bent down and checked the gear chain tension. As complicated
as the vehicle was, it was child’s play in comparison to that question. This wasn’t
the first time the idea of love had raised its disturbing head. He had wondered right
from the beginning although, as much as Delilah claimed he was a romantic sort, he
was not so foolish as to believe in something as absurd as love at first sight. Still,
he hadn’t been able to get her out of his thoughts since the moment they’d met. Which
did seem to indicate something even if he had no idea what. Was it nothing at all?
Or was it magic?

Nor did he have any idea of her feelings for him, if indeed she had any feelings at
all. One minute she was flirtatious and seductive, the next cool and distant. She’d
been quite explicit about there not being any additional
adventures
between them. And as much as he wasn’t sure he believed that was what she wanted—the
night they stayed in London being a case in point—it did seem a good idea to abide
by her decision. At least for now. But God help him, it was becoming more and more
difficult. Was this the end result of being friends with a woman? Or, more likely,
being friends with this one particular woman.

That it had not been easy for Sam and Delilah to get to this point only made it more
significant. Perhaps friendship between a man and a woman was the beginning of trust,
and who knew where that might lead?

“Are you willing it to start simply by staring at it?” an amused voice said behind
him.

“I am invoking the gods of progress and forward thinking.” He grinned and turned toward
her.

“You’d best hope they’re not armed with thunderbolts and lightning,” Delilah said
wryly.

“Ah, but my gods are wise and beneficent.” He bowed in an overly dramatic manner.
“Even to those who do not believe.”

“I am here, aren’t I?” She cast a skeptical look at the motorwagon. “Taking my life
in my hands no doubt.”

“Your life is as safe as if you were lying in your own bed.”

“My, yes.” She circled the vehicle. “That is safe.”

“Not by my choice,” he said without thinking.

She stopped on the other side of the motorwagon. “You have been a perfect gentleman
these past few nights.”

He sighed. “Yes, I know.”

“Why?”

He stared in surprise. “Because that’s what you said you wanted.”

“Then your restraint is appreciated,” she murmured. Once again, he had no idea what
was going on in that lovely head of hers. Did she?

“Your carriage awaits, my lady.” He waved his arm in a grand gesture.

She hesitated, studying the vehicle with more than a little apprehension.

He stifled a grin. “Scared?”

“Prudent,” she said, her gaze still locked on the motorwagon. “Cautious, if you will,
and not so foolish as to blindly risk my life.” She looked at him. “Is it very fast?”

“Nine or ten miles an hour I think.” He shrugged in an offhand manner. “Not much faster
than a trotting horse.”

“Well then I would think a horse—”

“But much more reliable. Or at least it will be one day.”

“Maybe I should wait until then,” she said weakly.

He studied her curiously. “You really are concerned about this, aren’t you?”

“Wary is perhaps a better word than concerned.”

“I’ve ridden in it any number of times and lived to tell the tale.” He cast her a
confident smile. “It’s really quite safe.” Now was not the time to mention the lingering
problems with the steering mechanism. “Why don’t I demonstrate it for you?”

“Would you?”

“Absolutely.” He nodded. “And once I’ve shown you how very safe and enjoyable the
motorwagon is, you can join me.” He stepped to the back of the vehicle. “That will
give you a few minutes to work up your courage unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“I said I would ride in it and I will.” Her eyes narrowed. “And courage has nothing
to do with it. I’m simply being—”

“Cautious, wary, prudent? You said all that.” He grabbed the flywheel and spun it.
The motor sputtered but did not catch.

“There’s nothing wrong with being cautious you know. It’s really quite sensible.”

He spun the flywheel again. Again the motor failed to catch. “I’d wager you weren’t
especially cautious the first time you put a phone to your ear.”

“That’s an entirely different matter,” she said in a lofty manner. “Besides, while
the queen herself has a telephone I suspect she would never step foot in something
like that . . . that contraption.”

“Fortunately, she is not the one who has agreed to do so. You are.” It routinely took
three or more tries to get the motor running but this certainly wasn’t helping his
case. He gritted his teeth and tried again.

“I daresay, we’d be on our way by now if that was a horse,” she said pleasantly.

“Well, it’s not a horse,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s better than a horse.”
He spun the flywheel again.

“And anything this new and this remarkable”—the motor coughed—“is bound to have a
few minor problems”—and sputtered—“nothing to be concerned about”—and finally caught.
He cast her a triumphant smile. “As I said, nothing to be concerned about at all.”

“It’s very loud.” Her voice rose over the sound of the engine. Sam would never admit
it to her, but it was hard to hear over the noisy chugging of the motor.

“A minor problem that will be resolved eventually.” He climbed into the motorwagon
and settled on one side of the leather bench. He grinned at her. “Are you ready?”

“The real question is, are you?” She cast the vehicle another skeptical look then
stepped back. “Do be careful.”

“I’ve driven it before, Dee.” He nodded in a reassuring manner then turned his attention
to the vehicle. He gripped the brake handle with one hand and the steering lever with
the other. It did need to be finessed a bit. He turned the knob that fed the fuel
to the engine, slowly released the brake, and then was moving off down the drive.
He looked back at her and waved.

She tentatively waved back but the expression on her face was more intrigued than
concerned.

He circled around her on the broad drive and she laughed.

“I told you it was safe,” he called.

“All right then, Sam,” she called back. “You convinced me. I’ll try it.”

“Good.” He turned the steering lever but it was unaccountably stiff and difficult
to move. Before he could correct for the problem, the motorwagon lurched off the drive
and was picking up speed on a slight downhill slope, a slope he hadn’t even noticed.
The machine was moving faster and faster. Damnation. This would certainly not impress
her. He jerked the brake handle at the same moment the front wheel dropped into a
hidden hole and the vehicle pitched forward, throwing him into the air.

Dimly he heard a scream and the moment before he hit the ground the oddest thoughts
flashed through his mind: