by Kari August
She smiled softly. “Oh, Ned. Congratulations.”
He nodded. “Thanks. It means I’ll be spending weekdays in Denver and living in Estes Park on the weekends.”
“Oh.” She looked slightly anxious. “How soon will this start?”
“Sometime in the next few months. I was hoping you would join me in this living arrangement. You could open a design office in Denver.”
Lindsey’s eyes lit up. “Ned, I have news of my own. I got the loan. It helped that I had already been on TBN. I explained what mistakes had been made and how I would correct them. The terms are absolutely horrible, and my parents had to cosign the loan. But they did, after I explained to them how important this was for me.” She raised her hands in the air. “I’m starting my own line.”
“Linds . . . I couldn’t be happier for you. It’ll be a success. I’m sure of it.”
“Thanks, Ned. But let’s get back to what you were just saying. You mean you want to live together? Really?”
Ned took a deep breath. This was it. “No, I mean I want to marry you.”
Lindsey’s mouth gaped open.
Ned held up his hand. “Wait, Linds. Before you give me an answer, we need to talk about the elephant in our relationship. I’ve thought about this a lot the last few days. I want us to be completely honest with each other.”
“What elephant? What are you talking about?”
Ned looked down at the table a moment and then back into her eyes. “I really do believe Dickie is Richard III.”
Lindsey shook her head. “Ned. Why are you so sure?”
“Because he knew I wanted to be a park ranger before I had ever told anyone. God’s assistant told him that secret so I would believe him.”
“But, Ned, haven’t you wanted to be one since you were young? Perhaps you let it slip to some relative once and Dickie heard about it.”
Ned shook his head. “No, Linds. I never did.”
Lindsey pulled her hand away and held it in her lap. She hesitated, and then said, “Well, Ned, I believe that you believe Dickie is Richard III.” She paused again, clearly making a decision. “And that’s okay. You’ll never convince me that he is, but that’s all right. If you didn’t have this little quirk, you’d be perfect. I can’t marry someone perfect. Where’s the fun in that?” She bit back a smile.
Ned was too afraid to hope. “Does this mean you’ll . . .”
She smiled brightly and nodded. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Ned was ecstatic. He reached into his pocket. “Here’s another errand I ran in the last couple days.” He placed the small box on the table.
She slowly opened it. “Oh, Ned. It’s beautiful.”
“I couldn’t find a ring from the medieval period. This one is only three hundred years old. Is that all right?”
But Lindsey was already taking the ring out of the box. With tear-filled eyes, she said, “It’s perfect, just perfect. In fact . . . just like you.”
The next morning, as Dickie watched Ned sit down at the dining table, he realized he had never seen his cousin look so content. Then Ned told Dickie all the news. He clapped Ned on the shoulder jovially and said, “How soon will you be opening an office? But more important, when’s the wedding? It’s about time you acted honorably with her.”
“Sometime in the next few months.”
Dickie shook his head. “She might be showing by then.”
“What?” Ned rolled his eyes. “That’s not an issue. Believe me.”
Dickie raised both brows and looked over to Ned’s opening bedroom door. “If you say so.” Lindsey stood there, tying Ned’s robe tightly around her waist.
Ned stood up and gazed at her tenderly before saying, “Linds, I didn’t wake you because I thought you might want to sleep in today.”
She smiled back happily. “I’m too excited to sleep any longer. Did you tell Dickie the news?”
Dickie walked toward her, opening his arms to give her a hug. “Welcome to the family, Lindsey.” She smiled warmly and walked into his firm embrace.
Dickie clapped his hands together as they broke apart a few seconds later. “Now, this calls for a celebration. Music, dancing, festivity—”
Ned shook his head. “Wait. Whoa, whoa, whoa. We haven’t even told our parents yet. Lindsey has to meet the four Bs.” Ned looked toward the ceiling. “Oh, God.”
Lindsey rolled her eyes and groaned. “And Ned has to meet Cecily and Mortimer, my parents.”
But Dickie was undaunted. “What better time to celebrate?”
Ned sighed. “Well, perhaps we could schedule a small family get-together. What do you think, Linds? Get the whole thing over with, once and for all?”
Lindsey shrugged. “My parents like to travel to the States, so I’m sure they would come.”
Dickie smiled. “Excellent.” He tapped his chin. “Now, where should we have our grand affair? Ned, do you know the owners of that manor house on the other side of town? Do you think we could have it there?”
Ned looked at Dickie, puzzled. “What manor house?” Then, as if figuring out what Dickie meant, he added, “It’s not a house. It’s a hotel built by the inventor of a car that ran on steam. But, Dickie, we don’t want some huge, expensive party.”
Lindsey added, “It’s not our style, Dickie.”
Dickie harrumphed. “But it is mine! And I’m sure Charlena would agree with me. She needs a fete in her honor also. It should be a combined affair, celebrating both yours and her betrothal.”
Ned started shaking his head vigorously.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dickie sat on a throne on the dais of the grand ballroom of the best hotel in town and looked around with satisfaction. Charlena had indeed agreed with Dickie that a special affair was in order. So had her daddy, who had pulled special favors for them to reserve this space. This was, unfortunately, also the weekend of the—as far as Dickie was concerned—annual “barbarian” festival in Estes Park. They had been lucky to get this room. All hotels had been solidly booked because of that ridiculous celebration. But that was until Hoyt had saved the day.
Dickie looked around at the sparkling chandeliers, the elaborate floral decorations, the fine linen tablecloths, the ice statue of a boar in the center of the champagne fountain—which Dickie had seen Clarence covertly add a couple bottles of vodka to—and the string-and-brass orchestra in front of the dance floor. Why, this room looked almost as grand as some of his royal affairs in the past.
Dickie glanced at the many well-dressed guests, stopping and frowning slightly as he peered at one of the savages who was talking a little too loudly. But then, everyone was talking a little too loudly—Clarence had seen to that. Dressed in a kilt with a formal jacket over it, the beast towered over the rest of the crowd. He made his date, Caroline, look positively petite. But she was smiling warmly up at Aren, who was regaling a group of young people with his techniques for training for the strongman competition over at the fairgrounds. The Scottish festival would, of course, resort to such crude entertainment. But Caroline seemed enamored of her Scot, and had whooped as Aren had marched in the parade this morning down Elkhorn Avenue with the rest of his Wallace clan. Dickie was happy for her, truly he was, but a Scot? At least he had Connie as his aunt in his favor.
Dickie stood and, clasping his hands behind his back, began strolling around the ballroom. He walked past Ned and Lindsey. Ned was reaching for a lock of Lindsey’s curls while he listened attentively to her.
“Tartans have little to do with ancient regional patterns, Ned. Each clan’s plaid was marketed at whim by an ambitious manufacturer in the eighteen hundreds, and the trend took off.”
“Really, Linds? That’s fascinating.”
Dickie snorted and started to move on. But Ned was suddenly hailing him back. “Dickie, I want you to meet my friends from college.” Ned looked to his right. “William, Charlie, meet my English cousin, Richard York.”
Two strikingly handsome men, both blond and tall, had
been engrossed in a conversation about football, but turned congenial faces his way, then introduced themselves and shook his hand. Charlie spoke up: “Nedster, you never told us you had an English cousin before.”
Dickie grinned at Ned. “The Nedster didn’t know he did until recently.” Ned smirked at Dickie’s use of his nickname and shook his head.
William started playfully punching Ned. “Can Richard drink you under the table as easily as the rest of us can?” He turned to Lindsey. “We sure have some stories to tell you about the Nedster’s partying days.”
Ned groaned, “Oh, no.” But he was smiling also.
Dickie continued walking, suddenly hit with a discordant moment of combined yearning and sadness. Really, what he wouldn’t give to have his two best friends, Lovell and Ratcliff, at this party. He looked around at the other guests. No familiar faces from the old days. Dickie had secretly hoped that some would bear resemblance to people he remembered. But no, only Ned and Clarence did. He shook his head slightly to get himself out of this unwelcome mood.
He looked around the room and noticed the four Bs in an animated conversation with Lindsey’s parents, and headed their way. They had all met the previous night and, to Ned and Lindsey’s utter shock, had hit it off immediately, despite their obvious differences. Lindsey’s parents were a typical English couple. Her father, tall with thinning hair and a slightly protruding bite, was a staid botany professor, who had proclaimed an expertise in lichens last night. Burt, Ned’s father, in a stretch golfing shirt and linked chain around his neck, had immediately asked what the hell that was. After Mortimer had explained it was a crustlike, slow-growing plant, typically found branching on rocks or trees, Burt had suggested he see the crap growing under his dock. Burt, who had years of experience as a boater, had never seen stuff like what was on his Florida property.
Mortimer had been immediately intrigued. He pursed his mouth before inquiring, “Is it orange in color?”
Clarence’s father, Buff—in a matching golfing shirt with a linked chain around his neck, who was as big as Clarence, but with more flabbiness around his middle—answered, “Some of it is.”
“Sounds like Xanthoria parietina, a pollution-tolerant species often found on shorelines.”
Burt shook his head. “But some of it has these large gray leaves.”
Buff added, “It feels like felt, but it looks like dripping dung, hanging there off the boat deck.”
Mortimer frowned slightly. “Hmmm. You seem to be describing the rare Vole Ears lichen, but that species has never been found in salt water. I’d like to have a look at it.”
Buff had slapped him on the back hard enough to send Mort staggering a bit before replying, “No problem, limey. You can follow us home after this shindig is over.”
Mort had steadied himself, straightened his spectacles, and smiled. “Sounds like a brilliant idea.”
Dickie now walked up to Cecily, Lindsey’s mother, and Biddy and Bunny, all smiling warmly. Cecily had chosen to wear a most absurd feathered hat to the gathering, but then when hadn’t English women not worn most absurd hats? Dickie chuckled to himself, remembering the conelike projections women wore in his day. Cecily was a talker, but she had met her match in Biddy and Bunny, both wearing shockingly bright floral dresses.
Biddy looked over at him. “Dickie! You must visit us in Florida when Cecily and Mort do.”
Bunny enthused, “Yes! Say you will, Dickie. While the boys go boating and fishing, you can go shopping with us girls!”
Cecily scrunched up her nose and giggled. “It should be fun.”
Dickie could not think of a more unpleasant experience, but he suddenly realized whom Cecily reminded him of. No, not someone from back home, but a character in a funny movie about two men living together that he had recently watched on television. A Pigeon sister. That was who she was.
Dickie grinned and answered, “I’ll think about it, girls—”
But he was forced out of his revelry by Elle, who abruptly appeared at his side, glaring and pointing an accusing finger at him. “How could you, Dickie?”
Dickie raised his hands, feigning innocence, though he knew exactly what she was talking about.
Elle wasn’t finished. “To think I showed you how to make my special shortbread cookies and this is how you repay me?”
Dickie smiled smugly. If Elle was getting this upset, he clearly had done the right thing in inviting her estranged husband, Hal, to the celebration. She loved him still. That was obvious.
Dickie asked, “Did you talk to Hal yet?”
Elle narrowed her eyes. “Yes, of course I did. He told me you had invited him.”
Dickie looked around the room. “Where is he anyway? I’d like to meet him.”
“Over there, next to Connie. After I told him to leave, he told me he had business to discuss with Hoyt. At a party! I think he just wants to torture me with his presence.”
Dickie shook his head. “No, Elle. I think he loves you still. In fact, I know he does. He jumped at the chance to see you again in person.”
“Well, he’s not going to see me here. I think I’ll make a call to check on Mother.”
Dickie frowned. “How is Grandma Sally doing?”
Elle visibly relaxed and smiled. “Certainly better, since she’s threatening to take legal action against the cruise line that gave her the food poisoning that caused her to miss this engagement.”
Dickie smiled back. “Glad to hear that.”
He started walking toward Hal, who looked surprisingly unkempt, considering he was a business executive. Dickie had learned a thing or two about Hal, working with Elle making cookies, and she had told Dickie that her husband had never concerned himself much with fashion. What had initially endeared her to Hal was that on vacation, he was a socks-with-sandals kind of man. Dickie hadn’t understood the statement at the time, but he did now. Dickie could see Hal was a forever-crooked-tie type of gent.
Hal utterly contrasted with Hoyt, who was standing near him. Charlena made sure that tall, thin Hoyt dressed with impeccable taste, even though she had assured Dickie that Hoyt was a down-to-earth Midwesterner. Dickie still did not know exactly what a Midwesterner was supposed to be like, but he did know that Hoyt had had no problem conversing last night with the four Bs or Mort and Cecily.
Just before reaching Hal, Dickie glanced at the dance floor and was overcome again by a sorrowful yearning. A sweet, tender sadness, but melancholy in nature nonetheless. Dickie sighed. Despite an upbeat tune, Charlena and Clarence were dancing together slowly, cheek-to-cheek, occasionally looking at each other and smiling to share a word, but mainly just enjoying each other’s presence.
Dickie quickly strode to the outside terrace, embarrassed that tears had flooded his eyes. He wanted to be dancing himself at this party . . . but with his Annie. He took a couple deep breaths to compose himself and heard some giggling. He looked far to his right. Cody had his arm possessively around the shoulders of a young maiden, both leaning over the balustrade to look at something in the garden.
What would his son Edward have been like at Cody’s age? At age nine he was just beginning to show what type of man he would grow to be. . . .
“Dickie, did you hear me?”
Dickie blinked, trying to cover up his tears as he turned to find Ned on the terrace with him. But fortunately it was dark enough outside that Ned didn’t seem to notice his changed mood.
Ned continued. “Dougie just made it to the party. He decided to stop by, since he was on a promotional tour in Denver. He was asking where you were.”
Talking to Dougie would do Dickie some good right now. He was sure the TV host would take his mind off of his own family and friends. Dickie smiled. “What about Snorkels? Did she come, too?”
Ned shook his head and smiled back. “Hoping to hear the latest cookie ratings?”
“Hardly. Not with Dottie Doogemit running my fan club.”
Ned chuckled and they both headed back toward the ballroom
, only to stop short in the entranceway. Ned looked over at Dickie. “Uh-oh. This isn’t good.”
Chapter Thirty
“What do you mean? Elle’s just dancing with Dougie,” Dickie said.
True enough, Ned thought. And what a fantastic pair they made. His aunt Elle had always been a terrific dancer, and she and Dougie were probably the only people in the room who knew how to do the rumba correctly. That was what they were dancing right now, wasn’t it? Ned wasn’t sure, but it didn’t really matter. Whatever they were dancing, they flowed and glided around each other with ease. They smiled and laughed and were attracting the whole room’s attention with their display of skill and merriment.
Including Hal. But Hal wasn’t smiling, as everyone else was.
The song ended and Ned breathed a sigh of relief. Ned had known that Dickie was going to ask Hal to the affair tonight, and although he knew he should have stopped Dickie, he had not. He had wanted his aunt Elle to have a chance to get back together with Uncle Hal. Those two also made a terrific pair, and he knew that some of Aunt Elle’s spark had left her when Hal and she had separated all those years ago. He wouldn’t have thought his uncle Hal was a particularly jealous type, but he wasn’t so sure now, judging by the scowl on his face.
As Elle and Dougie took a bow, the guests started chanting, “More, more.”
Oh, no. Now it was a cha-cha they were performing, if Ned remembered his god-awful lessons from adolescence. Every Saturday night as an eleven-year-old, he had been subjected to the most excruciating experience: learning how to do country-club dancing with his fellow rich friends. With sweaty palms, he had stepped on many a partner’s toes. Clarence had gotten out of it regularly by claiming one made-up excuse after another, then teasing Ned the next day about his misfortune.
Ned looked over at Hal. He was clenching his fists now. But the cha-cha ended quickly, to Ned’s relief, and Aunt Elle and Dougie made swift bows and started walking off the dance floor.
