The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  When at last he raised his head from hers she was hard-pressed to catch her breath. The man simply took her breath away and she suspected he always would.

  “I haven’t done that nearly enough.”

  “Perhaps that was your problem.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

  “You are still extremely arrogant, you know.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “You like it.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I do.” She chose her words with care. “You should know my funds have been restored. I can marry anyone I wish.”

  “You always could.”

  “And, as you still haven’t proposed, you have lost the opportunity to do so.” She braced herself, although if one was going to finally take a risk it might as well be a large one. “Therefore, Mr. Russell, Mrs. Hargate requests the honor of your hand in marriage.”

  “Does she?”

  “She does indeed.” She stared up at him. “You do realize it’s terribly rude not to answer a question you’ve been asked.”

  “I would hate to be rude.”

  “As would we all. Well?”

  “It was an oversight on my part, not to include marriage in the contract.”

  “Perhaps it could be rewritten?”

  “I suspect it already has.” He pulled her tighter against him and gazed down into her eyes. “I don’t want to ever be without you.”

  “Good Lord, you are romantic.”

  He laughed. “I just want to be the last adventure you ever have.”

  “In spite of everything, I have come to believe our adventure only began in New York. Goodness, Sam.” She shook her head. “For such a romantic man it’s amazing the things you don’t know.”

  “What might those be?”

  “My dear darling American, don’t you see . . .” She brushed her lips across his. “The very best adventures are the ones that never end.”

  Epilogue

  “I am sorry to interrupt,” Uncle Basil said in an apologetic manner. “I didn’t think this could wait any longer. In truth, I shouldn’t have waited this long. But it’s rare that the entire family is together in one place and I didn’t want to take the chance that some of you would scatter in the morning so I thought it best to do this now.”

  Basil had asked Mother, Father, and their daughters and husbands to join him in the dining room and Delilah had insisted Sam come as well. After all, he would soon be a member of the family and whatever Basil’s family matter of some importance was, Sam should certainly be a part of it.

  Basil nodded at Camille and Grayson. “But I do apologize for taking you away from the festivities.”

  “Nonsense, Uncle Basil,” Camille said with a smile. “The ball is well underway and no one will miss us for a few minutes.”

  The ball was indeed in full swing and was as well as perfect as one could hope. As was the wedding itself. Although Delilah did think the true perfection was to be found in the love that shone in the eyes of the bride and groom. She glanced at Sam beside her and smiled. And was there really anything more perfect than that?

  “I must confess, you have us all dying of curiosity,” Beryl said.

  “And a certain amount of apprehension.” Father studied his twin closely. “It’s not like you to be preoccupied and on edge but you have been since you arrived at Millworth.”

  “I will try to keep this as succinct as possible.” Basil met his brother’s gaze. “I know you have been concerned about the fate of Millworth as you have no sons. And upon our respective deaths, your title, the estate, and everything associated with it will be inherited by some distant relative we scarcely even know.”

  “It’s the way of the world.” Father shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

  “As have we all,” Delilah added. “Admittedly, it will be rather sad to see Millworth pass into unfamiliar hands but it’s not as if any of us will be left penniless.”

  “Thanks to appropriate first marriages,” Mother said smugly.

  Grayson and Lionel traded wry glances. As the second husbands of Briston daughters they were well aware of the nature of their wives’ first marriages.

  “That is one less thing to worry about,” Basil said under his breath.

  “I do wish you would tell us what this is all about.” Impatience sounded in Mother’s voice. “We do have a ball to return to, you know.”

  “Of course, I know,” Basil snapped. “This isn’t easy, Bernadette. I’m trying to think of the right way to say this.”

  “Just say it.” Mother glared. “The more you dissemble, the more the rest of us think this is something truly dreadful.”

  “It’s not dreadful,” Basil said staunchly. “In many ways it’s something of a miracle.”

  “Go on then.” Father’s brow furrowed. “Out with it, Basil.”

  “Very well.” Basil paused. “It’s a long story but I shall try to make it short.”

  “Too late,” Beryl murmured.

  “A very long time ago,” Basil began, “I met a lovely young woman, the daughter of an American banker. We fancied ourselves in love and did what young people in love often do.”

  Bernadette’s jaw clenched with impatience. “Do get on with it, Basil.”

  He ignored her. “We eloped.”

  A collective gasp washed around the room.

  “Her parents were appalled and convinced the marriage was a terrible mistake. They convinced us of that as well.”

  Father stared. “You never told me any of this.”

  “It was not something I was particularly proud of,” Basil said sharply. “At any rate, she returned to America and was to have the marriage annulled. Her father would see to that.”

  Beryl studied her uncle closely. “Was to have the marriage annulled?”

  “Yes, well, that’s apparently difficult to do if the bride is with child.” Basil shook his head. “I only recently learned about this.”

  Camille’s eyes widened. “Then you’re still married?”

  “And you have a child?” Shock rang in Delilah’s voice.

  “Basil,” Father said in a hard tone. “What exactly are you trying to tell us?”

  “I’m trying to tell you I have a son.” Basil drew a deep breath. “I’m trying to tell you there is a new heir to Millworth Manor. And he’s American.”

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Victoria Alexander’s

  next Millworth Manor historical romance,

  The Shocking Secret of a Guest at the Wedding,

  coming in November 2014!

  New York City, September 1887

  The library of the Fifth Avenue home

  of Jackson Quincy Graham, President

  and Chairman of the board of Graham,

  Merryweather and Lockwood Banking and Trust,

  his daughter, Mrs. Elizabeth Channing, and her son,

  Jackson Quincy Graham Channing . . .

  Jackson Quincy Graham Channing isn’t the man he thought he was.

  A scant five minutes ago, the youngest vice president in the storied history of Graham, Merryweather and Lockwood Banking and Trust was not merely accepting of his lot in life but considered himself quite content. Oh certainly, when he was six years of age he had wanted to become Jack the intrepid pirate king and live a life of adventure on the high seas. A notion that vanished when he was seven and decided the adventurous life of Jack the heroic scout in the vast uncivilized recesses of the west would be much more exciting. When he turned eight, he had realized Jack the hunter of lost treasures and seeker of adventures in the jungles of the Amazon or the deserts of Egypt, a hero of epic proportions, was much more to his liking. But by the time he was nine, Jackson Quincy Graham Channing understood the duty, the responsibility and the destiny of the great-grandson of one of the founders of Graham, Merryweather and Lockwood Banking and Trust was to follow in the not quite as adventurous footsteps of his grandfather and his great-grandfather before him. And so he did, exactly
as planned.

  In five years, Jackson Quincy Graham would turn over the presidency of Graham, Merryweather and Lockwood to his grandson who would soon be officially engaged to Lucinda Merryweather, also an offspring of one of the bank’s founders. They would marry in the spring, shortly after her twenty-fourth birthday, just as both families had planned from the day Lucy was born. They would have an appropriate number of children including at least one boy who would grow up to take his place as the head of Graham, Merryweather and Lockwood Banking and Trust.

  Life was unfolding exactly as expected, precisely according to plan, with no unseemly excitement, little opportunity for adventure, save that to be found in the world of banking and finance, and few surprises.

  That Jackson Quincy Graham Channing now found himself taken completely by surprise was most unsettling. He couldn’t recall ever having been at a loss for words before. Obviously his shock now was due directly to the fact that the importance of the moment was rivaled only by its absurdity. No doubt why he said the first thing that popped into his head.

  “But you’re dead.”

  His mother winced. The tall, older British gentleman standing beside her in his grandfather’s wood paneled library in their grand house on Fifth Avenue, the man who was apparently his father, his dead father, smiled in a wry manner. “Actually, I’m very much alive.”

  “So it would seem.” Jack studied the older man closely.

  Colonel Basil Channing looked decidedly familiar although they had never met. But his eyes, his nose, everything about him was as familiar to Jack as . . . his stomach twisted. As if he was looking in a mirror. Granted that mirror was considerably older but there wasn’t a doubt in Jack’s mind that this man was who his mother said he was. Until a minute ago Jack was under the impression his father had died in an Indian uprising before Jack was born. It was a tragic story that his mother never wished to talk about. For more reasons than one obviously.

  “Forgive me for being blunt but surely you understand why I am more than a little taken aback.” Jack’s gaze slid to his mother. “And extremely confused.”

  “Yes, well, you might have a question or two,” his mother said under her breath, refusing to meet his gaze.

  “I might?” His tone rang harder than expected but it seemed ire went hand in hand with shock. “Only one or two you think?”

  “Or more.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “God knows I do.”

  “Do you?” Jack’s brow rose. “How very interesting as most of my questions are for you. First and foremost where have you been for the last thirty years, Father?”

  “You would do best to watch yourself, my boy.” The colonel’s casual tone belied the hard look in his eye. “Until you know all the facts. Wouldn’t you agree, Elizabeth?”

  “One should always have all the facts before passing judgment.” Elizabeth Channing calmly crossed the library to where a decanter of brandy sat, as always, on a corner of his grandfather’s desk.

  The ever-present decanter marked this room as a gentleman’s domain every bit as much as did the commanding, century old mahogany desk, the floor to ceiling shelves filled with precisely arranged, finely bound volumes, the well-worn costly leather sofa, and the imposing portrait of Jack’s great-grandfather over the fireplace. This was his grandfather’s sanctuary and would one day be Jack’s. Exactly as it should be.

  “You would be wise to remember that as well, Basil.” Mother poured herself a glass and only a slight tremble in her hand indicated she was anything other than completely composed. Interesting as Jack had never seen his mother anything less than completely composed.

  His father was right, of course. Besides, Jack never allowed emotion to overcome logic and logic dictated he wait to have the facts of the matter before reaching any conclusions. It was the sensible, rational way to proceed even if there was nothing sensible and rational about any of this.

  “Yes, of course.” Jack drew a deep breath. “Then perhaps you would be so good as to explain.”

  “Quite honestly, there’s little I can explain. As I said, I have as many questions as you. Until a week ago, I had no idea I had a son.” The older man’s gaze shifted to Jack’s mother. “Nor was I aware that I still had a wife.”

  Jack’s gaze turned to his mother, who was doing her best to look anywhere but at him. Or his father.

  “Well?” both men said in unison then exchanged startled glances.

  “We’re waiting, Mother,” Jack said.

  “Out with it, Elizabeth,” his father said at the same time.

  “I have no intention of being interrogated like a common criminal,” his mother said in a lofty manner and tossed back a good portion of her brandy. That too was interesting. She did not normally indulge in quite so reckless a manner.

  “Why didn’t I know that I had a father?” Jack said.

  “Everyone has a father, dear,” Mother said coolly. “It’s rather odd that you thought you didn’t.”

  “You’re right. My apologies. Allow me to restate my question.” Jack’s voice hardened. “Why didn’t I know my father was alive?”

  “I have no idea.” She raised a shoulder in an offhand manner. “I never told you he was dead.”

  “Not in so many words, I suppose. But you led me to believe he was dead. That he was killed in an Indian uprising before I was born.”

  “That might have been your grandfather’s doing,” Mother said under her breath.

  “I was in India in ’57,” his father said. “Sepoy rebellion.”

  Jack stared. “Not that kind of Indian.”

  “Nonetheless, as you can see, I was not killed.” He turned toward his wife. “You let him think I was dead.”

  “How was I to know you weren’t? You could have been.” She sniffed. “It’s not as if you kept in contact with me.”

  “I wrote to you. At least in the beginning.” Indignation sounded in the older man’s voice. “Admittedly, it took me a week or so to realize your admonition that it would be best if we did not contact one another was ridiculous. I wrote you once a month for the next, oh, eight months if I recall.”

  “Yes, well the ninth month was when I might well have responded,” she snapped.

  “At that point it seemed hopeless.” His father’s tone matched his mother’s. “As far as I knew, you had returned to America to have our marriage annulled and never wanted to see me again.”

  “That was the original plan.” Mother’s eyes narrowed. “However, an annulment is difficult when one is going to have a child.”

  “The two of you were married, then?” Jack interrupted.

  “Of course we were married.” She huffed. “I certainly would never have had a child if I had been unmarried. I can’t believe you would ask such a question.”

  “Do forgive me, Mother.”

  “Sarcasm is not the way to handle an awkward situation, Jackson.”

  Jack narrowed his gaze. “Again, my apologies.”

  “It’s been thirty years, Elizabeth.” The colonel’s gaze met his wife’s. “I would think that at some point during that time, you would have seen your way clear to inform me of the birth of my son.”

  “You needn’t look at me that way. I didn’t deliberately not tell you. Indeed, I can’t count the number of times I put pen to paper to write to you. Why, I probably wrote a good two dozen letters or more through the years.”

  “And yet I never received even one.”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t say I actually mailed them.” She shrugged. “I really didn’t know where to send them. I didn’t know if you were still in the army or wandering the world. Regardless, I had no idea where to find you.” She studied her husband. “You were an adventurous sort, remember? Always talking about what you wished to see and do, the places you wanted to go.”

  “If I recall, you wished to see those places with me.”

  She sipped her brandy. “I was very young and extremely foolish.”

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “Wer
en’t we all.”

  “And therein lies the problem,” she snapped.

  “One of many,” he said sharply then drew a deep breath. “You could have sent your letters to Millworth Manor. I would have received them eventually.”

  “I suppose I could have but I didn’t.” She waved off his comment. “It’s really a moot point now. You know everything and—”

  “I don’t know anything at all.” His father’s brow furrowed. “Aside from the basic facts that I have a wife and a son I don’t—”

  “Oh, come now, Basil, you needn’t be so indignant.” She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “I’ll have you know it’s remarkably difficult to inform a man he’s a father who is not even aware he’s still married. And while admittedly I should have, oh, made a greater effort perhaps, this is really not my fault.”

  “Not your fault?” father and son said in unison.

  Mother’s annoyed gaze slid from one man to the other. “We’re never going to get anywhere if the two of you keep doing that. I find it most disconcerting.”

  “We certainly wouldn’t want you to feel ill at ease, Mother,” Jack said.

  “Thank you, Jackson,” she said in a lofty manner.

  The men traded glances. Jack drew a deep breath.

  “Nonetheless, I must agree with . . .” He looked at his father. What was he supposed to call this man he had just met? “Him. We both have questions and an explanation as to your actions for the past thirty years is certainly in order and long overdue.”

  “Possibly I suppose. But it really is a long story and we do have guests.” She glanced at her husband. “Only Mr. Lockwood, my father of course, and the Merryweathers and their daughter Lucinda. Jackson and Lucinda will more than likely marry within the year.”

  The older man glanced at his son. “My heartiest congratulations.”

  “Nothing is settled yet,” Jack said without thinking, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that wondered why it was that nothing was settled. And why it didn’t seem to bother him. Or Lucy.

  “You’ve come in the middle of a small dinner party, Basil. Nothing elaborate but as you were neither expected nor invited, it was most inconsiderate of you.”