by Teri Wilson
She wondered what that was all about. “You’re mistaken. It’s the dog he fancies.”
“If you say so.” Helena’s lips curved into a smile that in no way reached her eyes behind those crazy lashes. “It was lovely meeting you, Elizabeth.”
“You, too,” Elizabeth said, wishing with all her might she could get the phrase special friend out of her head. Donovan could have all the friends he wanted, special or otherwise. Why should she care?
“Good day, ladies.” Henry turned to Elizabeth. “I suppose I’ll see you later in the Terrier Group ring?”
“Oh, no. Sue will be showing Rose in Group.” Thank God.
“Very well, then.” Henry nodded, cast a prolonged glance at Jenna and headed back toward the ring with his sister in tow.
Sue frowned in their absence. “Am I the only one who found that whole conversation rather odd?”
“Absolutely not,” Elizabeth said. “Henry seems nice, but that sister of his is a piece of work.”
“You mean Mr. Darcy’s special friend?” Jenna rolled her eyes. “She’s jealous. I’ve seen her type a thousand times before—bitter bridesmaid.”
Bitter bridesmaid—a term they’d coined years ago at Scott Bridal to describe catty, unpleasant women who accompanied their friends to the shop, then systematically went about criticizing every bridal decision they made. Elizabeth wasn’t sure the term altogether applied to Helena Robson, but it was funny nonetheless.
“Bitter bridesmaid.” She echoed Jenna’s sentiment with a smile.
“Judging is about to resume. Don’t you need to get Bliss brushed out, Elizabeth?” Sue asked as they headed back toward the grooming area.
“Yes. God willing, Henry Robson isn’t judging Cavaliers this afternoon.” He’d given her a big win, but Elizabeth didn’t think she could take another round in the ring with him if Donovan would be present.
“He’s not, dear.”
“It’s not Donovan, either, is it?” That would be even worse.
Sue sank into one of the chairs at their setup. Violet flat-footed straight from the ballroom floor into Sue’s lap. “No, dear. It’s Mrs. Smith-Crowley. She’s been a fixture in the dog fancy in London for at least sixty years. Blind in one eye, half-blind in the other and a little on the senile side, I’m afraid.”
Jenna tilted her head. “How on earth can she judge the dogs if she can’t see?”
Mrs. Smith-Crowley could have been unable to tell the difference between a dog and a cat, for all Elizabeth cared...so long as she didn’t have anything to do with Donovan Darcy.
Elizabeth slid her gaze to Sue as she guided Rose into her crate. “This Mrs. Smith-Crowley isn’t provisional, is she? No mentor in the ring?”
“I should say not.” Sue laughed. “She’s been judging dogs since long before you were born.”
“Good. She sounds positively delightful,” Elizabeth said.
And she meant it from the bottom of her heart.
* * *
“Jenna, please tell me we don’t have to stay long.” Elizabeth jammed a twenty-pound note into the machine and retrieved two pink passes for the tube from the silver dish below. “You know how I feel about these things.”
“Jeez Louise, settle down. We’re not even there yet. We’re staying an hour. Two, tops. I have a date with Henry later. Besides, I hung out with you all day yesterday at that dog show. You can suffer through an hour or two at a bridal fair with me.” Jenna followed Elizabeth toward the waiting train, weaving through the throng of Londoners headed home from work.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but envy them. She’d done nothing but unpack dog-show paraphernalia and trim terrier toenails all day and would have loved the simple luxury of curling up with a pint of ice cream in front of bad reality television. Even bad British reality television—they loved Gordon Ramsay with such a passion over here that sometimes it seemed as if he were on every BBC channel—sounded more appealing than attending the Temperley Bridal Market with Jenna.
But Jenna being Jenna had convinced her to come along. Even though the thought of all those wedding dresses was enough to make Elizabeth want to hurl. She’d worn head-to-toe black out of protest.
Jenna eyed her up and down as the train doors closed and a polite British voice told passengers to mind the gap. “You look like you’re headed to a funeral.”
Elizabeth snorted. “I’d almost rather go to a funeral than a wedding.”
“It’s not a wedding. It’s a bridal fair.” Jenna gave the seat beside her a pat. “We’ll have fun. Free champagne, beautiful dresses. What’s there to be so worked up about?”
The romance of it all, for one thing.
It was difficult to grow up in the bridal business, among all those Bridezillas and over-the-top wedding plans, and not become at least a tad bit cynical about the whole thing. She had no idea how Jenna managed to remain such a romantic.
And then there was the whole Markham encounter—the final nail in the coffin for Elizabeth.
Her interest in romance was already at an all-time low. And the odd encounters with Donovan Darcy weren’t helping matters. She was more confused than anything, and somehow spending the evening amid all those yards of tulle and lace seemed like the last thing she needed.
Too late, she thought as she and Jenna stepped into the posh gallery in Chelsea where the Bridal Market was being held. It was like being slapped in the face by Cupid. They’d hardly crossed the threshold and already a waiter was thrusting pink champagne at them, offered up in saucer-style glasses with baby’s breath wound around the stems. Elizabeth almost spilled hers as a model wearing a bridal gown nearly as wide as it was long bumped her from behind.
She took a sip to prevent it sloshing over the rim. It was sweet. Sickeningly so.
“Come on, the runway show is toward the back and that’s what I really want to see.” Jenna pulled her forward.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and allowed herself to be dragged through the mass of giddy brides-to-be. She cast a longing glance at the chocolate fountain in the center of the room. It wasn’t exactly that pint of Ben & Jerry’s she craved, but it would do in a pinch.
“I have seats reserved in the front row.” Jenna steered them toward two white folding chairs festooned with swags of pink roses and placards that read Scott Bridal.
Elizabeth sank into hers and sent up a silent yet desperate prayer that everything with the Barclay School would be resolved. If she lost her job permanently, this was exactly the sort of life she had in store when she returned to the States. Except, in addition to all the baby’s breath, she’d have her mother to deal with.
And if she did end up being ousted from the privileged world of the Barclay School, the thought of once again zipping wealthy socialites into twenty-thousand-dollar dresses was difficult to stomach.
She took another gulp of the sweet champagne.
Beside her, Jenna gazed up at the first model gliding down the runway, wearing a slinky ivory gown with a polka-dot tulle overlay. “Oh, look at that. Gorgeous.”
Elizabeth gave an absent nod of agreement and glanced at the two empty chairs on her opposite side. Would anyone notice if she lay across them in the fetal position?
Probably, she figured. Too bad.
Just as she was about to turn her attention back to the runway, a woman approached the front row...a woman with an unmistakable whippetlike quality about her.
“Oh, no.” Elizabeth grabbed Jenna’s arm. “Look who’s coming this way. Helena Robson.”
Jenna’s head whipped from the direction of the runway. She craned her neck and peered above Elizabeth’s head. “You’re kidding. Is Henry with her?”
“I doubt it. This is a bridal fair. Remember?” Elizabeth muttered, hoping in desperation that Helena would move right past them and sit somewhere else. An
ywhere else.
But of course, she didn’t. She sat right down in the chair next to Elizabeth, close enough to touch. Certainly close enough for Elizabeth to choke on the cloud of her flowery perfume.
Balenciaga Paris, if Elizabeth had to venture a guess. A favorite scent of blushing brides everywhere.
Elizabeth coughed and kept her gaze glued to the runway where a satin gown in fire-engine red was drawing shocked gasps from the crowd.
Red wedding gowns actually weren’t all that shocking. In some countries, they were even traditional. And of course they were often favored by brides who longed to make a dramatic entrance. The fact that Elizabeth knew these things made her long for a trip to the chocolate fountain all the more.
“What do you think, Elizabeth?” Jenna asked. “We need something new in red at Scott Bridal. We’ve only carried the same small selection for years.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “It’s nice, I suppose. If you’re into that sort of thing.” Personally, she wouldn’t be caught dead walking down the aisle in head-to-toe crimson. Not that she planned on walking down the aisle. Ever.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth Scott?” Helena leaned toward her, her eyes widening in apparent recognition. “It is you. How very odd running into you here.”
Is it really so odd? Elizabeth bristled. Why shouldn’t I be here? I could be engaged as easily as the next girl...if I wanted to be. Which I don’t.
“Helena, hi,” Elizabeth said, trying with all her might to give this ridiculous woman the benefit of the doubt. “My family owns a bridal shop in the States.”
“I see.” Helena’s superplump lips curved into a satisfied smile. “That explains it.”
And there it was—the look all those Bridezillas had been giving Elizabeth for years. The smug expression of someone looking down on a servant. Seeing it on the face of Donovan’s special friend made it sting all the more.
“You’re visiting us from America, then?” Helena asked, obviously in no hurry to turn her attention back to the runway.
Elizabeth longed for something crazy to make an appearance up there—a glow-in-the-dark dress, perhaps? Anything.
“Yes.” Elizabeth nodded, determined to play nice. “I live in New York.”
“New York. How wonderful. Terrific shopping.” Helena fiddled with a bracelet on her slender wrist. Elizabeth somehow knew Helena’s terrific shopping reference didn’t include H&M—or any of the other places on her go-to shopping list.
“And you’re here on holiday?”
“You could say that. I’m on sabbatical from my teaching job.” She mentally kicked herself for bringing up her job in the States. What had she been thinking? The last thing she needed was for wind of the scandal to catch up with her over here. The less said about her job back home, the better.
“You’re a teacher?” Helena lifted a perfectly arched brow. “How positively noble of you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Elizabeth shrugged in a way she hoped looked nonchalant. “It’s a job.”
“And how long is your sabbatical?”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched, and it became almost impossible to hold on to any trace of her pasted-on smile. She had to end this conversation, or at the very least steer it away from her job. “A few weeks.”
Not that it was any business of Helena Robson’s.
Jenna finally interrupted, putting Elizabeth out of her misery. “So what brings you to the bridal fair, Helena? Is there a wedding in your future?”
“Oh, yes. Most definitely,” Helena purred and aimed a piercing look at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth squirmed in her seat. Had she missed something here? Why all the hostility?
The air suddenly grew so thick the tension could be cut with a knife. Or perhaps with one of the razor-sharp pleats on the ultramodern bridal gown currently being showcased on the runway.
Elizabeth had to get out of there. At once.
“Well, we’ve got to get going, right, Jenna? I saw a display of bridesmaid dresses way over there that have our names written all over them.” Elizabeth stood. “You enjoy yourself.”
“What was that?” Jenna whispered as Elizabeth made a beeline for the bridesmaid display. If her route took them past the chocolate fountain, then so be it.
“Sorry. But something about that woman just gives me the creeps.”
“Her brother is awfully cute, though. I can’t wait to see him later. He seems so nice. Don’t you think? I like him.” Talking about Henry, Jenna would have sounded like a wistful romantic even if she hadn’t been standing in a room full of lace, tulle and roses.
Elizabeth shrugged. “I suppose you’ve liked many a stupider person.”
“Lizzy!” Jenna swatted her with her tiny clutch handbag.
“Ah, bridesmaid dresses.” Elizabeth nearly gasped when her gaze fell on a shimmering, floor-length gold Marchesa gown. “This is much more my speed.”
“You know what they say. Always a bridesmaid...”
“Never a bride.” Elizabeth nodded resolutely and let her fingertips graze the fabric of the lovely gown. It was like liquid gold in her hands. “That’s just fine with me.”
* * *
“I told you we’d have fun,” Jenna said as they rounded the corner of the darkened cupcake bakery and headed toward the Barrows’ townhome. “And you even bought a new dress. I’ll pick it up for you tomorrow after they make the alterations.”
“I can’t say I had fun, exactly.” Although the three glasses of champagne she’d downed after her surprise encounter with Helena Robson hadn’t hurt. Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know what got into me. When am I ever going to wear a Marchesa ball gown?”
“Moët & Chandon got into you. And I’m a bad influence, I suppose. But you never know.” Jenna winked. “Perhaps you’ll find an occasion to wear that gorgeous ball gown somewhere with your charming Englishman.”
Elizabeth snorted. “He’s not my Englishman, and he isn’t altogether charming.”
“Ouch.” A very familiar, very male voice came out of the darkness. “Although I’ve heard worse things said about me, I suppose.”
Jenna stopped in her tracks, peering into the shadows as Donovan Darcy emerged with Finneus trailing alongside him. At the sight of him, Elizabeth’s stomach performed a rebellious flip. She felt her face flush, fast and hot, and she found herself grateful for the darkness.
“Donovan Darcy.” For some odd reason, it was a struggle to keep her voice even. “That’s rather presumptuous, don’t you think? This is London. We could be talking about any of a whole host of Englishmen.”
His eyes blazed. “Well, I heard the annoyance in your tone, so I jumped to the most obvious conclusion.”
“Ahem.” Jenna frowned and inched her way toward the Barrows’ door. “I need to change for my dinner date. I’ll just go inside and leave you two to chat.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Donovan cocked his head and looked at Elizabeth for a long, silent moment. She felt her breath grow shallow, which was ludicrous really. It wasn’t as if she had feelings for Donovan Darcy. He’d caught her by surprise, that was all. Lurking around in the dark like that...
He took a step closer. “That was your sister, was it not? The one I met before?”
He lifted an eyebrow, and that subtle movement spoke volumes—before, as in before you knew I wasn’t sleeping with a teenager.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Jenna. She arrived a few days ago. It was a nice surprise.”
“I suppose she’ll be keeping you rather busy, sightseeing and all that?”
Yes, immensely busy. I’ll hardly have time to breathe, much less think about you, your ridiculously charming accent or the perfect knots in your ties.
Elizabeth swallowed. “Not really. She’s here on business.”
“Then perhaps you’d allow Finneus and me to accompany you and your charges on a walk tomorrow?” He frowned, as if surprised at the words that had just come from his mouth.
They caught Elizabeth off guard as well, which was the only logical explanation for her response. “I’d like that very much.”
“Very well, then.” The frown on Donovan’s face relaxed and turned into something more resembling a contented grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, I’ll see you then.” Elizabeth took a step backward, toward the door.
She needed to get inside before she agreed to something more. The way the moonlight danced on Donovan’s handsome features was playing tricks on her, making her vulnerable. Too vulnerable.
“Good night, Elizabeth,” he said, her name sounding far too sultry on his lips.
“Good night.”
10
“Lizzy, I totally forgot.” Jenna slid a fat manila envelope across the breakfast table toward Elizabeth. “I brought you something from home.”
“Oh?” Elizabeth paused from spreading a thick layer of orange marmalade on her toast.
“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s only your mail.” Jenna took a sip of her tea. English Breakfast Tea. Not quite as satisfying as coffee for Jenna, if the wistful look on her face was any indication.
“Anything exciting?” Sue asked as she looked up from her newspaper. The Daily Mail. It was a bit racier than your average newspaper. So Elizabeth had discovered when she read an article the other day referring to Justin Timberlake as Trouser Snake.
“Let’s see.” Elizabeth slid a butter knife under the envelope’s flap.
A familiar assortment of bills fell to the table among an avalanche of catalogs. PetEdge. In the Company of Dogs. J-B Wholesale Pet Supplies.
Same old, same old.
Then she saw something that made her heart leap straight to her throat—a thick cream-colored envelope with a familiar posh insignia.
Her fingers trembling, she slipped it from the stack of bills. Just as she thought, the return address bore the crest of the Barclay School.
