“What about you, Thea? Is there a right match for you?”
The tight curve of her lips held for a moment, then resolved into a brave and genuine smile. “You probably already know the answer to that, but please don’t worry about me. I’ve already had more happiness than I thought was possible, more than some people ever find. I’m going to be okay.”
Ilsa studied this new Thea for a moment. “I’m proud of you, Thea Braddock,” she said. “Enormously proud.”
“Berenson,” Thea corrected, taking no claim to Peter’s name. “And, thank you, Ilsa. I’m beginning to feel a little proud of myself.”
And if that was the only thing to have come from this match that had seemed so improbable at the start, then Ilsa could feel she’d done a good thing by following her intuition. But she wasn’t yet convinced the possibilities had run their course. It isn’t over until the wedding bells ring, Ainsley liked to say. Ilsa knew, however, that the wedding bells were only the beginning of the love affair. “Are you and Peter going to the Harvest Gala tomorrow night?” she asked innocently, as if Ainsley hadn’t already told her they were.
“Not together.” Thea moved her glass aside as the waiter brought their appetizer and placed it on the table. “Peter said he’d be there, but…” Her voice trailed off into doubt. “I wish I wasn’t going. I’ve been dreading it all week because Grandmother always attends and because…well, it’ll be the first time I’m going with the intention of not being a wallflower. I don’t know which one scares me more. But I’ve decided to stop hiding and be brave, even if nobody notices. And tomorrow night is as good a time to start as any.”
“Bravo, Thea.” Ilsa hoped Thea would quickly discover she’d already faced the toughest part in simply making the decision to change. This confident young woman, who was emerging from the ashes of her shyness and self-denial, was going to cause quite a stir wherever she went from now on. “I was just thinking…there’s a vacancy on the library board. Would you be interested?”
Thea couldn’t quite disguise her reaction, a mixture of devout apprehension and tempered excitement. “Do you think they’d want me?”
“I think they’d be lucky to get you. And now, would you please take some of the artichoke dip? Once I get started on it, the stuff has a way of mysteriously disappearing and you may not get another chance.”
Thea laughed and reached for the appetizer.
THE WHOLE OFFICE overflowed with laughter and good wishes.
“Congratulations, Peter!”
“The Pierce Award. Wow, Peter, what an honor.”
“You deserve it. The Atlanta Complex is the best piece of architecture this firm has ever turned out.”
“This firm? It’s the best piece any of us are ever likely to see in our careers.”
“At least until Peter turns in the Boston project.”
And the congratulatory laughter made the rounds all over again. The accolades from his associates had been growing grander in scale ever since Vic Luttrell had taken the call notifying the firm that Peter had won the prestigious Pierce Award. Champagne had appeared and suit coats had been taken off, leaving a lot of shirt sleeves and loosened ties as the party revved up. Peter vacillated between bursts of elation and a bone weary sadness. He drank the champagne and accepted the congratulations, withstood the handshakes and the hefty pats on the back, fielded phone calls and laughed at every joke.
But for all his genuine happiness at winning the Pierce, he couldn’t get past the knowledge that something was missing from his celebration.
His grandfather had called.
James, Adam and Bryce had phoned in their congratulations, too, and both of his sisters-in-law had gushed over his success.
His co-workers were thrilled for him and having a great time at this impromptu party.
Some of his friends in Boston had dropped by with their good wishes.
Plans were already afoot in Sea Change for another party to celebrate his victory.
There was no reason he shouldn’t be having the time of his life.
Except for Thea.
The memory of her face as he’d left her on Sunday night had haunted him all week. The knowledge that he’d hurt her nagged at him like a festering splinter. He hadn’t called or talked to her since, because he thought that would only make a complicated situation worse. He hadn’t meant for her to fall in love with him. He’d never intended for her to think this marriage was anything other than a temporary arrangement. He hadn’t expected her to bring so much trust and faith and hope into the relationship. Now, of course, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t foreseen those possibilities. She’d never had a champion, never known the simple courtesies most women took for granted. It was only natural she’d read something into his actions which wasn’t there.
Someone clapped him on the shoulder and as he turned to accept another handshake, another good job, he saw the sketch of his stepfather and knew what a lie all of his justifications were.
He’d made love to her…and often. He’d shared his bed with her at night and eaten the breakfast she fixed for him in the morning. He’d kissed her hello and goodbye, just for the pleasure of it. He’d taken her hand in his, put his coat across her shoulders when she was cold, and he’d called her sometimes from the office just to see what she was doing. He’d looked forward to the end of the day when he could go home to her and he’d savored the way her dark eyes lit up at the sight of him. He’d felt protective and tender and loving.
So how had he not realized he was falling in love with her?
In the midst of the gaiety all around him, Peter remembered her in his office, touching the desk lightly so as not to leave a mark, admiring the sketches he’d made to remind him of his roots, telling him that art was emotion on paper.
“Congratulations, Peter!”
“Yeah, man, way to go.”
Another pat on the back, another good-natured handshake, another toast of champagne. And all of it meant nothing because a little wallflower of a woman wasn’t there to share it with him.
How had she settled into his heart without his knowledge or permission? How was it possible he could have fallen in love with a woman who was so not what he’d always believed he wanted? She wasn’t blond or beautiful or one of high society’s reigning belles. She didn’t know how to flirt or play the parlor games of seduction. She had none of the graceful social skills of her class, although she was always, unquestionably a lady. She wasn’t at all the kind of woman he had wanted for his wife.
So how had she turned out to be the wife he wanted?
He lifted the phone to call her, to tell her he was coming home now to Braddock Hall, to her, but someone popped the cork on another bottle of champagne, someone else called for another toast, and he replaced the receiver. Thea deserved better than a long distance I love you, shouted over a hubbub of strange voices. She deserved flowers and romance and a ring. She deserved a proper proposal and the soft, slow courtship of words. She deserved a better husband than he could ever be.
But he must be the luckiest man alive, because he was pretty certain she thought he was the husband she should have.
Chapter Eleven
For someone who normally steered clear of mirrors, Thea had spent an inordinate amount of time in front of one lately. She couldn’t get over the change in her appearance, couldn’t stop touching her hair or being amazed by the way the right makeup made her eyes look large and luminous and lent a healthy glow to her skin. She’d tried makeup before, hiding out in her room with her contraband Cover Girl cosmetics and a Glamour magazine, but with no one to show her how, no one to say, try this color, do it this way, or that looks good, her efforts had been worse than dismal. Sadie had tried to help her a few times, but Davinia had had a fit when she saw the blue eye shadow on her twelve-year-old granddaughter and poor Sadie and Monroe very nearly got fired over the incident. After that, Thea didn’t dare ask anyone else for advice on how to be a girl.
And to be hon
est, when she and Ainsley had started out on the quest for a make-over, Thea hadn’t believed the right clothes, the right makeup or a new hairstyle would make a difference. She’d expected, at best, to look less like a misfit, more like a well-dressed wallflower. But with every day, she’d gained a little more confidence, a bit more knowledge of what she liked and what suited her. For years, she’d watched from the sidelines and recognized that attractive women were confident, but until now, she hadn’t realized that the confidence came first and was, in essence, the attraction.
And that is what she saw now in her own reflection. The confident woman who looked back at her wasn’t beautiful. Her face would never launch a skiff, much less a thousand ships. But Thea didn’t want perfection. She only wanted to cause a small stir at the Harvest Gala tonight. And she thought, perhaps, she just might look good enough to do that.
The dress she’d chosen with Ainsley’s help was simply made with a cowl collar, a low, squared off back, and a soft bell shaped skirt that curved out over her hips from a waist so small Thea could hardly believe it was hers. The fabric was silk, although it had the look of linen, and the color was such a pretty shade of leaf green she couldn’t stop touching it. She regretted now not buying the nice set of costume jewelry Ainsley had suggested. But since she was spending Peter’s money until she had access to her trust—which the attorney had said could take months—she didn’t want to spend too freely. She already owed him more than money could ever repay, and she didn’t mean to be too deeply in his debt. Still, the earrings would have been a nice touch.
With a cautioning lift of her eyebrow, Thea reminded herself this was merely her first foray into society as a brave woman. There would be other occasions for jewelry, other times when she would feel confident enough to wear diamonds. For tonight, she was the best she could be, and she hoped with all her heart that when Peter saw her, he would be proud of her, too. Picking up the alpaca shawl, she draped it across her arm and headed downstairs.
Archer Braddock was awaiting her in the foyer, standing at the foot of the stairs, talking softly with Abbott, who held Archer’s black coat, hat and cherrywood cane. The murmur of their voices brought a flurry of trepidation rising in Thea’s throat. The last time she’d come down these stairs and met Archer at the bottom, had been her wedding to Peter. She wasn’t as scared this time, but she was plenty nervous. Taking a deep breath, she made up her mind that tonight she wouldn’t faint. No matter what happened, she would not faint.
As she took the next step, her gown made a whispery, silky rustle and the men glanced up. Thea held her breath, not knowing what to expect, but then she saw the curve of their smiles and decided maybe she looked all right, after all.
“Hello,” she said when they only stood there, watching her descent. “Have I kept you waiting?”
“As my Janey would say, keeping a man waiting is a lady’s prerogative and a gentleman’s privilege.” Archer offered her a hand down from the last step and held it for a moment, admiring her. “You look lovely, Thea. In fact, you quite remind me of my Jane.”
Thea thought that was a sweet thing to say, but unnecessarily flattering. “Thank you, Mr. Braddock, but I remember her and she was very beautiful.”
Archer’s smile was gently truthful. “Yes, she was, which must be one of the reasons I think of her every time I look at you.”
She was no match for these Braddock men, Thea thought. She might as well not even try to be. So she smiled and accepted the compliment as graciously as she knew he’d meant it. “Thank you. I think I’m ready to go.”
“In a moment.” Archer extended his other hand to her and in his palm was a small, black jeweler’s box. “It would please me very much if you would wear these tonight, Thea.”
The box held a pair of pearl and diamond earrings, breathtaking in their simplicity, delicately beautiful in their design. She couldn’t help but reach to touch them, even though she knew she could never do them justice. “Oh,” she said. “They’re so pretty.”
“They were Jane’s. I know she would want you to have them.”
“Have them?” Thea couldn’t believe he would give her such a gift. “Oh, but I couldn’t…”
“You’re a part of this family, Thea. Consider these a belated wedding gift from Jane and from me.”
She wasn’t really a Braddock, had no right to accept such a wonderful gift, but beneath her fingertip, the earrings felt cool and tempting. “Thank you, Mr. Braddock, but I don’t think Peter would…”
Archer put the box into her palm and patted her hand. “Put them on. Wear them with grace and pleasure, because they belonged to Peter’s grandmother and because you are Peter’s wife.”
And so she was. If only for a few more nights.
Blinking back tears, she handed Abbott her shawl and walked to one of the large, gilt mirrors that adorned the entrance hall. There, she leaned in and put on Jane Braddock’s earrings.
“And now,” Archer said approvingly when she returned to the foot of the stairs. “Perhaps we should go. We wouldn’t want to arrive late at the Harvest ball.”
PETER WAS LATE leaving Boston because he’d had to visit three different jewelers before he found the ring he wanted. Even then, he’d had to wait for the setting to be cleaned and checked and for the ring to be sized. He’d known in a glance it would be too large and he wanted it to be perfect. Or as perfect as he could make it. He’d planned to be at the Hall before Thea left for the gala, but he’d missed her departure by twenty minutes. So he slowed down, took a shower and changed into his tux, thinking ahead, imagining how she’d look when he told her he loved her, smiling as he envisioned what she’d say when he gave her the ring.
He recognized a nervous ache in his stomach as he walked through the doors of The Breakers and into the opulent summer-home world of the Vanderbilt’s. It was decorated for an autumn harvest, although the mansion needed no embellishment and, as if the reds and golds of the huge open great room weren’t enough, color flashed from the walkways above as guests meandered, in their sparkling best, through the upstairs halls. Peter said “hello” and “how are you” to people he knew as he searched for Thea, hoping to see her in one of her usual haunts, along the perimeters of the crowd or in a corner of the room.
But, in truth, he walked right past her before he heard her voice and realized the woman in the center of a vivacious group was his wife.
“Peter?” she said. “My, aren’t you fashionably late.”
He was struck momentarily dumb with astonishment as he turned for a second look. “Thea?” he said hoarsely and not at all the way he’d meant. She was different. Her hair was blond—blond—and no longer drooping in its usual ragtag fashion, but pulled back from her face and curling softly, fashionably behind her ears and along her nape. Her dress was form-fitting and flattering and looked so good on her it made his heart race. She was wearing makeup and his grandmother’s pearl and diamond earrings. Her smile was welcoming, but held none of the shy, innocent pleasure he’d become accustomed to seeing when she smiled at him. But the difference wasn’t all in appearance. It was in the tilt of her head, in the wary look in her eyes, in the way her gaze never flickered from his. As if she expected something from him, and wasn’t seeing it. As if she had realized what she deserved and knew he could never give it to her.
His nervous stomach twisted in panic. He had to say what he’d come to say before he lost all sense of time and place and just kissed her. Here and now, with all the love and desire boiling inside him…which was not at all the sort of thing a gentleman did to a lady at the Harvest Gala. “I have to talk to you. Now. Alone.” He reached for her arm, but with a single lift of her brow, she stopped him and turned, with a soft smile, to the group of friends he hadn’t even yet acknowledged. “Excuse us, please,” she said, and then turning, she walked away and Peter didn’t know what else to do but fall into step beside her.
“Thea! You look marvelous!”
“Beautiful dress, Thea.”
“You must tell me who did your hair, Thea.”
She was greeted along the way like an old friend, as if these people hadn’t ignored her in the past, as if now that she’d changed the way she looked, all was forgotten. It bothered him for her, but she didn’t seem to mind. She acknowledged each compliment, blushed a little with the attention, and kept moving steadily through the crowd toward the entrance and the portico beyond. The wind was cold coming off the ocean, and she shivered slightly as she moved along the front of the house, away from the lights and the limousines and the dwindling stream of disembarking guests.
When she turned to him, his heart squeezed painfully tight in his chest because he loved her so much.
“What is it, Peter?” Her chin came up with the words and she was breathing fast, as if she expected a fight. “I can see you’re upset by the…the way I look.”
“You look beautiful,” he said and meant it. “I can’t believe you’ve changed so much. I never thought you would look so…different.” He wanted to kiss her so badly, but first he had to tell her what he’d been waiting a lifetime to say. “I…Thea, I love you.”
Her expression changed, went from apprehensive to bewildered and then slowly settled into a cool mask of comprehension. “Don’t do this, Peter. Not tonight. Or ever. I didn’t need your pity before and I don’t need this…this sudden change of heart now that you think I look halfway presentable. All I wanted was for you to be proud of me tonight. I know you don’t love me. I never expected that you would.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but she kept her chin up and faced down the protests sputtering on his lips. “But you can’t treat me like some…some noble experiment. I won’t let you.”
The Blacksheep's Arranged Marriage Page 18
