“Marry me, Fiona. Now. This minute. It’s all arranged. The licenses, everything.” His gaze searched hers. “It wasn’t a complete deception, there was a wedding planned. Yours and mine. Will you marry me?”
She stared at him for a long time and finally drew a deep breath. “No.”
His face fell. “But I love you and I know you love me and—”
“And if I am to marry the man I love”—she squared her shoulders—“I want a proper wedding. In a church. With your family and friends as witnesses and my sisters as attendants. I want Aunt Edwina planning it exactly as she thinks it should be. And I should like Daniel to be there as well—”
Jonathon stared in disbelief.
“—and I want Countess Orsetti and her son invited because I think it would be great fun just to see their faces and I want that nice Sir Ephraim in attendance and Judith and—”
A slow smile curved the corners of his lips.
“—and I want a terribly extravagant dress in the latest fashion and maybe doves and lots and lots of flowers—”
“Roses?”
“Twelve dozen at least. And most of all”—her voice cracked—“I want you.”
And then she was in his arms. His lips pressed to hers and she clung to him. Something crumbled within her and she sobbed against him and he held her tight.
“I feared I’d lost you,” he murmured against her hair.
She sniffed. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“So…” He drew back and looked at her. “To make certain I understand, you are agreeing to become Lady Helmsley instead of Mrs. Whatshisname?”
“I am,” she said firmly, and hiccupped.
“But not today?”
“Not today.”
“Good.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
She raised a brow.
“Don’t look at me like that. I am fully prepared to marry you today, but I too have a family that will not be happy if they are not made a part of this. Besides”—his blue eyes gazed into hers with love and a promise of forever—“I want to do this properly as well.”
“You know, we shall have to tell Aunt Edwina and everyone here that the wedding they expect will not take place.”
“Oliver is telling them now.”
“You were that confident?”
“Not at all.” He grinned. “Maybe a bit. Or perhaps I just hoped. Now…” He studied her curiously. “I have a question for you.”
“Just one?”
“You were willing to enter into a temporary marriage, a business arrangement, with Sinclair.” His gaze narrowed. “Why did you never suggest such an arrangement with me? I might well have been interested in such a proposition.”
“You didn’t want to marry at all, remember? Besides, with you, I didn’t want it to be temporary.”
“Why?” The soft timbre of his voice belied the intensity in his eyes.
“Because with you there was every possibility I would lose my heart. And when the marriage was at an end I would not be able to bear it.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.” She smiled up at him. “I believe I have from the first night I saw you all those years ago.”
“When you spied on me in the library?”
“You do realize your Christmas Eve trysts with ladies in the library during the Christmas Ball are at an end, don’t you?”
“Absolutely not.” He pulled her closer, a wicked light shining in his eyes. “I shall simply limit myself to one lady.”
She laughed with a joy she could not contain.
“After all, you did say you had always wanted to be the lady in the library on Christmas Eve.” He nuzzled the side of her neck and she shivered with delight and anticipation.
“And better yet, the lady in your arms the day after,” she murmured, and her lips met his.
And knew she would indeed be the lady in his arms on Christmas Eve and the day after and every day to come.
Epilogue
Four weeks later…
“Nice wedding,” Warton said, sipping his usual drink in his usual chair in their favorite club. “If you like that sort of thing.”
“I don’t.” Cavendish shuddered. “Entirely too sentimental for my taste. Although Miss Fairchild, or rather Lady Helmsley now, was beautiful as always.”
Oliver smiled. “Indeed she was.”
“And she could have been mine,” Sinclair said with a dramatic sigh. The American had yet to return to his own country, partially because of Fiona and Jonathon’s desire to have him present at their wedding, but primarily because his initial arrangement with Jonathon had developed into an investment partnership including them all.
Cavendish snorted. “In name only.”
“Only in the beginning.” Sinclair grinned.
“Still”—Oliver swirled the brandy in his glass—“it seems to me it isn’t the sentiment of a wedding that’s distasteful as much as it is the permanence.”
“I should think permanence is part of the appeal,” Sinclair said thoughtfully.
Warton raised a brow. “Permanence appeals to you?”
Sinclair grimaced. “Not yet.”
Oliver eyed him curiously. “You’re under no pressure to marry, then?”
“None whatsoever. Unless, of course, you consider that little matter of my father having arranged a marriage for me without my consent.” He took a sip of his brandy and shook his head. “Unlike you gentlemen, I have no title to pass on, no castle in the country to inherit and therefore, you would think, no pressing need for an heir. But my father believes he is building an empire and an empire needs a prince. I, on the other hand, am trying to build one of my own.”
“How very American of you,” Warton murmured, but there was a reluctant glint of admiration in his eye.
“I do think, however, that marriage, even for me, is inevitable.” Sinclair shrugged. “And preferable to living your life alone.”
“That’s a nasty word inevitable,” Warton said wryly. “As is permanent.”
Cavendish leaned toward Sinclair and grinned. “I do actually have a castle in the country, you know.”
Sinclair laughed.
“Still, Helmsley did look extraordinarily happy,” Warton said, more to himself than to the others.
A low murmur of assent circled the group and faded to a considering silence. Each man sipped his brandy, thought his own thoughts.
It occurred to Oliver that these days were drawing to a close. Jonathon was the first to go. They would always be friends, of course, and he and Jonathon were now related as well, but no matter how close Jonathon remained with Oliver and the others, Fiona was now his closest friend. As it should be. They all had to wed eventually, and one day, probably soon, marriage and the responsibilities of family and position would separate them. Slowly and imperceptibly, perhaps, like the change of the seasons, but to be expected nonetheless.
“Rather a pity things have to change,” Cavendish said, and Oliver wondered if they were all thinking the same thing.
“I wonder who it will be,” Warton murmured.
“Who will be what?” Oliver asked.
Warton started as if surprised he had spoken aloud. “The last one of us to marry.”
Cavendish heaved a resigned sigh. “The last man left alive, you mean.”
“We’re talking about marriage.” Oliver chuckled. “It’s certainly been compared to imprisonment, but I daresay comparing it to death goes a bit far.”
“Have you ever heard of a tontine?” Warton said abruptly.
Sinclair drew his brows together. “It’s an investment program, isn’t it?”
“Some kind of lottery?” Oliver said. “Or wager?”
“A little of all that, really.” Warton thought for a moment. “If I recall correctly, subscribers contribute a certain amount to the tontine. The money can be invested or simply held. However, whenever a subscriber dies, his contribution is divided among those remaining. Eventually only o
ne subscriber is left and the tontine is his. And I think,” Warton said slowly, “we should form one.”
“And the last man to marry wins?” Oliver’s gaze met Warton’s and he grinned. “We’ve wagered on nearly everything else through the years.”
“Now whose equating death with marriage?” Cavendish muttered.
“Are you sure you want to include me in this?” Sinclair shook his head. “You scarcely know me.”
“And yet we have invested a great deal in your railroad venture,” Warton said. “This will be considerably less of a risk than that, although”—he cast a look of suspicion over the group—“people have been known to kill over a tontine.”
“I’ll do it.” Cavendish nodded. “How much?”
Oliver shrugged. “It scarcely matters how much. The symbolism is the important thing.”
“Then I propose”—Warton thought for a moment—“one shilling each.”
“Then the winner receives a mere four shillings?” Cavendish shook his head. “Scarcely worth the effort.”
“Then you can marry first and forfeit your shilling.” Sinclair’s voice was sincere but amusement shone in his eyes.
“Yes, I see your point.” Cavendish grimaced. “Symbolism and all that. Very well, then, a shilling it is.”
“Gentlemen, we should make this official.” Oliver got to his feet and raised his glass. The other men followed suit. “Here’s to the last one among us to remain.”
“And for each of us who does not make it to that point, here’s to the respective woman of our dreams,” Sinclair said.
“Wherever she may be, whenever we may find her.” Cavendish’s voice rang with sincerity. “She awaits us as inescapably as the night awaits the day.”
“Nicely said,” Warton murmured to Cavendish. “Very poetic.”
“There’s more.” Cavendish cleared his throat. “And in regards to that unknown lady in question…” He thought for a moment. “Let her be lovely.”
Sinclair grinned. “Let her be rich.”
“Let her be”—Warton paused—“forthright. As for the union itself”—he chuckled—“let it be painless.”
Cavendish sighed. “Let it be passionate.”
“Let it be blissful.” Sinclair smiled.
“And gentlemen, above all…” Oliver raised his glass higher. “Let it be love.”
About the Author
VICTORIA ALEXANDER was an award-winning television reporter until she discovered fiction was much more fun than real life. She turned to writing full time and has never looked back.
Victoria grew up traveling the country as an Air Force brat and is now settled in Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two teenaged children, and a bearded collie named Sam. She firmly believes housework is a four-letter word, there are no calories in anything eaten standing up, procrastination is an art form, and it’s never too soon to panic.
And she loves getting mail that doesn’t require a return payment. Write to her at P.O. Box 31544, Omaha, NE 68131.
www.eclectics.com/victoria
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By Victoria Alexander
LET IT BE LOVE
WHEN WE MEET AGAIN
A VISIT FROM SIR NICHOLAS
THE PURSUIT OF MARRIAGE
THE LADY IN QUESTION
LOVE WITH THE PROPER HUSBAND
HER HIGHNESS, MY WIFE
THE PRINCE’S BRIDE
THE MARRIAGE LESSON
THE HUSBAND LIST
THE WEDDING BARGAIN
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub © edition October 2005 ISBN: 9780061796708
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