Bobbles and Broomsticks

by Nancy Warren

  “You did what?” Oh, he really did not understand women, certainly not young ones who’d fallen hard.

  “It was just a joke. I never meant her to take it seriously.” He was back looking at the sheep again. “And then she began telling all her friends we were getting married. When I discovered she’d actually been calling venues to book the wedding, well, I put an end to it.” His eyes half-closed in remembered pain. “There was a bit of a dreadful scene. I went back to college, and she wrote me a few impassioned letters. She came to see me a few times. Well, she was a nice girl, friend of the family, so I’d take her out for a meal or tea and we’d talk. I tried to let her down gently.”

  I was not a violent woman, but at that moment, I really wanted to smack him upside the head. “I have a feeling it didn’t work.”

  He shook his head. “She said she was in love with me and she’d never be able to love anyone else.” He threw his hands up in the air. “What was I supposed to do? I was twenty-one years old. I didn’t feel the same way. She was a summer romance. To me, it was never anything more.”

  I couldn’t believe he’d forced this woman onto Alice. “Charlie, she told us that the fortune-teller said you might not marry each other the first time around but that you would end up together. Or something like that. Why did you invite her to your wedding?”

  In a tone of complete frustration, he said, “I didn’t. I invited Boris because we’ve been friends since childhood. All the invitations say plus guest. How could I have known he would bring his sister as his guest? The plus one was meant for wives or girlfriends. Husbands and boyfriends.”

  “Did you tell Alice all of that?”

  “Well, obviously, I didn’t tell her about the engagement or Sophie’s subsequent behavior.”

  “Stalking.”

  He indicated his agreement with my assessment of the situation by inclining his head. “Partly out of respect for Sophie. One doesn’t always want one’s youthful humiliations thrown up in one’s face.”

  I may have breached the unspoken privacy rule of the hen party, but I was glad I had. “Well, now that you know that she told everyone at the hen night, including Alice, that you and she were going to end up together, you need to explain it all to your wife-to-be.”

  He looked mildly panicked. “I can’t do it today. You know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

  “I do. I think it might be even worse luck to marry someone who thinks that you withheld a former engagement from them.”

  “What should I do?” When he turned that helpless, boyish look on me, I was as big a sucker as Alice.

  I actually found myself holding my hands out as though they were scales and weighing them up and down as I contemplated what he should do. Court bad luck by seeing Alice before the wedding? Or keep the good luck of not seeing her, but have this thing between them? The best I could come up with was, “Why don’t you call her? It’s not ideal, but the bad luck rule is definitely about seeing the bride before the wedding. I don’t think there’s a rule about talking to her. You’ll both feel better if you clear the air. You don’t want another woman coming between you on your wedding day, especially not one who told everybody at the hen party that she still thinks she’s going to end up with you.”

  He abandoned contemplation of the sheep once more and stared at me. “She said that?”

  “Oh yeah. She made it sound like this was a starter marriage and soon you’d see the light, ditch Alice and marry her.”

  He scratched the back of his neck as though fire ants were running up and down his body. “Oh, this is bad. Appalling even.”

  “Don’t look so worried. Alice loves you. And, unlike Sophie, she’s a perfectly sane person. She’ll understand.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  I glanced around at the wedding-perfect garden. “She’d better understand, or there will be an awful lot of crab puffs going to waste.”

  He looked at the ground as though fascinated by the way strands of ivy climbed lazily up the trunk of an oak tree. “The thing is, Lucy, I’ve been trying to call Alice. She’s not picking up.”

  “She’s probably just busy.”

  “My fear is that she won’t take my call.” He looked up at me, and his blue eyes were earnest and somewhat fearful. “I keep having this vision of myself standing at the altar with all the wedding guests looking at me and someone announces my bride has changed her mind.” He shuddered. “I just need to hear her voice and explain. If you phone her, I’m sure she’ll pick up the phone.”

  I was pretty sure she’d pick up if I called too. But I didn’t like the possibility that she wasn’t answering her fiancé’s calls. I was in a dilemma. What was the correct bridesmaid etiquette here? I was pretty sure this wasn’t in any wedding rulebook.

  I debated with myself for a minute. “Here’s my decision. I’ll call her, and I’ll tell her that you’re standing here and want to speak to her. It’s up to her whether she takes your call.”

  “You’ll tell her I want to explain? That it’s not anything like as bad as she seems to think? And please, please, if she’s planning to ditch me at the altar, let me know before I end up standing there like a fool.”

  “I haven’t known Alice very long, but everything I know about her says that she would never leave a man standing at the altar looking foolish. She’s got the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.”

  That made him look more cheerful. “So you don’t think she’s going to break our engagement?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying she wouldn’t leave you standing at the altar. She’d never be that cruel.”

  He looked nervous, and I was starting to worry about poor William and all the wedding preparations and who was going to eat all those shrimp things and the crab puffs. I picked up my phone and hit Alice’s number. I held my finger to my lips and looked at Charlie, letting him know that he mustn’t say anything until I gave him permission. He seemed to understand, for he nodded and then watched the phone in my hand the way a dog might watch a juicy bone.

  Alice answered. “Lucy. You should’ve come with us to the hairdresser. He’s wonderful.”

  “I’m so pleased. But you know if we added one more person to have her hair done today it would’ve taken another hour, and besides, I prefer to go to my own stylist.” My long, naturally curly hair didn’t always behave, but it did for Sylvia. She only had to look at it, and the curls immediately jumped into submission.

  I could hear rustling, then she said, “We’ll be on our way as soon as they finish with Beatrice. We should be with you in an hour.”

  Charlie’s eyes never left my face, and I could tell he was straining to hear her part of the conversation. I needed to put him out of his misery. “Alice. You’re not planning to ditch Charlie at the altar, are you?”

  I heard her intake of breath like a gasp. “No. Why would you even think that?”

  “Because I’ve got Charlie with me right now. He says you won’t take his calls and that you’ve been distant since the hen party.”

  “Charlie’s standing right there?”

  “Yes. He wants to talk to you. Alice, I really think you should hear what he has to say. That thing that Sophie Wynter said at your hen party? It wasn’t really true.”

  “You mean they were never engaged?”

  “Please, just let Charlie tell his story. He’s worried sick that you’re going to dump him before the wedding.”

  “I would never do that. But I am disappointed.”

  “Well, I don’t personally think that anyone should start out their marriage feeling disappointed. So, as your bridesmaid, I strongly recommend you have a conversation and clear the air before you exchange your vows.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then I heard a soft chuckle. “He’s really worried I’m going to leave him at the altar?”

  I knew then that everything was going to be all right. I started to grin. “Terrified. He’s shaking like a leaf. I s
wear if you don’t put him out of his misery, he’s going to start crying.”

  I thought Charlie should be punished at least a little bit for causing Alice distress. He shook his head at me. He knew what I was doing. “Don’t lay it on too thick, Lucy, or she really will dump me for being a wimp.”

  It was my turn to laugh. I passed him the phone. “I’ll be up on the terrace. Bring me my phone when you’re done.”

  As I walked away, I heard Charlie say, “Alice. Darling. You are everything in the world to me.”

  Yes, I thought, that was the way to start a marriage, with words of love, not unspoken resentments. I should embroider that on a pillow.

  Chapter 7

  St. John the Divine in Moreton-under-Wychwood looked solemn and timeless in the afternoon light. The village green was busy with children playing and dogs running after balls and each other. It was early September and even though the days were still warm, there was a hint of coolness at night and the sure knowledge that autumn and rain were not far away.

  The gardens in the stone cottages along High Street bloomed with dahlias and chrysanthemums and the heavy weight of late-summer roses. It was a beautiful day for a wedding.

  Alice and her father were in a vintage Rolls-Royce that a friend had loaned her dad. We three bridesmaids followed in a more modest sedan driven by Alfred, whose long nose beneath his proper chauffeur’s cap made him look very distinguished. I’d argued against having a vampire driver, but Alfred had been so anxious to see us all dressed up that I relented. I knew that his chauffeur’s cap was made out of technical UV-repelling fabric to protect him from the sun—still, normally, he’d be sleeping at this time of day. However, he was an excellent driver, and he and Theodore and Christopher Weaver would be driving guests back from Rafe’s manor house to their various hotels and homes in the area.

  Alfred had picked us up from Rafe’s place and been very complimentary about how pretty we looked. I had to agree. We all looked our best. Our pale pink silk gowns were simple and elegant. All of us wore our hair up. Sylvia had outdone herself, and my hair looked tamed but still held my curl. I’d worried a bit that Violet’s streak of dyed pink hair might add a garish element, but, in fact, it fit in nicely. Each of us had a modest bouquet of roses and wonderful smelling freesia. I was slightly nervous, as I was the one who had to go first, and in the rehearsal I’d had to practice several times slowing my step so I didn’t race to the front.

  We pulled up outside and checked to make sure there were no guests who were late stragglers and, seeing none, Alfred got out and opened the rear door for us and then helped us to alight. His hand felt pleasantly cool in the warm late afternoon sunshine. Alice’s car was just ahead of us, and her father was helping her tenderly out of the back of the Rolls-Royce.

  She straightened and shook out her skirts, and then the driver handed her her bouquet. As I looked at her, I felt my eyes mist. Alice was a beautiful bride. She’d given in to our entreaties to abandon her glasses today and wear contact lenses. Her eyes were stunning. I’d spent so long seeing her hide her light under a bushel that to see her in full makeup, her hair in an up-do, without her glasses and wearing a wedding gown, she looked transformed. I pictured Charlie getting his first glimpse of her and knew that if I kept thinking that way, I was going to ruin my makeup by having a big boo-hoo.

  There’d be time for tears later, but now I needed to stay photo-ready. We all fluttered around her, telling her how beautiful she looked.

  Alfred had discreetly gotten back into the car to get out of the sunshine, but her human driver was happy to indulge us in a few quick snaps on our phones. I put out my hand and touched her wrist. “Well, this is the moment. Are you ready?”

  Her own eyes went teary. “Oh, Lucy. I’ve been ready for this moment since I first saw Charlie.”

  “Then let’s do this thing. Let’s get you married.”

  We all laughed and then fell into proper order. I eased open the heavy church door to peek inside. Sure enough, all the guests were seated. There was a low buzz of chatter and the rustling of people trying to get comfortable on wooden pews, wearing their best outfits and shoes that no doubt pinched. The usher who’d been on the lookout for me ran back to us. He was Charlie’s cousin Walter, all of seventeen and looking very important. “All ready?”

  “Good to go.”

  He made a signal, and the soft harp music stopped and the organ began to play Alice’s chosen wedding piece, Pachelbel’s Canon. I stepped all the way in and took a moment to breathe. I saw Charlie looking remarkably handsome in morning dress. His three groomsmen were lined up by his side. I remembered to smile and listen to the beat of the music so that I slowed my steps. As I walked up the aisle, I felt the urge to turn and look to my right and found Rafe staring at me with a curious expression on his face. He looked darkly handsome in a lightweight gray summer suit. He gave me an imperceptible nod as our gazes connected, and then I turned to the front and kept going. Violet followed, then Beatrice, and finally the bride appeared on her father’s arm.

  By that time, I was in position at the front of the church to see Alice.

  The music changed, a signal that the bride was about to walk up the aisle.

  When he first saw her, Charlie let out a relieved sigh. And then I heard him say, almost under his breath, “Alice, you’re beautiful.”

  I had a feeling he’d worried right up until this moment that she might not show up. But if there was a bride who looked sure of her groom, it was Alice. Her face was beaming. Everyone in the church rose, and her mother began to cry.

  Alice reached the front, and then the ancient wedding service began. Charlie and Alice were not trendy people. There was no writing their own vows business for them. They went with the English Book of Common Prayer service, which was old and beautiful.

  The only place they differed from strict tradition was in the reading. Two bookish people, they’d chosen a poem by E.E. Cummings, “I Carry Your Heart With Me.” Giles Brighouse came forward. He looked very different from the man I’d first met when he was hung over and sleeping on Charlie’s floor. His blond hair was newly styled, his navy suit was perfectly pressed and he read well.

  It’s a poem about love, of course, and how it seems destined.

  The ceiling above me creaked and groaned, but I seemed to be the only one who noticed, so I tried to ignore it by concentrating on the words, which made my own heart ache a little. Love was so easy for some people, and for me, it seemed so complicated.

  When he’d finished the reading, Giles picked up the book he’d read from and quietly made his way past the scaffolding to the outside aisle while Beatrice took his place and sang “Ave Maria.” As I said, Charlie and Alice were traditional people.

  When she’d finished, Beatrice returned and, while Alice whispered her thanks, she also passed her maid of honor her bouquet. Reverend Wallington stepped forward, and the vows began. Once more, I heard the roof groan. Once more, I resisted looking up and listened instead to the vows.

  “In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.” I wondered, then, if Rafe and Constance had shared those same vows. No doubt they had, with no idea what their futures held. But Constance had known he was a vampire and she’d taken the risk. Had she been braver than I?

  When we got to the part where the minister asked if anyone knew of any reason why they shouldn’t get married, I held my breath. I think all of us turned to look at Sophie Wynter, who was garbed all in black and looked like she’d dressed for a funeral rather than a wedding. She held a handkerchief up to her face. She wasn’t the only one in the church crying—half the women were dabbing delicately at their eyes—but Sophie Wynter was full-on sobbing.

  She sat in the middle of the church, with Liva and her husband on one side and her brother on the other. I saw Boris pass her a clean handkerchief. Then the moment passed, and before I knew it, the minister said those magic words, “I now pronounce you man and wife.” I didn’t think he
said, “You may now kiss the bride,” but Charlie took it upon himself to kiss Alice anyway.

  I glanced over to see how Sophie took the kiss and discovered she was gone. There was a gap in the pew where she and Boris had been sitting, and when I looked around, I saw the church door just closing.

  I’d had an eerie feeling during the entire service. I’d heard the roof groan a few more times, and I began to wonder if the church itself was complaining at having witches and vampires join this congregation of mortals.

  Could all of us special creatures hear the wood groaning? As I glanced around, I could see that Violet had nothing but happiness on her face, and Rafe had his eyes half closed as though he were trying not to fall asleep. I suspected I was imagining things, probably because I knew that Rafe’s wife had a memorial stone on the wall. His beloved wife.

  Charlie turned and shook hands with Alistair, his best man, and was clapped on the back by his groomsmen.

  Alice took her bouquet back from Beatrice, and we all helped her turn and readjust her skirts. Then the recessional music began. The organ launched into “The Wedding March” by Mendelssohn. The organist was enthusiastic, and the deep notes made the timbers rattle. At least, my imagination thought so.

  Even though we’d practiced the recessional out of the church, there was still a slight delay as we all took our places. We would all walk out in order and then mingle for a little while on the church lawn before heading to Rafe’s for the reception. Alice and Charlie were trying to keep things fairly relaxed.

  Charlie’s parents, with Alistair’s father, Rupert, sat on one side of the aisle and Alice’s on the other. Rupert Grendell-Smythe’s seemed much older than Charlie’s parents and perhaps a little confused. As Charlie and Alice began their walk down the aisle, he reached out and clasped the bride’s hands, preventing her from heading back down the aisle.