The Perfect Kiss (36 page)

“But Dominic could have it for nothing . . . if he married Melly Pettifer.”

Great Uncle Oswald set down his glass with something of a snap. “Saints deliver me from young women in love! What the devil would he want Melly Pettifer for when he could have you!”

“Besides, Mama promised us
all
love and laughter and sunshine and happiness, remember?” Prudence reminded her. Grace had told her upstairs what Grandpapa had said and Prudence had refuted it utterly.

“All of us,” Charity agreed firmly. “
Especially
her darling baby girl.” Prue must have told her sisters, too.

Grace could say nothing. She sat there, clutching her glass, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Great Uncle Oswald said, “I would’ve been happy enough to buy the blasted place m’self, only the others wouldn’t have it. I’ve seen each one of you gels happy and I’ll be damned if I let the last little darlin’ sacrifice herself for a paltry bit of land!” He pulled out a large handkerchief and blew into it noisily. “So it’s settled. You’ll marry the boy and we’ll give you the estate as a weddin’ present! So charge your glasses—to Grace and D’Acre!”

“To Grace and D’Acre!” They all drank.

“And if you can get that wretched boy to go a bit slower on the refurbishin’ of the place, we might even get it at a bargain price.”

“Oh my God!” Grace exclaimed in horror. Everyone looked at her. “He’s just gone down to put it on the market!”

“Then we’ll just have to go after him and stop him, won’t we?” Gideon said calmly.

“Who’s ‘we’?” Great Uncle Oswald demanded.

“Whoever wants to go with Grace,” he said.

 
 
“THAT’S THE VILLAGE!” FOR THE LAST HALF HOUR GRACE HAD traveled with her head half out of the window, craning for her first sight of Wolfestone.

The cavalcade of Merridew traveling coaches swept through the village at a decorous pace. Grace had remembered the chickens. No Wolfestone chickens would die under her coach wheels. She saw Billy Finn outside the inn and waved happily at him.

He ran up to the carriage, shouting. “You’re late, Lady! The wedding’s already started.”

“What wedding?” She shouted to the driver, “Stop the coach!”

“Miss Melly’s, o’ course! She looks a treat, she does.”

Great Uncle Oswald thrust his head out of the window. “Where’s D’Acre?”

“At the church, o’ course,” Billy said with withering sarcasm at such a stupid question. “Everyone’s there. All except me.” He pulled a face. “Don’t like weddings. Me mam cries.”

“Where’s the church?” Great Uncle Oswald demanded.

Billy pointed. Great Uncle Oswald leaned out of the window and shouted to the five coach drivers. “To the church! That way!”

Five traveling coaches hurtled up the narrow lane and came to a halt in front of St. Stephen’s Church. Five carriage doors flew open and five men leapt down without waiting for the steps to be lowered. And without even waiting for the ladies to descend, five men stormed toward the church.

Great Uncle Oswald, having arrived in front, led the rush. He flung open the church door with a crash. There was a bishop in his gorgeous vestments and tall mitre; there was the bride in creamy white lace. There was an enormous Turk glarin’ at him from under an enormous turban. Great Uncle Oswald blinked and checked to make sure his eyes were not deceivin’ him. No, it was a Turk all right.

The Turk moved and Great Uncle Oswald snarled. For there, shameless as a harlot, holding the bride’s hand and looking magnificent in his finest formal wedding attire, stood Lord D’Acre.

“Stop the weddin’,” roared Great Uncle Oswald. “Unhand that woman, D’Acre, you despicable hound!”

If a pin had dropped at the moment it could have been heard by every single person crowded into the church.

“I beg your pardon,” the bishop boomed in the sort of voice bishops develop with practice.

Great Uncle Oswald bellowed back at him. “So you dratted well should. Marryin’ this—this louse to this woman when he’s already betrothed to my great-niece!”

The bride turned around and regarded him with shock.

Great Uncle Oswald gave her a friendly nod. “Afternoon, Melly. You look lovely, m’dear.”

The bishop turned puce. “How dare you storm into my church and fling baseless accusations around! This is my ceremony and—”

“Baseless accusations? I’ll have you know—”

A lanky, elegant young man stepped forward and peered at Great Uncle Oswald. “I think there’s some mistake—”

“Don’t you start tellin’ me what’s what, young feller! What’s it got to do with you?”

“I’m not betrothed to your great-niece. I don’t think I even know your great-niece.”

Great Uncle Oswald stared at him. “I never said you were.”

“I think you implied it.”

“I did not! It’s that despicable hound who’s betrothed to my great-niece!” He pointed dramatically at Lord D’Acre.

Every eye swiveled to Lord D’Acre. He bowed.

“Yes, and I’ll be happy to marry her—today if you like—just as soon as I give Miss Pettifer here away in marriage to my good friend Humphrey Nettterton.” His lips twitched as he indicated the lanky young gentleman.

“Ah,” said Great Uncle Oswald. “So you’re givin’ the bride away, eh, D’Acre?” He nodded. “Good, good, then I have no objection to the weddin’. Parson, you may continue.” He waved his gracious permission.

“I, sir,” thundered the bishop, “am a bishop!”

“Well, stop wastin’ time tryin’ to impress us and get on with marryin’ this couple,” Great Uncle Oswald retorted, unabashed. “And after that you can write us up a special license. My great-niece is marryin’ D’Acre there and we’ll need a special license.” He turned to Gideon, who was convulsed with silent laughter and explained, “Only use for bishops I’ve ever been able to see.”

 
 
MELLY GLOWED. “HE LOVES ME, GRACE,” SHE DECLARED WITH SHY pride. “Loves
me
! And I love him.” Outside in the great hall of Wolfestone, the wedding reception was in full swing. Melly and Grace had stolen a few moments in the library to catch up.

Grace hugged her friend. “Oh, Melly, I’m so happy for you both! But when did this all happen?”

“Just after you and Lord D’Acre left. Apparently Frey and he had an argument about the plans Lord D’Acre had for me after our wedding. Frey said he just couldn’t get them out of his mind. He was absolutely furious. And then last week at church, he realized what the matter was.”

Grace smiled. “That he loved you and wanted you for himself.”

“Yes. I can’t believe it. He wants
me
!” She clutched Grace’s hands tightly and said in a stunned voice, “Grace, he says he thinks I am
beautiful
.”

Grace looked at Melly’s glowing face. It was as if someone had lit a candle inside her. “And so you are beautiful, Melly, love.” But she was still puzzled. “But I have to say, I’m surprised your father allowed it.”

Melly sobered a little. “Well, that day after church, Frey was still in a temper. He just strode into Papa’s room and shouted at him. Frey told Papa it was wicked what Papa was doing to me and he said he loved me and wanted to marry me, even though he didn’t have any money.” She sighed dreamily.

“So what happened then?” Grace prompted.

“Well, nothing. Papa said no. But three days later Frey’s uncle, the bishop, arrived out of the blue. Frey had no idea he was coming. And the bishop spoke to Papa for a long time and when he came out he told Frey he was going to increase his allowance to a much more generous one—and make a separate allowance to Frey’s mother. And then Papa agreed to let me marry Frey. And then Lord D’Acre arrived, and Papa told him he should marry you, and he said yes, he was going to.”

“How amazing,” Grace exclaimed. “What do you think the bishop and your father talked about?”

“Well Frey did ask Papa afterward, and Papa just tapped the side of his nose and said something about youthful sins coming back to haunt the bishop and causing a sudden surge of generosity.” She wrinkled her nose. “It made no sense to me at all, but Frey thought it was very funny.”

Melly heaved a sigh of happiness. “So everything has turned out wonderfully well. Even Papa’s health has improved. Soon we think he will be well enough to leave his bed.”

“Excellent! I’m so happy for you, love.” Grace embraced her friend and stood up. “Now, let us return to your party.”

Chapter Twenty-one

The horizon all around me
breathed out perfume
announcing her arrival
as the fragrance precedes a flower.

IBN SAFR AL-MARINI, POET OF ANDALUSIA

 
 
 
DOMINIC SPENT MOST OF THE NEXT DAY OUT SEEING TO VARIOUS arrangements—legal matters, estate matters, wedding arrangements, guest accommodation, and organizing his honeymoon.

Grace spent most of the day with her sisters and Aunt Gussie and a London modiste brought down especially for her wedding dress. It might be a short engagement period and a wedding in an obscure village church, but Aunt Gussie was not going to allow the last of the Merridew Diamonds to be married in anything less than the best.

Grace, however, took a little time out to make a few arrangements of her own with Abdul and the Tickel girls.

It was extremely late by the time Dominic got home.

At the front entry hall he paused. What was that on the floor? When he’d first arrived this entryway had been adrift with dead leaves. He bent to see what was scattered across the marble flags. Rose petals. How peculiar.

He picked up a few and smelled them. Rose with a hint of citrus. He smiled.

He glanced up at the gargoyle. “Do you know anything about this?” Dammit, even he was talking to statues now.

He turned to climb the stairs and saw more rose petals, one or two on each step. They led all the way up to the top; a wavering line of rose petals. Like a pathway or trail.

He followed them, his feet stepping in the hollows made by his ancestors.

They led along the passageway and stopped at the door of his bedchamber. He opened it, and saw his room had been turned into a tent. Swathes of colorful, gauzy cloth hung from a centerpoint in the ceiling, and fell in graceful sweeps to the walls. Rose petals led to an entrance.

He followed them and slowly parted the curtains.

Curled up on his bed on an acre of white cotton sheeting lay Miss Grace Merridew, clad in nothing but rose petals. His heart was full to bursting, but he managed to say, “Is this a houri which I see before me?”

“No, it’s me,” Grace answered. “And hurry up. These rose petals are actually quite clammy!”

With a joyous laugh Dominic bounded into bed.

 
 
“THEY
WHAT
?” DOMINIC SAT UP IN BED, SHOCKED.

“They planned to buy Wolfestone. And give it to us as a wedding present.”

“But they couldn’t!”

Grace smiled. “Of course they could. They’re not related to you at all.”

“I didn’t mean that, I mean—It would cost a huge sum.”

“They’re all rich.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, confused. “But why would they do such a thing?”

She stared at him, puzzled. “So that we could get married, of course.”

“But we were getting married anyway!”

“Yes, but they didn’t want you to lose Wolfestone.”

Dominic grappled to make sense of his feelings. “Why would they care?”

She stared at him confused. And then it hit her. He had a great deal of pride. And a different experience of family. She slipped her arms around him. “They’re my family, Dominic. They wanted us to be as happy as they are. Great Uncle Oswald is really disappointed he can’t buy us an estate now. He loves grand gestures.”

Dominic chuckled. “So I noticed in the church yesterday.”

She giggled.

“Frey will have standing room only in his church for months to come,” he told her. “Do you know, Grandad Tasker congratulated him—told him that going to church at St. Stephens was as good as a circus.”

 
 
AROUND MIDNIGHT GRACE STRETCHED LIKE A SATISFIED CAT AND said, “I’m hungry. I wasn’t hungry before—only for you—but now I’m starving.”

Dominic sat up. “I’ll fetch some food from the kitchen.”

“I’m coming, too.” She climbed out of bed and donned an assortment of clothing and like naughty children, she and Dominic tiptoed hand in hand down the hallway. As they came to the stairs they heard odd sounds from above.

“What’s that?” Grace asked.

“Oh, Abdul has taken up residence in the turret,” he informed her. Deep masculine groans accompanied by feminine laughter drifted down. At least two different feminine laughs. Possibly three.

Dominic frowned. “What the devil is he up to?” he muttered.

“I know,” she informed him. “Abdul is
rejoicing
.”

“Rejoicing?” Puzzled, he looked at her.

“‘Rejoicing in the compassion of Dominic Wolfe,’” she quoted and laughed. “Come on, hurry up. I want food and then I might
rejoice
with Dominic Wolfe myself.”

 
 
DESPITE THE FACT THAT IT WAS A HURRIED AFFAIR, THE WEDDING was the finest affair the village of Lower Wolfestone had seen in generations. The castle was crowded with guests—more toffs in their fine London hats than Grandad Tasker could poke a stick at.

Abdul the Turk had even moved out of the tower apartment in order to make room for the guests. That’s what Abdul claimed, anyway. The village was of the opinion that it was to avoid scandalizing the London toffs. Easily shocked, toffs were, it was agreed.

Abdul and all three of the Tickel girls had taken possession of the gatehouse. ’Twas a scandal all right, the village agreed, but what could ye expect of a heathen Turk and the poor, lost Tickel girls who’d been robbed of their morals when they were wee babes and washed in Gwydion’s Pool.

Besides, if there was going to be a scandal in a village, it might as well be a good, big, juicy one, they agreed. And the Tickel girls were nothing if not juicy!

The new vicar didn’t perform the service-well, him only being married for a week himself, it was understandable. His uncle, the bishop, stayed on and married the Wolfe and his Lady, as well. Two weddings in a week!