The Summer Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance) (26 page)

She turned to him then. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that—where we’re going to live.”

“Wherever you like.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Wait until I’ve told you my idea—you might not like it.” She explained.

He laughed. “Sounds like a grand plan to me, but it’s not up to me, is it?”

*   *   *

“T
his looks ominous,” Lady Beatrice observed as Daisy and Flynn were ushered into the drawing room by Featherby. “A deputation, is it?”

Daisy swallowed. “We got something to ask you, and before we tell you what it is, I want you to know that it was
my idea, not Flynn’s—in case you want to know who to blame.”

“I see. And are you going to keep standing there, looming over me, with a face that might as well be heading for the guillotine, or will you sit, like civilized people?”

They sat side by side on the sofa facing her. “It’s like this—” Daisy began.

“Show me your hands, gel,” the old lady rapped.

Daisy and Flynn exchanged bemused glances, then Daisy extended her hands.

Lady Beatrice gave them a quick glance, snorted, then aimed her lorgnette at Flynn. “How long have you been betrothed? Notices in the papers, the banns being called and the gel
still
wears no betrothal ring?”

Flynn blinked. He looked at Daisy. “I’m sorry,” he said, “it slipped my mind. I will of course—”

“It didn’t slip his mind, he hasn’t had a chance,” Daisy said. “I wouldn’t see him or speak to him before this.”

The lorgnette raked over them, pausing a long moment at where Daisy was holding Flynn’s hand under cover of her skirts. “But you are seeing and speaking now?”

“Yes, m’lady.” Flynn grinned and put his arm around Daisy, bold and blatant as could be. Daisy tried not to smile but her grin broke out too.

The old lady sniffed and tried to look severe. “About time you sorted things out. Now, you will need a ring.”

“Yes ma’am and I’ll—”

“Featherby?”

“Milady.” Featherby appeared as if from nowhere, produced a small box from his pocket and with a bow, handed it to the old lady.

Beside Flynn, Daisy gasped.

Lady Beatrice paused, turning the box between gnarled old fingers. “This might not suit, of course. You might prefer something flashier, more modern.”

Daisy didn’t say a word. Flynn glanced at her. She was pale and holding her breath. “Whatever Daisy wants.”

The old lady nodded. “I don’t know how much of our story
you know, Mr. Flynn. She’s very loyal, our gel here, and not one to gossip, but when we first met, I was in a dire situation. Without going into details, I was waiting for death, alone and hopeless—until my dearest gels came into my life.

“I’d been robbed of all my valuables, or so I’d thought. Turns out they were paste, the lot of them, all except my rings, which I never took off, so my late husband was unable to get his hands on them. I thought they’d been stolen, but when we moved here, and dear Featherby and William dismantled my bed, they found them in a secret hollow in the bedpost that I’d had made a lifetime ago. I must have hidden my rings there and forgotten all about them. I’d been ill, you see.”

She sighed reminiscently. “Four rings, four stones. I gave Abby the emerald, Damaris the sapphire, Jane the ruby and now I would very much like my dearest Daisy to have the diamond.” She held out the box to Daisy.

She didn’t move.

Flynn glanced down at her and saw she was blinking back tears.

“All my girls are precious to me, but this gel—as I hope you appreciate, Mr. Flynn—is as rare and precious and full of light as any diamond.”

Flynn rose and took the little box from her. “Oh I appreciate it, milady. It’s her that doesn’t understand how precious she is, but I aim to change that.”

“Good lad.”

He returned, but instead of sitting, he knelt on one knee, opened the box, took out a gold ring containing the most superb diamond he’d ever seen, and said, “Daisy Chance, will you wear this diamond ring, not only as a betrothal ring and a pledge of my love, but also as a reminder of Lady Beatrice, your sisters, and all who love you?”

Her face crumpled, but she held out her hand, which was shaking like a leaf. He slipped the ring on, and it fit perfectly.

“Beautiful, dear boy, just beautiful,” Lady Beatrice said, mopping her eyes with a wisp of lace. Behind her Featherby turned away to discreetly blow his nose, and out in the hall
they could hear William blowing his nose in a bugle trumpet of emotion.

Tears streaming down her face, Daisy rose, hugged Flynn and hurried forward to hug and kiss Lady Beatrice. And then she hugged Featherby as well. And then turned to the doorway from which a smattering of applause came, growing louder as Lady Beatrice’s staff crowded through the doorway to witness Daisy’s moment and congratulate her. More than any of the other girls, she’d been one of their own.

“Champagne, Featherby,” Lady Beatrice croaked when the fuss began to subside.

“At once, milady.” He gestured and the crowd melted away.

Lady Beatrice blew her nose again. “Dear me, emotions, always so exhausting. The house is going to be dreadfully quiet without you, my dear.”

Daisy reached for Flynn’s hand. “That’s what we come to talk to you about.”

The old lady waved her crumpled shred of lace. “Go ahead, talk then.”

“You know I never planned to get married,” Daisy began, and hurried on before anyone could interrupt, “I always thought I’d live here with you for the rest of me life.”

“You mean the rest of
my
life,” the old lady said sardonically.

“
My
life,” Daisy repeated obediently, then saw what the old lady was getting at. “Oh, yeah, I see what you mean—
your
life. I wasn’t going to say that—I was bein’ tactful. But since you’ve said it, yeah, I planned to keep you company for as long as you wanted and needed me.”

“Very worthy of you, my dear, but I don’t in the least begrudge you your happiness.”

“Good, neither do I. But I thought . . . I wondered . . .”

“What Daisy is trying to say,” Flynn interjected, “is that she’d very much like to go on living here, with you. We both would.”

“We’d take the second floor,” Daisy said. “If you didn’t mind, that is.”

The old lady sat very still. “With me? You want to live here, with me?”

“As a married couple, yes,” Flynn said.

“You would do that?” she asked, clearly moved. “Live with an old lady?”

He grinned. “Not any old lady. Just an ageless, elegant, canny wee elf.”

Daisy gave him an odd look. “She ain’t an elf, stupid.” She turned back to Lady Beatrice. “If you don’t like the idea, of course, we won’t. Flynn says he’ll buy us the closest house available so I can pop in often and you won’t have to miss me at all.”

“Don’t like the idea?” the old lady echoed.

“Because of the baby,” Daisy said. “They make a lot of noise, I’m told.”

“Live with a
baby
?” The old lady’s face lit up. She turned to the doorway. “Did you hear that, Featherby, this house is going to have a baby in it, at long last.” She blinked away tears and almost whispered, “All my life, I’ve wanted a baby.”

Featherby beamed. “A baby?” He turned to William who was carrying in champagne and glasses. “We’re going to have a baby, William. Living here, with us.”

William’s big ugly boxer’s face split in a grin. “Congratulations, Miss Daisy. That’ll make this house feel like a proper family home then, won’t it?”

They drank toasts then—all five of them, including Featherby and William, who had been with them since the beginning. They drank to Daisy and Flynn, to the success of Daisy’s shop, to the coming baby, and to Lady Beatrice, who, as Daisy pointed out, was going to become a great-aunt.

“A
great
-aunt? Nonsense!” the old lady declared. “I shall be a
splendid
aunt!”

Daisy laughed. “You are already!”

*   *   *

A
fter Featherby and William had left, the old lady grew serious. “Now that you’re getting married, I’m going to change my will,” she told them. “I had planned to leave this house to Daisy.”

“To me?”

“A woman should always have a home of her own. But between you and Mr. Flynn, I’m not worried about your future security—Max will ensure the marriage settlements provide handsomely for you.”

“He won’t need to,” Flynn growled.

“I know, dear boy, but he likes doing that sort of thing and a nephew should be useful. But since Daisy’s future is settled I’m going to write up a new will; when I die I intend to leave this house to Featherby and William.”

Flynn frowned. They were good servants, but . . .

Daisy took his hand and started to explain but the old lady cut her off. “Featherby and William have been as much a part of this grand adventure as my dear gels. I shudder to think where we all might still be had they not come with you that first fateful day. And since then, Featherby has not only cared for me, he’s made me the envy of the ton—did you know, Flynn, dear boy, half the aristocracy have been trying to steal Featherby from me, and he didn’t so much as hint.”

She gave a brisk nod of satisfaction. “Those two gentlemen tended me when I was at the lowest point of my life and never once turned a hair at what they were asked to do. They looked after me and my gels not simply as loyal servants, but almost as . . . family. And when I die—which I trust will be many years in the future—they will be elderly and in need of security. So as well as a pension, I will give them this house. You won’t mind, will you, Daisy? The other gels all have their own homes already, but you—”

“Have a home here with you—the only home I’ve ever had—and I’ll always have a home with Flynn and our baby, wherever we live. And I love this idea, Lady Bea. I never had a father, but Featherby and William have been like fathers to me—to all of us—and of course the other girls and I would always look after them, but it’s so much better this way, something they’ve earned the right to, and not charity.”

She hugged the old lady. “Do you know how much I love you? How much we all love you? And I’m so happy that you’ll be here for my baby to grow up with. You can teach her all the things you’ve taught me—and no, I don’t mean
grammar and deportment, though I s’pose the poor little thing will have to learn that too.”

The old lady sniffed. “Don’t know as I’ve taught you very much at all.”

“Oh, but you have—more than you know.” Daisy’s smile was blinding, and it took in Flynn as well as the old lady. “You’ll teach her how to be a true lady—generous and kind and loyal and loving, in the heart, where it truly matters.”

“Just like her mother,” Flynn said softly. “The finest lady in London.”

“Drat!” the old lady grumbled. “Got something in my eye again. Where’s a wretched handkerchief when you need one?” Flynn handed her his.

I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.

—JANE AUSTEN,
NORTHANGER ABBEY

T
he first day of summer dawned fine, and miraculously, given the weather they’d been having recently, it stayed fine all day.

Carriages started arriving outside St. George’s in Hanover Square, disgorging smart gentlemen who handed down elegantly dressed women in beautiful hats. A crowd of curious and hopeful onlookers gathered to watch. A society wedding always provided good entertainment. And possibly handfuls of pennies would be thrown.

Soon the church was crowded. It smelled of flowers, perfume, incense, beeswax and brass polish. Dappled lozenges of colored light lit the floor, sunshine through stained glass.

Inside the church, Flynn paced back and forth in front of the altar rail.

“Why so anxious? You’ve been through this three times,” Max, his best man, observed in smug amusement. “My wedding, Freddy’s and Jane’s wedding just gone—you should be used to it by now.”

“It didn’t matter to me then,” Flynn snapped and continued pacing. What if she’d changed her mind? What if she panicked, ran?

Freddy Hyphen-Hyphen grinned. “Nice to see someone else suffering, ain’t it, Max?”

The music that had been playing quietly in the background now stopped and a firm, decisive chord announced a change. Flynn spun around and there she was, his bride, dressed in a soft cloud of white. She looked exquisite, so small and dainty and fragile, so strong and tough and prickly and perfect.

The music played and, walking on Featherby’s arm, she started down the aisle towards him. She was nervous, he could see from the little frown of concentration between her brows, but the minute she saw him, her face lit up and she smiled.

He blinked. Her smile brightened the whole church. Her sisters followed her, but Flynn barely noticed. He had eyes only for Daisy.

She reached him and put out her hand, and he took it, the only thing that felt real—her small warm precious hand. Her hand in marriage.

In a daze he heard the minister begin, in a daze he repeated the vows, in a daze he slid the gold ring on her finger.

“You may kiss the bride.”

They kissed, and Flynn started to breathe again. He’d done it, won the lady of his heart, Daisy Chance, now Daisy Flynn—the finest lady in London.

They walked back down the aisle again, well-wishers filled the church, waving and smiling and sobbing—the damp handkerchiefs were out in force—most of them for Daisy.

Did she see how she was loved? Not for any reason, no reason of birth or position, just because she was the dear, sweet girl she was.

Daisy walked back down the aisle in a blur. She was married. Flynn’s arm was under her hand, strong and sure and warm. She lost track of the well-wishers who crowded around her, familiar faces, from the literary society, from her shop, friends of Flynn’s and Max’s and Freddy’s.

The carriage awaited. She bade farewell to each of her
sisters, hugging them and sobbing, as if she was leaving them forever, not for a few weeks’ honeymoon at the seaside—Flynn wanted her to see the real sea that he loved, not the stinky river, and was threatening to teach her to swim. She’d see about that.

She bade good-bye to Featherby and William, hugging them both.

Lastly she hugged Lady Beatrice, the old lady who’d changed her life.

“Don’t see what you’ve got to cry about,” the old lady grumbled, her own eyes red with weeping. “Got a fine husband there. All my gels have done exceptionally well in the husband department. But Daisy”—she leaned forward and said in a voice that no one else could hear—“for what it’s worth I would trade every jewel, every lover I’ve ever had and ten years of my life—twenty—for what you have.” She smiled and patted Daisy’s cheek. “A man who loves you, just as you are, and a babe.”

Flynn threw handfuls of silver coins into the crowd and they drove off in a shower of rose petals and rice and a clatter of noise from the things someone—probably Freddy—had tied to the back of the carriage.

They were spending the first night in a grand London hotel—the Pulteney, which the czar of Russia had graced with his presence. As the carriage bowled smartly through the streets, they fell quiet.

“Happy?” Flynn asked.

She nodded. “Happier than I ever believed possible. I love you so much, Flynn.” She leaned against him, her heart full to bursting.

“I know darlin’—and I love you too.”

After a moment she said, “So, did you notice?”

“Notice what?”

“What I’m wearin’.”

He grinned. “You look beautiful, as always.”

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t notice, did you?”

“I did. It’s a beautiful dress.”

She stuck her foot out and pulled the hem of her dress up so he could see them clearly.

He looked. Red shoes with a red and white rosette on the toe. “Are they . . . ?”

She nodded. “The ones you gave me. I wore them to our wedding—they’re not exactly weddin’ shoes, you know, but I wore them.”

“Why?”

“For you. So I wouldn’t limp down the aisle.” She thumped his shoulder. “It’s the first time I’ve worn them, and I didn’t limp and you watched me all the way and now, you didn’t even notice!”

He pulled her across his knees. “That’s because, my little hedgehog, I was looking at you—the prettiest bride a man ever had—not checking how you walked.” And he kissed her, hard.

“Are they comfortable?”

She nodded. “You were right—they do make it easier to walk.”

“Good. So will you wear them again?”

“Maybe. For special occasions.”

He frowned. “What kind of special occasion were you thinking of?”

She fiddled with his waistcoat buttons, suddenly shy. “Like when we waltz . . . or summat.”

Flynn hugged her tightly, too moved to speak. And then he kissed her again because she was his wife and he loved her. “Have I told you lately how wonderful I think you are?” he murmured.

“You just called me a hedgehog—that’s a compliment in Ireland, is it?”

“It is. The very finest of compliments.”

His loving bride snorted. And then she kissed him.