The Wedding Escape (20 page)

“No, but Mr. Sweeney won't know that.”

“Why does she have to be widowed?” wondered Jamie.

“Being widowed gives her a degree of respectability and dignity,” Annabelle explained. “Also, it will make gentlemen at the hotel less apt to bother her.”

“Dinna worry—by the time I'm finished with her, no lad will care to clap eyes on her more than once,” Oliver promised.

“She can't be hideous, Oliver,” Grace reminded him. “If she looks horrible, no one will want to take her advice.”

“Do ye want me to disguise her or not?” he demanded irritably.

“The first thing we need to do is change her hair.” Jamie frowned at Amelia, evaluating her. “Every description of Amelia Belford mentions that she is blond.”

Eunice took a silky skein of Amelia's hair between her plump fingers. “I can make a special pomade that will leave it brown till we wash it out again.”

“And we can darken her eyebrows with burnt cloves,” added Annabelle, critically examining the pale arches above Amelia's eyes. “I used to do that when I was performing on stage.”

“A wee bit o' powder will cover those freckles and make her seem older,” advised Oliver.

“Spectacles are what she needs,” Doreen decided. “Make those big eyes of hers smaller and closer set.”

“And I will bring her some outfits that aren't overly fitted, so no one will be distracted by her figure.” Grace pulled a measuring tape out of her reticule. “If you'll just stand for me, Amelia, I'll take a few measurements—here, Annabelle, you hold the end of this to her waist, and Simon, you write down what I say—”

“What the hell is going on?”

Everyone in the kitchen turned to see Jack standing in the doorway, his expression hovering between outrage and astonishment.

“We're helping Amelia get a job,” Simon told him cheerfully.

“Really, Jack, how long did you think you could keep poor Amelia hidden here and not have us find out about it?” chided Annabelle.

“You must have known we would descend upon you at some point,” Grace added.

“Especially after you bolted from Lord Whitcliffe's wedding.” Jamie laughed. “None of us dreamed you were actually running away with the bride.”

Jack raked his hand through his hair, totally disconcerted. “It isn't what you think—”

“All we think is that you befriended Amelia and are trying to protect her from being forced into a marriage she does not want,” interjected Charlotte quietly. “Isn't that right?”

Jack's expression became guarded. Of all his family, his sister Charlotte was the one who understood him best.

“Yes,” he said, steadily meeting her gaze. “That's all I'm doing.”

Charlotte studied him a moment, as if something about him puzzled her. Suddenly self-conscious, Jack looked away.

“Amelia cannot get a job,” he informed the rest of the assemblage in the kitchen.

“Why not?” wondered Amelia. “I want to work.”

“Ambition's a great seed.” Eunice nodded with approval.

“First of all, it's too dangerous,” Jack argued. “There is an enormous reward being offered for your return, which puts you at risk any time you step out of this house.”

“She's nae goin' to be recognized, lad,” Oliver assured him. “Not when I've finished with her.”

“Of course she can't go out of the house as herself,” agreed Simon. “That's why we're transforming her into Mrs. Marshall Chamberlain, our recently widowed second cousin from Boston.”

“That way she won't have to hide her accent,” Jamie explained.

“And making her a widow will make men more apt to keep their distance and respect her privacy,” added Grace.

“It's a brilliant characterization,” finished Annabelle happily.

“Amelia has never worked a day in her entire life.” Jack's tone was brusque. “Just what the hell is it that you think she is fit to do? Do you think there is a job out there where she can sit and be waited upon while she finds ways to spend vast amounts of money?”

His brothers and sisters stared at him in shock, startled by his rudeness.

“Actually, your family believes I have some abilities beyond my talent for sitting around spending money.” Amelia raised her chin and glared at him, masking her hurt beneath a shield of frigid anger. “And since I have no intention of remaining here and burdening you with my presence a moment longer than is necessary, it seems best that I find employment at the earliest opportunity. If you will forgive me, ladies, I think it would be best if we finished my measurements in my chamber.”

Without waiting for her new friends to respond she swept regally from the kitchen, fearful that if she stayed a moment longer the tears blurring her eyes might begin to fall.

“Really, Jack, how could you be so mean?” Annabelle gave him a look of pure exasperation as she swished past him.

“I'm sure you didn't intend for it to sound as harsh as it did,” Grace allowed, following her sister.

Charlotte rose from her chair and gently laid her hand upon his arm. “Tell her you're sorry, Jack,” she advised softly. “She needs to know that.” She gave him an encouraging smile, then turned and limped out of the kitchen.

“Well, 'tis plain to see ye've been away at sea too long.” Eunice gave him a disapproving look as she pummeled the dough for her scones.

“There was a time when ye didna like to speak very much.” Doreen glared at him. “A pity ye couldna hold yer tongue just now.”

“What in the name of Saint Andrew is the matter with ye?” demanded Oliver furiously. “The lass is ready and willin' to work, and instead of encouragin' her, ye're all torn-faced because 'til now she's had the good fortune to not need to. Where's the logic in that?”

“I was only trying to protect her,” Jack explained, defensive. “Amelia can't work. It's too dangerous.”

“Surely you don't expect her to stay hidden in your house forever,” objected Simon. “Unless you're willing to support her indefinitely, Jack, she needs to learn to support herself.”

“Either that or we have to find her a husband.” Jamie watched with amusement as a scowl creased Jack's brow. “Which wouldn't be too difficult,” he continued blithely, “given how incredibly beautiful she is.”

“She doesn't want a husband,” Jack snapped. “She just ran away from one marriage, only to find the man she believed she was in love with was only too willing to deliver her back to her family and collect their reward. I don't think marriage strikes her as very appealing at the moment.”

“If she canna marry and ye dinna want her to work, just what, exactly, do ye expect her to do?” Doreen folded her arms and regarded him expectantly.

“I can take care of her,” Jack insisted.

“I'm sure you can,” agreed Simon. “But I don't think Amelia expects you to, or even wants you to. And she can't stay in this house forever, burning holes in your shirts and making hotchpotch.”

“If the lass doesna want to go back and marry old Whitcliffe, then she has to make a new life for herself,” rationalized Eunice.

“And for that she'll need to find a job and learn what she's made of so she can take care of herself,” Oliver finished. “ 'Tis nae less important for her than it was for Miss Genevieve.”

Why the hell couldn't they all just stay out of it? Jack wondered furiously. Why couldn't they see that he would take care of her?

“Fine—help her to find a job—or ten jobs, if it makes you so bloody happy. But if someone recognizes her and steals her away, you've only yourselves to blame. At least here, she was safe. I would have made goddamn sure of it.”

He strode angrily out of the kitchen, unaware that he had revealed far more than he had intended as he slammed the door behind him.

Chapter Ten

W
ALTER SWEENEY GRIPPED THE EDGE OF HIS DESK,
feeling a desperate need to hold on to something as he endured the whirlwind assault of the four excited women twittering like birds on the edge of their seats before him.

The Kent sisters, as they continued to be known despite their matrimonial status, had burst into his office in a chattering blast of feathered hats, glossy pearls, and tastefully tailored outfits, escorting their somewhat more understated looking cousin, Mrs. Marshall Chamberlain. Their brother, Dr. James Kent, had dropped by earlier and asked Walter if he would kindly grant an interview to his charming American cousin from Boston, who was recently widowed and now seeking a new life and employment in Inverness. Dr. Kent had explained that Mrs. Chamberlain was intimately acquainted with what was currently deemed fashionable in Boston, New York, Paris, and London, suggesting that this was an area of expertise which the Royal Hotel might find beneficial.

Walter had tactfully agreed to conduct the interview, but purely in the interest of maintaining cordial relations with the Kent family, who comprised a vital force in the local economy. The Marquess and Marchioness of Redmond and their children were well known for their support of local business and industry, including his hotel, which had hosted numerous dinners and parties for them over the years. While Walter wanted to be accommodating to the family, he did not, quite frankly, see any need to hire someone to advise him on matters of service or presentation. He had managed those aspects of his hotel quite successfully for some thirty years now. He might not have the time or the inclination to travel to fast places like Paris or London to see what foolish nonsense other hotels were up to, nor did he have to. He knew good, plain, old-fashioned Scottish food and service when he saw it, and that was the foundation on which his hotel had built its proud and long-standing reputation. He had intended to listen attentively to whatever Mrs. Chamberlain had to say and then politely inform her that he did not have a suitable opening at the Royal Hotel which would fit her admirable qualifications. His obligation to the Kent family thus met, he would have then continued with his daily agenda.

What he had not anticipated was that Mrs. Chamberlain would arrive with her three female cousins in tow, thereby subjecting him to a dizzying assault of feminine charm. He clutched his desk with the desperation of a drowning man, struggling to keep up with the dozens of criticisms and suggestions that were being volleyed back and forth between the four women. He had begun the meeting confident that his hotel's performance and reputation were above censure. After nearly an hour of the women's exhausting offensive, however, he was suddenly not so sure.

“Mrs. MacCulloch was adamant at her daughter's last fitting that she expected her upcoming wedding to be an affair of great elegance from the moment the guests entered the reception room,” Grace was saying emphatically. “She mentioned some of the items that you have proposed for the wedding dinner menu, Mr. Sweeney. While they are admirable choices, I'm sure my dear cousin, Mrs. Chamberlain, could arrange a menu that would have every wedding guest talking about the food at the Royal Hotel for years to come.”

“The menu for the wedding has already been agreed upon,” Walter told her. “It cannot be changed.”

“But the wedding is not for three weeks yet,” protested Grace.

Annabelle gave a teasing laugh. “Surely you have not started preparing the food?”

“It cannot be changed,” Walter insisted. “I have already informed the kitchen. The menu is quite final.”

“What are you planning to serve?” inquired Amelia curiously.

Walter smiled at the slight, mousy-haired, bespectacled woman seated across from him. She bore no resemblance to her prettier cousins, from her primly arranged hair to her pallid skin and narrow, ashen lips. She was of an indeterminate age, perhaps twenty-seven or more, although there were brief moments where she looked rather younger. Her face was not lined, but there were shadows beneath her eyes, which might have been an important feature for her had they not been obscured behind the gold rims of her scholarly spectacles. Her clothes were tasteful but plain, and he could not decide whether her lack of feminine ornamentation was due to the fact that she still mourned the loss of her husband, or whether she simply disliked personal adornment. What was clear was that she was a woman of considerable poise and energy. She moved with an unhurried grace that spoke of an upbringing of refinement and cultivation, and despite her rather strange American accent, her description of things she had experienced at other hotels and formal affairs indicated that she was both intelligent and well educated.

“We will be serving what has always been popular at wedding dinners,” Walter told her. “Stewed trout and cock-a-leekie soup, followed by saddle of lamb, jugged hare, and sheep's haggis, peas and potatoes, then boiled salmon and fried turbot, and finally, date pudding with sticky toffee sauce and cranachan.”

“What is cranachan?” asked Amelia.

“It's a traditional Scottish dessert,” Charlotte explained. “It's made with toasted oatmeal, heavy cream, soft fruit, honey, and whiskey, all mixed together and left to thicken.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Amelia said truthfully. “And the rest of the menu also sounds very…” She paused, trying to find the right word. “Hearty.”

“None of our guests have ever complained about our wedding menu,” Walter assured her.

“And that is to your great credit,” Amelia told him. “But I wonder, Mr. Sweeney, if, given the fact that Mrs. MacCulloch has indicated she is hoping for an event that will extend beyond what the people of Inverness have come to know and appreciate from your lovely hotel, you might not consider expanding the menu a little?”

“There will be more than enough food as it is,” Walter objected. “I dislike wastage.”

“I'm not suggesting you increase the amount of food you serve,” Amelia quickly qualified, “just that you might offer a broader variety of choices, so that people could try something a bit different.”

“Like what?”

“Well, perhaps you could begin with a choice of a hot or a cold soup,” Amelia suggested. “That is particularly nice on summer nights, where people prefer not to indulge in a heavy meat soup to start. The cold soup can be of cucumber, or even some kind of berry, and decorated with a little flower floating in the center, or perhaps a very fine swirl of cream accompanied by a delicate spray of chives.”

“You want me to put flowers in the soup?” Walter thought she must be jesting.

“They aren't to eat,” Amelia assured him. “They are to make the dishes look inviting.”

“The guests will think I'm trying to poison them.”

“Actually, many flowers are edible. We would make sure that we selected something that wasn't harmful if someone did decide to taste it.”

“I think a flower floating on top of the soup sounds lovely,” said Charlotte. “Very creative.”

“After the soup you might serve the fish courses, so that the meal gets gradually heavier, instead of going directly to the meats,” Amelia continued. “Lobster is very popular these days, either prepared as a curry, or cubed and served with a trickle of lemon butter. Prawns are also very tasty and somewhat special, as is baked trout with slivered almonds. The idea is to offer dishes that are flavorful, attractive, and not something that people would typically prepare in their own homes.”

Walter frowned, considering. After a moment, he began to make notes.

“There should be a small spoonful of lemon sorbet served next, in a little crystal glass on a plate, to refresh the palate and give the guests a chance to rest before the next course,” Amelia went on. “Then for the meat dishes, it is important to balance the flavors and textures. Lamb and hare are very nice, but you should also offer braised ham, roasted chicken, perhaps some tongue, and a nice, tender cut of rare beef. There must be gravies to accompany each dish, but they should be offered separately, so that each guest can decide for him- or herself whether they want a rich sauce poured over.”

“That makes perfect sense,” declared Annabelle enthusiastically. “When I was in Paris I found they absolutely drowned everything in heavy cream sauces, and I didn't care for it at all.”

“For the vegetables, I think you might want to go beyond peas and potatoes, even though they are common favorites,” Amelia suggested. “Why not try lightly steamed asparagus spears, honeyed carrots, thinly sliced beetroot, and buttered green beans? This way there is more color on the plate, especially if some guests wish to try a little of everything.

“In addition to the desserts you have planned, I would suggest a selection of cakes and tarts, at least two ice creams, one strawberry or vanilla, and the other something more exotic, like ginger or melon, perhaps served with thin wafers or candied peel. Finally there should be fruit pyramids constructed of peaches, plums, apricots, nectarines, raspberries, pears and grapes, which are served with cheese and biscuits, and champagne. At the end of the meal everyone should be encouraged to get up and walk around a little, so I would serve coffee, tea, and port in another room, if possible, or if not, at least offer it on tables at the end of the room so that everyone has to walk a bit to get it.”

Walter looked up from his writing. “Anything else?”

“Well, I have not yet considered the theme of the room itself, or the decoration of the tables, or the flowers or the linens or the orchestra and what music it should play,” Amelia reflected. “Then of course the MacCullochs might want some small token or favor to be given to the guests as they are leaving, and that is also something that the hotel could have a part in creating. You could build a whole new reputation for the hotel based on the intriguing themes you envision for these affairs, and the spectacular way in which they are executed.”

“Theme?” Walter crushed his brows together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“A premise or idea that pulls the affair together in some fun and entertaining way,” Amelia explained, “such as turning the room into a tropical paradise with palm and lemon trees, or creating midnight in an English garden, complete with stars and a fountain. Even if the bride's parents prefer to keep the wedding simple, at the very least one must consider the colors and flowers to be used. For that we must consult the bride and find out what she likes, or what is meaningful to her and her betrothed. That way even if the same guests are invited to a dozen weddings and dinners in your hotel over the years, they will always be anxious to attend and see how different and wonderful the event will be. Every guest should be seen as a potential client who may wish to host an event in the future, so we must use every opportunity to impress them with our impeccable service and creativity.”

“Yes, of course,” agreed Walter, who was feverishly scratching notes again. “Now tell me, Mrs. Chamberlain, what suggestions do you have for the—”

“Oh, my,” gasped Annabelle suddenly, rising from her chair, “how the time has flown. I'm afraid we must be off, Mr. Sweeney.”

“Off? Off where?”

“We have arranged another interview for Mrs. Chamberlain at the Palm Court Hotel just across the river. It is not as old as the Royal Hotel, of course, but it has all the latest amenities in plumbing and lighting and so forth, and they are anticipating quite a discerning clientele. Come, Mary,” she said, gesturing to Amelia, “we really must go or we'll be late.”

“Yes, of course.” Amelia obediently rose. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sweeney,” she said, smiling serenely, “and I wish you and your hotel all the best—”

“Can you start today?” demanded Walter. “Now?”

Guarded excitement rippled through her. “Are you saying you wish to hire me?”

“Yes, yes.” He waved his pen about impatiently. “I'm most anxious to hear more of your thoughts, so we can set up a meeting with Mrs. MacCulloch and her daughter and discuss our new ideas for her wedding. We haven't much time, you know. Barely three weeks. If we're going to change the menu and create a theme, we must begin making arrangements immediately. Shall we agree to a salary of, say, one hundred pounds a year?”

Amelia regarded him incredulously. She was not terribly well-informed about what people earned, but her father often complained about the enormous bills he received from Mr. Worth's salon in Paris, which generally exceeded twenty thousand dollars a season. Although she did not anticipate needing such an extraordinary wardrobe, how on earth could she be expected to live on a hundred pounds a year?

“A hundred and twenty-five?” Walter suggested, sensing her reluctance to accept.

Amelia looked to Annabelle, Grace, and Charlotte, who in turn looked expectantly at Mr. Sweeney.

“I can go as high as one hundred and fifty, but that is, I'm afraid, my final offer.” A tic began to pulse in his cheek.

“I'm sure you're offering as much as you believe you are able,” said Amelia, adjusting her gloves, “and I thank you for your consideration—”

“One hundred and seventy-five pounds, and all your meals can be taken in the hotel dining room,” Walter interrupted.

“But I shall need to eat the food we make if I am to know how it tastes and what to recommend,” Amelia pointed out reasonably. “Therefore eating here is an essential part of my job, and can hardly be negotiated as part of my compensation. If anything, I should be paid extra for the time it will involve.”

“Mrs. Marshall, I am in a position to pay you two hundred pounds a year, and that, I'm afraid, is my final offer,” Walter said weakly.

“We'll take it,” said Grace before Amelia could refuse.

“Very well.” Amelia decided she had to trust that Grace must know more about such things than she. “Two hundred pounds will do—”