A Rather Charming Invitation by C. A. Belmond Read Free Book Online Page A

us inside with the natural ease of a well-bred girl who is so accustomed to her elegant surroundings that she barely notices them. She put her key in the lock of the front door, and pushed it open.
    The dark wall panelling of the great, high-ceilinged entrance hall made the interior feel cool and somewhat somber. We crossed the polished cherrywood floor to a wide staircase with two curving, coffee-colored banisters. Just before we went up, Honorine pointed out a doorway to the left, and told us that it led to the salon, so that we could find it when we came back downstairs.
    Our footsteps echoed on the staircase. When we reached the second level, Honorine went bounding down the hallway ahead of us, like an enthusiastic puppy who wants to show you the way. She stopped at the very last room at the end of the corridor, whereupon she pushed open a big, heavy door. We entered an enormous bedroom that overlooked the front park, designed to make its occupant feel very grand and important, just gazing out at the view.
    “You can sleep or relax awhile,” she said, smiling. “Come down when you hear the bell for champagne before dinner, in the salon.” She stepped out and closed the door softly behind her.
    The room had that nice scent of polished wood furniture and floors. I glanced at the finely embroidered, upholstered chairs, the antique commode, the hand-crocheted bedspread, the Savonnerie carpeting, the brocade draperies, the gorgeous framed mirror, the gilded chandelier, and the large round crystal vase of pink and white flowers that added their springtime fragrance.
    Passing the huge canopied bed heaped with pillows, I walked over to the adjacent bathroom, which had a lovely antique tub, and a deep sink with very old but fancy brass taps. A white antique cabinet was piled with fluffy white towels monogrammed in dark green. Another white cupboard was stacked with plenty of fine Provençal soaps, sachets, shampoo, bath salts and scented lotion from nearby Grasse, the capital of the French perfume industry. On the windowsill was a pale yellow vase with fresh violets.
    While looking out this bathroom window, I saw a Vespa come puttering around the side of the château, its helmeted rider steering it in the direction of the garage in the back.
    “This soap smells really good,” Jeremy commented. As we were freshening up, we heard a thump in the hallway outside. Jeremy opened the door, and found that our suitcases stood politely in the hall. “You didn’t tell me you came from the landed French aristocracy,” he joked as we unpacked. “Had I but known, I’d have asked your father for a dowry.”
    “It would have done you no good, you cad,” I said. “We’re the poor relations, remember?” I peered into my suitcase. “What do you suppose we should wear to dinner?” I asked, anxiously scanning my overnight bag, suddenly comprehending a cryptic e-mail my mother had sent me just before I left, almost as an afterthought: Darling, you should bring a nice cocktail dress, elegant shoes, a good pantsuit and a silk blouse. Also, this is as good a time as any for your best jewelry. Love, Mum. I glanced up and saw that Jeremy was unpacking a nice weekend suit that seemed perfect for the occasion.
    “How did you know how to dress for this ‘country’ shindig?” I asked suspiciously.
    “Darling, I’m English,” he said maddeningly. I almost threw a small pillow at him, but when I noticed the fine old eyelet trim on it, I put the pillow back down again. “After all, I’m going to meet my little French fiancée’s family,” Jeremy said. “Did you think I’d show up in sweats?”
    “Hook this chain for me, will you?” I said, holding up my graduation-day diamond pendant, adding jokingly, “I’m scared.”
    At that moment, we heard a soft, low bell that resonated through the house. “Show time,” Jeremy said, kissing the back of my neck after he’d hooked the necklace.
    “I hate to tell you this,” I said, “but