The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories by Mary Jo Putney, Kristin James, Charlotte Featherstone Read Free Book Online

went into the corridor. At the top of the sweeping staircase, she carefully spread the train, then slowly began descending the stairs, accompanied by the soft swish of heavy silk. She had been told that she walked with the proud grace of the Winged Victory. She ought to; as a child, she had been strapped into an iron back brace whenever she did her lessons. Perfect posture didn’t come easily.
    The hall below opened into the ballroom, and music and guests wafted through both. As she came into view, a hush fell and all eyes turned toward her. The cream of American society was evaluating the next Duchess of Thornborough.
    When she was three-quarters of the way down, she saw that her fiancé was crossing the hall to the staircase. The stark black of formal evening wear suited him.
    When she reached the bottom, he took her hand. Under his breath, he said, “You look even more beautiful than usual.” Then he brushed a courtly, formal kiss on her kid-covered fingers.
    She glanced at him uncertainly, not sure if he truly admired her or the compliment was mere formality. It was impossible to tell; he was the most inscrutable man she had ever met.
    Then he smiled at her and looked not merely presentable, but downright handsome. It was the first time she had seen him smile. He should do so more often.
    Her mother joined them, beaming with possessive pride. “You look splendid, Sarah.”
    A moment later they were surrounded by chattering, laughing people, particularly those who had not yet met the duke and who longed to rectify the omission. Sunny half expected her fiancé to retreat to a corner filled with men, but he bore up under the onslaught very well. Though he spoke little, his grave courtesy soon won over even the most critical society matrons. She realized that she had underestimated him. Thornborough’s avoidance of the fashionable life was obviously from choice rather than social ineptitude.
    When she finally had a chance to look at her dance card, she saw that her fiancé had put himself down for two waltzes as well as the supper dance. That in itself was a declaration of their engagement, for no young lady would have more than two dances with one man unless intentions were serious.
    When the orchestra struck up their first waltz, Thornborough excused himself from his admirers and came to collect her.
    She caught her train up so that she could dance, then took his hand and followed him onto the floor. “It will be a pleasure to waltz,” she said. “I feel as if I’ve been talking nonstop for the last hour.”
    â€œI believe that you have been,” he said as he drew her into position, a light hand on her waist. “It must be fatiguing to be so popular. In the interests of allowing you to recover, I shan’t require you to talk at all.”
    â€œBut you are just as popular,” she said teasingly. “Every one in Newport wants to know you.”
    â€œIt isn’t me they’re interested in, but the Duke of Thornborough. If I were a hairy ape from the Congo, I’d be equally in demand, as long as I was also a duke.” He considered, then said with good-natured cynicism, “More so, I think. Apes are said to be quite entertaining.”
    Though Sunny chuckled, his remark made her understand better why he wanted her to call him Justin. Being transformed overnight from the Gargoyle to the much-courted Duke of Thornborough must have been enough to make anyone cynical.
    It came as no surprise to learn that he danced well. She relaxed and let the voluptuous strains of music work their usual magic. The waltz was a very intimate dance, the closest a young woman was allowed to come to a man. Usually it was also an opportunity to talk with some privacy. The fact that she and Justin were both silent had the curious effect of making her disturbingly aware of his physical closeness, even though he kept a perfectly proper twelve inches between them.
    Katie had