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

Perhaps.
    He smiled wryly as he skimmed the story; it was every bit as bad as Sunny had predicted. Apparently Americans had a maniacal interest in other people’s private business. There was even a breathless description of the bride’s garters, which were allegedly of gold lace with diamond-studded clasps. The item must have been invented, since he could not imagine Sunny discussing her garters with a reporter.
    The thought of Sunny in her garters was so distracting that he swiftly flipped to the next newspaper. This one featured a cartoon of a couple getting married by a blindfolded minister. The tall, slim bride wore a martyred expression as she knelt beside a dissolute-looking groom who was half a head shorter.
    The accompanying story implied rather strongly thatthe Duke of Thornborough was a corrupt specimen of European cadhood who had come to the New World to coldly steal away the finest, freshest flower of American femininity. At the same time, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of pride that one of New York’s own was to become a duchess. Apparently the natives couldn’t decide whether they loathed or loved the trappings of the decadent Old World.
    Disgusted, he tossed the papers aside and finished dressing for the dinner that Augusta Vangelder was giving in his honor. Afterward, the marriage settlements would be signed. Yet though that would make him a far wealthier man, what made his heart quicken was the fact that after three long months, he would see Sunny again. And not only see, but touch…
    After his Newport visit they had written each other regularly, and he had enjoyed her whimsical anecdotes about the rigors of preparing for a wedding. If she had ever expressed any affection for him, he might have had the courage to tell her his own feelings, for it would be easier to write about love than to say the words out loud.
    But her letters had been so impersonal that anyone could have read them. He had replied with equal detachment, writing about Swindon and acquainting her with what she would find there. He had debated telling her about some of the improvements he had ordered, but decided to keep them as a surprise.
    He checked his watch and saw that the carriage the Vangelders were sending should be waiting outside the hotel. Brimming with suppressed excitement, he went downstairs.
    As he crossed the lobby, a voice barked, “There he is!”
    Half a dozen slovenly persons, obviously reporters, bolted across the marble floor and surrounded him. Refusing to be deterred, he kept walking through the babble of questions that came from all sides.
    The loudest speaker, a fellow with a red checked vest, yelled, “What do you think of New York, Duke?”
    Deciding it was better to say something innocuous rather than to ignore them entirely, Justin said, “A splendid city.”
    Another reporter asked, “Any of your family coming to the wedding, Duke?”
    â€œUnfortunately that isn’t possible.”
    â€œIs it true that Sunny has the largest dowry of any American girl to marry a British lord?”
    The sound of her name on the man’s lips made Justin glad that he wasn’t carrying a cane, for he might have broken it across the oaf’s head. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, tight-lipped, “for I have an engagement.”
    â€œAre you going to visit Sunny now?” several chorused.
    When Justin didn’t answer, one of the men grabbed his arm. Clamping onto his temper, Justin looked the reporter in the eye and said in the freezing accents honed by ten generations of nobility, “I beg your pardon?”
    The man hastily stepped back. “Sorry, sir. No offense meant.”
    Justin had almost reached the door when a skinny fellow jumped in front of him. “Are you in love with our Sunny, your dukeship, or are you only marrying her for the money?”
    It had been a mistake to answer any questions at all, Justin realized;