Suddenly a Bride (2 page)

“Oh, yes. I thought so,” Chessie said with some satisfaction. “It’s a perfect fit except for being just a little bit long. Step up on the podium so you get the full effect of the hemline.”

Elizabeth did as she was told. The gown felt comfortable, like something she’d owned for years and didn’t even have to think about when she was wearing it. But the way it looked, the way
she
looked…

She ran her fingertips along the modestly scooped neckline, the lovely cap sleeves that followed the cut of the scoop. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat as her eyes traveled down the front of the gown to the simple Empire waistline, the soft A-line skirt. She turned sideways to see there was a small sweep train on the gown that was all clean lines, no frills in the cut of it. Which made the clever use of lace elegant and not fussy.

“What…what is it made of?” she asked when she could find her voice.

“Silk crepe. Comfy, isn’t it? And that’s alençon lace on the bodice and in those sort of appliqués on the skirt and hem. Louis the Fourteenth, I think it was, called it
the queen of laces. I love it because it’s so rich yet not showy. I mean, you don’t need sparkles when you’ve got alençon—just those few pearls stitched here and there. Oh, right, pearls. Wait here a second.”

Elizabeth nodded rather numbly as Chessie sped out of the room, obviously a woman on a mission, and lifted the skirt slightly at either side as she turned this way, that way, attempting to find something wrong with the gown.

But there was nothing. It was perfect. The gown had been made for her. It was
her
gown.

Her bottom lip began to tremble and she bit down on it, trying to hold on to her shredding composure.

“I remember seeing something like this in the photograph of the gown. Bend down so I can get this over your head,” Chessie said as she reentered the room. The next thing Elizabeth knew she was wearing a long rope of beautiful ivory pearls Chessie had wrapped once high around her neck before the length of the rope fell over her bodice and extended an inch or two past her waist. “Perfect! Nothing on your head—as if you’d need anything with that gorgeous blond hair of yours. No gloves, no bracelets. I’d say carry two or three long-stemmed calla lilies, their stems wrapped in simple ivory silk ribbon, but that’s it. Utter simplicity, complete elegance, a perfect second wedding.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were stinging now and she blinked quickly, doing her best to hold back the tears.

“We could try the third gown. We could try another ten gowns, twenty. But this is it, Elizabeth. You can’t
deny it. This is
your
gown. I knew it the minute I saw you standing on the pavement. Am I good, or what? No, don’t answer that. I’ve got a big enough head as it is. Now let’s talk about the groom.”

And Elizabeth, who made it a point never to show her emotions in public, burst into tears.

Ten minutes later, with Eve and her bride now tucked away in the large dressing room, Chessie and Elizabeth were upstairs in Chessie’s living quarters, facing each other from a matched set of chintz love seats divided by a glass-topped coffee table.

“Better now?” Chessie asked, tucking her legs up under her on the cushions.

Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes with the last of the several tissues she’d employed after Chessie had shoved a box of them in her face. “Better enough to feel really,
really
embarrassed, you mean? Then, yes, I’m fine. I don’t know what happened down there.”

Chessie pulled a face. “I do. I opened my big mouth and inserted my size-nine foot. You told me right off the top that you weren’t sure you were going to say yes to the guy. Richard was it?”

“Yes, Richard. And he’s the dearest man,” she added quickly, hastening to defend him. “He’s kind and generous and gentle and…”

“Boring?”

“No! Richard is anything but boring. The boys and I live with him, you know.”

Chessie took a drink from her glass. “There’s nothing
wrong with that. But, hon, your reaction downstairs? Maybe living with and marrying are two different things? I mean, fun’s fun and all of that, but marriage is a pretty big commitment.”

Elizabeth hastily raised her hands and waved them in front of her, as if to wipe away the last few moments of conversation. “Let me start over. I
work
for Richard. I work for him, and the boys and I live in his guesthouse. Better?”

“Definitely clearer,” her new friend said, smiling. “So what sort of work do you do for the guy?”

Elizabeth was feeling more confident now, with the subject of marriage at least temporarily shelved. “Richard’s a writer. He’s never married, lives alone and would probably starve to death without realizing it if someone didn’t take care of him. That’s how it began, with me answering his ad for part-time employment. He didn’t ask for skills, and since I really don’t have any outside of taking care of a house and making a fairly memorable pot roast, I seemed to fit the bill. But it was clear from the outset that Richard needed more than just someone to pick up after him and prepare a few meals.”

“I think I’m getting the picture. The creative genius who forgets to eat and walks around for hours with his glasses on top of his head, thinking he’s lost them?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Pretty much like that, yes, when he’s deep into a book. I’d thought I’d just come and go, with him not even realizing I’d been there. But often we talked about things, about his work. Within a week he’d found out I was renting an apartment with the boys, and
he’d convinced me that boys need green grass to play on and their mother within earshot whenever possible. The next thing I knew I was a salaried, full-time employee, and the boys and I were installed in the rooms above his garages. They’re very large garages.”

“How convenient for him—that is, for all of you. Sounds like this Richard of yours is pretty wealthy. I mean, garages—plural.”

“There was family money, he told me, but he’s also quite successful on his own. His books are wonderful. He runs his ideas past me now, using me as a sounding board, I guess you’d say, since he used to bounce ideas off Sam The Dog—that’s his dog’s name—but Sam isn’t a very harsh critic. As he had me take on more and more of what he calls his scut work, Richard hired a new housekeeper so that now I’m strictly his personal assistant. Except for Sunday pot roast, of course.”

“Can’t forget the memorable pot roast,” Chessie said, lifting her soda glass in a small toast. “So what does an author’s personal assistant do?”

Elizabeth knew that Chessie wanted to keep her talking, keep her mind off what had happened downstairs, and she was more than willing to go along with that idea.

“Oh, I run errands, balance his checkbook, answer a
lot
of fan mail, fight with his publicist over proposed interviews and photo shoots he never wants to do, do Internet research for him, proof his pages once he’s ready for someone else to see them. And I’ve even come up with an idea or two for him. Richard swears
he doesn’t know how he ever produced a single word without me. It’s…it’s very exciting—especially since, as I already told you, I have no formal training of any kind. Richard says I have a natural good ear, whatever that is.”

“It all sounds like a dream job. And Richard doesn’t mind the boys?”

Elizabeth lowered her head slightly. “I don’t think he notices them much on a day-to-day basis. But he certainly doesn’t
mind
them. It’s, as you’d imagine, a very large property. The boys have lunch with Richard regularly, once a week, and he asks about their schoolwork and what they want to be when they grow up—things like that. He bought them an entire array of those interactive electronic games, the complete systems with all the bells and whistles, and then gave them each new computers and flat-screen television sets for their rooms. For Christmas, he gave the three of us a week in Florida and passes to all the theme parks, even though he couldn’t come with us. The twins think he’s Santa Claus and Bill Gates, all tied up with a ribbon around his neck.”

“Not a lot there not to love, huh?”

“No, there’s not,” Elizabeth agreed, once more not quite meeting Chessie’s eyes. “He is…a bit older than I am.”

Chessie seemed to sit up straighter, as if coming to attention. “Oh, yes? How much older? Ten years? Fifteen?”

“Seventeen.” Elizabeth lifted her chin. “But that just
makes him more stable, more dependable. And…and we have so much in common.”

“Yes. You both make sure Richard is well taken care of,” Chessie said, and then winced. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I don’t even know the man. But I think I see where this is going. Richard has found what he thinks is his muse, and you’ve found a secure home and probably a pretty good future for the twins. Am I right?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“You tell me. I’m not the one who burst into tears downstairs.”

Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. “I know, I know. But marrying Richard is so very logical.” She dropped her hands into her lap and looked at Chessie. “Jamie and I married when we were halfway through college, and as I told you before, I was already pregnant with the twins. I hadn’t planned to leave school, but the pregnancy changed all of that, for both of us. Jamie worked at a job he hated and went to weekend college to finish his bachelor’s degree. Everything was a struggle, but that was all right, because we had the boys. We had each other. Young love, you know? And then, just when he’d found a great job and we finally were seeing the end of the student loans and formula and diaper bills, Jamie got sick.”

She turned her head, her hands forming into fists she batted together as if to beat away the anger she still felt at the unfairness of it all. The anger and the loss and the terror and the cruel, twisting grief that had mentally
and physically pushed her to her knees at Jamie’s graveside that last awful day. The long, sleepless nights, the responsibilities that never stopped, the loneliness that had at last turned her grief to some sort of stony acceptance.

“I’m so sorry, Elizabeth,” Chessie said quietly. “So very sorry.”

“So am I. We were so in love. And then we were so…tired. So stressed all the time. And just…and just when we thought we could find what we’d seemed to have lost in those diapers and bills, those constant pressures, it was all snatched away, and I felt as if my life was over. I care very much for Richard, and he cares for me. It’s…it’s safer.”

“He knows you don’t love him?”

Elizabeth pulled a fresh tissue from the box sitting on the cushion beside her. “Oh, I do love him. And he loves me. In our own way. We’re very good friends. We’re…compatible.”

“And he’s all right with that?
You’re
all right with that?”

“Sometimes,” Elizabeth said defensively, and then sighed. “And sometimes…well, sometimes maybe not so much.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you and Richard love each other—but you’re not
in
love with each other? You’re very good friends and compatible. Do you think people
really
can be that way? That it’s
safer?
Surely somebody gets hurt, sooner or later? Somebody breaks the bargain, and falls in love for real?” Then Chessie
held up her hands. “Hey, but not my problem, not my business to interfere, right? I’m sure you’re doing some very heavy, sensible thinking about all of this.”

“If we can call trying on wedding gowns to see what happens even the least bit sensible.”

“Oh, I don’t know. How did it make you feel trying on that gown?”

Elizabeth felt a ridiculous giggle prickling at the back of her throat. “Beautiful, passionate, seductive, exciting. I’d have married it tomorrow, no hesitation.” Then she sighed. “But I’m no closer to knowing what I should do about Richard’s proposal than I was this morning or last week.”

“Then you know what, Elizabeth? Forget it for now. Tell Richard you need more time, and just…forget about it. School only let out a couple of days ago, you’ve got the twins home and need to do something to keep them occupied for the summer, all sorts of things to do. Am I right?”

“I only let them game, as they call it, two hours a day. They’re already telling me they’re bored. And, believe me, bored twins of a certain age—of any age, I’m beginning to think—can be like ticking time bombs. Yes, I need to devote some time to them. And Richard leaves in a few days for a five-city book tour and won’t be home for a week. Yes, you’re right. It’s not like either Richard or I are in any sort of huge rush.”

“Yeah, the test didn’t show up positive this morning,” Chessie said, grinning.

“Hardly. The only time I’ve been in Richard’s bed
room was when I was in charge of changing the sheets. Oh, I shouldn’t be saying these things. Why have I said any of these things, come to think of it?”

Chessie shrugged as she got to her feet. “It’s me. I seem to have this
power
over people. They look at me and the next thing I know, I’m learning their life stories. But the thing is, I
love
it. Maybe bridal consultants are the female version of bartenders? Now, before you go, let me call my cousin Will.”

Elizabeth got to her feet, gathering up the used tissues and shoving them deep in her pockets. “Your cousin?”

“Yes, Will. William J. Hollingswood, Esquire, to be formal about the thing. He’s coaching a youth baseball team this summer, which is probably why I thought about T-ball earlier. Let me see if he has room for two more on the roster. If that’s okay?”

“It is, but we’re not Allentown residents, if that means anything. Richard’s house is in Saucon Valley.”

Chessie was already dialing a number on her phone. “Nifty neighborhood. But it doesn’t matter. Will’s is a sort of special team, just created last week. The twins will be fine. Oh, darn, it went straight to voicemail.” She put down the phone. “Tell you what, Elizabeth. You give me your number and I’ll call you once I’ve got ahold of Will.”

Elizabeth took one of Richard’s cards from her purse and turned it over, writing her cell-phone number on the back. “I’ve only got a cell, but you can try Richard’s number if I don’t answer. And I can’t thank you enough,
Chessie. I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea about how to sign the boys up for anything like this.”