An American Duchess (16 page)

As she turned and left, she heard Mother declare, “Well, really, when I am trying to ease some of her burden. Heaven knows a wedding is such a lot of work.”

“I agree.” The dowager sniffed. “I know very well what a wedding reception at Brideswell requires. And someone must ensure Reverend Wesley does not meander when he does the service.”

“I know. Our pastor used to wander off in his sermons something fierce,” said Mother. “My Zoe is a capable girl, but a wedding requires experience.”

“I could not agree more,” declared the dowager.

Zoe grinned. She’d known there was one thing that would give those two women common ground—the threat of someone else taking charge. She intended to have exactly the wedding she wanted. To do it, she would have to know when to negotiate, when to do things secretly and when to stand her ground.

And having her wedding her way was the reason she was driving down to the village church.

Isobel caught up with her at the garage and slipped into the passenger seat of her car. “I’m going to the hospital,” Isobel said. “Would you give me a lift, Zoe, please?”

“All right,” Zoe said. “I have to see Reverend Wesley. About the vows.”

Isobel frowned. “What about the vows?”

“There’s a change I want to make in them.”

Isobel proved to be so curious she followed Zoe to the manse beside the church, instead of walking on to the hospital. With her young sister-to-be at her side, Zoe waited in the doorway of the reverend’s study, hands clasped in front of her, as Wesley got to his feet and came to her.

“May I help you, my dear?” he asked kindly.

She held out a folded piece of white paper. “At the wedding tomorrow, these are the vows I want you to read.”

The elderly man frowned. “I don’t understand. I intend to use the traditional vows of the Church of England.”

“These are the ones I want.”

“But, my dear young lady—”

“It’s only a slight change, Reverend. Nothing to be upset about. All I’ve done is taken out the word
obey
from my vows. This is the nineteen twenties. I’m to be a wife, not a serf.”

“The word
obey
is part of the vows. I have no authority to remove words.”

“I won’t say it. You can go with the standard vows, but you won’t get that word out of me.”

Isobel let out a small squeak and clapped her hand over her mouth. But a smile blossomed behind Isobel’s hand and her eyes glowed with excitement.

Reverend Wesley spluttered. “A woman obeys her husband, Miss Gifford.”

“A woman is her own person, Reverend.”

“My dear, these vows have been used in this church for centuries! Even if I had such authority, I would not stand before God and tinker with what has been ordained for his pleasure.”

“You aren’t marrying the duke. And neither is God. I am,” Zoe said. “These are the vows I’m willing to make, so I’d advise you to say them.”

 13 

WEDDING AT BRIDESWELL

Zoe turned slowly in front of the cheval mirror. This dress would surprise Nigel, she was sure. She bit her lip. Modern girls were fearless. But her heart hammered and her hands trembled as she drew the material of the train into her hands so she could step off the stool.

Mother had always spun fantasies about what her wedding day would be like. At least she had when Father made millions. Mother wanted something to set New York society back on its collective heel. Girls worried more about one-upping each other on weddings than they did about their futures with their husbands.

Zoe wanted her wedding to be about love. And not an old-fashioned love. Not marriage as a social triumph. But two equal people who belonged together. She had been the one to sit down and sort out how her dowry would be dealt with—she’d set out her rules to Nigel and his lawyer. Instead of turning over her entire fortune of four million dollars to Nigel and Brideswell, she was giving half to the estate. The rest was to stay in her name. Nigel’s lawyer had looked shocked that she wasn’t giving everything to her husband.

Nigel had said, “If it is what Zoe wants, I accept. She is turning a substantial fortune over to my care. Enough to take care of the estate.”

She’d gathered, though, it was not the way it was done. She couldn’t tell exactly how Nigel really felt about that.

The door to her bedroom opened, and Julia and Isobel rushed in.

“Golly!” cried Isobel, who had adopted the expression.

“You look lovely, Zoe,” Julia exclaimed.

It was Nigel’s expression she wished to see, but that would not be until they were in the tiny church. The church in which he’d been christened. This was his world. Julia made her feel she belonged. But did she?

Hadn’t that been her vow, after all those rejections by staid, old New York society? She would make her own world where she belonged.

“So do you both.” Zoe hugged both her soon-to-be sisters-in-law. “You have been so good to me.”

Julia held out the bouquet. White roses and delicate, white baby’s breath in a small, tight group, tied with long satin ribbons. “Are you nervous?”

“I’ve had times in the air when I thought I was a goner. Yet for this, I am nervous.” And excited. And filled with wicked, exhilarating anticipation.

“What do you think Reverend Wesley will do about the vows?” Isobel took her turn in front of the mirror, holding out her rose-colored skirts. Her hair was in curls, tied with ribbon.

“The vows?” Julia was adjusting Zoe’s train. Zoe twisted to see it in the mirror. Mother had wanted yards of lace—and a train long enough to stretch from the upper landing of Brideswell’s stairs to the bottom—had wanted feathers and diamonds. The dowager had wanted a demure dress—high neck, long sleeves, floor length.
This
dress was what Zoe wanted. It had slender lines and no sleeves. No diamonds or pearls. It was white satin and soft flowing tulle. It felt as if she’d wrapped a cloud around her. She had allowed a small train of satin, embroidered with delicate petal shapes—silver on white.

She adjusted her veil. It was a cap of lace on her bobbed hair, trimmed with soft yellow roses, and a length of lace that skimmed down her back.

Isobel had grabbed a biscuit off Zoe’s tea tray—she had too many flutters in her tummy to eat anything.

“What about the vows?” Julia asked again. “Do stop eating biscuits, Isobel. You’ll make yourself sick.”

How would Julia react to her request? Julia had embraced being modern but also loved her brother. Would she understand why Zoe could not agree to “obey” Nigel? She had to be her own person. She simply had to be. “I wanted the reverend to make a small change to the vows. Of course, he said he could not do it.”

Still chewing, Isobel said, “Zoe asked old Wesley to take out the part about her obeying Nigel.”

“It’s being removed from vows in America,” Zoe pointed out. “Reverend Wesley refused, of course. Now I’ll simply have to skip that part.”

“It’s being removed from vows? I didn’t know that,” Julia breathed.

“Because women aren’t chattel. We don’t need to obey a husband.”

“Goodness,” Julia said. Then she giggled. “Poor Reverend Wesley. I am surprised he didn’t swoon.”

“He went pale as a ghost.” Isobel grinned. “Zoe said that the reverend wasn’t marrying Nigel, nor was God. She was and she would only say the vows she wanted. And I think she’s right! Most of the boys I know don’t know as much about things as me. I doubt they know more just because they’ve grown up to be gentlemen. And my boy cousins insist that women are useless at science, when obviously there have been brilliant women scientists. They also say women can’t understand how engines work, but you do, Zoe.”

Zoe smiled at the girl’s look of admiration. “You’re right, Isobel. It has nothing to do with whether you’re a man or a woman. It depends on whether you have smarts—and if you’re willing to use them.”

“If you don’t have to obey Nigel,” Isobel said thoughtfully, “can I say I don’t have to either?”

“That is different,” Julia said. “Now hurry, Isobel. We must get Zoe to the church.”

Julia and Isobel went downstairs first. Zoe followed, holding up her modest train herself. Carefully, she negotiated the front steps, but she stopped halfway down. Uncle Hiram stood by the drive—he had arrived three days ago to see the wedding. He was to give her away in place of Father.

Fortunately, Hiram had ambitions. The thought of being related to a duke had made him promise he wouldn’t do a thing or say a word about the check.

Mother stood beside him, wearing a hat bearing more feathers than an albatross. Half of them dipped into Mother’s face.

Uncle Hiram turned in a circle and whistled. “This sure is some place.” He’d said that many times since his arrival. A grin split his fleshy lips. He was not as handsome as Father had been. Father had always looked strong and smart and elegant. “You’ve done well for yourself, Zoe. A duchess in the family. A duke for a nephew-in-law.”

She knew she couldn’t antagonize her uncle, even though she and Mother were almost safe. “You look very charming, Uncle, in your morning coat.”

“The duke loaned it to me. Belonged to his father. I cut a fine figure, don’t I?”

Since he could still cause trouble for Mother, Zoe smiled sweetly. “You do indeed.”

“We should get going to the church, missy. Don’t want to miss the big event.”

She walked down the rest of the front steps to the carriage that waited for her. Parked behind the cars, it was a huge, Cinderella-style thing, complete with two snow-white horses. Suddenly Zoe felt as if the stairs were shifting under her feet.

She was leaving Mother. Leaving Uncle Hiram’s guardianship. Leaving New York.

Women always went away with their husbands. They went to a new life, a new world.

She sure was. And she intended to make it hers—that was why she wouldn’t agree to obey anyone. Not even the man she loved. She squared her shoulders and stepped into the carriage.

* * *

“You look nervous, Langy.”

At the altar, Nigel ran his finger around his collar. Morning sunlight poured in the windows. He’d never felt so hot in church before. He glanced at Sebastian—standing at his side as his best man. His brother looked effortlessly elegant in his morning coat, appeared completely cool and unruffled. “I keep wondering if I’ve been mad to have asked her to marry me.”

“I’m the irresponsible one. Now is not the time for second thoughts. Besides, if my tastes ran in that direction, I’d be champing at the bit right now. Zoe is a spectacular woman. Beautiful and thrilling. Every moment with her will be an adventure.”

Nigel swallowed hard. “She is a remarkable woman. When I’m with her, I feel alive. Even when she argues with me. And she has a tender heart.”

“Then you are a lucky man, Nigel.”

It was the first time his brother hadn’t used the irritating nickname. “I keep feeling guilty. As if I’ve claimed her under false pretenses,” he muttered.

“I don’t understand.” Concern showed in Sebastian’s face.

His brother had changed. Since Zoe had told him to find happiness and Sebastian decided to do it, he had lost his sulky anger. Nigel saw that his brother had tried to fit into their world out of a sense of duty. But it had eaten at him.

It took a certain kind of person to put duty above everything.

He had broken his vow of stoicism over the War—which he’d made as he limped home to Brideswell, recovering from his wounds. He had told Zoe what the War had left him with. He’d been honest with her—as much as he could be. There were some things he had to keep locked inside forever.

He needed to talk to someone about his fears. “Nightmares plague me. The damn shaking that comes on me without warning. What kind of husband will I be? When I look at Zoe, I picture her with a man like her. An outgoing man, an adventurer, a man who lives for each moment—a man who is not like me.” His hand started to tremble.
Not now, damn it.
“The memories from battle get worse, not better.” He had been thinking about Ernie Bell last night and woke from a horrific nightmare at 3:00 a.m. and couldn’t even attempt to sleep afterward.

“She loves you, you know,” Sebastian said softly. “I saw that on the first night she came to Brideswell. She was falling in love with you at dinner. Why do you think I punched you? You were ruining my plans with your nobility and strength and strong-and-silent behavior. You had her captivated.”

“She is not certain yet. Not certain if she loves me.” He fought for control by clenching his fists. Nerves and tension set him off. He was not going to let anything ruin this moment.

“She will. I want to see you happy. And you have to go through with your marriage now,” Sebastian said. “Think of the scandal if you don’t.”

And he owed Zoe marriage. But more than that, he loved her.

He could be the man she deserved to have, damn it. He could hide the broken parts of him from her. “You are correct,” he said. “I will keep my problems under control so they do not touch or hurt Zoe.”

“One thing I’ve learned about problems,” Sebastian said. “You can’t control them.” Sebastian shuffled his feet. “On that note, I wanted to thank you. For understanding why I have to go to Capri. For covering up with Mama and Grandmama—telling them I just wanted to paint.”

“I am sorry it took me so long to understand what you need to be happy.”

The church doors opened then, filling the doorway with light. White fabric fluttered, and all heads turned and craned toward the entrance. Mrs. Dobbs, the organist, lifted her hands, and suddenly the first strains of the wedding march swelled through the church.

Her uncle Hiram Gifford brought Zoe forward, her hand resting in his crooked elbow.

Her bobbed hair was a cap of gold, her face almost bare of makeup, her eyes large and violet, her lips full and soft pink. A veil of some white gauzy fabric floated around her, held in place by a spray of diamond roses. She wore a simple white dress that seemed lighter than air. The hem swirled around her midcalves and a train glided behind her. A bouquet of white flowers was clutched in her hand and white ribbon streamers flowed out of the bouquet

Nigel had to take a step back. He almost lost his balance.

“She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“She is,” Sebastian agreed, under his breath.

Nigel hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud.

Walking toward him, Zoe smiled. An ache wrapped around his heart. He had no right to be so happy.

A querulous female voice sounded over the strains of music from the organ. “Was it not the duke’s brother she was supposed to marry? They’ve changed places, you say?”

He knew the voice—it was the dowager’s sister, his great-aunt Alicia.

“It’s a new world,” his grandmother’s firm voice answered.

But Great-Aunt Alicia was the only one to openly voice the thing everyone else was thinking. The village must be rife with gossip. He hadn’t looked at a newspaper for over a week, because he didn’t want to bloody well know. It was his duty to protect Brideswell. And now to protect Zoe. From everything—including from scandal.

“Hello,” she said when she reached the altar.

“Hello,” he murmured.

Reverend Wesley cleared his throat.

The words rolled together in a blur. Nigel had witnessed weddings of friends. Now that it was his own, Reverend Wesley’s words seemed to come from miles away. “We are gathered here...in sight of God...”

A ray of rose-tinted sunshine spilled from the stained-glass window. Zoe stood in its pink-and-gold glow.

The gold touched crosses on the altar, making them gleam. It slanted over a plaque on the wall, placed there by his family. A list of the village men who had not come home from the Great War.

He didn’t want to think of it now, but seeing the plaque, the crosses, made it impossible to forget.

Grasp life and live it as much as I can, so I can do his living for him as well as mine.

That was what she had said. But what right did he have to get a life when so many men didn’t? Better men than he. He had sent men over the top. Sent them into the path of machine-gun fire. Many of those men had never had the chance to have a sweetheart, to be in love, to marry.

All that was left of them were crosses. And the memories Nigel still held of their deaths—at least those he remembered. Ragged, painful memories of bursting shells and mud and screams and fear—

The reverend cleared his throat. “I, Nigel Arthur William Hazelton, take thee, Zoe Anastasia Gifford—”

He was supposed to repeat his vows. But the laughter of doomed men echoed in his ears. Those moments when they traded jokes, seeking to live with normalcy in the middle of hell—

Beneath the sunlight streaming through the window, Nigel’s skin perspired. Shirt, waistcoat and morning coat felt vise-tight. Sweat rolled down his back.

The reverend cleared his throat softly. “Your Grace,” he intoned with discretion. “Would you repeat your vows?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Nigel tugged at his collar.
Damned hot in here.
“I, Nigel Arthur William—” His voice cracked. Sebastian nudged him.