Читать книгу The Society Groom - Mary Lyons - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS four o’clock on a freezing cold, dark winter’s afternoon in the City of London as the large black limousine slowly came to a halt in front of the church.

‘We’re a bit early, aren’t we?’ Mark Ryland muttered, glancing nervously out of the vehicle at the long flight of steps leading up to the brilliantly lit church porch.

‘Your bride-to-be gave me very clear instructions,’ Dominic FitzCharles told him firmly. ‘Not only was I to keep you as sober as possible at your stag party—but I was to make absolutely sure that we arrived at the church a good half-hour before the wedding.’

‘Anyone would think I was still a kid,’ Mark grumbled.

Dominic gave a quick shake of his dark head. ‘Oh, no. You’re merely that unimportant creature: the bridegroom! ’ he drawled with sardonic amusement. ‘And as such—if you’re a sensible man—you’ll do exactly as you’re told.’

‘Thanks, pal!’

Dominic laughed. ‘According to Sarah, she’s already had to cope with quite enough problems. So, for you to be either suffering from a mammoth hangover or to be late for the ceremony would definitely be the last straw!’

‘She’s got a point,’ Mark agreed as the uniformed chauffeur came around to open the passenger door.

Living in Hong Kong, where he was employed by a merchant bank, and only returning to Britain three days ago for his wedding, Mark had managed to avoid being dragged into any of the various traumas concerned with the organisation of his marriage to Sarah.

However, from what he could make out, it seemed that his fiancée and her mother had been at complete loggerheads with one another—barely able to agree about anything.

Fortunately, one of Sarah’s friends had told her about Society Weddings—a business run by a girl her own age which specialised in taking charge of everything to do with such an occasion. In fact, the service offered by the firm seemed to cover every aspect of a wedding from the marriage ceremony and reception down to even finding the right shoes to match the bride’s dress. And, in his fiancée’s case, it had not only been able to take the burden from her shoulders, but also deal with her formidable mother, Mrs Turnbull

‘It’s wonderful!’ Sarah had breathed in relief down the phone, some months ago. ‘Although I know Olivia’s had plenty of experience in dealing with ultra-glamorous, sophisticated events, she’s been so down-to-earth and helpful. And, what’s more, she’s managed to persuade Mummy to let me have exactly the sort of wedding that I’ve always wanted!’

So, thanks to the unknown Olivia, it had looked as if it was all going to be plain sailing as far as the arrangements for his forthcoming marriage were concerned.

But then his younger brother, James, had been suddenly rushed to hospital with acute appendicitis, only a few days ago. Which had left Mark in a dire fix, and urgently trying to find someone to act as his best man.

‘Sarah and I are both so grateful,’ Mark said as he stepped out of the limousine. ‘Getting off the plane from Hong Kong to hear about poor old James was a bit of a shock. In fact, I honestly don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t come to our rescue.’

‘Nonsense! It was the least I could do for an old school-friend.’ Dominic grinned at the other man as he joined him on the pavement.

‘Besides, it isn’t the first time that I’ve acted as someone’s best man—and I don’t suppose it will be the last,’ he added, casting a critical eye over the groom’s black morning tailcoat and pinstriped trousers—which, together with a crisp white shirt, doeskin waistcoat and pale grey tie, mirrored his own attire. ‘Hold it just a second...’ Dominic. murmured, quickly reaching over to adjust the red carnation in the shorter man’s buttonhole.

‘OK—that’s it. You’re looking very smart!’ he added, handing Mark a black silk top hat and gloves before giving the groom a cheerful, comforting slap on the back as they began mounting the long flight of steps leading up to the church. ‘By the way, what’s the latest news of your brother?’

‘He seems to be recovering well from the operation. Although, as you can imagine, he’s as sick as a parrot at being stuck in hospital and missing a good party,’ Mark told him. ‘All the same, I can’t help wondering if maybe I should have cancelled the wedding and waited until he was back on his feet again, after all?’

‘I don’t suppose that Sarah’s mother would have been too happy about the marriage being suddenly postponed at the last minute!’ Dominic murmured blandly. Despite only having had one brief meeting with the hard faced, strongminded Mrs Turnbull, he was profoundly grateful that she wasn’t going to be his mother-in-law!

‘No, you’re quite right—she wouldn’t,’ Mark agreed with a slight grimace, thanking his lucky stars that, following their honeymoon in the Caribbean, he and Sarah would be living in Hong Kong for the next few years—and well out of reach of her mother.

‘And what about you? How come you haven’t got married yet?’ Mark asked, pausing halfway up the long, steep flight of steps. ‘Isn’t it about time you thought of settling down with one of your glamorous girlfriends?’

Dominic turned his dark head to gaze at him in astonishment. ‘Good heavens! Why on earth would I want to get hitched?’

‘I just thought...’ Mark shrugged. ‘I mean, there’s all that business of needing a son to pass on the title, and...’

‘You’re way behind the times.’ His friend gave a dry bark of laughter. ‘Not only are the Government busy abolishing the House of Lords, but, quite frankly, no one cares very much about that sort of thing nowadays.’

‘So there’s been no pressure from your mother?’ Mark queried, his voice heavy with disbelief as they continued on their way up the steps.

From what he recalled of their school days at Eton, the Dowager Countess of Tenterden was a frighteningly imperious lady: stiff with family pride and altogether a very tough act. So the chances of her not badgering Dominic to provide a son and heir to inherit his ancient title were very slim indeed!

‘Ah! Well, yes...I must admit that my dear mama has expressed some firm views on the subject!’ Dominic agreed ruefully, while nodding at some of his friends amongst the crowd of ushers waiting to greet the wedding guests and show them to their seats inside the church.

‘However, I’m certainly in no hurry to “settle down”, as you put it,’ he continued. ‘For one thing I’m far too busy nowadays. And for another...well, let’s just say that I haven’t yet found the right girl.’

Oh, yeah? Mark told himself with cynical amusement as Dominic, his dark brows drawn together in a slight frown, took a quick step forward, peering into the dim interior of the large church porch.

He might have been living and working abroad for some time, but nevertheless Mark was perfectly well aware of Dominic’s regular appearance in the newspaper gossip columns and glossy magazines. Not only was he a highly eligible bachelor, but his fast turnover of stunningly beautiful, glamorous girlfriends seemed guaranteed to keep him in the headlines for some time to come.

Which meant that if Dominic FitzCharles, fourteenth Earl of Tenterden, hadn’t yet found the right girl...it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying!

It was difficult for one man to judge another, of course. However, there was absolutely no doubt that, while Dominic might not be outstandingly handsome, women had always seemed to find his friend amazingly attractive.

With his thick, wavy dark hair, a slightly swarthy complexion, high cheekbones and Roman nose—together with a distinctly predatory glint in the heavy-lidded smokygrey eyes set beneath dark, quizzical eyebrows—Dominic had a disturbingly hawk-like, dangerous air about him. On top of which, since he was not only a peer of the realm but also extremely wealthy, and lived in a romantic old castle, it was no wonder that he appeared almost irresistible to the opposite sex!

Mark’s slightly envious thoughts were interrupted as his friend, who’d left his side for a moment, returned with a puzzled frown in his face.

‘That’s odd,’ Dominic murmured. ‘I could have sworn... I thought I’d caught a glimpse of someone who seemed strangely familiar—although I can’t recall where or when we might have met. But...’ he shrugged his broad shoulders ‘...she now seems to have disappeared into thin air.’

‘Oh, really? So after all your efforts to keep the groom as sober as a judge maybe it was the best man who drank too much last night?’ Mark teased.

‘You’re probably right,’ Dominic agreed with a slightly embarrassed, wry shrug of his shoulders as they entered the church and began walking slowly down the brightly lit nave towards their seats in the front pew, on the right-hand side of the aisle.

Unfortunately, Olivia Johnson was only too well aware of the identity of the tall, dark and attractive best man.

Earlier, while standing within the church porch, checking that the ushers had ample supplies of the Order of Service sheets, her eyes had slowly and inexorably been drawn towards the tall, broad-shouldered figure accompanying a shorter man as they’d mounted the church steps towards her.

I don’t believe it! What on earth is he doing here? she’d asked herself incredulously, the blood draining from her face at the sight of the arrogant, hawk-like features of Dominic FitzCharles.

Feeling suddenly faint, as though she’d been hit by a violent blow to the solar plexus, Olivia had instinctively staggered back into a dark, shadowy far corner of the porch, desperately trying to pull herself together.

And then, as she’d heard the ushers outside on the steps calling out greetings to the two men, she’d realised that she’d just witnessed the arrival of the groom and his best man. Which had to mean that by some utterly disastrous, malign twist of fate it must be Dominic who’d been chosen to replace Mark Ryland’s brother.

A moment later, suddenly overcome by panic as she’d seen him moving determinedly through the crowd of ushers towards her, Olivia had taken to her heels. Quickly slipping through the half-open heavy oak door, she’d swiftly disappeared from sight inside the main body of the church.

Breathless and trembling with shock, her legs feeling as though they were made of cotton wool, Olivia had hurriedly made her way to a small side chapel, hidden from sight on the far side of the nave. Sinking weakly down onto a pew, and staring blindly at the flickering candles on the altar, she’d frantically tried to calm down and work out what she was going to do about this potentially disastrous situation.

Fortunately, it hadn’t been very long before some small measure of common sense had come to her aid, and she’d gradually begun pulling herself together.

So...OK...it had been a shock, she told herself now firmly. But running away from a situation—however difficult-was obviously a very childish response, and certainly wasn’t going to solve anything.

Although they now moved in quite different circles, and no longer had any friends in common, she really ought to have guessed that she was bound to meet Dominic again sooner or later. In fact, it had been downright stupid of her not to have already worked out what she was going to say, or do, if and when they bumped into one another. And why she hadn’t prepared herself for just such an eventuality long before now, she had absolutely no idea.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true, of course. Because no one with any sense would want to spend too much time thinking about unhappy episodes in their past. Not when they could hardly bear to recall the really awful, crippling shame of having once made such an almighty fool of themselves.

Besides, it must be at least ten years since that dreadfully embarrassing, quite horrendous episode involving herself and Dominic. Ten years in which Olivia knew that she’d changed beyond all recognition. Thankfully, she no longer bore any resemblance to that highly emotional eighteen-year-old, her head filled to the brim with romantic fantasies and madly in love with the wild, Byronic hero of her dreams.

Although, to be fair, she hadn’t been the only silly, immature young girl overwhelmed by Dominic’s devastating charm and overwhelming sex appeal. Or attracted, like a moth to a flame, by the highly glamorous, almost uncanny resemblance he bore to his ancestor—that famous seducer of beautiful women-King Charles II.

What an idiot she’d been! Olivia told herself, shaking her head at her own youthful folly. Anyone with even half an ounce of sense would have known that it would all end in tears. As indeed it had, she thought grimly, slowly rising to her feet and brushing the dust from her black velvet suit.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear her mind of the unhappy memories of the past. Quite apart from anything else, she couldn’t afford to stay hidden away here, feeling sorry for herself. In fact, it was absolutely imperative that she got back to work as soon as possible.

As the owner and sole proprietor of Society Weddings—providing a service for those wishing to place the organisation of their wedding in safe, professional hands—Olivia knew that much of her success was the result of sheer hard work and careful planning. And she had quite enough to cope with in making sure that Sarah Turnbull’s marriage proved to be the occasion of her dreams without having to worry about Dominic FitzCharles.

Of course, if she’d known that it was he whom Mark Ryland would choose as his best man when the groom’s younger brother had been so unexpectedly taken ill with appendicitis, she might have been better prepared. But then, as she knew so well, life had a way of throwing rotten tomatoes in your way when you least expected it, and she was just going to have to cope with the situation as best she could.

Unfortunately, despite giving herself such really excellent advice, there seemed nothing Olivia could do to control the slightly sick feelings of nervous apprehension settling like a hard lump of concrete in her stomach.

Taking a deep breath, and fully determined to concentrate on her job, Olivia walked slowly out of the small side chapel into the main body of the church.

Please ... please give Dominic FitzCharles a really bad case of amnesia! she prayed fervently, hoping against hope that a benevolent God would somehow save her from what she could only think of as a hideously embarrassing situation.

‘I’m not sure that getting here so early was all that great an idea,’ Mark said, shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden pew and desperately wishing that he could get his hands on a stiff drink.

‘It’s just prewedding nerves,’ Dominic drawled, smiling at the nervous, worried expression on the other man’s pale face.

‘It’s all right for you!’ Mark muttered grimly, ashamed to find himself feeling quite so tense. ‘You may be in no hurry to get married, but I hope that I’m around to have a good laugh if and when some clever woman does manage to drag you to the altar.’

‘Hey—relax!’ Dominic murmured, gazing at his friend with concern. ‘Sarah’s a wonderful girl, and I know that the two of you are going to be very happy. So just hang in there, OK?’

Mark nodded. ‘Yeah...sorry about losing my cool like that. It’s just...I don’t know...’ He gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

‘It won’t be long now,’ Dominic told him comfortingly. ‘By the way...’ he added, attempting to distract his friend by turning his thoughts in another direction. ‘Because of your brother’s totally unexpected illness we haven’t had time to discuss all the normal duties of a best man. So, what do you want me to do about paying the vicar? I’ve brought some money with me, just in case it might be necessary, and...’

‘Oh, there’s no need to worry,’ Mark told him. ‘Sarah’s found this woman who’s apparently taking care of all those boring, nitty-gritty details. In fact, as far as I can make out, she’s handling just about everything.’

Dominic raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow. ‘Everything? ’

Mark nodded. ‘According to Sarah, this woman has organised the whole bang-shoot. And, while it might be costing her father an arm and a leg, Sarah reckons it’s worth every penny. If only for the fact that she’s now having the sort of wedding she wants—and not something dreamed up by her mother.’

‘That sounds like a damn good idea,’ Dominic agreed as the sound of soft organ music and the increasing amount of noise and bustle indicated that the first guests were beginning to enter the church. ‘Ah-ha...I knew I hadn’t been mistaken!’

‘Hmm...?’

Dominic nodded to the other side of the church, to where a girl was climbing up onto a pew, clearly with the aim of making a slight adjustment to a flower arrangement which had been placed on a high windowsill.

‘That’s the girl I saw earlier in the porch—when we first arrived. And I’m still quite certain that I’ve seen her somewhere before. But I can’t recall exactly when or where...’ he muttered, his dark brows drawn together in a distracted frown.

‘Sorry—I haven’t a clue who she is.’ Mark gave a slight shrug. ‘Although I must say,’ he added, viewing the tight skirt of the girl’s black velvet suit, momentarily riding up to reveal long, slim legs clothed in sheer black stockings, ‘she’s got a great pair of very sexy legs!’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Dominic drawled with amusement. ‘But I don’t think this is exactly the right moment to be saying so, do you? Not when you’re supposed to be getting married in a few minutes’ time!’

Mark grinned. However, before he could reply, his attention was claimed by the arrival of his parents, who were being shown to their seats in the pew directly behind him.

While Lady Ryland gave her son a quick kiss, and Lord Ryland shook his hand, gruffly wishing him ‘the very best of luck, my boy’, Dominic found himself becoming increasingly irritated at not being able to recollect precisely where he’d seen the tall, slim girl.

Moreover, if it didn’t seem so utterly ridiculous, he might think that she was deliberately avoiding looking in his direction. In fact, despite not being able to catch more than a brief glimpse of a pale complexion and tawny-gold hair hidden beneath her wide-brimmed, black velvet hat, she still appeared disturbingly familiar—even while keeping her back firmly turned towards him.

With the arrival of Mrs Turnbull and the small bridesmaids, quickly followed by that of the bride and her father at the church door, Olivia found herself far too busy to spend any more time worrying about Dominic.

‘You look absolutely wonderful!’ she told Sarah with a beaming smile, before quickly reassuring the other girl that her groom had arrived, and everything was totally under control. ‘So just relax—and enjoy your wedding.’

‘Yes, I know that I will...thanks to you!’ Sarah said with heartfelt gratitude as Olivia carefully adjusted the cowl hood of the bride’s long ivory velvet cloak, lined in deep crimson satin, which flowed down to the ground and behind her in a curved train.

‘In fact, without your help, I’d be standing here dressed like a fairy on the top of a Christmas tree!’ Sarah added with a ripple of laughter, and the two girls grinned at one another as they recalled the many battles they’d had with Mrs Turnbull.

‘I want my daughter to look like a proper bride,’ that formidable lady had announced in a hard, no-nonsense tone of voice on being first introduced to Olivia, some months ago. ‘Sarah might be marrying a lord’s son—but I’m not having any of his family thinking we don’t know what’s what! Not when my husband’s got more loose change in his pocket than they’ve got in the whole of their bank account,’ she’d added grimly.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Olivia had murmured soothingly, well able to understand the older woman’s determination not to be pushed around or over-awed by the prospect of her daughter marrying into the aristocracy. In fact, Mark’s parents, Lord and Lady Ryland, were perfectly nice, ordinary people, distinctly nonsnobbish, and very happy with their son’s choice of bride.

It had, however, taken a great deal of time and trouble on Olivia’s part to convince Mrs Turnbull that the slim, petite figure of her pretty darkhaired daughter would definitely not be seen to best advantage in the dress on which her mother had set her heart.

In fact, Olivia thought, it would have been downright cruel to force anyone to wear such a garment. With its heavily embroidered top, totally smothered in pearls and rhinestones, over a vast crinoline skirt composed of tier upon tier of heavy, brilliant white lace flounces, dotted with bows and posies of flowers—and yet more pearls and rhinestones—it had been a complete nightmare!

‘I’ll look dreadful—like some huge snowball!’ Sarah had wailed in despair. ‘Please help me, Olivia. You must try and make my mother see that I’m far too short to wear something like that And that hard, bright white is absolutely the wrong colour for my skin.’

Eventually Olivia had managed to persuade Mrs Turnbull that ‘less is more’—and to concentrate on elegance rather than magnificence. And the older woman had eventually agreed that maybe Sarah and Olivia’s choice of wedding gown wasn’t so bad, after all.

And now, as she gazed at the bride in her sophisticated, fluid sheath of pale ivory satin, a simple diamond hairband holding back her long black hair beneath the hood of her velvet cloak, Olivia realised that, despite the battles with Mrs Turnbull, it had all been worthwhile. Sarah looked not only stunningly beautiful, but also extremely elegant and thoroughly soignée.

‘It was a great idea of yours to have the twins as my bridesmaids,’ Sarah murmured, the battles she’d had with her mother all forgotten now as, wearing exactly the outfit she’d always wanted, she watched Olivia handing the tiny posies of red and pale cream roses to the two small girls.

‘Don’t they look adorable, Dad?’ she asked her father as she smiled happily down at the dark-haired, five-year-old twin daughters of Mark’s much older sister. Dressed in simple ivory velvet dresses, with wide crimson satin sashes tied at the back in a large bow, they looked enchanting.

‘Aye, they do, lass,’ Robert Turnbull agreed, nervously straightening his tie and wishing himself miles away.

Not that he didn’t love his only daughter, he told himself firmly. But he was a plain-speaking Yorkshireman, and never happier than when running his large textile business. Although he got on right well with Mark’s father, who seemed a sensible enough man, the sooner he could get back up North the happier he’d be.

‘Hey—have you had a chance to get a good look at Mark’s best man?’ Sarah asked Olivia as the other girl bent down to straighten one of the little bridesmaid’s ivory-coloured tights.

‘Er...yes...’ Olivia muttered, inwardly cursing the flush she could feel rising over her pale cheeks as she tried to concentrate on retying the bow of the little girl’s red ballet shoes.

‘Is he drop-dead gorgeous—or what?’ Sarah giggled. ‘At least half of the female guests invited to the wedding seem to be his old girlfriends, while the other half are intending to seriously chat him up at the reception!’ she added with a grin, before nervously taking her father’s arm as the organ began thumping out the first, loud chords of the ‘Wedding March’.

Waiting until the bride and her retinue had begun walking slowly up the aisle, Olivia slipped into a seat at the back of the church.

But, despite the long length of the nave between them, she was still acutely aware of the broad-shouldered, dark figure of Dominic FitzCharles, standing beside the groom as the vicar began the wedding service, joining Sarah and Mark together in holy matrimony.

Despite the many other large, prestigious London hotels which were often chosen for wedding receptions, Claridge’s Hotel was far and away Olivia’s favourite venue. Together with its wonderful Art Deco, nineteen-thirties’ style of decoration, the hotel’s vast experience in handling functions—from simple dinner parties to grand balls attended by English royalty and the few remaining crowned heads of Europe—meant that she could safely leave all arrangements in the capable hands of the hotel’s staff.

And she’d been quite right. It was now an hour since the bride and groom had arrived at the hotel following their marriage, and everything seemed to be going with a swing.

The large reception room looked magnificent. The crystal chandeliers were casting a sparkling glow over the smartly dressed guests; the many huge flower arrangements filled the air with a delicious perfume; and an army of waiters were making sure that the champagne was flowing like water. All perfect ingredients for a great party!

However, as she now stood in a far corner of the large reception room, quickly glancing down at her watch as the happy couple circulated amongst their guests, Olivia knew that there were still some hours to go before she could relax.

With the groom only returning to Britain just a few days before his marriage, it hadn’t been the easiest of weddings to arrange. Especially as Sarah had had some firm ideas about the reception.

‘I want to have some sort of dinner-dance,’ she’d said, before adding with a frown, ‘But what do we do with the all those elderly relatives and friends of my parents? They’re going to simply hate the idea of dancing, since most of them will just want to sit around, catching up on the family gossip.’

However, after carefully going through the proposed list of guests, and noting that many of Sarah and Mark’s friends worked in the City of London, Olivia had put forward a suggestion that the wedding should take place in one of the ancient City churches on a late Friday afternoon.

‘I know it’s slightly unusual,’ she’d told Mrs Turnbull and her daughter. ‘But it will make it a lot easier for busy men and women to attend the wedding at the end of a working week before going on to a reception in a hotel such as Claridge’s. And if you start with a champagne reception—including the usual speeches and cutting the wedding cake—those who wish to do so can then leave, with the younger guests staying on to enjoy a buffet dinner and dance.’

‘That’s a brilliant idea!’ Sarah had exclaimed. And even Mrs Turnbull had grudgingly agreed that it did seem to cater for just about all their guests.

However, now, despite being busily engaged in making sure that the reception was proceeding smoothly, Olivia was only too well aware that she still had a major problem on her hands.

Right from the moment he’d arrived at the hotel with the bride and groom, she’d been acutely aware that Dominic FitzCharles—clearly unused to being thwarted in any way—was still determined to find an answer to the puzzle which had been troubling him since his arrival at the church.

The damn man’s as stubborn as a mule, Olivia had told herself grimly, doing her best to ignore the granite-hard, clear grey eyes regarding her intently as she’d moved about the room, making sure that the influx of guests were being properly looked after. Luckily, Dominic had been forced to stand in the receiving line, together with Sarah and Mark and their parents—so she’d been quite safe for a while.

However, after all the guests had arrived, and Dominic had at last been able to leave the receiving line, Olivia had found herself beginning to panic. Maybe she was just being paranoid, but it had seemed that he was deliberately ‘stalking’ her through the crowded throng of guests, smoothly greeting his friends and acquaintances while all the time firmly keeping her tall, slim figure in view.

He’d almost caught up with her as she’d been checking over the timing of the speeches with the Toastmaster, hired for the occasion. Luckily, she’d managed to quickly make her escape by hurriedly taking refuge in the ladies’ powder room.

Suddenly feeling exhausted by the stress and strain engendered by Dominic’s totally unexpected appearance as Mark Ryland’s best man, she’d sunk down onto a padded stool, removing her wide-brimmed black hat and gazing helplessly at herself in the mirror.

‘Come on! For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together—and get a grip on the situation!’ she’d muttered grimly under her breath, grimacing at the sight of her pale cheeks and the tense, strained lines around the wide green eyes staring back at her, cloudy with fear and apprehension.

While she couldn’t, of course, have stayed hidden in the powder room for very long, it had at least given her the opportunity to do something about her hair. And, there was no doubt, after vigorously brushing her long hair before once again winding it into a neat coil at the back of her head, that she had felt a whole lot better.

Leaving her large hat in the care of the cloakroom lady, and confident that she was once again maintaining her normal ‘strictly business’ appearance, she’d cautiously made her way back to the reception.

Now, following her signal, the Toastmaster gathered together the chief members of the wedding party at the far end of the room, before calling for silence to enable an elderly relative of the bride to propose the health of the happy couple.

So used to wedding speeches—which could occasionally go on for an inordinate length of time!—Olivia wasn’t really listening to what was being said at the far end of the room. Until, to her complete astonishment, she caught the sound of her own name.

Quickly jerking to attention, she gazed over the heads of the crowd towards where, most unusually, she saw that the bride had seized hold of the microphone.

‘...and we’re so happy to see you all here today.’ Sarah gave the guests a broad grin. ‘I’ve already thanked my parents, and everyone else connected with our marriage, but I do want everyone to know that without the help of Olivia Johnson and her firm Society Weddings, which took all the strain out of what could have been a tense time before our wedding, Mark and I might well have run off on our own and eloped to Gretna Green!’

Oh, Lord! It looks as if Sarah has really hit the champagne bottle, more than somewhat! was the first thought to enter Olivia’s head, as a ripple of laughter and applause rang around the room.

And then, as she saw Dominic give a quick snap of his fingers—the gesture accompanied by an expression of triumph and satisfaction flickering briefly across his handsome face—Olivia realised that any hope of her remaining anonymous as far as Dominic was concerned was now a complete waste of time. A fact emphasised as, in his role of best man, he stepped forward to make the final speech of the day, before once more proposing the health of the bride and groom.

It was an accomplished, smooth performance. Although Olivia could have done without the heavily cynical, distinct emphasis in his voice when welcoming so many ‘old friends’ to the wedding.

However, it looked as though the rotten man must be able to move with the speed of light. Because, only a moment or two after the bride and groom had cut the cake, Olivia suddenly became aware that the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Dominic FitzCharles was now standing by her side.

‘Well, well, how very nice to see you again, Olivia. And after all these years!’ he drawled coolly, smiling sardonically down at the pale-faced, slim figure of the girl who’d been so clearly avoiding him for some hours.