Читать книгу The Perfect Groom - Ruth Scofield - Страница 8

Ivy hated weddings. She despised bridesmaids dresses. She still abhorred all ten attendant gowns already stuffed in the back of her closet, used once, never appropriate for any other occasion. Never mind the two once-in-a-dream white bridal gowns, unused, forlorn, and stored in plastic covers, hidden away in disappointment and disgust.

She especially detested the bright lime-green silk that clung too tightly to her generous curves at this very moment, but she’d bitten her tongue over the choice. After all, she’d given her word to support the bride, her best friend Kelly, and Kelly’s sister wanted this style, this color.

“Ivy Suzanne York, quit pulling at your dress,” Aunt Arletta said, scarcely lowering her voice as she steered her from behind the huge oak where Ivy had tried to hide. “You’re not a child, you know.”

Ivy swallowed a snappy response, eyeing the man her aunt had tugged along a few minutes ago in her wake.

No, Ivy hadn’t been a child for a long time. At twenty-seven, college educated, with ten solid years of retail experience behind her, and now owner of her own shop, Ivy considered herself well and truly grown. A responsible person. With nothing to prove to anyone. With a reasonable five-year plan for her life. Never mind that she was more than two years behind her schedule to be married by age twenty-five. But Aunt Arletta, dear as she was, sometimes still treated her as if she couldn’t wipe her own nose.

“Ivy, this is Noah Thornton. He has a true artistic eye, don’t you think?” The older woman swept her hand wide, indicating the vast grounds surrounding Reeves House, the lovely old stone mansion the bride’s parents had rented for the wedding. Ivy hoped to explore more of the grounds later during the reception. Right now, she resented having her few minutes of respite from all the gushy wedding talk stolen by another of her aunt’s antics.

It didn’t help her mood any when the dark-eyed man standing two feet in front of her smirked as he nodded a greeting. Glints of amusement sparked from his warm brown eyes as his gaze swept down her figure before returning to her face.

“Noah, this is my niece, Ivy. She has the shop I told you about, ‘Wall’s Intrigue’ in Brookside. Seems to me you two have a lot in common. You in landscaping and she in interior design.” Aunt Arletta, dressed in a burnt orange fall suit that complemented her snowy hair, grasped Ivy’s wrist again just as she tried to ease backward. “Noah’s unmarried, Ivy, and I’m sure he’s looking for just the right young woman to fill his life. Proverbs says, ‘A man who finds a wife—’”

“Aunt Arletta!”

Noah’s lips twitched into a full grin, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin, as though he knew Ivy wanted to melt into the shrubbery.

She took in his soiled jeans, damp at the knees, and his heavy work boots. A streak of dirt clung to his forehead, evidence of a swiping arm, no doubt. Behind him, a wheelbarrow full of last-minute bush trimmings sat on the edge of the brick garden terrace. They were less than an hour from the appointed ceremony time; why was a gardener even still on the grounds?

He held a big clay pot of golden mums, the multipetaled blossoms splashing bright color against his denim work shirt. His long fingers showed scabbed knuckles, and Ivy briefly wondered what he’d done to injure his hand.

“But Ivy,” Aunt Arletta continued, irrepressible, “Proverbs says, ‘A man who finds a wife—’”

“Yes, I know what Proverbs says,” Ivy interrupted. She felt her cheeks grow warm with color and pressed her lips together, holding her irritation in check at Aunt Arletta’s usual behavior. Introducing her to strange men who her aunt thought suitable husband material was something Ivy’d come to expect. But really! A gardener?

Aunt Arletta knew very well she had her sights set higher. She wanted to meet an upwardly mobile man. Someone who wore expensive suits and silk ties to work and knew the corporate world—or someone solidly entrenched in a good law firm or in line for a hospital chief-of-staff position. A man with a good future.

Pointedly glancing at her watch, she said, “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr., um, Noah, but I’ve got to get back to the bride. I just ducked out to have a breath of air.”

She glanced around at the banks of autumn flowers and foliage enhancing the walks and benches and terrace. The garden reflected a great deal of work and artistic eye for color and design. “It all looks lovely, but, er, shouldn’t you be finished by now?”

“Just going.” His voice sounded like deep chocolate icing on a velvet cake. Rich and delicious, it startled her into glancing at him again. She felt her mouth droop in blinking anticipation when he said, “I’ll be out of here in two minutes. Nice to meet you, Ivy.”

He shifted his smile to her aunt, softening his goodbye to her, and ignored Ivy. Nodding almost curtly, she swung on her heel and headed back to the upstairs bedroom set aside as the bride’s dressing room.

“I suppose you’ll have to find another time to talk to Ivy, Noah,” she heard her aunt say as she walked away. Then, half-apologetically, “Weddings make her a bit touchy. And you know, Proverbs says a prudent man overlooks an insult.”

“And only a fool shows his annoyance at once,” he replied.

Ivy gritted her teeth. Another Proverb, her aunt’s favorite source of quotations. Why Aunt Arletta thought she needed to impart that information about her hating weddings flummoxed her. It wasn’t a stranger’s business to know. It was bad enough for Kelly to watch her like a mother hen whose troublesome chick might run amok, much less having complete strangers expecting her to do something inappropriate. She had every intention of behaving perfectly today. She’d given Kelly her promise.

Still, she paused at the door to take three deep breaths before returning to the bridal party—Kelly, her sister Kathy, and the three other twittering bridesmaids, all wearing identical dresses to her own. She felt like a scoop of lime sherbet. Why couldn’t Kathy have gone for the hunter green, like most other autumn weddings sported?

She hoped by this time all the talk between them of whose turn it was next to become a bride had passed. Ivy sighed, allowing herself one moment of defeat before putting on her most dazzling smile. It seemed she would be the last of her high school chums to walk down the isle when she’d been the one who talked most, all her life, of getting married. Thank goodness, Kelly was the only one of the wedding party who knew she’d almost made it to the church twice. Three times, if anyone counted that stupid secret high school engagement, thankfully aborted before the planned elopement took place. She couldn’t bear having everyone stare at her in pity, with the unspoken words three strikes and you’re out hovering in their minds.

Ivy hadn’t been lucky at actually becoming a bride.

Now she didn’t allow her hopes to jump at every man who might be a likely candidate, and kept her past disappointments locked away in the privacy of her memory bank. But in her heart of hearts she still wished for a husband and a home of her own.

Sudden laughter bubbled up from Ivy’s middle; it was a good thing she kept that particular yearning well hidden these days. With Aunt Arletta’s propensity for latching onto strange men, she daren’t open her mouth. A gardener, for Pete’s sake?

Besides, lately she’d decided her life was full enough with the shop, Aunt Arletta and church activities. She helped out in the toddler nursery from time to time, which gave her babies to hug, a momentary feeling of motherhood. A stopgap, to be sure—but who had time for anything else, anyway?

Feeling more serene, Ivy swung through the door and immediately stopped to catch her breath. Fitted with floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall mirrors on four sides, the room reflected Kelly’s tall, regal figure again and again all around her, stunning in an elegant gown of white lace and satin, trimmed in seed pearls.

“Oh, Kelly,” she murmured in awe, instantly scrapping any lingering envy or misplaced jealousy she’d brought into the day. How could she be so petty in light of her friend’s happiness? “You’d make the perfect bride to grace any of the brides’ magazine covers.”

“Thank you, Ivy.” Kelly smiled, tremulous with emotion.

Through a connecting door into the next room, the other girls flitted about with lively chatter as they made last-minute checks to their hair and dresses. Strains of a single flute drifted up from the distant first-floor ballroom where the ceremony would take place, shortly joined by violins and a piano.

“Oh, the music has started,” Kelly said, her hand fluttering to her chest, a trait unusual for her. “Is it time?”

“Yes,” Ivy answered with calm fondness. “Yes it is, hon. And I can’t wait ‘til Scott gets his first glimpse of you.”

Almost two hours later, Ivy finally slipped away from the wedding reception lineup. Her mouth was dryer than a cotton ball and the happy bride no longer needed her. She looked around for the punch table. It stood ten people deep and a multitude of guests stacked the buffet lines; Aunt Arletta moved in one of the lines, busily talking with another woman her own age.

Another half hour would pass before Ivy was required again. She turned away. All she wanted was water; she wondered where she might find the kitchen.

Moving out of the huge ballroom and through the center hall, Ivy followed a waitress weaving her way toward the back of the house into a lesser hall. Ivy made a quick sidestep to avoid a food trolley rolling out from the kitchen, causing her to bounce slightly against the doorjamb opposite. Another trolley followed. She edged back more firmly, and fell through.

“Whoa, there,” murmured a bass voice behind her. One that sounded like rich fudge icing. A strong hand touched her shoulder, helping her to right herself. She glanced over her shoulder into chocolate brown eyes. Only this time they held no amusement. “Did you get lost?”

“Oh, um,” she said, noticing the serious set of his mouth. He’d bathed and changed clothes, and his hair was still damp. “Noah something or other, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Noah.”

“No, not really lost,” she murmured, swinging about to glance at the second man in the room. Attractive, with deep blue eyes under a sunny swag of hair, he smiled a welcome. He wore light-brown casual trousers with a matching open-neck silk shirt. He wasn’t one of the guests; he must have something to do with the house or catering staff. She smiled in return. “I was looking for a glass of water and thought I’d find the kitchen. Sorry if I’ve intruded.”

“No bother,” he answered, snapping the door firmly closed before strolling to a tea trolley. Ice tinkled in the glass pitcher as he poured water into a tall glass. His smile grew inviting, a slight lifting of his lips giving his cheeks attractive dimples. “Here, have some from our tray. You might be knocked down out there. The service hallway is quite busy just now.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.” She accepted the glass and sipped, casting a glance at the two men from beneath lowered lashes. From Noah, a quiet tension hung in the air, a feeling of something left unfinished. His hands, tightly fisted, were stuffed in his pockets.

She took in her surroundings. A library office, she thought, with a huge old library table desk of gleaming oak taking pride of place in front of a wall of books. Nearby a computer and stand looked more out of place than the wooden file cabinets in the corner, but a navy-blue sofa and matching chair brought the room back to a picture perfect library. On the whole the room was charming—but clearly a private one.

She had interrupted them.

Turning, she gazed hopefully at the three large windows that looked out on a terrace, but saw no door. Outside, a number of guests enjoyed the fine October weather. Deciding she needed to excuse herself as quickly as possible, she said, “Is there another way out of here? I’d just as soon avoid the heavy tide out there.”

“Sorry, no,” the blond man murmured. “But there’s no need to hurry off. I’m Gerald Reeves, by the way.” He gestured her toward the overstuffed chair. “Sit here a bit and catch your breath. The hallway should clear out soon. Unless the bride is looking for you?”

Noah remained silent, looking out the bank of windows.

“No, not at the moment,” she answered, wondering what captured the gardener’s attention outside, what caused his jaw to tense hard as granite.

She sat cautiously on the chair edge near the tea trolley, and switched her gaze toward the other man. “Reeves? Then this is your family home? I didn’t realize anyone still maintained a residence here. And I have blundered into your private rooms. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not an earth-shattering mix-up,” Gerald reassured. “Could happen to anyone. It might put your mind more at ease to say we’re friends.” He raised a brow and let a slow smile creep across his face. “But I’d need to know your name.”

“How remiss of me,” she said with a chuckle, offering her hand to shake. “Ivy York, bridesmaid.”

“Yes, so I see.” He folded her hand in his for a proper moment before letting it go. “Friend or family?”

“A close friend.”

Noah turned abruptly, and stalked toward the door. “Gotta get going. Nice to meet you again, Ivy. I’ll have a couple of men clean up the garden tomorrow morning, Gerry.”

Gerald’s tone sharpened. “What about the lower grounds, Noah?”

At the door to the hall, Noah turned, his hand on the knob. “I’ll, uh, be back in a couple of days to clean out the fish pond and winterize it. And I’ll arrange for the tree trimmers to prune that eastern slope. The other matter…”

“Will take care of itself in due time,” Gerald finished for him, leaning back lazily on the sofa. He smiled at Ivy, dismissing Noah.

“No doubt,” Noah agreed with a note of sarcasm as he closed the door behind him.

Feeling even more like an interloper, Ivy sipped her water and allowed her gaze to roam the room again, taking in details she’d overlooked the first time. A sheaf of paperwork lay scattered across the desk and a stack of old wooden picture frames leaned against the desk leg. Even from yards away she knew they needed repair. Rising, she bent to examine them.

“These are beautiful,” she murmured, looking at the worn gold leaf along the raised edges on the largest. “Eighteen-nineties to…maybe early twenties, aren’t they?”

“Yes, that’s right. How did you know?”

“It’s my business to know,” she said, glancing up. His gaze held interested surprise. “I deal with good framers, good suppliers. Um, are you looking for someone to repair these?”

“Actually, I hadn’t yet thought about them much.” He rose to stand nearby and stare at the frames. “I could always sell them, I suppose. Do you know of someone who specializes in repairing old wood?”

“Yes. Here,” she grabbed a ballpoint from a holder and scribbled on a Post-it pad. “I’ll give you his name. I think he can do a good job for you. Can’t think of his phone number off the top of my head, but if you want to call my shop Monday, I can give it to you.”

“You own a shop, eh? What kind?”

“An interior design store, ‘Wall’s Intrigue’, in Brookside.” She set her glass on the tea trolley, and smiled. “Thanks again, Mr. Reeves, for the water. But I really have to go back to the bride now, or they’ll be sending out the bloodhounds in search for me.”

She slipped out into the almost empty service hall and from there into the main foyer, where the bride’s sister caught up with her.

“There you are, Ivy,” Kathy said, annoyed. “Where have you been? We’re wanted in the gazebo for pictures.”

“All right, I’m coming.”

Kathy didn’t wait. She sailed forward through the milling crowd without looking back.

Following Kathy out a side door, Ivy headed across the lawn toward the white-columned structure set among maples, red oaks, dogwoods and redbud trees in autumn splendor. She paused to pull in a deep breath, letting the beauty flow through her; God really was the best decorator ever, she mused. Nothing could compare with the sight before her.

One of the groomsmen waved her to hurry. Hit with sudden exhilaration, Ivy picked up her skirt and sprinted down the gentle slope, her skirt billowing behind. A deep masculine laughter trailed her. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering at its source.

Noah Thornton. He stood in the half-shadowed doorway of a rear porch watching her. She couldn’t imagine what about her amused him so, but she wouldn’t let it bother her. Not a bit. After today, it was unlikely she’d ever see him again.

She ran faster. He laughed harder.

She refused to give him another glance.