Kate Kingsbury - Wedding Rows

“You’re looking very serious,” Earl murmured. “Was it something I said?”

She managed a light laugh. “Heavens, no. It’s just that I’ve had rather an exhausting day.” She filled him in on the events of the past few hours.

“I was getting a little worried about you,” he said, when she was finished. “Violet didn’t know you’d gone out. She invited me to wait in here for you, but I could tell she was worried, too.” His gaze probed her face. “So the kidnappers disappeared?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. I would have liked to see them punished for what they did to Nellie and Florrie, and then there’s that Jeep they destroyed on the beach. We still don’t know what damage they did at the base.”

“I’ll probably find out tomorrow,” Earl said, sounding grim. “What about the murder case? How’s that coming?”

Elizabeth sighed. “It’s complicated. False leads, mixed signals, not much evidence to go on… I’m really no closer than I was at the beginning.”

“I guess the constables aren’t much help, either.”

“Your guess is right. I do have one more person I want to talk to tomorrow. Other than that, I really don’t know what to think.”

“Well, I really don’t want to waste my one night at home talking about murder and other unpleasant things.” He smiled at her so sweetly her heart ached. “Tell me what you were like when you were little.”

“Precocious.”

He laughed. “I figured that.” He took a sip of his Scotch and put it down. “No, really. Tell me. I want to know.”

“I’ll tell if you tell me what you were like as a little boy.”

His grin widened. “You’ve got a deal.”

She settled back to enjoy what she knew was going to be a fascinating conversation. If only she could go on like this forever-sitting so close to him, listening to his deep voice, getting to know him, watching the laughter light up his blue eyes, and feeling as if she were seventeen once more and so madly, madly in love.

It was late when she finally said good night to him. She could tell he wanted to kiss her. She had never wanted anything more in her life, but she knew once they gave in to the temptation, others would follow. That path was too dangerous; it was still too soon.

She lay awake for a long time thinking about him and their nebulous future. She’d tried to avoid as much as possible thinking about what would happen to them when the war eventually ended. He would be sent back to America, of course.

Would he ask her to go back with him? Could she go if he did? Those two questions were unanswerable. She could only hold on to what they had now, watching the days slip away, waiting for his divorce to become final.

What if the war ended before that happened? What if he had to go back a married man? Would they ever be free to love as she so desperately wanted? Was she being a fool clinging to protocol, wasting what little time she could have with him with her vague fears of further besmirching her tremulous reputation?

Perhaps, but her values and heritage were impossible to ignore. She flung herself over onto her side and buried her face in the pillow. She had to stop tormenting herself with her doubts. Her emotions were at war with her morals, and there wasn’t much she could do about it. Sooner or later she would have to face the inevitable, and one or the other would win. It was only a matter of time.

She could either abandon her legacy and all it stood for to follow the man she loved halfway across the world, or wallow in regrets for what she had missed for the rest of her life. Only she could make that decision. When the time was right. Until then, all she could do was pray that whatever she decided, she would choose the right path.

For both of them.

Earl had already left when Elizabeth went down to the kitchen the next morning. Violet told her he had stopped in to say good-bye, and that he hadn’t wanted to wake her.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She always avoided actually saying good-bye to him, yet she bitterly resented losing the chance to see him, if only for a minute or two. She ate her breakfast in silence, trying to ignore her housekeeper’s attempts to find out where she’d gone the night before.

Martin, as usual, was hidden behind the newspaper, making little tsking noises whenever he saw something that upset him.

Violet’s patience finally gave out as Elizabeth was finishing her second cup of tea. “I don’t know why we have to have so many secrets in this house,” she muttered. “All I ask is that you let me know when you’re leaving, Lizzie, so I don’t have to worry about you. Remember how you worried about me when you didn’t know where I was.”

“If I’d told you where I was going,” Elizabeth said mildly, “you’d have worried even more.”

Violet spun around to stare at her. “I knew it! You went after that murderer, didn’t you.”

The newspaper rattled as Martin lowered it. “Murderer? What murderer? Don’t tell me someone else has been killed.”

“It’s the same one, you nitwit,” Violet snapped. “The man they found in the cellar at the wedding.”

“What was he doing in the cellar in the first place, that’s what I want to know.” He peered at Elizabeth over the top of his glasses. “They don’t have any wine down there, you know.”

“How’d you know that?” Violet demanded. “You’ve never been down there. How’d you know what they have or don’t have?”

“Someone told me.” Martin lifted the newspaper again and disappeared behind it.

Elizabeth and Violet exchanged glances. “Who told you that, Martin?” Elizabeth inquired.

“I don’t know, madam. Some young fellow in the kitchen. I didn’t catch his name.”

“Why did he tell you there was no wine in the cellar?”

Martin lowered the newspaper again. “Because I asked him if there was any down there, madam. I don’t like champagne. Nasty stuff. The bubbles fly up my nose and make my eyes water. Most unbecoming and quite embarrassing.”

“They had scrumpy, too,” Violet reminded him.

Martin gave her a withering look. “I don’t care to imbibe an obnoxious liquid that has been produced by fermenting sour apples.”

“Where do you think wine comes from then?” Violet demanded.

“Wine is made from grapes, as any fool should know.”

“Well, then.”

Martin sniffed. “Grapes are far superior to apples.”

“They’re still fermented fruit, aren’t they? It’s just a different color, that’s all.”

Martin sat in silence for a moment, then he shook the paper before lifting it in front of his face. “One might have expected a ludicrous comment like that from such an unenlightened cretin,” he murmured.

“Here, what do you mean by that?” Violet looked at Elizabeth for help.

Hoping to spare her housekeeper’s feelings, Elizabeth declined to answer.

Unfortunately, Martin had no such scruples. “Cretin,” he repeated. “I believe in the more popular vernacular, the word is ‘nitwit.’”

Violet opened her mouth to protest, but Elizabeth forestalled her. “Martin, when were you in the kitchen asking for wine?”

“At the wedding, madam.”

“Yes, Martin. I understand that. I meant about what time was it?”

“I didn’t look at the clock. It was when those silly women were making such a fuss about the knife to cut the wedding cake.” Martin shook the newspaper then turned the page. “I was looking for something to drink with my food. It’s not good for the digestion, to eat without drinking something. All I could see was champagne and that disgusting cider, so I went into the kitchen to see if they had a bottle of wine.”