Mary Putney - Wedding of the Century

Certainly the duke had one great advantage: he could hardly have been more different from charming, articulate, false-hearted Paul Curzon.

The maid Antoinette made a last adjustment to the train of Sunny's ball gown. "You look exquisite, mademoiselle. Monsieur le Duc will be most pleased."

Sunny turned and regarded herself in the mirror. Her cream-colored gown was spectacular, with sumptuous embroidery and a decolletage that set off her bare shoulders and arms perfectly. After her hair had been pinned up to expose the graceful length of her neck, fragile rosebuds had been woven into the soft curls. The only thing her appearance lacked was animation. "Thank you, Antoinette. You have surpassed yourself."

The maid permitted herself a smile of satisfaction before she withdrew. Sunny glanced at the clock and saw that She had a quarter of an hour to wait before making her grand entrance at the ball. The house hummed with excitement, for tonight Augusta 's triumph would be announced. All of Newport society was here to fawn over Thoraborough and cast envious glances at Sunny. There would also be sharp eyes watching to see how she and the duke-Justin-behaved with each other. Antoinette, who was always well-informed, had passed on several disturbing rumors. It was said that Sunny had at first refused to marry the duke because of his licentious habits, and that Augusta had beaten and starved her daughter into accepting him.

Even though there was a grain of truth in the story about her mother, Sunny found the gossip deeply distasteful. She must make a special effort to appear at ease with her mother and her fiance. She looked in the mirror again and practiced her smile.

The door opened and a crisp English voice said, "How is my favorite goddaughter?"

"Aunt Katie!" Sunny spun around with genuine pleasure. "I had no idea that you were coming for the ball."

"I told Augusta not to mention the possibility since I wasn't sure I would arrive in time." Laughing, Lady Westron held Sunny at arm's length when her goddaughter came to give her a hug. "Never crush a Worth evening gown, my dear! At least, not until the ball is over."

After a careful survey, she gave a nod of approval. "I'm madly envious. Even Worth can't make a short woman like me look as magnificent as you do tonight. The Newport cats will gnash their teeth with jealousy, and Thornborough will thank his stars for his good fortune."

Sunny's high spirits faded. "I believe he feels that we have made a fair bargain."

Katie cocked her head. "Are you unhappy about the match?"

Sunny shrugged and began carefully drawing an elbow length kid glove onto her right hand. "I'm sure that we'll rub along tolerably well."

Ignoring her own advice about crushing a Worth evening gown, Katie dropped into a chair with a flurry of satin petticoats. "I made inquiries about Thornborough when his solicitor first approached me about a possible match. He'll make you a better husband than most, Sunny. He's respected by those who know him, and while he isn't a like his brother was, and he's certainly not fashionable he's no fool, nor is he the sort to humiliate you by flaunting his mistress."

Sunny stiffened. "Thornborough has a mistress?"

"Very likely-most men do." Katie's lips curved ruefully. "There's much you need to learn about English husbands and English houses. Living in Britain is quite unlike being a visitor, you know."

Sunny relaxed when she found that her godmother had been talking in general rather than from particular knowledge. Though she knew that fashionable English society was very different from what she was used to, she disliked the idea of Thornborough with a mistress. Acutely.

She began the slow process of putting on her left glove. "Perhaps you had better educate me about what to expect."

''Be prepared for the fact that English great houses are cold." Katie shuddered. "Forget your delicate lace shawls-to survive winter in an English country house, your trousseau should include several wraps the size and weight of a horse blanket. You must have at least one decent set of furs, as well. The houses may be grand, but they're amazingly primitive-no central heating or gaslights, and no hot running water. And the bathrooms! A tin tub in front of the fire is the best you'll do in most houses."

Surprised and a little amused, Sunny said, "Surely Swindon Palace can't be that bad. It's said to be the grandest private home in Great Britain."

Katie sniffed. "A palace built almost two hundred years ago, and scarcely a pound wasted on modernization since then. But don't complain to Thornborough-English husbands, as a rule, are not solicitous in the way that American husbands are. Since the duke will not want to hear about your little grievances, you must learn to resolve matters on your own. I recommend that you take your own maid with you. That way you can count on at least one person in the household being on your side."

Sunny put a hand up. "If you say one sentence more, I will go downstairs and cancel my betrothal," she said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "I'm beginning to woder why any woman would want to marry an English lord, particularly if she isn't madly in love with him."

"I didn't mean to terrify you," Katie assured her. "I just want to make sure that you won't be disillusioned. Once a woman gets past the discomforts, she may have more freedom and influence than she would in America. Here, a woman rules her home, but nothing outside. An English lady can be part of her husband's life, or develop a life of her own, in a way most unusual in America."

Since frankness was the order of the day, Sunny asked, "Are you sorry you married Lord Westron?"

Katie hesitated a moment. "There are times when I would have said yes, but we've come to understand each other very well. He says that I've been invaluable to his political career, and through him, I've been able to bring a little American democracy to some hoary bits of British law." She smiled fondly. "And between us, he and I have produced three rather splendid children, even if I shouldn't say so myself."

Sunny sighed; it was all very confusing. She was glad when a knock sounded on her door. "Your mother says that it is time to come down, Miss Sarah," the butler intoned.

"Don't forget your fan. It's going to be very warm on the dance floor," Katie said briskly. "I'll be down after I've freshened up."

Sunny accepted the fan, then lifted her train and went into the corridor. At the top of the sweeping staircase, she carefully spread the train, then slowly began descending the stairs, accompanied by the soft swish of heavy silk. She had been told that she walked with the proud grace of the Winged Victory. She ought to; as a child, she had been strapped into an iron back brace whenever she did her lessons. Perfect posture didn't come easily.

The hall below opened into the ballroom, and music and I guests wafted through both. As she came into view, a hush fell and all eyes turned toward her. The cream of American society was evaluating the next Duchess of Thornborough.

When she was three-quarters of the way down, she saw that her fiance was crossing the hall to the staircase. The stark black of formal evening wear suited him.

When she reached the bottom, he took her hand. Under his breath, he said, "You look even more beautiful I than usual." Then he brushed a courtly, formal kiss on her kid-covered fingers.

She glanced at him uncertainly, not sure if he truly admired her or the compliment was mere formality. It was impossible to tell; he was the most inscrutable man she had ever met.

Then he smiled at her and looked not merely presentable, but downright handsome. It was the first time she had seen him smile. He should do so more often.

Her mother joined them, beaming with possessive pride. "You look splendid, Sarah."