Judith Stacy - Married By Midnight

It had consumed him, driven him, nearly beaten him at times. He’d been but twenty-five years old when his father had died, out of college only a short time and not quite ready to take life so seriously.

But he’d persevered. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—fail the many people who relied on him. He wouldn’t fail the memory of his father. Or fail himself.

With mentoring from some of his father’s friends, and an uncanny instinct for business he hadn’t known he possessed, Nick had doubled the family fortune. Now, on his own, he was about to triple it.

He sat back in his chair again. “I have everything else in life. A successful business, a good home, financial security. What the hell am I going to do with it?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Think you’ll hold on to all that money? Even with that Whitney project you’ve started?”

Nick shifted in his chair. “It will make me a fortune.”

“If it doesn’t bankrupt you first,” Ethan said. He nodded. “Gutsy move on your part, I’ll give you that. Going it alone on such a huge undertaking is risky.”

This wasn’t the first time someone had expressed concern about his latest business venture. It was a massive project, already months in development, with thousands spent, and they’d not even broken ground yet.

But he’d investigated it thoroughly, looked at it from every angle, consulted with experts in the field. Nick was confident he could pull it off without additional partners or financial backers. In fact, that was the only way he wanted to complete this project.

Somewhere in the middle of a sleepless night a few months ago, the thought had come to Nick that he had no one to leave his fortune to. The notion had been floating in the back of his mind ever since.

“I suppose,” Ethan said, “having a wife, then a family, is the next logical step.”

Nick sipped his Scotch and nodded. “It makes sense.”

Ethan snorted a laugh. “Just who the hell do you think is going to marry you?”

“I could ask you the same,” Nick said. “You’ve got a list of faults a mile long.”

“Me?” Ethan rocked forward in his chair. “I can’t even think where to start naming all your shortcomings. You’d never find a woman willing to marry you.”

“Like hell.”

“I could find a wife quicker than you,” Ethan told him.

Nick grunted. “In your dreams, maybe.”

“Want to bet?”

Nick gazed across the desk at his friend. Over the years the two of them had wagered on most everything imaginable. Neither man liked to lose.

“You’re not serious,” Nick said.

“Why not? We both want to get married. Why not make the whole process a little more interesting?”

Nick stroked his chin. “What did you have in mind?”

Ethan thought for a moment. “We’ll both go wife hunting, and whichever of us is married first will be the winner.”

Nick frowned. “I don’t know that I’ve got time to court a woman right now, with this Whitney project going.”

“Then we’ll set a time limit,” Ethan said. “We’ll give it, say, thirty days.”

“A month?” Nick shook his head. “Aaron’s engagement lasted over a year.”

“But he made a slow study of it,” Ethan said. “You and I will handle it differently. We’ll select the woman we want and make an all-out marital assault. Sweep her off her feet. Then insist on an elopement.”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t know…”

“Look at the benefits. No long courtship. No long engagement. None of the parties, receptions or wedding preparations Aaron had to suffer through. Thirty days of concerted effort to land a wife, then it’s back to business as usual.”

Nick considered the notion for a moment and found himself warming to the idea. “It makes sense. But…”

“What’s the matter? Don’t think you can charm a woman into marriage in thirty days?”

Nick sat up straighter. “I’ve got plenty of charm.”

“Can’t maintain it for a month?”

“I can maintain.”

Ethan laced his fingers together and placed them behind his head, sinking deeper into the chair. “I’m not seeing a problem, myself. I’m quite certain I can find a wife in that time. If you don’t think you can handle it—”

“I can handle it,” Nick insisted.

“Well then?”

Nick considered his friend for a moment. “So what does the winner get?”

“Besides a wife in his bed, at his beck and call, every single night?” Ethan nodded toward the whiskey bottle on the desk. “How about a case of the finest Scotch in the city?”

Nick contemplated the bottle, then his friend and the idea he’d suggested. He’d thought about his future for a while now, and having a wife was certainly a part of that. Nick hadn’t envied Aaron and all the wedding rituals he’d gone through, so the quicker the whole thing was over and done with, the better.

And a case of Scotch was always good.

“All right, you’re on,” Nick said, and came to his feet.

Ethan rose from his chair. “So here’s the wager. The first one of us to be married—”

“Legally married,” Nick interrupted.

“—to a woman—”

“A living, breathing woman.”

“—shall be declared the winner.” Ethan glanced at the clock on the mantel. “We’ll give ourselves until midnight, thirty days from today. Deal?”

Excitement stirred in Nick’s belly as he shook his friend’s hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

After all, what could go wrong?

She’d dreamed about Nick.

Amanda came awake as the first golden rays of sunlight streamed into her room. She rolled over and studied the ceiling. If Cecilia’s Aunt Winnie asked her what she’d dreamed about last night, she wouldn’t know what she’d say. She certainly couldn’t tell the woman the truth.

Settling onto the thick feather pillows, Amanda glanced at the window and the slice of sky visible between the drapes. From all appearances the day was dawning clear and bright. If this weather held, Cecilia would have a perfect June wedding tomorrow. Nothing else was acceptable for a Hastings.

Today would be filled with last-minute wedding preparations. Cecilia and her mother, Constance—and Amanda, simply because she was present—would probably spend hours going over them.

“Damn…” Amanda cursed and pounded her pillow. Wedding thoughts were only slightly more undesirable than recollections of Nick and the dream she’d had last night.

A light rap sounded on her door, and the maid she’d brought with her from San Francisco slipped inside. Dolly was a slight woman, no older than herself, with curly brown hair that frequently sprang from under her white dust cap.

“My Lord, Miss Amanda, you should see what all’s going on downstairs, even at this hour of the morning. Everybody’s hopping like grease on a hot griddle—just like home, when the twins were getting married,” Dolly said, pushing back the heavy, green floral drapes. “And when I walked by Miss Cecilia’s room just now, I couldn’t help but glance inside. Her mother, Miz Constance, was with her. I can’t say for sure, but I think she was crying.”

Amanda pushed herself upright in the bed, her first thought to go to Cecilia and see what was wrong. But tears the day before a wedding weren’t uncommon, and Cecilia’s mother was there to comfort her.

“Are you sorry I brought you down here with me?” Amanda asked.

“Shoot, no,” Dolly declared, grinning broadly. “I wouldn’t miss this for nothing.”

While Dolly selected clothing from the closet, Amanda slid out of bed. Even though the house was filled to capacity with out of town guests and relatives, Constance had given Amanda a comfortable room on the second floor.