Lynna Banning - The Wedding Cake War

At the refreshment table, Kellen watched Ruth Underwood pour fizzing champagne into two glasses while her husband glugged dark gold applejack from a ceramic jug into teacups. He reached for a glass of the champagne for Miss Mayfield. Miss Mayfield, however, lifted a brimming cup of the applejack and brought it to her lips.

He kept his eyebrows from rising by sheer force of will. “You ever taste applejack before?”

She looked at him over the rim of the cup. “Never.”

“Would you care to sit down first?”

“Most definitely. As soon as I drink some of this.” She downed a big swallow, and he watched her eyes widen and then tear up. He lifted the cup from her fingers and steered her to the green velvet settee against the wall.

She sat down. Then jumped up. Sat down once more and bent forward as if to inspect the hem of her skirt. When she raised her head, Kellen presented the glass of champagne. She reached instead for the cup of applejack in his other hand.

A single-minded swan. “It’s pretty potent,” he cautioned. “More than ninety proof the way Josh Bodwin makes it.”

“Good,” she said. She took another swallow. “You’re quite right—lots of proof.” Her voice sounded raspy. Kellen drank half the glass of champagne while she gulped another mouthful of the brandy.

“Do you do this often?” he inquired. The only woman he’d ever known who could put away liquor like this was Great-Aunt Henrietta, and she’d had years of practice.

“No, I have never taken spirits before. It tastes rather like—” she thought for a moment “—crushed oak leaves.”

He couldn’t let her swill down any more; she’d fizzle out like a spent match. He had to think of something to distract her.

“Would you care to dance?”

Lolly looked up at him. She would give the moon to dance with this man, tall and elegant in his black dress coat and knotted silk tie. He moved without making a single extra motion, like a mountain cat. A panther, that was it. And his eyes were positively hypnotic, an odd gray-green, and twinkly, as if he were amused at something.

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Can’t?” His dark brows arched upward for a split second. “As in, you don’t know how? Or you are already spoken for? Or…you don’t wish to?”

“Oh, I do wish to, but…” No, she couldn’t possibly tell him the truth. He would think her a complete ninny.

Or would he?

“The truth is,” she heard her voice say, “I cannot raise my arms that high. My…that is, the top half of me will come undone.”

Colonel Macready stared at her. Completely unnerved by her admission, Lolly fiddled with the loose knot at her bosom. He swept his gaze over the gauzy lace covering her chest and shoulders, and suddenly his face changed.

“Your trunk went on to the next stop! Is that it?”

“How on earth would you know that?”

“Happens all the time. The Russell Steam Engine Line prides itself on two-minute station stops. They’ll bring it back tomorrow afternoon.”

“I am relieved to hear that. In the meantime…” She sent a surreptitious glance down her front.

“In the meantime, you could waltz without raising your arms. I will simply lower mine.”

She took another gulp of the interesting-tasting cider and rose unsteadily. “Very well. If you will promise not to laugh if, well, if shomeshing…that is, something…untoward occurs.”

Kellen swung her away to the band’s raucous rendition of “The Blue Bell of Scotland.” Not a waltz, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to put his arms around her and keep her talking.

They danced in silence for half a chorus, and then his black swan opened her mouth. What came out shocked him into a complete standstill.

“Colonel Macready, do you really, truly want to get married?”

He tightened his hand at her waist. She felt warm and soft under his fingers. No corset. Interesting.

“You want an honest answer, I assume?”

“Honest? Why, of course I want an honest answer. It is an honest question.”

“Well, then, yes.” He swallowed hard. “I do want to marry.”

“But why?”

“Why! What kind of question is that? Most men want to marry at some time or other.”

“Yes, but…I mean, why this way, with the Ladies Helpful Society stirring the pot?”

“Ah. The truth again, I gather?”

“Yes, please. It’s usually much more interesting than anything one could make up.”

“Well…” His throat threatened to close up tight. He swallowed again. “That is, I am comfortably situated and, well, I am getting older. And I find that I am…”

“Yes?”

He was beginning to sweat under his starched shirt. “In want of a companion. That is, a wife.”

She cocked her head and the fine dark eyebrows rose. “What for? You do your own cooking, I understand. Even your own ironing.” She looked from his chin to his toes and back. “And you look extremely well cared for, right down to your shiny gold cuff links.”

“Miss Mayfield, let me make something clear. I do not want a wife for the purpose of caring for me. I…well, I— My God, are you always so inquisitive?”

“Yes. Always. Up until a week ago I ran a newspaper office, you see. I got quite in the habit of asking questions. Also, it must be obvious that I have a personal interest in your reasons.”

“Ah, the Ladies Helpful Society again.”

“Exactly. Why ever would you put three elderly ladies in charge of choosing your life’s companion?”

“I can’t answer that. I just plain don’t know, unless maybe it’s because I gave my heart away twenty years ago and at my age I don’t expect to fall in love again.”

“Certainly not,” she said in a crisp voice. “Love is for the young.”

He missed a step.

“How old are you, Miss Mayfield?”

Lolly missed a step. Her stocking-clad foot smacked into the hard toe of his left shoe. She bit her lip. “I am twenty-nine and eleven-twelfths.”

“I am forty-three…”

She gazed up at his chin. My goodness, he didn’t look a day over thirty-five, except for that streak of silver at his temple. And the faint whisker shadow visible on his chin; why, he looked rugged and manly and…even a little dangerous.

“And two-thirds.” A conspiratorial glint of humor showed in his eyes.

“Ow!” She collided with his foot again.

“Miss Mayfield?”

“Colonel Macready?”

“Leora, is it?”

“Lolly.”

“My given name is Kellen. My grandmother’s family name. And…” He stopped in the middle of the ballroom and stood looking down into her face. “I would like—”

“Oh, theah you are, Colonel! Ah’ve requested a Virginia reel. You will partner me, won’t you?”

Fleurette eyed Lolly with a look that reminded her of a green glass bottle on her mother’s medicine shelf. The one that contained castor oil.

“That is, when y’all are finished heah, of course.”

Lolly caught Colonel Macready’s eye. Some devilish imp inside her pushed her lips open. “I do believe the colonel is quite finished.”

She spun away and limped—unobtrusively, she hoped—back to the green velvet settee where she sank down onto the soft cushion with a sigh. She would never, never learn to keep her mouth shut.

She bit her lip and watched the colonel swing Fleurette up and down the line of dancers while the band boomed out a reel. Fleurette’s yellow silk train twitched and jumped with a life of its own while the shiny brass instruments and one violin warbled on.

Lolly kept time with her stockinged toes hidden under her skirt, sipping the cup of apple cider she’d left on the side table. It tasted different now. Better. Warm and soothing when it reached her stomach. Her chest began to feel floaty, as if any moment it might sail away from the rest of her body.