Margaret Way - Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor - Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor

“Well, her distinguished grandfather will be giving her away and her cousin Isabel will be one of the bridesmaids. There was a family rift. Sadly, that went on for many years, but all’s well now. That’s the main thing.”

“I guess it is,” he agreed, “but there’s a lot you’re not telling me. Broad outline. Not enough detail.”

“Why would you say that?” She spoke too quickly, too intensely. A dead giveaway.

“Zara!” He stopped her with a look. “I can read you like a book. Anyway, leave it for now. I very much like Miranda. Corin is a lucky man.”

EVERYTHING went exactly as planned. The church ceremony was so beautiful, so much a celebration of the heart, many a married woman abandoned herself to a gentle nostalgic tear that often escaped onto the cheek, while the young and the not so young but ever hopeful vowed to make up for lost time and get working towards achieving a magical wedding of their own. As an occasion, nothing could beat a wedding. This one was glorious , a real fairy tale affair, the legendary once in a lifetime. Excitement was running high. Great swirls of genuine emotion, impossible to describe, but it enveloped them all. At least for a time.

Miranda was the living fulfilment of the radiant bride. Her whole countenance, her extraordinary turquoise eyes, shone with love and joy. Here was a bride her groom could worship. Her beautiful silk wedding gown, traditionally white, was strapless, the bodice encrusted with crystals and tiny faux pearls, the silk endowed with a wonderful luminescence. The style, cut by a master, suited her petite figure perfectly. The skirt flared just enough from a tiny waist so as not to over-whelm her. There was a short train at the back. The lustrous fabric of the billowing skirt had been intricately woven with silver thread that formed a pattern of roses; tightly closed buds, half open buds, roses in full bloom, all in perfect botanical detail.

It was gorgeous!

Miranda had chosen the rose as the symbol of her wedding. It was a tribute to Kathryn Rylance, her beloved Corin and Zara’s late mother. The gesture was said to have reduced Zara to tears. A full circle of white silk roses held the bride’s short sunburst tulle veil in place. Around her throat was a necklet of Paspaley South Sea pearls, an incredibly beautiful offering from her adoring groom. Diamond and pearl earrings dropped from her ears, the pearls swinging gently with every movement.

All four bridesmaids were tall and very slim. They dared not be anything else with their closely fitting silk gowns. All wore their hair long, flowing over their shoulders. The bodice of the one-shouldered form-fitting gown was caught by a sparkling jewelled strap. A half-moon of silk roses scattered with Swarovski crystals to represent dew drops was tucked at the most flattering angle behind the ear. As headpieces, they were very beautiful, very flattering, the colour matched to their gowns, which were, in turn, the exact shade of the bride’s favourite roses from the garden, all of them prize blooms.

Zara, the chief bridesmaid, wore a glorious deep Peace pink. The shade acted as a wonderful foil for the second bridemaid’s lovely lavender-pink gown. Shimmering sunshine-yellow was chosen for the third dark-haired bridesmaid and, on the bride’s blonde cousin, the beautiful soft apricot of the old-fashioned musk rose. Miranda and Zara had spent a lot of time poring over fabrics before selecting the luminous silks in precisely complementary shades. The outcome was a triumph. Bride and all four of her bridesmaids moved as if bathed in pools of light.

The luxurious bouquets were composed of roses with a fine tracery of green. In themselves, works of art and, again, the bride’s favourites, large fragrant garden roses with their buds—not the hothouse variety. Afterwards, a great deal was spoken about the beauty and success of the bride’s and her bridesmaids’ outfits and truly lovely bouquets, but the groom and his attendants certainly didn’t miss out. It had to be accepted that the wonderfully handsome groom was now taken, the other guys were very attractive, but what about the best man? Brooding good looks like that and those blue eyes could drive a girl beserk! At least that was the general opinion.

It was obvious to all that Garrick Rylance was going to be targeted at the reception by all those young women, already fuzzy with emotion, who dared to dream the dream. Fortune was known to favour the daring. Clearly, he would be able to take his pick.

“Let the battle for the attention of the Cattle Baron begin!” one society matron whispered waggishly to another. “I’ve never seen a sexier action man in my life!”

“And not a thing you can do about it, darling!” whispered the other, who just happened to be her sister-in-law.

“Nothing wrong with looking, even for a grandmother!” was the swift retort. “There’s the hero of any girl’s dreams! Bit on the dangerous side, maybe!”

Guests were ferried from the picturesque church, which had been packed to overflowing, to the sumptuous reception in the Rylance mansion’s luxuriant gardens. Zara felt so tremulous, her inner voice had recourse to speak sternly to her.

You can’t allow your emotions to overcome you. Breathe deeply. Restore your calm.

Not so easy when what she had witnessed was the union of soulmates. Her heart was filled with happiness for her brother and for Miranda, her new sister-in-law—sister. Of course it was. But there was emotional upheaval as well. Only once during the ceremony had Garrick’s gaze locked with hers. Just the space of a few searing seconds, both of them standing immobile. The brilliant blue of his eyes, bluer than the deep vibrant blue of the sky, seemed to be mocking her. She had been the first to look away. It was as if he was telling her she had let her only chance of real happiness slip away from her.

Ah, the piercing ache of loss!

She couldn’t allow it to claw at her heart. Not today. Today was one of celebration. She was the chief bridesmaid. She had an important role to play. Feeling as she did, Zara would have been surprised to learn she looked the very picture of beauty and serenity, her great dark eyes eloquent with the love and happiness she felt for the bridal couple. Her family. As chief bridesmaid, she sat to Corin’s right. Garrick, as best man, was seated beside Miranda, so they were a good few feet apart. The other bridesmaids and the groomsmen alternated down the long rectangular bridal table, positioned centre front, so all the guests had a clear view of them. Exquisite garlands of gilded organza and chenille roses ran the perimeter of the table, framing it, with strands of gold beads and faux white pearls that had an amazing sheen. The bride and her bridesmaids had used their lovely bouquets to deck the table instead of arrangements.

The food was sumptuous; the drink the finest vintage champagne. Corin offered a deeply touching speech to his bride that moved many to tears. Garrick’s speech created a fine balance. A moment or two of high seriousness, as was to be expected, then his speech moved to the entertaining, with highlights from his and Corin’s boyhood. In particular an incident when they were ten, when he had talked Corin into an adventure; catapulting themselves out into the river by means of a stout rope, he had slung from one of the overhanging trees. It wouldn’t have been so bad, only the river was running a thrilling white foaming banker at the time.

“An Outback kid, you see,” he explained, to indulgent general laughter.

Bring on the Outback, sighed every last female.

“We both lived to tell the tale.” A flashing grin from Corin. Both of them had gotten into a lot of trouble. Garrick was a “wild bush boy, as headlong as a brumby” his father had thundered, all the more furious because Garrick wasn’t flustered or fearful. In fact, Garrick had been remarkably cool for a ten-year-old kid.