Jessica Hart - Convenient Engagements - Fiance Wanted Fast! / The Blind-Date Proposal / A Whirlwind Engagement

At the front of the room, Ben and Lisa were about to exchange rings. Shifting upright in her chair, Phoebe’s brows drew together in an effort of concentration. This was Ben, she reminded herself. Ben, whom she had loved and wanted as long as she could remember. It had felt so right and so comfortable to be with him, that she had never imagined that he would be making those vows to somebody else. She should be thinking about him, not about Gib and the way they had kissed in the car.

As Ben promised to love and to honour Lisa ‘so long as we both shall live’, Phoebe found herself remembering when he had told her that he would love her for ever. They had been so happy together for so long. Impossible not to think about the times they had shared or to feel a pang as she watched him slide the ring onto Lisa’s finger.

But it was just a pang. She had dreaded this moment for months, expecting to feel a terrible, tearing pain in her heart, not this wistful sadness for the dreams she had nurtured for so long.

So this was it. Ben was married and there was no way to turn back the clock. No more pretending that he might, maybe, change his mind, or that somehow Lisa would disappear and everything would be the way it had been before. It was time to stop wishing and hoping and dreaming that things could be different, time to start accepting that she was on her own and making the best of it.

Phoebe wasn’t aware of her expression changing, but she suddenly found her hand gathered into Gib’s. He held it in a warm, strong clasp that was amazingly comforting, and although she didn’t dare look at him, she didn’t pull her hand away either. Instead, she watched Ben kiss Lisa and felt Gib’s fingers tighten around her own and wondered how it was possible to feel aware of every tiny millimetre of his skin pressed against hers.

The string quartet in the bow-window struck up a suitably celebratory tune and the bride and groom turned, beaming, to their guests, who stirred in anticipation of the champagne to come.

It was over, thought Phoebe, and knew that she ought to feel relieved while feeling only a curious sense of deflation when Gib let go of her hand. People were standing up and pressing forward to congratulate the happy couple, but Lara was already nudging them towards the door.

‘Might as well get a head start on the champagne,’ she said. ‘We can do the kissy-kissy bit later.’

They weren’t the only ones to have the same idea, and the walled garden, romantically lined with herbaceous borders and climbing roses, was soon crowded with little groups of guests clutching flutes of champagne and, in the case of the women, trying not to get their heels stuck in the grass.

This was the big test, thought Phoebe, her stomach clenching with nerves again. Gib was going to be exposed to some pretty expert questioners, beginning with her mother, who was making a beeline for them. She would have to stick beside him until she could manoeuvre him over to Ben’s tedious uncle, who could be relied upon not to talk about anything but sport, or if things got really bad to Penelope and Derek’s neighbour who was about ninety-seven and unlikely to cross-examine him on the detail of banking or be able to hear much about his supposedly passionate affair with Ben’s ex-fiancée.

Not that you could ever tell with old ladies, of course. In Phoebe’s experience they were much sharper than they let on, and could hear perfectly well when it suited them.

‘Careful,’ she said in an undertone as her mother rushed up. ‘You’re about to be exposed to advanced interrogation techniques. The SAS send soldiers to Mum for practice on withholding information if they’re captured by enemy forces, and very few of them pass the test!’

Gib only sent her a glimmering smile before he turned to greet her mother. For a while they chatted easily, and Phoebe could see her mother’s smile broadening as she ticked her way through a mental check-list, obviously awarding Gib full points.

Now they had moved on to discuss the wedding. ‘It’s a beautiful setting,’ commented Gib, glancing around him at the battlemented walls with their mullioned windows, spectacular doors and worn old stone.

‘Ye-es.’ Her mother clearly wasn’t convinced. ‘Ben and Lisa were very keen on the idea of having the wedding at a castle, but personally I prefer a more traditional setting. I’m hoping Phoebe will choose to have a church wedding.’

‘Mu-um!’ Phoebe shot her an agonised look.

‘Oh, don’t worry, dear, I’m not hinting,’ said her mother airily.

Not much! Phoebe thought bitterly.

‘It’s just that there’s such a pretty church in the village, it seems a shame not to make the most of it.’

‘Well, maybe we’ll bear that in mind,’ said Gib, unable to resist the opportunity of putting an arm around Phoebe. ‘What do you think, darling?’

‘I think it’s too early to be talking about weddings,’ she said tightly, acutely aware of his arm around her and of her mother’s eyes bulging with interest at that carelessly dropped ‘darling’ and the even more casual way he had suggested that they were thinking about getting married.

‘It’s never too early to start making plans,’ her mother said eagerly. ‘Sometimes you have to book the church months in advance.’

‘Yes, well, we’re nowhere near that stage yet,’ said Phoebe firmly. She tried to move out of the circle of Gib’s arm but he held her against him without any apparent effort and, short of an undignified struggle, it looked as if she would have to stay where she was.

She could see her mother’s mind already flickering to dresses and flowers and coordinating table arrangements, and hastened to nip the very idea of marriage in the bud before her mother got out a megaphone and announced it to the entire county.

‘Now, hold on, Mum,’ she said firmly. ‘We haven’t decided anything definite yet. Have we?’ she added to Gib with a look that dared him to contradict her.

Gib met it blandly before turning back to her mother. ‘I’ve asked Phoebe to marry me every day since we met,’ he confided. ‘She won’t give me an answer one way or another, so I’m just going to have to keep on asking until she does.’

‘Well, it’s not like you to be coy, Phoebe!’ said her mother, clearly thrilled.

‘I’m not being coy,’ snapped Phoebe, shooting a dagger glance at Gib. What had happened to the second rule? Stick to the story and keep it simple: it wasn’t that hard to remember, was it? Still, in one way she was relieved at the rush of nervous irritation. It was much easier to be cross with Gib than to be burningly aware of him the way she had been since he kissed her. That kiss had seemed a good idea at the time, but Phoebe wasn’t so sure now.

‘I just think that marriage is an important step,’ she told her mother. ‘It’s not something to rush into.’

‘I’m the last person to suggest that it was,’ her mother said, bridling. ‘But if you know you’ve found the right person for you, there’s no reason to wait, is there? And you don’t want to wait too long, dear,’ she added with a pointed look.

Phoebe rolled her eyes. ‘Go ahead, Mum, why not say it? You’re thirty-two, time’s running out, beggars can’t be choosers?’

‘Don’t be so silly, Phoebe,’ her mother tutted. ‘Having a man like Gib want to marry you hardly makes you a beggar! I’m sure there would be thousands of girls who’d be more than happy to have him if you don’t want him.’

Gib laughed. ‘I don’t think so, but even if there were, it wouldn’t make any difference to me.’ His arm tightened around Phoebe and he smiled down into her indignant face. ‘I knew the moment I saw Phoebe that she was the only one for me, and I’m just going to keep on asking her until she gives in.’