Mary Lyons - The Society Groom

Unfortunately, despite giving herself such really excellent advice, there seemed nothing Olivia could do to control the slightly sick feelings of nervous apprehension settling like a hard lump of concrete in her stomach.

Taking a deep breath, and fully determined to concentrate on her job, Olivia walked slowly out of the small side chapel into the main body of the church.

Please ... please give Dominic FitzCharles a really bad case of amnesia! she prayed fervently, hoping against hope that a benevolent God would somehow save her from what she could only think of as a hideously embarrassing situation.

‘I’m not sure that getting here so early was all that great an idea,’ Mark said, shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden pew and desperately wishing that he could get his hands on a stiff drink.

‘It’s just prewedding nerves,’ Dominic drawled, smiling at the nervous, worried expression on the other man’s pale face.

‘It’s all right for you!’ Mark muttered grimly, ashamed to find himself feeling quite so tense. ‘You may be in no hurry to get married, but I hope that I’m around to have a good laugh if and when some clever woman does manage to drag you to the altar.’

‘Hey—relax!’ Dominic murmured, gazing at his friend with concern. ‘Sarah’s a wonderful girl, and I know that the two of you are going to be very happy. So just hang in there, OK?’

Mark nodded. ‘Yeah...sorry about losing my cool like that. It’s just...I don’t know...’ He gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

‘It won’t be long now,’ Dominic told him comfortingly. ‘By the way...’ he added, attempting to distract his friend by turning his thoughts in another direction. ‘Because of your brother’s totally unexpected illness we haven’t had time to discuss all the normal duties of a best man. So, what do you want me to do about paying the vicar? I’ve brought some money with me, just in case it might be necessary, and...’

‘Oh, there’s no need to worry,’ Mark told him. ‘Sarah’s found this woman who’s apparently taking care of all those boring, nitty-gritty details. In fact, as far as I can make out, she’s handling just about everything.’

Dominic raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow. ‘Everything? ’

Mark nodded. ‘According to Sarah, this woman has organised the whole bang-shoot. And, while it might be costing her father an arm and a leg, Sarah reckons it’s worth every penny. If only for the fact that she’s now having the sort of wedding she wants—and not something dreamed up by her mother.’

‘That sounds like a damn good idea,’ Dominic agreed as the sound of soft organ music and the increasing amount of noise and bustle indicated that the first guests were beginning to enter the church. ‘Ah-ha...I knew I hadn’t been mistaken!’

‘Hmm...?’

Dominic nodded to the other side of the church, to where a girl was climbing up onto a pew, clearly with the aim of making a slight adjustment to a flower arrangement which had been placed on a high windowsill.

‘That’s the girl I saw earlier in the porch—when we first arrived. And I’m still quite certain that I’ve seen her somewhere before. But I can’t recall exactly when or where...’ he muttered, his dark brows drawn together in a distracted frown.

‘Sorry—I haven’t a clue who she is.’ Mark gave a slight shrug. ‘Although I must say,’ he added, viewing the tight skirt of the girl’s black velvet suit, momentarily riding up to reveal long, slim legs clothed in sheer black stockings, ‘she’s got a great pair of very sexy legs!’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Dominic drawled with amusement. ‘But I don’t think this is exactly the right moment to be saying so, do you? Not when you’re supposed to be getting married in a few minutes’ time!’

Mark grinned. However, before he could reply, his attention was claimed by the arrival of his parents, who were being shown to their seats in the pew directly behind him.

While Lady Ryland gave her son a quick kiss, and Lord Ryland shook his hand, gruffly wishing him ‘the very best of luck, my boy’, Dominic found himself becoming increasingly irritated at not being able to recollect precisely where he’d seen the tall, slim girl.

Moreover, if it didn’t seem so utterly ridiculous, he might think that she was deliberately avoiding looking in his direction. In fact, despite not being able to catch more than a brief glimpse of a pale complexion and tawny-gold hair hidden beneath her wide-brimmed, black velvet hat, she still appeared disturbingly familiar—even while keeping her back firmly turned towards him.

With the arrival of Mrs Turnbull and the small bridesmaids, quickly followed by that of the bride and her father at the church door, Olivia found herself far too busy to spend any more time worrying about Dominic.

‘You look absolutely wonderful!’ she told Sarah with a beaming smile, before quickly reassuring the other girl that her groom had arrived, and everything was totally under control. ‘So just relax—and enjoy your wedding.’

‘Yes, I know that I will...thanks to you!’ Sarah said with heartfelt gratitude as Olivia carefully adjusted the cowl hood of the bride’s long ivory velvet cloak, lined in deep crimson satin, which flowed down to the ground and behind her in a curved train.

‘In fact, without your help, I’d be standing here dressed like a fairy on the top of a Christmas tree!’ Sarah added with a ripple of laughter, and the two girls grinned at one another as they recalled the many battles they’d had with Mrs Turnbull.

‘I want my daughter to look like a proper bride,’ that formidable lady had announced in a hard, no-nonsense tone of voice on being first introduced to Olivia, some months ago. ‘Sarah might be marrying a lord’s son—but I’m not having any of his family thinking we don’t know what’s what! Not when my husband’s got more loose change in his pocket than they’ve got in the whole of their bank account,’ she’d added grimly.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Olivia had murmured soothingly, well able to understand the older woman’s determination not to be pushed around or over-awed by the prospect of her daughter marrying into the aristocracy. In fact, Mark’s parents, Lord and Lady Ryland, were perfectly nice, ordinary people, distinctly nonsnobbish, and very happy with their son’s choice of bride.

It had, however, taken a great deal of time and trouble on Olivia’s part to convince Mrs Turnbull that the slim, petite figure of her pretty darkhaired daughter would definitely not be seen to best advantage in the dress on which her mother had set her heart.

In fact, Olivia thought, it would have been downright cruel to force anyone to wear such a garment. With its heavily embroidered top, totally smothered in pearls and rhinestones, over a vast crinoline skirt composed of tier upon tier of heavy, brilliant white lace flounces, dotted with bows and posies of flowers—and yet more pearls and rhinestones—it had been a complete nightmare!

‘I’ll look dreadful—like some huge snowball!’ Sarah had wailed in despair. ‘Please help me, Olivia. You must try and make my mother see that I’m far too short to wear something like that And that hard, bright white is absolutely the wrong colour for my skin.’

Eventually Olivia had managed to persuade Mrs Turnbull that ‘less is more’—and to concentrate on elegance rather than magnificence. And the older woman had eventually agreed that maybe Sarah and Olivia’s choice of wedding gown wasn’t so bad, after all.

And now, as she gazed at the bride in her sophisticated, fluid sheath of pale ivory satin, a simple diamond hairband holding back her long black hair beneath the hood of her velvet cloak, Olivia realised that, despite the battles with Mrs Turnbull, it had all been worthwhile. Sarah looked not only stunningly beautiful, but also extremely elegant and thoroughly soignée.