“Yes, they are.” Sunny made a desperate effort to collect herself. “I am ... touched by Thornborough’s thoughtfulness in having them sent all the way fromEngland.”
Though it was not something she could say to her maid, she was even more moved by the fact that he was actually letting her choose whether or not to carry them. Every other detail of the wedding: the trousseau, the decorations, the extravagant reception, had been determined by her mother. Even the eight bridesmaids, including two Vangelder cousins, a Whitney, a Jay and an Astor, had been selected by Augusta for reasons of her own. Sunny had been swept along like a leaf in atorrent.
But Justin had given her a choice. Surely with such a considerate man, she could be happy. Unsteadily she said, “I must look like a fright. Please bring me some cold water and a facecloth.” She glanced at the enormous bouquet Augusta had ordered. “You can set that aside. I will carry theorchids.”
“But...” After the beginning of a protest, the maid nodded. “Yes, mademoiselle. An excellentchoice.”
As Antoinette went for the cold water, Sunny found herself wondering if the maid had ever endured the grotesquely undignified process of mating that Augusta had described. The thought almost sent her off in tearsagain.
For the last two days, at the most awkward moments, she had wondered the same thing about others: her brother Charlie, who was very fond of female company; the wife of the Anglican bishop who was going to perform the ceremony; Thornborough himself. Her morbid imaginings were turning her into a nervouswreck.
Antoinette returned with a basin of water and a cloth, then flipped the veil back over Sunny’s head so that her face was bare. “You must hurry, mademoiselle, or you willbelate.”
As she sponged her stinging eyes with the cool, moist cloth, Sunny snapped, “They can alljustwait!”
* * *
The day became increasingly unreal.Fifth Avenue was lined on both sides with policemen assigned to prevent the thousands of spectators from breaking through. The wedding was to be at St. Thomas’s Anglican church. Though the Vangelders didn’t usually worship there, it was the only fashionable church with enough space for the seventy-voice choir Augusta hadchosen.
Inside the church, huge arches of orange blossoms spanned the aisle, and banks of palms and chrysanthemums seemed to cover every vertical surface. Twenty-five excruciating minutes behind schedule, Sunny waited for her entrance, one icy hand clenched around her orchid bouquet and the other locked on her brother Charlie’s arm. Though she couldn't see the guests clearly in the dim light, every pew wasfilled.
As the bridesmaids marched smartly down the aisle to the music of the sixty-piece orchestra, Charlie whispered, “Buck up, Sunny. Show them that an American girl is every bit the equal of any Europeanprincess.”
The wedding march began, and Sunny started the long walk to the altar. If it hadn’t been for her brother’s firm support, the “American princess” might have fallen flat onherface.
With hysterical precision, she calculated that in the months since she had met Thornborough, they had seen each other for ten days, and been alone together for less than an hour. Why was she marrying a stranger? If it hadn’t been for the five-yard train, she might have turned andbolted.
The dark figure of her fiancé waited impassively at the altar. Next to him was his best man, a pleasant fellow called Lord Ambridge, an old school friend of Justin’s who was currently serving in the British Embassy inWashington.
As Sunny drew closer to her future husband, she saw that his expression was grim. Then she looked into his eyes and realized that he was as nervous as she. Her lateness must have made him wonder if she had changedhermind.
Dear God, how humiliating those long minutes of waiting must have been for him! As Charlie handed her over, she gave Thornborough an unsteady smile ofapology.
His expression eased. He took her hand, and the warmth of his clasp was the most real thing she had experiencedallday.
They turned to face the bishop, and the ancient, familiar words transformed the stranger beside her into herhusband.
* * *
The wedding night was a disaster.Later Justin realized that it had been foolish of him to think it could have been otherwise, yet he had had the naive hope that once he and his bride were alone together, they would be able to relax. To becomefriends.
Instead, the “wedding breakfast” had proved to be a huge reception that seemed as if it would never end. By the time they reached their hotel suite, Sunny’s face was gray withfatigue.
He wanted to hold her but restrained himself, for she looked as if she would shatter at a touch. They had a lifetime ahead of them; it would be foolish to rushmattersnow.
She mutely followed his suggestion that she relax with a long bath. Much later, after Sunny’s maid had finished her ministrations and left for the night, he joined his wife in the spacious bedchamber. He expected to find her in the canopied bed, perhaps already asleep. Instead, she stood by the window, gazing out on the lights ofNewYork.
He found her a far more interesting sight than the city. The glossy, honey-gold hair that flowed over her shoulders was even lovelier than he had imagined, and he longed to bury his face among the silken strands. Her white negligee frothed with lace and delicate embroidery and was so translucent that he could see the lithe shape of her body beneath. It must be another Worth creation; only a master could make a woman look simultaneously pure andprovocative.
Hiswife. He was still awed by the miracleofit.
Justin had been introduced to the dark mysteries of passion when he was sixteen. Deciding it was time his young brother became a man, Gavin had taken Justin to a courtesan. With his usual careless kindness, Gavin had chosen the woman well. Lily was a warmhearted, earthily sensual Frenchwoman who had known exactly how to initiate a shy youth halfherage.
Justin’s shamed embarrassment had been gone by the end of his first afternoon with Lily. With her he had discovered not only passion, but kindness and mutual affection. He had visited her many times over the ensuing years. When her looks faded and she could no longer support herself as a courtesan, he had quietly bought her a cottage in the south of France so that she could retire in comfort. They still correspondedoccasionally.
Because of Lily, he was now able to give his wife the gift of passion. Praying that desire would not make him clumsy, he went to join her by the window. Her delicate violet scent bewitched him, and his hands clenched with the effort of not touching her. Needing a safe, neutral topic, he said, “New York is lovely in a way quite distinct from London orParis.”
“I shall miss it,” shewhispered.
