Married By Midnight. Judith Stacy
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railroad car. She had already had a busy day before she’d set out on this journey.
“ Oh, it’s darling,” she murmured as Cecilia presented another promenade dress. While the other two women in the room—friends of Cecilia’s whose names Amanda had already forgotten—fawned over the pink creation and its wide-brimmed, white hat with matching flowers, Amanda kept her seat.
No, she wasn’t tired, she admitted to herself. Only bored.
She glanced out the window at the moonlight illuminating the darkness and wondered how much longer she’d have to sit here before she could tactfully retire for the evening.
And why shouldn’t she be bored? She’d just gone through this with her cousins—twice.
Since she was thirteen, Amanda had lived with her aunt and uncle and their four daughters in their Nob Hill mansion. Uncle Philip’s wealth had given the family the best of everything—culminating in her cousins’ weddings.
The twins, a few years younger than Amanda, had married within weeks of each other. Prior to that the Van Patton household had been in chaos for an entire year. Flower selection, dressmakers, menus, musicians and the endless stream of tedious details required to stage a wedding had been the topic of conversation morning, noon and night.
As a bridesmaid for both of her cousins, Amanda had been dragged through each facet of the planning. She’d managed to keep a smile on her face—in public, anyway—through the whole ordeal. She wasn’t sure she could do it much longer.
She drew in a fortifying breath as Cecilia whirled around the bedchamber holding a pale yellow ball gown in front of her, and the other young women broke into applause.
“Radiant…” Amanda said, calling upon her considerable store of bridal compliments.
Luckily, Cecilia’s wedding ceremony was only two days away. Amanda straightened her shoulders. Somehow, she’d get through it. She had to.
After all, she was the sole representative of the Van Patton family present at the Hastings-St. John wedding. Both of her cousins were still off on their own honeymoons, and Aunt Veronica had come down with a case of the hives at the last minute. Uncle Philip was too busy—or too smart—to attend weddings.
That left only Amanda to put in an appearance on behalf of the Van Pattons at what one Los Angeles newspaper’s society column had already proclaimed “the wedding of the season.” The prominence and wealth of the Hastings family allowed for no less.
Amanda pulled her lips upward, forcing a smile as Cecilia headed into the closet once more.
If it hadn’t been a wedding that brought Amanda to Los Angeles she probably would have enjoyed the trip. The Hastings and Van Patton families had been friends for years. They visited back and forth, hosted each other on holidays and occasionally vacationed together. The time they spent together had diminished in the past few years, since Cecilia’s father had died, and everyone had grown older and moved on with life.
But the families stayed in touch. They had, in fact, known each other for more years than Amanda had been part of the San Francisco branch of the Van Patton family. She’d only been sent to live with them eleven years ago when, at age thirteen, her father had passed away and her mother had fallen on hard times.
Amanda had been accepted into the family, even if she hadn’t fit in very well.
“Breathtaking,” she muttered now as Cecilia displayed her going-away dress, a cream-colored ensemble trimmed with green flowers and lace.
While the other women circled the gown, commenting on the fabric and cut, Amanda cast a furtive glance toward the clock on the marble mantel above the fireplace. After eleven already. Surely this would end soon—even Cecilia Hastings couldn’t have that many more dresses to display.
As if her thoughts had somehow conjured up a tangible excuse for escape, the bedchamber door burst open and a stout woman with well-coiffed gray hair steamed in. She planted herself in the center of the room, silencing all the young women abruptly, and turned to Cecilia.
“What did you dream last night?” she demanded.
Cecilia paused, holding her black-and-white lace riding habit before her. “Aunt Winnie, where have you been all day?”
“Busy. Very busy,” she declared, waving her hands. “Now, what did you dream last night?”
Cecilia gestured toward Amanda, who rose to her feet. This was a member of the Hastings family she’d never met.
“Aunt Winnie, this is Amanda Van Patton,” Cecilia said. “My aunt, Winnifred Dubois from New York.”
“Of course. The Van Pattons of San Francisco.” Winnifred crossed the room to Amanda. “What did you dream last night?” she repeated.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I interpret dreams,” Winnifred declared. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Not professionally, of course.”
“No, of course not,” Amanda said, and couldn’t help smiling.
“Never mind.” Winnifred turned back to Cecilia. “The bride-to-be should go first.”
“Let me think.” Cecilia pressed her lips together. “I don’t believe I dreamed anything last night.”
“Nonsense. Of course you dreamed something. Everyone dreams, every night,” Winnifred said. “Your brother is an excellent example.”
Cecilia exchanged a look with the other women. “I’m not sure Nick’s dreams could be the best example of anything.”
Giggles muted by hands pressed to lips rippled through the room as Winnifred took exception to Cecilia’s comment.
But Amanda heard none of the conversation, only the thudding of her own heart as it suddenly beat double time in her chest. Her breathing quickened as it always did when Nick was mentioned.
Tall, handsome Nick. Black hair. Green eyes.
Was he in the house somewhere? Amanda wondered. Here, under the same room with her? Steps away? At this very moment?
She let her heart run wild, her mind fill with memories of Nick.
The first time she’d laid eyes on him.
Their moonlit encounter in the snow-covered forest. The night he’d ruined her for all other men.
Amanda drew in a breath and stilled her runaway thoughts. If Nick was, in fact, here in the house tonight, it wouldn’t matter. He may as well be miles away.
Really, Nick had always been miles away.
Amanda sank onto the bed and pressed her lips together. She couldn’t wait to get this wedding over with and go back home.
Nick Hastings sank lower in his leather chair and stretched his long legs up, propping his heels on the corner of his desk. At the end of this tiring day the house was finally quiet—and it hadn’t been quiet for weeks. Thanks to the wedding.
A short time ago he’d heard the doorbell chime and feminine voices drift down the hallway to the study, where he’d closed himself in after supper. More of Cecilia’s friends stopping by, or yet another guest arriving for the big day.
Across the desk from Nick sat his two oldest friends, Ethan Carmichael and Aaron St. John. Both were dark-haired, neither quite as tall as Nick; all of them had just passed their thirtieth birthday. Between them sat the bottle of Scotch they’d been working on for the past hour or so.
Occasions such as this were a rarity for the three of them. With large companies to run, they seldom had time for an evening of cigars, open collars and conversation.
Which was probably a good thing, Nick decided as he took another sip of Scotch. His head had started to buzz three drinks ago.
“Thank God this wedding nonsense is almost over with,” Ethan declared, puffing his