Wedding Fever. Lee Wilkinson
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at him. ‘Why, Raine? Why do you want things to be calm and orderly and safe? It doesn’t seem to be much of a recipe for marriage. It’s like trying to sail a three-masted schooner on a pond rather than taking it out to sea.’
She made an attempt to pull herself away and felt a rush of relief when he let her go. ‘Some people get seasick.’
‘Kevin, for instance?’
‘It suits us both to have a calm, friendly—’
‘Friendly! Ye gods ... a platonic marriage.’
On the defensive, she cried, ‘It won’t be platonic. It just won’t be...’
‘Stimulating? Passionate?’
She sought for a word. ‘Stormy. Neither of us care for an excessive display of emotion.’ Realising just how priggish that had sounded, she flushed and dipped her head, so that the long black hair fell forward, half curtaining her face.
Nick laughed harshly. ‘Little Lord Fauntleroy can’t have any good red blood in his veins if he’s willing to settle for a tepid relationship like that It seems as if your father was right when he—’
‘Dad’s not right. For once in his life he’s prejudiced and—’
‘Save your breath,’ Nick broke in softly. ‘It looks as if I’m going to have the opportunity to judge for myself.’
Kevin was advancing towards them over the grass, and for the first time she noticed that his shoulders were somewhat rounded and that he carried himself with a slight stoop.
Despite the warmth of the day, and the fact that it was a Saturday, he was conservatively dressed in a suit and tie.
Against Nick’s smart but cool attire of casual cotton trousers and dark blue open-necked shirt, he looked overheated and overdressed. But, Raine was pleased to note, he was by far the most conventionally handsome of the two.
Determined to prove something, she exclaimed brightly, ‘Darling...’ Going to him, she flung her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his.
Kevin didn’t actually say, Steady on, old thing, but he looked so uncomfortable that Nick had to turn his choke of laughter into a polite cough.
Raine glared at him.
Holding out a civil hand to the newcomer, he said blandly, ‘I’m Dominic Marlowe—Raine’s cousin.’
‘Kevin Somersby. How do you do?’ Pale eyes distinctly curious, Kevin shook the proffered hand, his grip moist but studiously firm.
Raine picked up her woolly and brushed it free of grass, then, slipping her hand through her fiancé’s arm, asked, ‘Shall we go up to the house?’
As though the suggestion had included him, Nick joined them, strolling along, sandwiching Raine between himself and Kevin, with a calm assurance that rattled her afresh.
Glancing from the slender black-haired girl by his side to the blond giant beyond her, Kevin remarked in his clear voice, with its upper-crust accent, ‘I fail to see any family resemblance—though you mentioned you were cousins?’
‘But not blood relatives,’ Nick said shortly.
‘Yet you have the same name?’
‘My mother had been widowed and I was just a year old when she married Harry Marlowe. He adopted me.’
‘I see.’ Kevin nodded, before asking a shade condescendingly, ‘What line of business are you in, Mr Marlowe?’
‘The family call me Nick.’
‘Then Nick it is.’ The words were just a fraction too hearty.
With a thin smile, Nick went on, ‘I take over small, near-bankrupt companies and make them into large, successful ones.’
Clearly disconcerted, Kevin adjusted his glasses and said awkwardly, ‘That must be very satisfying.’
‘It is, believe me.’
For no earthly reason, Raine shivered.
Calib had, as usual, made himself scarce when Kevin appeared. Now, to her annoyance, he emerged from a clump of purple Michaelmas daisies and attached himself to Nick with almost dog-like devotion.
Noticing the overt display of affection, Kevin collected himself and commented, ‘The cat appears to know you very well.’ When Nick said nothing, he continued a shade pompously, ‘It seems a little strange that we’ve never run across each other before... In fact, I don’t recall Lorraine ever mentioning you.’
‘She’s a funny girl,’ Nick observed with a smiling, intimate sidelong glance at his cousin. ‘Until today she’d never mentioned you to me.’
Kevin seemed unsure what to make of that. There was a rather awkward pause, during which Raine silently cursed Nick, before, either prompted by genuine interest or good manners, Kevin resumed the conversation again to ask, ‘I take it you don’t live in this part of the world... er...Nick?’
‘I live in the States—in Boston, Massachusetts.’
‘Ah... I wondered about the accent. I understand many Americans consider a Boston accent refined...’
When Nick failed to react to that piece of snobbery, Kevin went on, ‘Are you one of the Boston Brahmins, by any chance?’
‘Hardly,’ Nick replied coolly. ‘Though my mother’s ancestors came over on the Mayflower.’
‘What on earth is a Boston Brahmin?’ Raine asked.
It was Nick who answered. ‘It’s a name coined by Oliver Wendell Holmes back in the nineteenth century to describe the “aristocracy”—wealthy merchants of the city who were well-read, well-travelled and very conservative. They were usually descendants of the early Puritan settlers.’
As they left the walled garden and began to walk up the gentle slope of green lawns that led to the house, with its rosy brick herringbone-patterned walls and overhanging eaves, Kevin smoothed back his already smooth hair and pursued the matter. ‘So, have you two known each other all your lives?’
Nick shook his head. ‘We didn’t get to know each other until... when would it be, Raine?’
She ground her teeth. ‘I don’t remember exactly.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you do.’ He caught and held her glance. The gleam in his dark blue eyes brought a quick flush of betraying colour to her cheeks.
‘About a year ago, I suppose.’ Her tone was as offhand as she could make it.
‘It’s rather a romantic story,’ Nick went on conversationally. ‘Wouldn’t you say so, honey?’ Then, turning to the other man, he went on, ‘You see, when—’
Afraid of that “honey”, and of what he might be about to reveal, Raine interrupted jerkily, ‘I’m sure Kevin won’t want to be bored by all the family history.’
‘Not at all,’ Kevin said politely. Then to Nick, ‘Do go on.’
Cocking an eyebrow at Raine, Nick suggested, ‘Perhaps you’d like to carry on?’
Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, she chose the latter, and, estimating the distance to the house, began at the part she didn’t mind telling.
‘Nick’s—’ she spoke the hated name with difficulty ‘—adoptive father and mine were twins. More than thirty years ago they quarrelled and lost touch. Then last autumn, quite unexpectedly, we heard from Uncle Harry. He had just been diagnosed as suffering from a terminal illness and he wanted to make up the quarrel while he could. Dad and I went over to Boston.’
Leading the way over the old crazy-paving into the house, Raine added, as though it didn’t matter, ‘And that’s when Nick and I met for the first time.’
Crossing