Born in Ice
Page 31
“I feel beautiful.” She laughed and turned to embrace Maggie, then Brianna. “I don’t care who knows it. I wonder if Niall could be as nervous as I am.”
“He’s pacing like a big cat,” Maggie told her. “And asking Rogan for the time every ten seconds.”
“Good.” Christine drew in a long breath. “That’s good, then. It is nearly time, isn’t it?”
“Nearly.” Brianna kissed her on each cheek. “I’ll be going down now to make sure everything’s as it should be. I wish you happiness . . . Aunt Christine.”
“Oh, dear.” Christine’s eyes filled. “How sweet you are.”
“Don’t do that,” Maggie warned. “You’ll have us all going. I’ll signal when we’re ready, Brie.”
With a quick nod Brianna hurried out. There were caterers, of course, and a houseful of servants. But a wedding was a family thing, and she wanted it perfect.
The guests were milling in the parlor—swirls of color, snatches of laughter. A harpist was playing in soft, dreamy notes. Garlands of roses had been twined along the banister, and pots of them were artistically decked throughout the house.
She wondered if she should slip into the kitchen, just to be certain all was well, when she spotted her mother and Lottie. Fixing a bright smile on her face, she went forward.
“Mother, you look wonderful.”
“Foolishness. Lottie nagged me into spending good money on a new dress." But she brushed a hand fussily along the soft linen sleeve.
“It’s lovely. And so’s yours, Lottie.”
Maeve’s companion laughed heartily. “We splurged sinfully, we did. But it isn’t every day you go to such a fancy wedding. The archbishop,” she said with a whisper and a wink. “Imagine.”
Maeve sniffed. “A priest’s a priest no matter what hat he’s wearing. Seems to me he’d think twice before officiating at such a time. When two people have lived in sin—”
“Mother.” Brianna kept her voice low, but icily firm. “Not today.
Please, if you’d only—”
“Brianna.” Gray stepped up, took her hand, kissed it. “You look fabulous.”
“Thank you.” She struggled not to flush as his fingers locked possessively around hers. “Mother, Lottie, this is Grayson Thane. He’s a guest at Blackthorn. Gray, Maeve Concannon and Lottie Sullivan.”
“Mrs. Sullivan.” He took Lottie’s hand, making her giggle when he kissed it. “Mrs. Concannon. My congratulations on your lovely and talented daughters.”
Maeve only scowled. His hair was as long as a girl’s, she observed. And his smile had more than a bit of the devil in it. “A Yank, are you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m enjoying your country very much. And your daughter’s hospitality.”
“Paying tenants don’t usually come to family weddings.”
“Mother—”
“No, they don’t,” Gray said smoothly. “That’s another thing I find charming about your country. Strangers are treated as friends, and friends never as strangers. May I escort you to your seats?”
Lottie was already hooking her arm through his. “Come ahead, Maeve. How often are we going to get an offer from a fine-looking young man like this? You’re a book writer, are you?”
“I am.” He swept both women off, sending a quick, smug smile to Brianna over his shoulder.
She could have kissed him. Even as she sighed in relief, Maggie signaled from the top of the stairs.
As the harpist switched to the wedding march, Brianna slipped to the back of the room. Her throat tightened as Niall took his place in front of the hearth and looked toward the stairs. Perhaps his hair was thin and his waist thick, but just then he looked young and eager and full of nerves.
The room hummed with anticipation as Christine walked slowly down the stairs, turned, and with her eyes bright behind her veil, went to him. The archbishop blessed them, and the ceremony began.
“Here.” Gray slipped up beside Brianna a few moments later and offered his handkerchief. “I had a feeling you’d need this.”
“It’s beautiful.” She dabbed at her eyes. The words sighed through her.
To love. To honor. To cherish.
Gray heard Till death do us part. A life sentence. He’d always figured there was a reason people cried at weddings. He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze. “Buck up,” he murmured. “It’s nearly over.”
“It’s only beginning,” she corrected and indulged herself by resting her head on his shoulder.
Applause erupted when Niall thoroughly, and enthusiastically, kissed the bride.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Trips on private planes, champagne, and glossy society weddings were all well and good, Brianna supposed. But she was glad to be home. Though she knew better than to trust the skies or the balmy air, she preferred to think the worst of the winter was over. She dreamed of her fine new greenhouse as she tended her seedlings in the shed. And planned for her converted attic room while she hung the wash.
In the week she’d been back from Dublin, she all but had the house to herself. Gray was closeted in his room working. Now and again he popped off for a drive or strolled into the kitchen sniffing for food.
She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or miffed that he seemed too preoccupied to try to charm more kisses from her.
Still, she was forced to admit that her solitude was more pleasant knowing he was just up the stairs. She could sit by the fire in the evening, reading or knitting or sketching out her plans, knowing he could come wandering down to join her at any time.
But it wasn’t Gray who interrupted her knitting one cool evening, but her mother and Lottie.
She heard the car outside without much surprise. Friends and neighbors often stopped in when they saw her light on. She’d set her knitting aside and started for the door when she heard her mother and Lottie arguing outside it.
Brianna only sighed. For reasons that escaped her, the two women seemed to enjoy their bickering.
“Good evening to you.” She greeted them both with a kiss. “What a fine surprise.”
“I hope we’re not disturbing you, Brie.” Lottie rolled her merry eyes. “Maeve had it in her head we would come, so here we are.”
“He’s pacing like a big cat,” Maggie told her. “And asking Rogan for the time every ten seconds.”
“Good.” Christine drew in a long breath. “That’s good, then. It is nearly time, isn’t it?”
“Nearly.” Brianna kissed her on each cheek. “I’ll be going down now to make sure everything’s as it should be. I wish you happiness . . . Aunt Christine.”
“Oh, dear.” Christine’s eyes filled. “How sweet you are.”
“Don’t do that,” Maggie warned. “You’ll have us all going. I’ll signal when we’re ready, Brie.”
With a quick nod Brianna hurried out. There were caterers, of course, and a houseful of servants. But a wedding was a family thing, and she wanted it perfect.
The guests were milling in the parlor—swirls of color, snatches of laughter. A harpist was playing in soft, dreamy notes. Garlands of roses had been twined along the banister, and pots of them were artistically decked throughout the house.
She wondered if she should slip into the kitchen, just to be certain all was well, when she spotted her mother and Lottie. Fixing a bright smile on her face, she went forward.
“Mother, you look wonderful.”
“Foolishness. Lottie nagged me into spending good money on a new dress." But she brushed a hand fussily along the soft linen sleeve.
“It’s lovely. And so’s yours, Lottie.”
Maeve’s companion laughed heartily. “We splurged sinfully, we did. But it isn’t every day you go to such a fancy wedding. The archbishop,” she said with a whisper and a wink. “Imagine.”
Maeve sniffed. “A priest’s a priest no matter what hat he’s wearing. Seems to me he’d think twice before officiating at such a time. When two people have lived in sin—”
“Mother.” Brianna kept her voice low, but icily firm. “Not today.
Please, if you’d only—”
“Brianna.” Gray stepped up, took her hand, kissed it. “You look fabulous.”
“Thank you.” She struggled not to flush as his fingers locked possessively around hers. “Mother, Lottie, this is Grayson Thane. He’s a guest at Blackthorn. Gray, Maeve Concannon and Lottie Sullivan.”
“Mrs. Sullivan.” He took Lottie’s hand, making her giggle when he kissed it. “Mrs. Concannon. My congratulations on your lovely and talented daughters.”
Maeve only scowled. His hair was as long as a girl’s, she observed. And his smile had more than a bit of the devil in it. “A Yank, are you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m enjoying your country very much. And your daughter’s hospitality.”
“Paying tenants don’t usually come to family weddings.”
“Mother—”
“No, they don’t,” Gray said smoothly. “That’s another thing I find charming about your country. Strangers are treated as friends, and friends never as strangers. May I escort you to your seats?”
Lottie was already hooking her arm through his. “Come ahead, Maeve. How often are we going to get an offer from a fine-looking young man like this? You’re a book writer, are you?”
“I am.” He swept both women off, sending a quick, smug smile to Brianna over his shoulder.
She could have kissed him. Even as she sighed in relief, Maggie signaled from the top of the stairs.
As the harpist switched to the wedding march, Brianna slipped to the back of the room. Her throat tightened as Niall took his place in front of the hearth and looked toward the stairs. Perhaps his hair was thin and his waist thick, but just then he looked young and eager and full of nerves.
The room hummed with anticipation as Christine walked slowly down the stairs, turned, and with her eyes bright behind her veil, went to him. The archbishop blessed them, and the ceremony began.
“Here.” Gray slipped up beside Brianna a few moments later and offered his handkerchief. “I had a feeling you’d need this.”
“It’s beautiful.” She dabbed at her eyes. The words sighed through her.
To love. To honor. To cherish.
Gray heard Till death do us part. A life sentence. He’d always figured there was a reason people cried at weddings. He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze. “Buck up,” he murmured. “It’s nearly over.”
“It’s only beginning,” she corrected and indulged herself by resting her head on his shoulder.
Applause erupted when Niall thoroughly, and enthusiastically, kissed the bride.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Trips on private planes, champagne, and glossy society weddings were all well and good, Brianna supposed. But she was glad to be home. Though she knew better than to trust the skies or the balmy air, she preferred to think the worst of the winter was over. She dreamed of her fine new greenhouse as she tended her seedlings in the shed. And planned for her converted attic room while she hung the wash.
In the week she’d been back from Dublin, she all but had the house to herself. Gray was closeted in his room working. Now and again he popped off for a drive or strolled into the kitchen sniffing for food.
She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or miffed that he seemed too preoccupied to try to charm more kisses from her.
Still, she was forced to admit that her solitude was more pleasant knowing he was just up the stairs. She could sit by the fire in the evening, reading or knitting or sketching out her plans, knowing he could come wandering down to join her at any time.
But it wasn’t Gray who interrupted her knitting one cool evening, but her mother and Lottie.
She heard the car outside without much surprise. Friends and neighbors often stopped in when they saw her light on. She’d set her knitting aside and started for the door when she heard her mother and Lottie arguing outside it.
Brianna only sighed. For reasons that escaped her, the two women seemed to enjoy their bickering.
“Good evening to you.” She greeted them both with a kiss. “What a fine surprise.”
“I hope we’re not disturbing you, Brie.” Lottie rolled her merry eyes. “Maeve had it in her head we would come, so here we are.”
