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bouquet Augusta had ordered. âYou can set that aside. I will carry the orchids.â
âButâ¦â After the beginning of a protest, the maid nodded. âYes, mademoiselle. An excellent choice.â
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 tears again.
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 nervous wreck.
Antoinette returned with a basin of water and a cloth, then flipped the veil back over Sunnyâs head so that her face was bare. âYou must hurry, mademoiselle, or you will be late.â
As she sponged her stinging eyes with the cool, moist cloth, Sunny snapped, âThey can all wait. â
Â
T HE 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. Thomasâs Anglican church. Though the Vangelders didnât usually worship there, it was the only fashionable church with enough space for the seventy-voice choir Augusta had chosen.
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 Charlieâsarm. Though she could not see the guests clearly in the dim light, every pew seemed to be filled.
As the bridesmaids marched smartly down the aisle to the music of the sixty-piece orchestra, Charlie whispered, âBuck up, Sunny. Show them that an American girl is every bit the equal of any European princess.â
The wedding march began, and Sunny started the long walk to the altar. If it hadnât been for her brotherâs firm support, the âAmerican princessâ might have fallen flat on her face.
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 hadnât been for the five-yard train, she might have turned and bolted.
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 Justinâs who was currently serving in the British Embassy in Washington.
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 changed her mind.
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 of apology.
His expression eased. He took her hand, and the warmth of his clasp was the most real thing she had experienced all day.
They turned to face the bishop, and the ancient, familiar words transformed the stranger beside her into her husband.
Â
T HE 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 become friends.
Instead, the âwedding breakfastâ had proved to be a huge reception that seemed as if it would never end. By the time they reached their hotel suite, Sunnyâs face was gray with fatigue.
He wanted to hold her but restrained himself, for she looked as if she would shatter at
âButâ¦â After the beginning of a protest, the maid nodded. âYes, mademoiselle. An excellent choice.â
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 tears again.
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 nervous wreck.
Antoinette returned with a basin of water and a cloth, then flipped the veil back over Sunnyâs head so that her face was bare. âYou must hurry, mademoiselle, or you will be late.â
As she sponged her stinging eyes with the cool, moist cloth, Sunny snapped, âThey can all wait. â
Â
T HE 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. Thomasâs Anglican church. Though the Vangelders didnât usually worship there, it was the only fashionable church with enough space for the seventy-voice choir Augusta had chosen.
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 Charlieâsarm. Though she could not see the guests clearly in the dim light, every pew seemed to be filled.
As the bridesmaids marched smartly down the aisle to the music of the sixty-piece orchestra, Charlie whispered, âBuck up, Sunny. Show them that an American girl is every bit the equal of any European princess.â
The wedding march began, and Sunny started the long walk to the altar. If it hadnât been for her brotherâs firm support, the âAmerican princessâ might have fallen flat on her face.
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 hadnât been for the five-yard train, she might have turned and bolted.
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 Justinâs who was currently serving in the British Embassy in Washington.
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 changed her mind.
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 of apology.
His expression eased. He took her hand, and the warmth of his clasp was the most real thing she had experienced all day.
They turned to face the bishop, and the ancient, familiar words transformed the stranger beside her into her husband.
Â
T HE 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 become friends.
Instead, the âwedding breakfastâ had proved to be a huge reception that seemed as if it would never end. By the time they reached their hotel suite, Sunnyâs face was gray with fatigue.
He wanted to hold her but restrained himself, for she looked as if she would shatter at
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