Outcast. Joan Johnston

cornflower-blue eyes that gazed adoringly at his friend pretty much all the time. Her sun-streaked blond hair proved, even more than the healthy glow of her flawless skin, how much time Julia spent outdoors horseback riding and playing tennis and sailing.

      Most of all, for a girl who’d been given everything she could want from the day she was born, Julia was surprisingly kind and thoughtful of others.

      Ben watched as each of the groomsmen held out an arm to one of the bridesmaids. Rhett winked at him as he passed by, then turned his charming smile toward the young woman he was escorting.

      He looked for his eldest brother, then recalled that Nash was off on some troubleshooting mission for the president and had said he might or might not make it to the wedding tomorrow. Ben thought of Carter, as he often did, now that he was no longer fighting overseas himself, and prayed that his younger brother was safe and well in Iraq.

      Ben held out his arm to the maid of honor, one of Julia’s very young friends, who lifted her chin proudly as she put her arm through his.

      “Hello, Paige,” Ben said with a smile meant to melt some of the ice he could see in her eyes and in her spine.

      “Hello, Mr. Benedict,” the girl replied with frost in her voice.

      “Please call me Ben.”

      “I’m being polite to you for Julia’s sake,” the girl said haughtily. “But I don’t like you. Or your friend.”

      “If you think Julia’s making a mistake marrying Waverly, why did you agree to be her maid of honor?”

      “It is when one’s friends are being foolish that those friends need one the most.”

      Despite the speech without contractions, or maybe because of it, Paige Carrington seemed even younger than the nineteen years old Ben knew she was. He felt too old and jaded to be a part of this wedding party, but he’d promised Waverly he’d be his best man. The worst was almost over. He hoped.

      Hamilton Farm’s exquisite mahogany dining-room table would have seated twenty easily. The wedding party of fourteen was spread out along the length of it. Four tall silver epergnes holding white beeswax candles and layered with pale pink roses made conversation with those sitting across the table difficult, if not impossible.

      Ben leaned to his left and whispered to Julia, “Remind me again why we’re having the rehearsal after dinner, instead of before?”

      “Archbishop Hostetler is performing another wedding right now,” Julia said. “He should be done by the time we’re finished with dinner.”

      Ben wished Waverly were sitting closer. He was at the end of the table on the other side of Julia. Ben could see his friend was uncomfortable with the undeniable evidence of the Hamiltons’ wealth—the silver service, the gold-trimmed china and the servile waiters.

      He was clearly too nervous to enjoy his food. Ben watched as Waverly’s bowl of she-crab soup went back full, then watched Waverly fidget as a uniformed waiter served him orange-glazed pork loin, new potatoes and honeyed peas and carrots.

      For the next hour, Waverly tossed back champagne like there was no tomorrow. And Ben was pretty sure he hated the stuff.

      Ben kept his gaze focused on Waverly, because he didn’t like what he saw when he glanced at his father, who was sitting near the center of the opposite side of the table. It was annoying to watch his father glancing surreptitiously at his mother.

      Ben wondered how his stepmother, who was positioned near the head of the table beside Ham, could sit there and ignore his father’s disrespectful behavior.

      Ben heard laughter at Rhett’s end of the table and watched as his mother shot her youngest son an admonishing look. Rhett’s grin was unrepentant. He picked up his champagne glass and drank deep as he stared into the eyes of the blushing bridesmaid to his right.

      Ben heard Waverly loudly clear his throat. His friend scraped his chair back as he stood, champagne glass in hand. It seemed the groom was about to offer a toast to his bride.

      The first words out of Waverly’s mouth made it clear Ben was wrong.

      12

      “Mr.—Senator—and Mrs. Hamilton, I love your daughter,” Waverly began. “My goal in life is to make Julia happy. Without using her money.” He flushed deeply and added, “I mean, with the money I earn. I mean, I intend to be the one to support my wife.”

      “Why, you … “ Ham spluttered.

      “Honey,” Julia said to Waverly, “we can talk about this later.”

      “Insolent puppy!” Ham snarled.

      “Let the man have his say,” Ben’s father interjected.

      “No one dictates to me in my own home,” Ham said ominously.

      “Waverly has a right to speak,” Ben’s father insisted.

      “He has no rights in this house!” Ham said heatedly. “Not where my daughter is concerned. I will be the one—”

      Waverly interrupted, “Sir, I only want to make it clear—”

      Ham whirled on the groom and said, “If you know what’s good for you, young man, you will keep your mouth shut.”

      “I will not,” Waverly said, his face pale.

      Ben was surprised at Waverly’s stubbornness. At his courage in the face of a very powerful—and unhappy—future father-in-law. He felt the knot growing in his stomach. He watched carefully, alarmed because his father looked agitated enough at Ham for the two of them to come to blows. Ben began figuring the quickest way to get between them if that happened.

      Julia had insisted on being seated next to her future husband, and now Ben realized she must have anticipated some sort of confrontation during dinner. She reached out and laid a hand on Waverly’s arm, attempting to tug him back into his seat.

      It didn’t work.

      “Julia and I don’t need your money,” Waverly said to Ham, his brown eyes earnest. “We plan to live a simple, happy, loving, long life together.”

      Ham’s lips became a rigid hyphen.

      Ben’s glance slid to his mother. Abigail Coates Benedict Hamilton delicately dabbed at the sides of her pink-painted mouth with her napkin. With exquisite grace, she raised her eyes from the antique lace tablecloth and met Waverly’s troubled gaze.

      “I know you love Julia,” she said in a calm, quiet voice. “And that you will do your best to make her happy.”

      Ben held his breath. Do your best? The insinuation was there that Waverly’s best wouldn’t be nearly good enough.

      “What does that mean?” Ben’s father demanded.

      Ben nearly groaned aloud. Why couldn’t his father leave well enough alone?

      “Just what I said,” his mother replied, her voice even.

      “It sounded like you were denigrating the boy.”

      “The boy?” his mother said, lifting an eyebrow.

      Ben watched his father scowl as he corrected, “The young man.”

      “That certainly was not my intention,” his mother said, her voice showing agitation for the first time.

      Julia rose abruptly from her chair and stood beside Waverly. She stared with dismay at her mother and said, “Wave will make me happy, Mother.” She gazed imploringly at her father and said, “I love him, Daddy.”

      The bridesmaids and two younger groomsmen lowered their glances nervously. Hands gripped napkins in laps.

      Ben felt the muscles tighten in his neck and shoulders, felt his legs tense for action.

      “I know you love Waverly, dear,”