The Proper Way To Stop A Wedding. Victoria Alexander

“Please come in.”

      Aunt Guinevere stepped into the room, closed the door behind her and looked around. “My, this is lovely.”

      “Isn’t it, though?” Celia smiled.

      She’d never in her life had a bedchamber this nice. Of course, she’d never had one quite so large, either. No, the rooms at home at Bromwick Abbey were neither as gracious nor as beautifully appointed as those here. Danby Manor was most impressive and the abbey had seen better days. But then that was the price one paid when one’s home was more than five hundred years old, had started life as a humble monastery and had never had an owner interested in more than a modest expansion.

      “No wonder Katherine and Miss Quince had insisted on arriving well in advance of the wedding,” Aunt Guinevere said, still surveying the room.

      Katherine and Aunt Frances had thought it best to take up residence at Danby a full month before the wedding with the excuse that there was a great deal to be done. There was indeed but Celia was certain the lure of elegance and comfort to be found at the manor was ultimately responsible for the family’s lengthy stay.

      It would have been much better for all concerned if they just sent the bride and her aunt. But of course that would never do. There were questions of propriety about two unmarried women residing in the same house with two unmarried gentlemen—no matter how grand the house. Regardless of his other failings, Father was a stickler for propriety when it came to the reputations of his daughters. Pity he hadn’t been a bit more concerned about his own reputation—especially when it came to matters of finance. But Father had never quite grasped the idea that once his inherited funds were expended, there would be no more without some sort of effort on his part. Nor did he seem to understand gambling was perhaps not the best method for acquiring an income—especially if one was not particularly skilled or lucky. Fortunately, her grandfather had recognized this flaw in his heir and had set aside funding—managed by inflexible solicitors—to provide for schooling and minimal dowries for his granddaughters as well a small, untouchable trust that provided an extremely modest yearly income. Not large enough to claim their place in society but sufficient to keep a roof over their heads.

      “I am sorry I didn’t see more of you when you were in London.” Aunt Guinevere settled in one of two matching lady’s chairs positioned by the window that overlooked the back garden.

      “As am I but it couldn’t be helped,” Celia said with a smile. “We were only in London for a few months and we did manage to see each other twice.” Even that had been difficult to arrange. Neither Father nor Aunt Frances had ever liked Aunt Guinevere but then Celia was fairly certain the feelings were mutual. But she and Aunt Guinevere wrote frequently and that was nearly as good as seeing one another in person.

      “And did you enjoy your stay?”

      “Oh, Aunt Guinevere, it was truly wonderful.” Celia leaned toward the older woman. “I went to the Tower and the Zoological Gardens, and the Society of Antiquaries museum, and Madame Tussaud’s, and Soane’s Museum and, well, everywhere. I spent a great deal of time at the National Gallery and the British Museum.”

      The older woman bit back a smile. “I believe you mentioned some of that when we met in London.”

      “Probably, but it’s worth repeating.” Celia grinned. “I think I could quite happily spend every day for the rest of my life going back and forth between the National Gallery and the British Museum.”

      “There are worse ways to spend your life.” Aunt Guinevere smiled. “The British Museum is where I met your uncle Charles, you know. We were both attending a lecture on Etruscan artifacts.”

      “I intend to live in London one day,” Celia said firmly.

      That she had managed to visit London at all was something of a miracle and due entirely to Aunt Frances. Unbeknownst to anyone else in the family, Aunt Frances had received a small inheritance. She had wisely kept her windfall to herself as Father would have insisted she contribute to the family coffers given he provided a home for her. Regardless, at the beginning of the new year, Aunt Frances had decreed they would reside in London for several months in an effort to find a wealthy, well-connected husband for Katherine—who was not getting any younger—and hopefully Louise and Celia as well before all three girls became spinsters and remained their father’s responsibility for the rest of their lives. Father agreed without hesitation. The idea of three less people demanding he give up his foolish ways and do something of worth with his life was irresistible to him. And, as Frances had the money to pay for letting a London residence, it seemed an excellent plan.

      Unfortunately, London society was not overly interested in sisters aged twenty-four, twenty-three and nineteen no matter how lovely or accomplished they were. Still, Aunt Frances was determined to see at least one—if not all three girls—wed and did manage a few invitations, mostly for Katherine and Louise. Katherine had done her part by meeting and enchanting the brother of an earl, who reportedly had a significant income, even if he was not her first choice. Celia had no illusions about her older sister. Katherine was almost as clever as she was mercenary. She immediately realized she did not appeal to the earl and set her sights on his brother.

      “I know I would never want to live anywhere else.” Aunt Guinevere paused. “Will Katherine and Henry be living in London after they’re wed?”

      “I believe so. Henry and his brother manage the family business interests and Henry has a lovely house in Mayfair.”

      It was at Henry’s house that Celia had discovered the gentleman she’d had a chance conversation with at a bookstore, the man she couldn’t get out of her head, was soon to be her brother-in-law. He had already asked for Katherine’s hand and had invited the rest of the family and his brother to join him for dinner. It was an evening of revelation in any number of ways.

      For one thing—Henry Saunders wasn’t at all the type one would have thought would appeal to Katherine. He was handsome in a quiet sort of way but not the kind of man one read about in novels of romance or adventure. One did not swoon with immediate passion when meeting the calm, self-possessed Mr. Henry Saunders. He was obviously intelligent and scholarly and somewhat restrained, in contrast to his brother, who was brash and amusing and worldly.

      Indeed, upon one’s first meeting one might have thought Henry entirely too somber, even cold in nature. Until one gazed into his brown eyes and saw compassion and intelligence and all manner of wicked amusement. And the oddest sort of recognition. As if he saw something in her no one else had ever seen. The moment he touched her hand, the strangest sense of awareness shot through her as if she had just met her fate. It was at once terrifying and exciting and utterly hopeless.

      “He seems quite pleasant.”

      Celia’s gaze shot to her aunt’s. “Who?”

      “Why, Henry of course. Mr. Saunders.” Aunt Guinevere’s brow arched upward. “Were we speaking of someone else?”

      “No, of course not. Sorry, my mind must have wandered.” Precisely as it had done since the moment she’d met Henry. She drew a deep breath in hopes of regaining some semblance of composure. “Henry is very nice and very clever and a man of honor.”

      “Not the kind of man to go back on his word, then?”

      Celia shook her head. “Good Lord, no.”

      No, she thought sadly, Henry Saunders was not the type to rescind an offer of marriage even if he discovered his fiancée was petty and greedy and not an especially nice person. Even if he realized he was making a horrendous mistake.

      Even if the look in his eyes when his gaze met his fiancée’s younger sister’s matched the feelings in that sister’s heart.

      Henry was as fine a man as Celia had ever met and deserved better than Katherine. But, although Katherine, and Louise as well, had never considered Celia anything other than a mistake on their father’s part, Celia could not bring herself to tell Henry that Katherine’s interest was more in his family’s position and his fortune than it was in him. Family, after all, deserved