Wedding of the Year Read online

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  “VICTORIA MALVEY ADDS A

  FRESH VOICE AND NEW VERVE

  TO THE GENRE.”

  —Romantic Times

  Praise for the Delightful Novels

  of Victoria Malvey

  A PROPER AFFAIR

  “Exhilarating. . . . A truly sparkling work. . . . It was great fun.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “An engaging battle of wills.”

  —Romantic Times

  “[A] deliciously sensual story. . . . A novel that delights the mind and heart.”

  —CompuServe Romance Reviews

  “A very nice read. . . . [The] secondary characters are so well-drawn that I wouldn't be surprised to find them in a sequel.”

  — Old Book Barn Gazette

  FORTUNE'S BRIDE

  “Ms. Malvey crafts a tapestry of intrigue, broken promises, and misunderstanding, paving the road to true love with a mixture of laughter and heartbreak. With a unique blend of humor and sensuality, she serves her readers a delicious romantic treat. It's the stuff that fuels dreams and carries you off into the clouds. Climb aboard and enjoy the delightful journey.”

  —Rendezvous

  “An energetic and amusing tale, perfectly suited to fans of Regency romances.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A delightful and entertaining Regency romp that will bring laughter to your heart. Fortune's Bride is a joy to read, with interesting characters and antics that will have you rolling on the floor with laughter; yet there is also a sweet romance that will touch the heart of all romance readers. Curl up on a cold wintry day with Fortune's Bride to bring warmth into your heart.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  A MERRY CHASE

  “Malvey delights with her charming characters and witty situations, and the many plot twists add a dash of spice and suspense to this romantic chase.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “You'll find yourself enjoying every minute. . . . Ms. Malvey's novel is delightful, delicious, and delectable. Her intelligent, witty characters are easy to like and their comical antics bring a quick smile and genuine laughter. Don't miss the fun.”

  —Rendezvous

  TEMPTRESS

  “Victoria Malvey gives classic romance a fresh and exciting new voice.”

  —Teresa Medeiros, author of The Bride and the Beast

  ENCHANTED

  “Written with skill and humor. . . . A delight to read. . . . A compelling story about the endurance of love.”

  —Rendezvous

  “An enthralling tale of mystery and intrigue. Splendid.”

  — Bell, Book & Candle

  “A delightful and alluring romance. This is the kind of tale that brightens the day and brings back memories of first crushes and the wonderful feeling of falling in love.”

  —Romantic Times

  PORTRAIT OF DREAMS

  “A new star has burst upon the romance horizon. Victoria Malvey's Portrait of Dreams [is] a sensually sweet tale of love found and fought for. The spark that makes a book a bestseller is present on every page of this beautiful story. FIVE STARS.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “Heartwarming and tender. . . . A truly unforgettable story.”

  —Julie Garwood, New York Times best-selling author of Mercy

  Books by Victoria Malvey

  Portrait of Dreams

  Enchanted

  Temptress

  A Merry Chase

  Fortune's Bride

  A Proper Affair

  Wedding of the Year

  Published by POCKET BOOKS

  SONNET BOOKS

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  A Sonnet Book published by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright © 2001 by Victoria Malvey

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN: 0-7434-2184-1

  SONNET BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  To my nephew

  Christopher Manuel Malvey

  October 27, 2000

  Another angel in Heaven.

  Hold on to him tightly, Lindsey,

  and know you are both loved very, very much.

  Acknowledgments

  A special thanks to my editor, Amy Pierpont, for her

  understanding and compassion during a difficult

  time in my life. Without her encouragement and

  empathy, this book would never have been finished.

  My thanks, Amy!

  And another thank you to my agent, Pam Hopkins,

  for helping me face hard times and overcome them.

  As always, your support lent me strength and

  helped me get back on track.

  Prologue

  Godmersham, England

  November 1828

  You will perhaps say that the sinews and muscles of a bird are incomparably more powerful than those of man, because . . .

  A loud noise broke Elizabeth's concentration. Glancing up from her book on Leonardo da Vinci's flying experiments, she saw the footmen lifting the heavy trunk again. As she watched, a second set of footmen passed with yet another traveling trunk.

  Oh, no, Elizabeth thought, setting aside the book. Surely they weren't leaving for London already. Lifting her skirts, she rushed up the curved staircase, past the servants carrying boxes and trunks, and into her mother's bedchamber. Surrounded by utter chaos, her mother directed the servants with ease as she tossed gown after gown upon the bed, creating a colorful mound of garments.

  “Be certain you pack that lovely feather hat I purchased just . . .”

  “What's happening, Mama?” Elizabeth asked, praying she was wrong. Perhaps they were simply going on a trip to Scotland, or a jaunt across the moors.

  Turning with a brilliant smile, Mama laid a shawl upon the gowns. “We're off to London.”

  “Already? Must we go to town so soon?” Elizabeth asked as the servants, laden with boxes, left the room. “Can't we wait until after Christmas?”

  “I'm afraid not, poppet,” her mother replied as she sorted through her enormous closet.

  “London!” Catherine exclaimed as she entered the bedchamber. “We're heading back to town early?”

  Their mother answered with a laugh. “I knew you wouldn't mind, Kit-cat.”

  “Mind? Heavens, no.” Catherine bounded onto the bed. “Only an old muggins like Beth would mind.”

  A few blonde tendrils escaped their mother's elegant coiffure as she shook her head. “Elizabeth simply prefers the country, Catherine,” she corrected, moving to join them on the bed.

  “Indeed, I do,” Elizabeth agreed, sending a teasing smile toward her sister. “Some of us have interests other than parties and nattering.”

  Catherine fell back onto the bed in a huff. “ ‘ Nattering’? Only old ladies ‘natter,’ and I'm fourteen, not eighty.”

  “Very well then. What if I say you adore to talk about fripperies and other silly things all day long and well into the night until I fear my ears will burst?” Elizabeth countered, playfully tossi
ng a pillow at Catherine.

  “Come now, girls,” their mother said, the sparkle in her blue eyes belying the stern tone in her voice.

  Catherine scrunched her nose at her sister.

  “Young ladies do not make faces, Catherine.”

  Her mother's quiet reprimand made Catherine sit upright. “Sorry, Mama” she mumbled.

  “And as for you,” their mother said, reaching out to take hold of Elizabeth's hand. “While I know you love life in the country, you must remember that you'll have your first season next year, so it is best if you pay close attention to the actions of the debutantes in town.”

  “Don't remind me,” Elizabeth groaned, closing her eyes. The mere thought of a Season made her cringe.

  “Come now, darling. You will love it.”

  Mama's reassurances did little to ease the churning in the pit of her stomach. Though she might look exactly like her mother, Elizabeth couldn't have been more different. The ever-elegant Lady Margaret Everley, Countess of Shipham, was so vivacious, so charming, that Elizabeth didn't know of anyone who didn't like her. And while she might mirror her mother in looks, she was quite unlike her in personality; Elizabeth was shy, quiet, and preferred the company of her books to that of people.

  Glancing at her sister, Elizabeth tried not to feel envious of Catherine and her ease with people. With her brown hair, gray eyes, and petite frame, she looked nothing like their tall, willowy mother. Yet, in personality, Catherine mirrored Mama. Both of them were so outgoing, so bright, so charming, when it was all she could do to converse with the neighbors.

  “I can't wait for my Season!” Catherine pronounced happily.

  “I know you can't, Kit-cat,” their mother said with a laugh, reaching out to stroke her hair. “But you have three more years yet.”

  “Three?” she moaned. “Many girls debut at sixteen. Why can't I?”

  “You know the answer to that as well as I,” Mama replied softly. “Your father has decided his girls will have their first Season when they turn seventeen.”

  “I'd be perfectly content to wait a bit longer,” Elizabeth offered hopefully.

  Mama laughed brilliantly. “Knowing you, my darling Elizabeth, you would fancy skipping a Season all together.” Leaning forward, she clasped Elizabeth's hands between hers. “I believe you'll surprise yourself with how much you will enjoy your debut. We'll go shopping for the perfect gowns on Regent Street, then ride along Ladies'Walk in Hyde Park to show off your new, smart riding habit, and the gentlemen will scramble to fill in your dance card.” She smiled at Elizabeth. “Trust me, darling. Everything will be just fine.”

  “I believe you,” she replied softly, knowing her mother would somehow find a way to help her overcome her shortcomings.

  “Yes, don't worry, Elizabeth. All you have to do is stand there, looking utterly beautiful, and gentlemen will be swarming all over you,” Catherine predicted gaily. “And as soon as I'm finally old enough, I shall join you and together we can attend every party, every soiree.” Sliding off the bed, Catherine twirled around with her arms spread wide. “I'll dance until my feet hurt.” She grabbed hold of the bedpost. “And I'll collect hundreds of offers from the finest bachelors until I decide upon my heart's true love.”

  Mama sighed heartily. “That's what I worry about with you, Cat. That you'll fancy yourself in love with some fleet-footed fortune hunter and, with your romantic nature, you'll be unable to see beyond your own fantasies to the truth.” Leveling a somber look at Catherine, Mama pointed a finger at her. “But just as I'll help your sister to enjoy her first Season, I'll keep a close eye on you . . . to make certain you don't enjoy yours too much.”

  Catherine couldn't help but laugh at her mother's worries.

  “What's this?” boomed Douglas Everley, Earl of Shipham, as he stepped into the bedchamber. “My girls are having a party without me?” He shook his head. “For shame on all of you.”

  With a soft laugh, Lady Margaret stood and, holding out her arms, moved toward her husband. “Not a party, darling. Just a little gathering.”

  Lifting her hand to his lips, Douglas smiled down at her. “Well, then, I suppose I shan't feel slighted at not being invited to join you.”

  “Good.” Lady Margaret smoothed her hand down his waistcoat. “I should hate for you to feel slighted, Douglas, so I promise to invite you to any party we might have.”

  “Why don't we have one now?” Without awaiting a response, he swung his wife into his arms and began to waltz her around the room as he hummed aloud.

  Lady Margaret laughed up at her husband as he spun her across the gleaming floor.

  “Join us, girls,” Douglas shouted gaily before resuming his tune.

  Giggling, Catherine held out her arms to Elizabeth and they began to twirl around the room as well.

  “You're a terrible dancer,” Elizabeth said, her smile taking the sting out of the words.

  “So are you,” Catherine returned brightly. “But I'm not the one who has to learn how to dance by next year.”

  1

  London, England

  November 1830

  Comfortably ensconced within the soft cushions of the library chair, Elizabeth studied da Vinci's theories on astrology, the same theories that had caused the Church to declare him a heretic. Feeling slightly nervous that her father might discover her reading such controversial information, Elizabeth glanced around the brocade-covered wing of her chair . . . and caught sight of Catherine, tiptoeing across the floor toward the door that connected the library to their father's study. “Cat?”

  Catherine skidded to a halt. “Shhhh,” she whispered testily as she moved the last few paces to the door.

  Elizabeth might have managed to ignore her sister's odd behavior if Catherine hadn't then leaned forward and pressed her ear against the door. “What are you doing, Catherine?” Elizabeth exclaimed, unable to believe her sister would eavesdrop upon their father.

  Twisting around, Catherine pressed a finger to her lips. Even from across the room, Elizabeth could see annoyance brightening her sister's eyes. “Do you want me to get caught?” Catherine hissed.

  “Of course not, but still, Catherine, it's not right to listen-to Papa's private conversation,” Elizabeth protested softly.

  “It most certainly is when Papa's discussion concerns me.” She waved her hand. “Now quiet down, Elizabeth, so I can hear what they're saying.”

  Her curiosity now overriding her disapproval, Elizabeth set aside the astrology charts. “To whom is he speaking?”

  “Lord Dunham.”

  It took a moment of thought, but Elizabeth finally placed the name. “Is he that foppish dandy with reddish hair?”

  Catherine shot her an exasperated glance. “Only you would describe one of the most eligible gentlemen of the season in such a despicable fashion.”

  Elizabeth rose from her chair with a decidedly unladylike snort. “If he's considered one of the most eligible gentlemen, it is little wonder I have yet to find someone who interests me.”

  “That's not the reason at all, Elizabeth, and you know it.” Catherine shook her head. “You're far too busy burying your head in all of your books and silly experiments to even consider entertaining a suitor.”

  “The gentlemen of the ton aren't exactly beating down the door to court me,” Elizabeth pointed out.

  “Only because you don't give them a chance to get to know you.”

  “I do so,” Elizabeth protested. “Why, just last evening I spoke with Lord Connor about the complications I was encountering in designing a catapult.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, Catherine rolled her eyes. “Good heavens, Elizabeth, gentlemen don't wish to discuss gadgets and gears at a ball!”

  “Then what do they want to discuss?” Elizabeth asked, genuinely at a loss.

  Catherine shrugged. “Most gentlemen don't really require actual conversation. If you simply look fascinated with whatever they're saying and add an occasional nod, they find you fascinat
ing.”

  “How could that be?” Elizabeth countered, even more confused than before. “Are gentlemen really interested in an empty-headed miss who does nothing more than hang on their every word?”

  “For the most part,” Catherine agreed with a firm nod.

  “If that's what gentlemen really want, then I fear I am doomed to spinsterhood,” Elizabeth predicted.

  “Pshaw,” Catherine said, waving her hand dismissively. “All you need is to find the perfect gentleman who appreciates all of your fine qualities.”

  No, what she needed was a miracle. Elizabeth dropped her book onto the chair she'd recently abandoned. “What I need is someone who can help me to fit into society, someone who loves me, someone who can teach me how to successfully converse at parties, someone who can help me belong.”

  “You belong now,” Catherine countered. “After all, you're the daughter of an earl.”

  Shaking her head, Elizabeth continued, “That's the only reason I'm accepted. It doesn't help me to feel a part of society. It's as if everyone simply sees me and dismisses me as a brainless, vapid lady. Worse still, I don't know how to dispell their mistaken beliefs. Even you have to admit, Cat, that I'm woefully bad at conversing with people or thinking up those witty replies you toss out with such ease.”

  “Carrying on polite conversation is a skill like any other,” Catherine pointed out. “Which means it can be learned.”