Nannyland by Jane Elizabeth Hughes

Author:Jane Elizabeth Hughes [Hughes, Jane Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2016-05-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

IN THE END, my wedding was, astonishingly, fun. I had discovered that John loved music; his iPod was often playing softly when I slipped into his bedroom at night. He had the most eclectic playlist I had ever heard: Chopin rubbed shoulders with Lady Gaga, and a classic Pete Seeger protest song could be followed by Rage Against the Machine (when I thought about it, that segue did make sense).

So John had taken charge of the music. On the great day, we paced solemnly down the aisle to the strains of “Here Comes the Sun,” surprisingly sweet and hopeful. At the close of the brief ceremony, the Beatles’ “Help!” boomed out, and I burst into giggles. We danced our way back up the aisle as husband and wife, laughing at the scandalized faces of his mother and sister. Kath and Charlotte were convulsed in laughter; my mother was poker-faced. As we made our way into the reception rooms, I heard “Under My Thumb,” followed by “Run for Your Life.”

For our first dance as husband and wife, John had chosen “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” and as we moved together, I felt the words as I had never felt them before. “But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well, I’ve got you under my skin.”

Maybe it would be all right after all.

I had never danced with John and discovered that he danced much as he made love: He was fun, inventive, and highly skilled. Then he danced with Jane, who looked almost pretty in her pale blue silk, while I danced with his best man, Pamela’s portly husband. John reclaimed me for the final dance of the evening, “Feelin’ Good,” and murmured in my ear, “Maybe we should return to the scene of the crime.”

I smiled up at him, feeling good indeed. “What scene of the crime?”

“We should consummate our marriage in that shed on the hillside where it all started.”

I rested my head against his shoulder. “Or we could go to the lovely country hotel three miles away, where we reserved the bridal suite, and sleep in a huge feather bed with room service and central heat.”

“Maybe you’ll sleep,” my husband said. “I have other plans.”

— – — – —

Absurdly, I was married. I was Lady Jordan Grey, married to Sir John the (formerly) Icy, stepmother to his four children, and a member of the British nobility. Two days after the wedding, John returned to London and life returned to normal. I started to ponder Christmas presents for the children and conferred with my aerobics friends about what an English country Christmas should include. Weren’t there quaint traditions like stirring the nog? Or pease pudding? Did we invite all the peasants in the village to the great hall for sixpence and a fatted calf?

They assured me that Christmas in the Cotswolds was much like Christmas anywhere else in the world. “There’s a Walmart near Bristol, and the Gap, and Banana Republic. Just buy Katherine some J Brand jeans and she’ll be thrilled.

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