Royal Weddings: An Original Anthology by Stephanie Laurens & Gaelen Foley & Loretta Chase

Author:Stephanie Laurens & Gaelen Foley & Loretta Chase [Laurens, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2011-04-04T16:00:00+00:00

June 18, 1820, 1:00 P.M.

Old Minstrel’s Gallery above the Ballroom, Durham House, London

“See?” From over Meg’s shoulder, Gaston looked down at the wedding breakfast in full swing in the ballroom below. “I told you they would manage perfectly well without us.”

Meg scanned the faces. “God only knows what happened at the ceremony.”

“Do you see any unhappy faces there, mignonne? No. Because all went perfectly, exactly as you had arranged.”

Meg glanced at him, eyes faintly narrow. “I hate it when you’re right.”

He grinned at her. “You will have to learn to get used to it—just as you did last night.”

Meg felt a blush climb up her throat and into her cheeks at the reminder of exactly what had filled their night, and most of their morning, too, resulting in her missing the only royal wedding she’d ever organized.

Not that she truly minded; Gaston, and all he’d shown her, was more than adequate compensation.

But it hadn’t been until fifteen minutes ago that she’d realized that none of their respective families had expected them to make an appearance at the ceremony, or indeed, at the breakfast. She and Gaston had slipped into the house through a side door, and gone straight to her room so she could change. He had a yacht standing by to catch the afternoon tide, and she had agreed to go with him.

On entering her room, she’d come to an abrupt halt. Gaston, following, had propelled her farther in and shut the door. Leaving her gawping at her traveling trunks, all packed and ready, waiting.

There’d been notes, too—from Cicely, Rosalind, and Miranda, her sisters, from her two brothers, and her mother and father, too. From Juliette and Robert, and the de Rochers.

But it was the present Cicely, Rosalind, and Miranda had hidden in the top of her night case that reduced her to tears. A scandalous nightgown of silk and lace, all but diaphanous, with a note pinned to the abbreviated neckline:

You gave us our dreams—we hope this helps in making yours come true.

She’d been laughing and crying at the same time.

Gaston had looked at her warily, then carefully taken her into his arms. He’d kissed her forehead, then after a moment murmured, “I know you are crying because you are happy, mignonne, but I cannot say that I like to see you cry.”

She’d cried even harder then.

After she’d dried her eyes, and with Gaston’s help changed into the traveling gown someone had helpfully left out, while she’d checked her jewelry, brushes, and combs, Gaston summoned the footmen and sent her trunks down to the carriage waiting to whisk them to the coast.

At her insistence, they’d come up to the tiny gallery; Gaston had seen no reason to go anywhere near the wedding breakfast and the hordes of people attending, but she’d pressed and he’d bent and agreed she could look from afar.

Now that she knew her family and the de Rochers, and Robert, too, had been in on his plan all along, she wasn’t so surprised to see no anxious glances being cast about, no hint of any tension marring the joy of the gathering below.

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