“She’ll be dazzled, Rafe.”
He took another glance at Clio. “I’m not seeing it yet.”
“Give it a moment, will you?” Bruiser went to Clio’s side and gently steered her to stand at the end of the aisle. “Just imagine, Miss Whitmore. The rows filled with your family and closest friends. Even better, your vilest enemies. All of them waiting, in breathless anticipation, for you to make your grand appearance.”
“My grand appearance?”
“Yes. In a flowing gown with an exquisite lace veil.”
In the chapel’s small vestibule, there was a narrow table with a lace runner and a small vase of flowers. Bruiser whisked the lace runner from the table and tucked it into Clio’s upswept hair, creating a makeshift veil to cover her face.
Rafe could see her smiling behind it. Smiling at the absurdity, no doubt—but any smile was better than the morose expression she’d been wearing all morning.
“And a bouquet.” Bruiser plucked the flowers from the vase and put them into her hands. “There now.”
She held them away from her body. “They’re dripping.”
“Never mind that. Imagine a velvet carpet spread out before you, strewn with rose petals. And your sisters will precede you as you walk down the aisle.” Bruiser moved first Daphne, then Phoebe into place in front of Clio. “Go stand at the other end, Rafe. Just to the side of the altar. That’s where your place will be.”
Good God. Not this “best man” nonsense again. If there’d been any doubt about Rafe’s unsuitability for that post, his behavior in the tower yesterday should have erased it.
Nonetheless, Rafe did as he was asked, moving to stand just to the side of the altar. For once, Clio seemed to be enjoying the wedding idea. He wasn’t going to ruin that.
“A vicar,” Bruiser muttered to himself. “We need a vicar. Someone solemn, dignified, wearing a collar . . . Aha.”
He plucked Ellingworth from the carpet and lugged him up to the altar, depositing the old, wrinkled bulldog in the place where a vicar would stand. With a wheeze, the dog sank to rest on his belly, head between his two front paws. His wrinkled jowls pooled around his black nose.
Daphne said, “Now all we’re missing is a groom.”
“A sadly familiar sensation,” Clio replied.
“Not to worry. We can remedy that, Miss Whitmore.” Bruiser dashed behind Rafe and prodded him forward, toward the center. “Rafe will stand in for Lord Granville. I’ll be best man.”
“What?” Rafe muttered under his breath. “No. I’m not playing the groom.”
“You’re his brother,” Bruiser whispered back. “You’re the logical choice. I can’t very well send her down the aisle to kiss Ellingworth, can I?”
Rafe cast a glance around the chapel. What the devil had happened to Sir Teddy Cambourne? The man was always where he wasn’t wanted and never around when he might be useful.
“Next,” Bruiser said, “the orchestra will strike up the processional.”
“I don’t know where you mean to fit an orchestra in this chapel,” Clio said from somewhere beneath her tablecloth.
“They’ll squeeze in somewhere.”
“Really, the organ would be good enough.”
“No,” Rafe interjected. “Nothing ‘good enough’ is good enough. Not for this wedding. An orchestra it is.”
“Ready, then? Bridesmaids first.” Bruiser began humming a processional.
Daphne joined in the humming, leading Phoebe down the aisle.
“Now the bride.” When Clio hesitated, Bruiser nudged Rafe. “Hum along, will you?”
“I’m not humming. I don’t hum.”
His trainer jabbed him in the kidney. “Do you want to sell her on this wedding or not?”
Damnation.
Rafe started to hum, too.
Clio gave in, walking down the aisle of the chapel—toward a bulldog, in time with the strains of tuneless humming, draped in a tablecloth and clutching a handful of wilting, dripping flowers. Halfway down, she started to giggle. By the time she reached Rafe at the altar, she was laughing aloud.
“I’m telling you, Miss Whitmore,” Bruiser said. “The guests will rise to their feet in awe.”
“Oh, yes.” She was still laughing as she lifted the tablecloth from her face. “I’m sure they will. With a bride like this before them, how could they not?”
Curse it, Rafe should have known this wouldn’t work. She wasn’t dazzled. She was only amused. It had gone all wrong.
Except, in a strange way, it felt rather right. If he were ever to be married, this was just how he’d want his bride to look as she walked down the aisle to meet him.