The Only Solution(25)

At the center of the ring, set at an unusual angle, was a marquise  diamond, a couple of carats in size and absolutely colorless  –  except  now, when it caught the powerful display lights and exploded into a  rainbow of fire. On each side of the center stone was a cluster of  baguettes, nestled into a wide gold band.

"Go on," Tessa said. "Let's see it on your finger."

Reluctantly, Wendy took the ring from the velvet box and slid it  cautiously into place. It settled at the base of her finger as though it  belonged there, and she held up her hand and turned it under the  lights. Her voice was a little husky. "And the wedding ring? Is it  ready?"

The jeweler shook his head. "A minor problem, I'm afraid. One of the  prongs has cracked, and it will be tomorrow before we'll have it  repaired. I hope it will not be a serious inconvenience?"

Tessa grinned. "Not at all," she said cheerfully. "The wedding's not  till the day after tomorrow. Though unless we find you a suit, Wendy..."  She rose, with a casual farewell wave for the jeweler.

"I already have a perfectly good suit," Wendy reminded.

"And it's lovely, but you must want something new for your wedding. Why won't you wear white? Or ivory, at least?"

"I told you once, I look awful in pale colors."

Tessa studied Wendy's face. "There's a shade of ivory for every woman,  you know. But if you insist on being stubborn, we'll look for something  deep and rich and sultry."

Wendy didn't argue. She was just happy that Tessa had accepted her  excuse instead of digging further, for the real reason ran much deeper  than her dislike for pastels, and she was absolutely certain that she  didn't want to share her opinion with Tessa or anyone else.

A bride in white was a creature full of sentimental hopes and dreams of a  future filled with love. White dresses belonged to romantic union      s,  not to legal partnerships. So did cathedral trains and lace-trimmed  veils, and therefore  –  even though no one could deny Wendy's right to  all of those things  –  she chose not to take part in the masquerade.

But if she tried to explain that to Tessa, she was apt to sound as if  she felt sorry for herself. Poor Wendy, robbed of a chance for love...  No, it was much better to keep her philosophy to herself.

"Besides," she said, "where would I wear an ivory suit afterward? I  wouldn't dare put it on if Rory was around. She'd spit up on me."

Tessa rolled her eyes. "I suspect, if you play your cards right, Mack  will take you out to dinner once a year or so without Rory," she said  dryly. "Honestly, Wendy, has it never occurred to you that if he wanted a  nursery maid, he'd hire one?" She stopped dead, clasped one hand around  Wendy's arm, and pointed at a display window. "There, my girl, is your  wedding suit. Behold!"



*****



Tessa was right, the suit was perfect. The deep, rich teal brought out  the red highlights in Wendy's hair and did wonderful things for the  creamy tint of her skin. However, the jacket was more tightly fitted  than those of her other suits, and the skirt was a little shorter. She  hesitated over that until she remembered that she needn't be so careful  to stick to classics any more. It didn't matter whether this suit stayed  in style for more than a season.                       
       
           



       

And the way she felt when she saw herself in the mirror on her wedding  day confirmed her judgment. Not that it took away the nervousness;  nothing could do that, but it was comforting to know that she was  looking her best. At least on the outside, she looked as if she belonged  to the Burgess clan.

It was evening, and darkness had already fallen when Tessa knocked  perfunctorily on the door of Wendy's room and came in. "Mack's here,"  she said. "He brought you orchids." She set a big octagonal box down on  the window seat.

Wendy looked at it with foreboding. "How many orchids?"

"Three, I think. Oh, if you mean this box, don't panic. This is from me.  I know what you said about veils, but this is such a little one that I  thought perhaps you'd relent." The creation she lifted out of the box  was teal, the precise shade of Wendy's suit, and no one with any  imagination would have called it a mere hat. A slash of fabric swooped  high on one side and low on the other, balanced by a fall of delicate  lace. "If you hate it, don't worry. I'll pretend I never thought of it."

"It's wonderful," Wendy said.

"Well, I thought it was, but then it's the only hat I've ever done."  Tessa pinned the hat in place and stood back to admire the result.  "You've certainly inspired me to go in new directions, Wendy. Hats, baby  clothes..."

The maid came out of Wendy's bedroom. "Everything's packed, miss," she said.

"Packed?" Tessa repeated. "Are you having a honeymoon after all?"

"No." Wendy was too aware of the maid, still within hearing range, to go into detail.

"Do you mean Mack is taking you back to that boxy little apartment of  his? Though I suppose it might be sort of cozy." She pinned Wendy's  orchids in place. "We'd better go down. Mack's probably pacing the floor  by now, even though he's the one who was late. Considering it's his own  wedding, it seems to me he could have left work a little earlier than  usual."

Mack was not pacing; Wendy hadn't expected that he would be. He was  standing by the mantel holding Rory and talking to the pastor, and when  Wendy came in he looked up and smiled and held out his arm to draw her  into the circle. She had grown so used to seeing him in casual clothes  in the past few days that his charcoal business suit almost took her by  surprise.

She cupped her hand over the waxy orchid blossoms at her shoulder. "Thank you, Mack," she whispered, and he smiled down at her.

The baby reached out to Wendy, but Tessa stepped in and took her instead, much to Rory's displeasure.

Mack kept his arm around Wendy through the brief ceremony. His touch was  protective, not possessive, and she was glad of his support. Her knees  were feeling a bit shaky all of a sudden, and when it came time for the  vows, her throat was so constricted she wasn't certain she could speak.

Mack's voice was as deep and beautiful as ever as he repeated the  age-old words, but just as Wendy's turn came, Rory burst into  heart-breaking sobs, accompanied by a flood of tears. Tessa tried her  best, but it was quickly apparent that Rory didn't intend to be  consoled.

"You see?" Tessa muttered. "I told you I was hopeless at handling kids."

Wendy looked over her shoulder. "Perhaps she senses that something important is going on."

"Which leaves you with a choice," Mack murmured. "Would you rather hold the baby or put up with the racket?"

"We could send her upstairs."

"You don't want to do that, do you?"

"No." She reached for Rory, who clung to her for a moment and then  looked around with an angelic  –  if damp  –  grin as if telling them to  proceed, now that she was in her proper position right in the center of  things.

And so when Wendy repeated her vows, there was no tremor in her voice,  no doubts in her heart. When she shifted Rory in her arms so Mack could  slip her wedding ring in place, the baby reached eagerly for the  sparkling gems. And during the final blessing, she discovered that  patting Wendy's veil made it swing delightfully. The pastor's eyes were  twinkling by then. "May this new family be forever as close as they are  today," he said. "I now pronounce you husband and wife..."                       
       
           



       

Rory cooed.

"And  –  of course  –  daughter," he finished. "This is a first for me,  Mack, but if you'd like me to hold the baby while you kiss the bride,  I'd be happy to help out."

"Good idea," Mack said. He untangled Rory's fingers from Wendy's veil  and handed the baby to the pastor as casually as if she'd been a  bouquet.

When Wendy raised her face to Mack, she was laughing at the way Rory's  eyes had widened in offended astonishment. But the dark intensity in  Mack's expression startled her into soberness. He slipped one arm around  her shoulders, and his other hand came to rest very gently beneath her  chin.

His kiss was firm, but almost tender  –  a far cry from the ceremonial  brush of the lips she had expected. It lasted only a few moments, but  that brief span of time seemed to stretch out forever as a sensation of  warmth crept cell by cell through her body, moving as inevitably as  water soaking each fiber of a thirsty towel. Even after Mack raised his  head, he stood for a second with his hands on her shoulders, and she  stared at him, too stunned to move, every cell of her body trembling.