Free Magical Weddings by Leigh Michaels, Aileen Harkwood, Eve Devon, Raine English, Tamara Ferguson, Lynda Haviland, Jody A. Kessler, Jane Lark, Bess McBride, L. L. Muir, Jennifer Gilby Roberts, Jan Romes, Heather Thurmeier, Elsa Winckler, Sarah Wynde Page B

real chairs for everyone, not just the hostess because she’s old and a bit lame. No wonder Imogene and Lord Tavish are spending the day with his family.”
    “One expects damask cloths at least,” Dimity added, “and china. I wonder if we’ll be dining on bread and cheese. What were you thinking, Jane, to call this a picnic?”
    “I think it’s charming,” Celia said.
    Simon added, “What is the point of moving outside if one simply takes the entire dining room–and the usual menu–along?”
    Jane’s grateful smile lit up her face.
    She’s quite pretty, really–but of course he’ll never look at her. Not with Hester slipping into his bedroom.
    The footmen passed quietly among them with trays of wineglasses. When everyone had been served, Lord Lockwood raised his glass. “If you’ll all lend an ear, I have an announcement. Nuptials are in the air, it seems. This morning, Lady Hester has made me the happiest of men by finally agreeing to my suit.” He smiled at his betrothed, who shyly cast her gaze down. “My patience has been rewarded. The arrangements have yet to be finalized, but since the details have been under discussion for some time, our wedding will not be long delayed.”
    Celia dutifully sipped her wine and tried not to look at Simon. She didn’t want to draw attention to him in case his expression let slip how wounded he must feel. But she couldn’t keep herself from darting glances his way, and she was pleased to see he was putting a good face on it–drinking the health of the couple and smiling convincingly at Hester. Perhaps that was what Hester had been telling him on the terrace–warning him of the impending announcement.
    Dimity muttered, “We should have expected Hester would snag the wealthiest of the gentlemen.”
    “Why shouldn’t she?” Prudence asked reasonably. “You said you didn’t want him. And as for me… well, I much prefer someone else.” Her gaze, Celia couldn’t help but notice, rested warmly on Simon.
     
    ****
     
    Baron Draycott sat beside Celia for their al fresco meal, and afterwards he asked if she would care to stroll around the lake with him. When Celia hesitated, Lady Stone stepped in. “It’s such a small lake that the entire shoreline is in view from my chair. You hardly need more chaperoning than that, my dear.”
    They were barely a quarter of the way around the lake, however, when the baron said, “There’s a small folly just off this path, if you would care to see it. I am told it is a jewel of its kind.”
    “Sir, I hardly think Lady Stone would approve.”
    He smiled. “With any luck at all, she’ll have nodded off for a nap and will never know. But if you insist, we’ll stay on the path. I must warn you, however–I’m not getting down on one knee in front of an audience.”
    “Why would you… oh!”
    He turned to face her, seizing both her hands. “My dear Miss Overton, our acquaintance has been short, but my feelings are strong and clear, and Lady Imogene’s wedding has made me think of the future. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
    Celia could barely breathe. The baron was everything she had wished for–a gentleman with title and estates, no more than ten years older than she was. He was both presentable and good-natured.
    We must hope you find a gentleman who retains his hair and a reasonable number of teeth.
    So much for Simon’s standards. If anything, the baron had too much hair. And his smile was perfectly pleasant.
    But why was she thinking of Simon when she had just received a most flattering offer? Why hadn’t she already accepted?
    Celia looked past the baron to where sunlight sparkled across ripples on the surface of the lake. What on earth had prompted Simon to take a rowboat–and a young woman–out on the water? No–there were two young women in the boat. Of course; it was Simon, after all.
    “Miss Overton?” the baron prompted.
    A little voice seemed to whisper in her ear–a voice which