Free The Youngest Bridesmaid by Sara Seale Page B

had not pointed this out. He, no more than she, would care to be reminded that he should have married someone else.
    “ I—Cousin Blanche didn ’ t think my own clothes would be suitable, you see, ” she said, trying to explain what must seem to him a liberty, but he merely looked bored.
    “ My dear child, you don ’ t have to apologize. As I gather I ’ m being soaked for the lot, I couldn ’ t care less. Come on, let ’ s go down. I shall be intrigued to find out what the chef has thought up as a honeymoon offering. ”
    “ Will there be something special, then? ”
    “ I don ’ t mind betting there will. This rather dreary hotel will flourish for weeks on tal l stories circulating about the Merrick ’ s bridal night. Come on. ”
    She went with him to wait for the lift to take them down, feeling at last that she wanted to weep, to plead, not for consideration in the expected culmination of the day, but for comfort. She would have liked him to understand that although she wore Melissa ’ s clothes, and used her expensive appointments, she was still herself, Cinderella perhaps, but not liking or wanting her borrowed finery. She wished that Piers ’ unfortunate accident gave her the right to comfort and cosset in her turn, but he did not seem receptive to sentiment, neither was he prone to weakness. For him the interruption of his plans amused rather than upset him, for a honeymoon designed along quite different lines could no longer have any importance for him.
    They sat in the lofty, almost deserted dining room, making polite conversation. The chef, as Piers had surmised, had surpassed himself in the dishes that were offered. Lou, who was now too tired to be appreciative or, indeed, to enjoy the inspired creations of the cuisine, picked at her food and earned frowning disapproval from Piers.
    “ They really have rather excelled themselves, ” he said. “ Make a pretence of eating, Lou, or the chef will be, not unnaturally, insulted. ”
    She made a pretence, hoping that the bits she hid under her knife and fork would not be noticed. She was, she thought, looking at her husband ’ s frowning face, going to find it difficult to acquire his epicurean habits when her own tastes in the matter of food had been so sadly neglected.
    He had ordered champagne because, he said, it was expected of him. For his own pleasure he would have preferred a vintage claret.
    “ Then why didn ’ t you? ” she asked, and he smiled that little twisted smile that, this time, held no tenderness.
    “ Champagne is what you expected, too, isn ’ t it? You have got to be educated in the matter of wines. ”
    “ Of course, ” she said, clinging on to the tattered remnants of her past self, “ you must remember that I ’ ve had little opportunity of being educated to your standards. In my parents ’ lifetime, a cheap sherry was all we could a ff ord. ”
    His look of amusement vanished and, for a moment, she thought his eyes were humble.
    “ You put me in my place very neatly, don ’ t you, Cinderella? ” he said gently. “ I wasn ’ t, you know, trying to point out your mistakes. ”
    “ Mistakes? Am I shaming you, then, already Piers? ”
    “ Don ’ t be so idiotic! I hoped I might put you at ease, that ’ s all. What ’ s wrong with cheap sherry if you can ’ t afford anything else? ”
    “ Nothing, I suppose, ” she replied nervously. “ Only— ”
    “ Only what? ”
    “ Only you don ’ t put me at ease when you pounce and bite. ”
    “ Pounce and bite—is that what I did? ” He sounded surprised and his eyes softened into tenderness.
    She saw the tenderness, but it was too late now to set any store by it. She had, she told herself with wry humor, married above her station, as the gossip columns would surely imply; Cinderella would have to look to herself for wisdom in dealing with her Prince Charming, for there was no one else to advise.
    “ What were you thinking? ” he asked, but she smiled a little