Page 107

“Somehow Mrs. Allenby worked a miracle. I’ll have to ask her how she did it when we return.”
“You’re so beautiful, I . . .” His voice drifted away as he stared at her. “Are you really mine?”
She smiled and came to him. “In every sense but the legal.”
“We’ll fix that soon,” he muttered, reaching for her.
Helen shook her head and touched a forefinger lightly to his lips. “Not until after our vows,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I want my next kiss to be with my husband.”
“God help me,” he said feelingly, “no man has ever wanted to have a wedding done with as much as I do.”
Helen’s smile turned rueful. “Have you seen the crowd outside the hotel?”
Rhys shook his head, frowning slightly.
“I’m afraid we’ll have more company than we anticipated. When the guests at the hotel and some of the townspeople found out that Rhys Winterborne himself has come here to be married, they all invited themselves to walk to the chapel with us. I was told that in North Wales, it’s a tradition for all the neighbors to attend the wedding.”
He groaned. “There’ll be no getting rid of them. I’m sorry. Do you mind, cariad?”
“Of course not. I’ll rather enjoy the sight of all those people staring at you with awe.”
“They won’t be staring at me,” he assured her. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a smooth white stone and showed it to her on his palm. Helen smiled.
“The oathing stone?”
“Carys found it yesterday while we were out walking.”
“It’s perfect. Where will we throw it, after we’re wed?”
“I’ll let you decide,” Rhys said, replacing the stone in his pocket. “The Irish Sea is in that direction . . .” He pointed. “The Menai Strait is that way . . . or I can take you to a fair number of good Welsh lakes. I know of one that’s said to be the final location of Excalibur.”
Helen’s eyes brightened at the idea. But in the next moment, a thought occurred to her, and she looked disconcerted.
“I realized this morning that there’s no one to give me away.”
Rhys lowered his face until their foreheads were touching, and he was lost in the moonstone glow of her eyes. “Heart of my heart, you need no man to give you away. Just come to me of your own free will. Love me for who I am . . . just as I love you for who you are . . . and our bond will last until the stars lose their shining.”
“I can do that,” Helen whispered.
Drawing back slowly, Rhys smiled down at her. “Come, then, cariad. We’ve a wedding to take care of. A man can only wait so long for a kiss from his wife.”
Epilogue
Eight months later
“. . . AND PANDORA SAID THAT if her game turns out to be a success, she won’t participate in any of the events of the Season,” Helen said, deftly hand-pollinating vanilla blossoms. “She told Lady Berwick that she has no intention of being herded from ball to ball like a disoriented sheep.”
Rhys smiled and watched her lazily, his back braced against a brick column. He was a handsome sight, his presence incongruously masculine amid the rows and rows of orchids. “How did Lady Berwick react?”
“She was outraged, of course. But before they could start another row, Cousin Devon pointed out that Pandora has only just now filed a patent application, and the Season will probably have begun before we find out if it’s been accepted. Therefore, Pandora may as well go to a few balls and dinners, if for no other reason than to keep Cassandra company.”
“Trenear is right. There’s far more to publishing a board game than applying for a patent and taking the design to the printer. If Pandora is serious about her venture, it will take at least a year before we can stock it on the display tables.”
“Oh, Pandora is quite serious,” Helen said wryly.
She had just returned with Carys from a morning visit to Ravenel House. They had gone to see Kathleen’s newborn son, William, who was healthy and thriving. Carys had been fascinated by the two-week-old infant and had cooed over him for several minutes, until Pandora had coaxed her away to help test her board game prototype. The little girl had loved the game, titled Shopping Spree, in which players moved their tokens around a circuit of departments, collecting merchandise cards along the way. At Pandora’s insistence, the game taught no moral values or lessons: it was intended only to be amusing.
“Do you know,” Helen said thoughtfully, “I have a feeling that Pandora’s game is going to sell very well. Lady Berwick and Carys had a splendid time playing it this morning. They both seem to love the process of collecting all those beautifully detailed little merchandise cards—the umbrella, the shoe, and so forth.”
“Human nature is acquisitive,” Rhys replied in a matter-of-fact manner. “Aye, the game will sell.”
“How well?” Helen used a toothpick to transfer pollen into the blossom’s stigma.
Rhys laughed gently. “I’m not an oracle, cariad.”
“Yes, you are. You know these things.” Finishing the last vanilla flower, Helen set aside the toothpick and turned to give him an expectant glance.
“She’ll make a fortune,” he said. “It’s an undeveloped market, the product can be mass-produced with lithographic printing, and as you just pointed out, the game has broad appeal.”
Helen smiled, but she was inwardly perturbed. She wanted her younger sister’s hard work and talent to be rewarded. However, she was concerned that in her quest to become self-sufficient and independent, Pandora seemed determined to keep from giving any man the chance to love her. Why was she so hardened against the idea of sharing her life with someone else?