The Youngest Bridesmaid Read online

  THE YOUNGEST BRIDESMAID

  Sara Seale

  Louise was the poor relation as far as her cousins, the Chaileys, were concerned, and when her glamorous cousin Melissa was planning her wedding to wealthy playboy Piers Merrick, Louise was given the comparatively humble part of the youngest (and least important!) bridesmaid.

  Nevertheless, when at the last moment Melissa walked out on him, it was to Louise that Piers turned, and asked her to marry him instead—a proposal which she was happy to accept. Louise was quite well aware that it was purely a matter of convenience for Piers, but she was prepared to work to make the marriage succeed, in the hope that he would come to love her as she already loved him.

  But Melissa had other ideas—and the honeymoon had barely started when she began to put them into practice.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The wedding dress had been unpacked and hung in splendid isolation in one of the empty guest rooms. The youngest bridesmaid stood gazing with awe at the shimmering folds of velvet, the trimmings of white mink, the rich simplicity of a fairy-tale creation for a winter’s bride.

  Melissa would look beautiful, she thought, without envy, and her own unexpected part in this modern pageantry once again overwhelmed her with an innocent wonder that she, with her two small feet set so firmly on the ground, should have been thrust , haphazardly into a fantasy, for fantasy it was. The Chailey cousins had lived in another world; cards had been sent at Christmas if they remembered, and sometimes she filled in at the last moment for a defaulting guest. She was filling in now for the bridesmaid who had so inconsiderately contracted mumps, and none of it was quite real.

  “Lou! Lou!” a voice was calling somewhere in the house.

  Voices frequently called, sometimes persuasively, more often impatiently, quite often cross, but this was Cousin Blanche’s voice, and not to be ignored, for to her the youngest bridesmaid owed not only her dress and a participation in the most fashionable wedding of the year, but a fortnight’s respite from office routine to live under the same roof and make herself generally useful.

  “I’m here, Cousin Blanche,” she called, and Melissa’s mother opened the door with an irritable thrust.

  “For heaven’s sake, chi d, why do I have to hunt all over the house for you,” she exclaimed impatiently. “There are a hundred and one jobs you could be doing while we’re waiting for the other brides-maids.”

  “Are we waiting for them?” Lou asked anxiously, trying to keep pace with the last few days. The house seemed always to be in the state of waiting for something or someone, fittings, hairdressers, florists, caterers, bridesmaids and, often as not, a truant bride.

  “Had you forgotten we’ve got a rehearsal? Really, Lou, you might pay attention to what you’re here for. Why are you mooning up here by yourself?”

  “I was admiring the dress. I wanted to see it the moment it was unpacked. It’s so beautiful, Cousin Blanche, like a dress made for a fairy-tale princess—but then it’s all rather like a fairytale, isn’t it?”

  “H’m ... for you, perhaps,” Blanche Chailey observed a little dryly, and advanced into the room to examine the dress. Even hanging limply from its padded hanger, its lines had the beauty of expensive simplicity. “Not bad, at all, even at the price. I’m glad Melissa was persuaded out of that rather vulgar design she fancied, but Piers, of course, has excellent taste.”

  “Piers?” Lou looked startled. “But the bridegroom doesn’t choose the bridal dress, surely?”

  “Why not, since he’s paying for it?”

  “Oh!”

  “Does that rub the bloom off your fairy tale? Piers is a very rich young man and can afford splash, and you must have gathered by now that we haven’t a bean—or did you think all these years that the Chaileys were numbered among the idle rich?”

  Lou had. As long as she could remember the Chailey cousins had lived in a separate world, a world Lou’s parents had never aspired to. Cousin Blanche, thirty years ago, had been a noted beauty, feted and spoilt, a legendary rich relation whose path seldom crossed that of her poor relations. In her fifties Blanche still preserved her beauty with every aid that diet and cosmetics could give; her daughter, so very like her, looked in certain lights not a great deal younger.

  “Well, did you?” Blanche’s fine eyes were cynically amused as Lou did not speak.

  “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

  “And now you know better? Oh, my dear child, you needn’t imagine I don’t know the gossip that’s goes around. The other bridesmaids talk, don’t they? Jealous of Melissa, of course, which is natural—Piers has been the despair of ambitious mamas for years. Did they resurrect ancient history for you, too?”

  “How you were once engaged to Piers’ father, you mean?”

  “And threw him over at the last minute for a rich man old enough to be my father? I did, you know. It was one of life’s little ironies that later Piers’ father should inherit that vast, very unexpected fortune, and my extremely dull husband should lose his in some City swindle. Sounds like a cheap novelette, doesn’t it? The wheel is turning full circle.”

  “How?”

  “Piers is a romantic at heart—so unrewarding these materialistic days. He never quite forgot, you see.”

  “Forgot?”

  “Didn’t you know his father was a widower at the time I was engaged to him? Piers, as a small boy, had a thing about me—put me in the place of his own mother, I suppose. I think he has some crazy notion that in marrying Melissa he’s putting things right.”

  “But, Cousin Blanche, that’s—that’s absolute nonsense!” Lou was so unusually emphatic that her cousin gave her a more attentive glance.

  “You think he’s in love with my daughter, do you?” she said on a faint note of amusement.

  “Of course—besides, I shouldn’t think young men make those kinds of gestures.”

  “Of course! You’re very simple, Lou, and rather tediously unworldly.”

  “Very likely,” Lou replied with that grave, unexpected air of censure that could sometimes make for discomfort. “I was brought up simply by unworldly parents, but they taught me values, I think, before they died. Does—does that sound—smug, Cousin Blanche?”

  “Yes, it does rather,” her cousin replied coolly, but she gave the girl a brief, appraising look. Little Louise Parsons, remembered only when she could be useful, had some vague quality that Blanche recognized from her own childhood when life had been more simple and no hint of the human rat-race had clouded her awakening desires. The child, of course, would strike a wrong note in Melissa’s retinue of smart young lovelies, but all the same ... all the same, she thought with surprise, she could show them up, too. Lou might have none of the tricks and assurance of Melissa’s fashionable friends, but she had something that the other hadn’t. What? thought Blanche, frowning, and assessed again the dubious attractions of the young cousin who possessed so few recommendations to present day distinction. Solemn, wide-awake eyes, set far apart in a face too small for them, soft brown hair with a fringe, straight and unfashionably styled, and a long, fragile neck; nothing there to stir the pulses, except, perhaps, her stillness. In an age of restless activity, that stillness could possibly be an asset, Blanche thought uneasily, then wondered at her own disquiet. Why in the satisfactory culmination of her hopes and schemes, should she be disconcerted by the unspoken censure of an insignificant little kinswoman who had only been roped in from dire necessity?

  Lou, uncomfortable under this sudden appraisal, moved away, and her cousin noticed with this unfamiliar, new-found perspicacity, the unconscious grace with which the child moved. Louise Parsons, worthy of a second glance? Blanche thought impatiently, and spoke with more sharpness than she had intended.

/>   “You must learn to avoid smugness, my dear,” she said. “It doesn’t attract sympathy—or the young men.”

  “No, Cousin Blanche,” Lou said with her eyes downcast, but Blanche thought she detected a faint gleam through the thick lashes.

  “Have you any young men?” she enquired idly, and laughed when the girl did not reply. “Poor Lou—that was an unfair question, I suppose,” she said graciously. “You haven’t had much chance of meeting eligible admirers, I imagine, but still, you’re only nineteen—twenty, is it? You musn’t let Melissa’s good fortune sour you.”

  “Why should it sour me?”

  “Well, my dear, let’s face it, Piers is rather the Prince Charming of the story books, isn’t he? Besides, I think you’ve lost your heart to him a little, haven’t you?”

  Lou colored, deeply and uncharacteristically, and the older woman, who had not intended her remark to be taken in any seriousness, made a small grimace of exasperation.

  “My dear child, be your age!” she exclaimed impatiently. “Piers has had more girls in and out of love with him than he can count. You’d only be following the pattern.”

  The girl’s, color faded as quickly as it had come and she replied with a sedate composure that added to her cousin’s annoyance:

  “Naturally. He’s been quite a catch for a good many years, hasn’t he? Personally, I find him a little alarming and—and rather too sure of himself.”

  “Really? But he’s scarcely noticed you, has he?”

  No, he had scarcely noticed her, and why should he, thought Lou, amongst the other smart and sophisticated bridesmaids who, in their turn, had given her no second thoughts. She spoke only the truth when she declared she found Piers Merrick alarming, and had she not heard his voice before seeing him she might even have disliked him. She had heard him in the hall asking for Melissa, and the unfamiliar voice was warm and somehow tender, and she had caught herself thinking: “That is a voice one could fall in love with.”

  The voice, she had found on meeting him, was a complete contradiction. His dark face, lined perhaps in an early maturity, was the face of a man who had lived his life and found mostly disillusionment, and his glance when it rested on a woman was at once questing and calculating and soon diverted. He had no real pretensions to good looks but carried a faint air of raffish distinction. She could, Lou had thought, watching and listening in the background, believe there was something of truth in the gossip columns which for so long had bandied his name about, stopping just short of scandal, for the Merrick whims were notorious. His yacht, his racing cars, the island, purchased it was said to satisfy a feudal desire for power, were symbols of a success in which women must have shared from time to time, and Lou experienced a moment’s distaste for the willingness of her own sex to accept such carelessly proffered crumbs in order to boast of a temporary conquest. He was spoilt, and indifferent to possible heartaches in others, she had decided with the confidence of youth, then suddenly he had focussed his attention on her and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew quite well what she was thinking.

  “Our youngest bridesmaid has a disapproving air. Are you finding yourself out of your depth, Cinderella?”

  She had felt herself flushing at his tone. Was so obvious, then, that she was the poor relation stepping in to fill a tiresome gap, or was he simply taunting her for forming unwarrantable conclusions?

  But her eyes met his steadily across the room and she sat with her hands still demurely folded in her lap, beating down her embarrassment.

  “No,” she replied with composure. “Just on unfamiliar territory.”

  His sudden smile, she thought, matched his voice, warm, appreciative, and with a hint of tenderness.

  “Well answered,” he had said, one hand sketching a mocking salute to her, and immediately turned away.

  “And what were you thinking of, then?” Blanche asked, aware that her remark had, if not eliciting a satisfactory answer, set off a train of thought which the child had no right to keep to herself.

  Lou, who had turned back to the wedding dress, and stood fingering its soft folds with an absent but appreciative touch, moved slowly round to face her cousin.

  “Nothing that matters,” she said. “Cousin Blanche, are the stories true?”

  “What stories?”

  “That Piers is paying your debts in exchange for Melissa?”

  Blanche gave an imperceptible shrug and her smile was indulgent and faintly bitter.

  “Quite true, though you make it sound rather fustian melodrama,” she replied. “We’re broke, as I told you, Piers wants a wife, and all in all, the arrangement is very suitable. If you’re thinking of high romance, my poor child, that’s hardly Piers’ conception of marriage. He’s sown his wild oats and needs to settle down and found a family.”

  “And Melissa—doesn’t she want more? Doesn’t she want—”

  Blanche frowned, looking at the girl with faint dislike.

  “You sound rather impertinently censorious, Lou,” she observed. “If you’re thinking of that old affair, Melissa was scarcely serious about a penniless young actor who turned her head for a time.”

  Lou returned her cousin’s look with slight bewilderment. She had not meant to be either impertinent or prying. She had not known Melissa well enough to be conversant with her love affairs, and she was only concerned with the present.

  “Was there someone else, then?” she asked a little timidly, and saw from her cousin’s uneasy expression that she had touched on a sore subject.

  “My dear child, there have been dozens,” Blanche replied impatiently. “Melissa is a beautiful girl, though I do say it myself.”

  “Then why worry?” Lou asked cheerfully, well aware of Melissa’s attractions and only wishing to be helpful, but she became conscious at once of the dislike in her cousin’s regard and wished she had not spoken. There was, she realized, suddenly, still some nagging worry at the back of Cousin Blanche’s mind, despite the fact that her debts were paid and this lavish wedding would cost her nothing.

  “Why should I worry?” Blanche said with a hard little edge to her voice. “Really, Lou, for a little girl who has been fortunate enough to participate in a world outside her own, you take rather much upon yourself, don’t you think? Now, there are plenty of chores still to be done, so stop mooning over Melissa’s wedding dress and come and make yourself useful. By the same token, don’t, please, inflict Piers with if your half-fledged views on the situation.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Lou replied, with a last, yearning look at the bridal gown which had become ghostly and mysterious in the failing daylight, “dream of discussing anything so personal with Piers—neither would he listen if I did.”

  “Naturally. Well, I’m glad that you’re sensible enough to realize that for him you would scarcely count, even if you have rather fallen for him. Now, my dear, let’s go downstairs and you can get on with listing the wedding presents. You’d better write out a few letters of thanks too—Melissa can just sign any but the most important.” Blanche went out of the room and Lou followed her tall, graceful figure down the stairs, thinking how well the house’s elegance suited her. It was a house hired for a few weeks, she knew, and the decor had been designed for someone else, but Cousin Blanche and her daughter, and their many acquaintances, would blend with the background of any fashionable London mansion and not care that none of them was a home.

  As they crossed the hall, Melissa slid in at the front door and stood for a moment against it with the air of a truant who had been caught.

  “Where have you been?” her mother demanded sharply, and to Lou there was an unwarranted anxiety in the question, just as there was a needless touch of defiance in Melissa’s reply.

  “Shopping, naturally,” she retorted. “There are still a hundred and one things to remember. I returned the mink stole, incidentally, and exchanged it for a little bolero—chinchilla’s in again, did you know?”

  “Yes, I know. Rather double the cost of
the stole, though, I imagine.”

  “Of course, but the sky’s the limit, isn’t it?”

  “If you say so. Does Piers know he’s to be responsible for, your trousseau as well as our debts?”

  “I haven’t asked him. Still, darling, you’re arranging all the sordid details of this business, aren’t you?”

  “Within reason. You haven’t told me where you’ve been.”

  “Shopping, precious,” Melissa said, her blue eyes wide and disingenuous. “We’re shocking poor Lou, you know, with all this blatant talk of money. She’s been brought up to believe that the trousseau and the wedding breakfast are matters for the bride’s family, haven’t you, Lou?”

  Her cousin, Lou suspected, was deliberately proffering a red herring for her mother’s distraction, but all the same she was aware that Melissa could never resist her little dig at what she termed bourgeois standards.

  “I’ve never thought about it, not having been a prospective bride,” Lou replied, and her cousin pulled a small grimace.

  “Put in my place, you see,” she said to her mother, “or could it be that my youngest bridesmaid is a tiny mite envious? Blanche darling, I’m dead to the world. Is Piers really coming tonight? Could I go to bed with a headache, do you suppose?”

  Mother and daughter wandered together across the hall, tall and slim and coldly beautiful, their golden heads identical, thanks to an excellent but unimaginative hairdresser, their clothes differing hardly at all in design and elegance. Lou watched them, feeling gauche and alien. If they thought of her at all, they labelled her dull and ingenuous, she knew, the little cousin to whom one threw careless crumbs when she might prove useful, but whose feelings and opinions mattered nothing at all. Well, thought Lou, as the drawing-room door closed behind them, shutting her out, why should she care?

  She had been snatched up into a kind of fairy tale, thanks to the bridesmaid who had developed mumps, and if she did not altogether like what she found in this utterly foreign way of life, she could marvel and admire and store up the color and the strangeness against the drab monotony of the office to which she would eventually return.