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“Come fishing and riding with me at Silderly Park in Oxford,” he said, naming his ancestral estate in England.
Pia tilted her head to glance up at him.
He knew what he was asking. This had nothing to do with Lucy’s wedding anymore. By visiting Silderly Park, Pia would be coming into the heart of who he was as a duke.
He’d made the request unexpectedly, and only belatedly realized how much her answer mattered.
“Yes.”
Her answer came out as a breathy whisper before she lowered her head back down to his shoulder.
He smiled slowly, relaxing. “Good.”
Pia was his, and he was going to make sure things remained so.
Ten
“The wedding invitations will go out next week,” Pia remarked, her comment meant to reassure in case it was necessary.
It was Monday afternoon, and she and Lucy were sitting in the parlor of Hawk’s Upper East Side town house. They were meeting over afternoon tea to discuss wedding details.
Most professional shows did not have performances on Monday nights, explaining why it was possible for Lucy to meet with Pia over tea today. Any other day of the week, Lucy might already have been preparing to head to work at this hour.
“Splendid,” Lucy said, smoothing her blond hair. “Derek will be happy to know that detail has been taken care of.”
It had been a pleasure to work with Hawk’s sister, Pia reflected, trying not to dwell on when Hawk might be arriving home.
Lucy and Derek had wanted a relatively simple wedding ceremony and reception, but one that nevertheless incorporated some nods to Lucy’s English ancestry and theater work.
Everything so far had gone smoothly. During previous consultations, the couple had settled on a photographer, band and florist with a minimum of fuss. And today she and Lucy had already discussed wedding music, readings and various ceremony logistics.
“Now the florist has a website,” Pia continued, “which you should consult, but in order to give you more ideas, I have my own book of photos from weddings that I’ve been involved with.”
She slid a scrapbook across the coffee table toward Lucy, and Hawk’s sister leaned forward and reached for it.
“I’ll leave it with you so you can take your time going through it,” she added as Lucy opened the book. “You’ll see that some brides like more elaborate floral arrangements, and others prefer a simpler concept. Next time we talk, let’s discuss what you’re looking for before we meet with the florist.”
Lucy nodded as she flipped through the scrapbook. “This is helpful.” She looked up. “You’re so organized, Pia.”
“Thank you.”
Pia smiled to herself because wedding planners received few acknowledgments of their work. Many brides were too consumed by preparations for their big event to thank the paid help, at least until the wedding was over.
“The other item on our agenda that you should be thinking about now,” Pia went on crisply, “is the music that you’d like to be played at the reception.”
“Definitely Broadway show tunes,” Lucy said with a laugh. “Can I enter on the theme song from Phantom of the Opera?”
“You can do whatever you like,” Pia responded before a thought intruded that she decided to query about delicately. “Has your mother voiced any opinions?”
In her experience, weddings were fraught with family negotiations, and often no one had more of an opinion than the mother of the bride. Pia had been called on to referee in more than one instance.
Lucy sighed at Pia’s words and sat back, letting the book of photographs fall closed. “Mother means well, but she can be a bit of a dragon, unfortunately.”
Pia raised her eyebrows.
“But Hawk doesn’t let her have complete free rein.” Lucy grinned suddenly. “Of course, it helps that the wedding is happening in New York, thousands of miles from Silderly Park and Mother’s back lawn.”
In the past, Pia had studiously avoided probing Lucy for more information than she volunteered about her brother. But Lucy had just reminded her of who Pia’s de facto employer was, and, as the current duke and head of the family, Hawk undoubtedly had some say in keeping his mother from overriding Lucy’s wishes.
