“Carry on with the ceremony!” the Duke of Woolfwood commanded in a distinctly nasal tone.
“Your grace,” the bishop protested, “tradition would dictate—”
“Bother tradition!”
“Botheryou, sir!” roared Tom Doorhandler. Which didn’t sound nearly as impressive as he probably wanted it to, and he seemed to realize it. He paused, his mouth gaping awkwardly.
“Oh, go on,” Luna whispered, leaning out over the rail. “Duel. Duel. Come on, please,duel.”
“Miss Talbot,” Nigel murmured, “since when did you become so bloodthirsty?”
She looked up at him, all shining eyes. “It’s just like one of Auntie Arabella’s darning-basket novels come to life!”
Not for the first time, Nigel found himself wondering about the contents of these oft-mentioned darning-basket novels. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the floor below, where the duke even now strode toward Tom Doorhandler, all puffing chest and flaring nostrils. Those flaring nostrils were particularly impressive on his proud snout. Nigel half-expected brimstone to issue forth in black streams.
“You will not dishonor my bride on her wedding day!” the duke declared.
“It is not I who dishonor her, but you!” Tom replied.
“How do you figure?”
“You’re not marrying her for love!”
“Oh, I’m not, am I?”
“No, indeed! You’re nothing but a mincing toff without a drop of passion in your blood, whereas I—”
“At least I don’t manufacture door handles!”
“THEY’RE CAN OPENERS!”Tom threw up his hands. “Why does everyone get thatwrong?Those two things arenothing alike!”
At this point, it really looked as though Doorhandler and the duke were about to come to blows. Luna grabbed hold of Nigel’s arm with excitement, and he didn’t even care how her fingers pinched painfully to the bone. Looking down into her eager face, he smiled softly, despite every effort to repress it. What a delightfully ridiculous creature she was, to be so wrapped up in this drama.
It was at this juncture that Miss Lambert spoke at last. “Actually,” she said, her mousy little voice very thin in that large space, “I don’t think I shall be marrying anyone today.”
Another collective gasp rippled through the spectators, more profound even than the gasp uttered at Tom Doorhandler’s appearance. Luna gasped as well, and her fingers pinched even harder into Nigel’s arm. “Oh, come on, Eugenia!” she whispered. “You can do it!”
Though far more invested in watching Luna’s reactions than in whatever took place below, Nigel reluctantly turned his gaze back to Miss Eugenia at the altar. She gripped her bouquet with both hands so hard, it trembled. But her plain face was oddly serene behind her veil.
“Actually,” she said again, “I think I’m going on a little trip.”
Mrs. Lambert exploded out from her pew in a flurry of purple satin. “Eugenia!” she cried. “Shut your mouth, child, and let the duke handle matters for you!”
The girl flinched a little. “Don’t back down now!” Luna released Nigel’s arm and grabbed the balcony rail, leaning out rather precipitously. “Come on!” she urged.
Nigel took hold of her shoulders, just to be safe.
Eugenia strode back up the aisle in a cloud of wafting tulle. She stripped the veil from her head as she went, bundled it up, and tossed it, along with the bouquet, to Mrs. Lambert. “These are you for you, Mother,” she said. “Youmarry the duke, if you’re so keen on it!”
In response to this shocking speech, the beauteous bridesmaid from the lineup actually uttered a little,“Eeeep!”of surprise. But Eugenia rustled in her tulle cloud to the middle of the aisle, where the two men stood on the verge of battle. Both turned to gape at her, slack-jawed. The duke’s proud nostrils quivered.
“Bertrum,” Eugenia said, addressing herself to her would-be groom, “I hope you will enjoy that lovely chocolate cake at the reception. Have a piece for me—no point in it going to waste.” She turned then and made a sweeping gesture with one arm, as though to take in the crowd of staring-eyed guests. “In fact, I invite you all to go enjoy your lunch at The King’s Crown this afternoon. Call it a . . . a Declaration of Liberty Luncheon.”
“Eugenia!” Mrs. Lambert bleated.
Miss Lambert turned to her mother once more, but it was her father she addressed next. “Dad,” she said, looking at him over his wife’s well-padded shoulder, “I think you should have the front hall painted in poppy red if youwantit painted in poppy red. Live a little!” With this enigmatic statement, she turned to the boys once more. “I’m off to Kosmaoca. To see the cairns. And the ancient queen’s jewels. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” She shrugged. “Maybe never.”
“You . . . you’re going on our honeymoon?Alone?”the duke cried.
