AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Ready, darling?’ Jack’s face glowed with pride for his eldest daughter.
‘Yes, Dad, I am.’
‘You are gorgeous, Roseannah,’ said Jack, his voice tight with emotion. ‘Just like your mother was on her wedding day over thirty years ago.’
‘I know Dad, I know. I miss her, too. But she walks with us in our hearts, especially today.’
Rosie smoothed her palm over her wedding veil, its scattered crystals sparkling in the midday sun that was streaming through the French doors of the Manor’s drawing room and hugged her father.
‘I love you, Dad.’
‘I love you too, darling.’
She had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry on her wedding day, but she had very nearly broken her promise when Emily had presented her with a hand-tied bridal bouquet containing a sprig of every herb in her aunt’s garden, put together by Ollie and Susan! To say Susan glowed with satisfaction at being one half of a loving partnership was an understatement. Rosie had ditched her posy of pink roses and grasped the fragrant bouquet with honour. It was a fitting memory of her aunt’s continuing presence in her life, especially on her wedding day.
The only cloud on her otherwise perfect day was the absence of Lauren and Brett, but her heart had ballooned when she’d received the best wedding present a girl could wish for. The previous weekend Lauren had given birth to twins, a boy and a girl, and she and Brett were in thrall of the little miracles.
Lauren had agreed to Brett’s request to take early maternity leave, pleading exhaustion and a high-risk pregnancy and – fearing any complications would place Harlow Fenton’s reputation on the line – George Harlow had willing concurred. Lauren had since confided in Rosie that, like Rosie, she had no intention of returning to the financial boiler room. Now motherhood had arrived, she wanted to savour every moment of her and Brett’s blessing.
To Lauren’s surprise, Rosie had not rejoiced at the news that Edward’s brother’s house and garage in Hoboken had been destroyed at the behest of Hurricane Sandy; the whole property had been wiped from the face of the earth with a flick of its vociferous tail and the basement inundated with raw sewerage rendering it uninhabitable.
Like many other residents of New Jersey, Edward had lost everything he owned, something that was not a cause for celebration, no matter how badly he had behaved towards Rosie.Fortunately, she had been too caught up in the whirlwind of love for Charlie to spend too much time pondering his predicament, and if she searched her heart for any feelings towards him it was pity. His behaviour had ensured that he’d wound up with no home and no partner, the two most important things in life and she empathised with how that felt. She hoped his experience had taught him a leastoneof life’s lessons, if not all.
But one person she had worked hard to forgive was Angus.
She’d decided not to carry out her threat to report him to the Solicitors Regulation Authority when she had heard of his family’s struggle to care for his severely disabled mother who suffered from Multiple Sclerosis. She understood the devastating impact such an affliction could have on a family and recognised Angus’s craving to work his butt off to provide for his family’s needs, which in his case had included a specially adapted bungalow for his mother.
He had written her and Charlie a short note accompanied by a watercolour of Somersby Manor that his mother had purchased years ago from the Foot and Mouth Painting Artists, as a wedding present. In it, he had thanked Rosie for her discretion, doubting he deserved such forgiveness, and apologised for his lapse in integrity, explaining that his mother had passed away peacefully at Christmas.
Dragging her mind swiftly back to the present, Rosie’s eyes widened when she saw Emily standing at the drawing room door looking resplendent in her bridesmaid’s dress, hopping from one stiletto to the other in a very agitated state.
‘What’s wrong, Emily? What trauma has Star bestowed upon his poor mother’s shoulders this time?’
Rosie smiled as she thought of her gorgeous, blond-haired nephew, now six weeks old and demanding everyone’sundivided attention, grabbing the baton from his mother. Spoilt to within an inch of his tiny designer-clad toes by his besotted mother and Jacob, it seemed Star already understood how to wrap the bedazzled pair around his little finger.
Hannah and Jacob had bought their mansion in Stonington Beach so Hannah could continue to help out at the store two days a week, where Star was the main attraction and had even boosted his grandfather’s trade. Hannah was adamant that she wanted Star to grow up in a close-knit and loving community, spending time with his grandpa. Jack had been able to engage an additional member of staff when Jacob had insisted on sharing his wealth and good fortune with his son’s grandfather. The store now proudly sported a new coat of sky-blue paint and upgraded technology so that goods could be ordered online, via the store’s brand-new website – Hannah’s idea and responsibility.
‘I’m so sorry, Rosie.’
‘What’s the matter? Spit it out for heaven’s sake, Em!’
Rosie felt her father grip her hand tightly as they faced the frantic, twisting face of Emily.
‘It’s the vicar from St Peter’s Parish Church – the Reverend Paul Hartley. He’s been taken ill with food poisoning – been rushed to A&E this morning. His wife’s frantic!’
‘Sooo, what exactly does that mean?’
Rosie refused to panic. Despite the centuries-old splendour as the backdrop to her wedding ceremony, all the effort Charlie’s parents had gone to in making their wedding day special and the assembled congregation of family and friends on the lawns, she knew that whatever happened, she would still love Charlie and he would still love her – he was her soul mate; so what if theirmarriage had to be postponed. She would continue to live her dream.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay. The church is sending the minister from the next parish, but there’ll be a thirty-minute delay,’ Emily explained, clearly more stressed out than Rosie was by the unfortunate turn of events.
Rosie smiled. ‘That’s fine.’
She’d waited thirty-three years to find her lifelong partner and to meet him at the altar, she could wait another half an hour. Not wanting to crease her ivory silk wedding dress, she took her time lowering herself onto a proffered Louis XIV dining chair and allowed her happiness to swirl through her entire being as she thought back to the day when Charlie had dropped down onto one knee at the precise place they would be exchanging their vows a little later today than expected.
Charles Campbell-Wright, celebrity chef and sometime TV presenter. During the winter months, they had spent their time up at his apartment in Pimlico, but now that summer was around the corner they had debunked back to the Cotswolds to the family’s west wing of Somersby Manor Hotel and Spa to muck in with any task that required attention to ensure the smooth running of the luxury country house hotel.
But the best news of all had been that Charlie’s publisher, Jasper Cosgrove – the same publisher who handled all of Charlie’s wildly successful cookery books – had, the previous evening, presented them with a final proof copy ofBake Yourself Betterby Bernice Marshall, with its foreword written by Rosie and Charlie together, and the final page marking their final recipe:
