Page 27 of Jordan

They had made a small concession to Jacquline Wainwright. By having the ceremony at the regal Catholic church that had been built in the eighteen hundreds. And was attended faithfully by members of the Wainwright's family since it had been built.

Both husband and wife attended mass every Sunday, along with their two daughters and after their marriage, the two sons-in-law. Jordan had stopped going years ago. The hypocrisy did not sit well with him.

And nothing his mother said to him had made him go back. Now he was here in the chapel with its stained-glass windows, which had been lovingly restored courtesy of his parents' money as well as the sturdy oak benches that had been commissioned by the best carpenter from out of town. The seats were cushioned in soft red velvet, the floors a polished oak.

He detested the pomp and obsequiousness of the current priest, with his prominent nose and small eyes set too close to eachother. The man was practically fawning over his mother as soon as she stepped inside.

There were guards discreetly placed at the wide arched gates to prevent the crowd from wandering in. People were already swarming the gates, hoping to get a peek. But there wasn't much to see from outside. The walls were too high and thick. In his opinion, churches that cater to people's needs should not have walls. And they should be open to the public. The pews were practically empty. It was just his family. Julesa was coming with her brother.

He had told the priest to make it quick.

"I want the ceremony finished in fifteen minutes or less." He told the man curtly. He had been given a look of pure horror that had not affected him one bit.

"That's not possible."

"Make it happen. I'm sure you would not want to incur my displeasure. I happen to be a Wainwright as well and the heir to the throne."

That had shut him up.

The scent of flowers that decorated the empty benches nauseated him. The doors were thrown open, but the aroma was too potent. He was sure it was his mother's idea to have the place filled with lavish bouquets. Such a damn waste, he thought angrily.

He had endured the last three weeks of icy and silent treatment from her and bitter looks from his old man. Nothing had worked. He had ignored all of it. And now he was here to tie himself to a woman he was half in love with. The irony was not lost on him.

"You're making me nervous just looking at you. Relax man."

Liam Moses' voice snapped him out of his reverie and had him straightening his shoulders. His friend had simply invited himself as soon as he demanded to know if what the press was saying was the unvarnished truth and declared magnanimously that he would be the best man. His wife was visiting friends in France, or she would have been here with him.

"And your dear mama looks as if she is made of stone." All this was said in an undertone, so the priest wearing his dazzling white robe would not be privy to the conversation. Jordan had told him just enough to satisfy his curiosity. Liam was a very good friend, but the man was also a terrible gossip. It would not do to have his personal business bandied around in the club or in their society. Only three people knew of their arrangements and that was enough.

He had simply told his friend that his parents do not approve of the match.

"I'm sure this is the last place she wants to be." He murmured wryly. His expression changed when the signal was given and the wedding march started playing.

Liam watched in amusement at the look of expectation on the man's face. And recalled his own ceremony with a tug of his heart. His love, the woman he had fallen in love with despite his resistance and fury. The woman who had dazzled him with her looks and worked her way into his bed, just so she could steal from him.

She had stolen so much more than that priceless piece of art. She had stolen his heart forever. One look at her and then a touch and he was lost. So much so that it had not mattered that she was a con artist, a thief—nothing had mattered except that his heart had become tangled up.

Stirring himself and shaking away the memories, he stared in objective appreciation at the woman coming towards them. Barely giving the man next to her a glance, he concentrated on the vision gliding forward. He had seen photos of her of course. Julesa Simpson had become quite famous, with her wildly sensational bestselling books and ones that were adapted to the big screen. And she reminded him of his own beloved wife.

"She's exquisite." He whispered to his friend and doubted if the man even heard him.

Chuckling softly, he pleasured himself by taking her hand and kissing the back of it, before handing her over to Jordan.

The minute she stepped into the chapel, she had been reminding herself that this was not real, none of it was. It was just a ceremony, an empty one that was beneficial to both of them. But she had not been able to help the tiny skip of her heart as she stared at the man who was about to become her husband. The dark blue suit was a striking contrast to the snowy white shirt. He was not wearing a tie and had unbuttoned the two top buttons of his shirt. His dark hair was windswept, his smile teasing as he took her hand in his. And for a few minutes, with her hand securely held in his, she could almost pretend that they were a normal couple, and this was the day they had looked forward to for years. And the vows meant something.

Chapter 8

Her face was stiff from smiling. She was afraid it was going to crack. And that the makeup that had been carefully applied would do nothing to hide the fact that the last place she wanted to be was here. She had done what was expected of her as the mother of the groom.

She had breeding and class -- two things that had been passed down through her bloodlines and she did not believe in airing the family's dirty laundry in front of strangers.

She also knew they were being watched like hawks by the curious townspeople and others who had been invited from elsewhere. She had been given an ultimatum by her own son. Host the reception on the grounds of the manor or it would be held at the community center.

She could not allow that to happen of course. It would create a scandal that would rock the foundation of the family. And the rumors floating around that she was not with the marriage because of the bride's skin color would hold credence. So, she had put on a brave and smiling face, hired a caterer and a decorator. Now her lush lawn with the blaze of prized roses was strewn with people she would not have invited to her home.

And poor Sally looked so distraught. With an impatient sigh, Jacquline glided over to where the young woman was seated on a lawn chair, nursing the same glass of champagne for the past half hour and looking lost and dejected.

"My dear."

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