Page 40 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Yes, Dex,’ Harry said with a grin. ‘No time to ramp up your own anxiety levels. Today is all about mine.’
Dexter gave Imogen a grateful smile. ‘Right, let’s go and find our places. I can show you that I absolutely, definitely, have probably not forgotten the rings.’
Harry’s laugh turned into a growl, and the two men walked inside, looking almost unbearably handsome.
‘I nearly gave away your secret,’ Lucy said, when they’d gone. ‘But then Dad properly put his foot in it, so I think we’re even.’
‘You compete with each other on how many mistakes you can make?’ Imogen laughed.
‘It’s about being human, Dad says. You can say the wrong thing and make mistakes, and it’s OK and people will still love you.’
‘Oh.’ Emotion welled up inside her. ‘That’s pretty smart. And I am fine with you almost announcing my reading to Harry, and with Dexter making a runaway bride joke. I still …’ she stopped herself, because she couldn’t possiblylovethem, but her affection for them both was already quite deep.
‘There!’ Lucy bounced on her toes. She was wearing a silver-blue dress, which Imogen belatedly realized was the same colour as Dexter and Harry’s ties. ‘Youalmost said the wrong thing too, and I still love you.’ She said it completely guilelessly, and Imogen’s brain stuttered.
‘Hug it out,’ she said after a second, and she and Lucy shared a perfume-scented hug, Artichoke in his little bluebowed harness beside them. ‘Shall we go inside and work out what we’re supposed to be doing?’
‘Yes!’ Lucy took Imogen’s hand as they walked into the manor, and Imogen didn’t have the heart to let go.
The inside of Mistingham Manor was even more beautiful than the outside. The hall was wide and spacious, welcoming them in, with cream walls and polished floorboards, a sleek staircase and a large fireplace that was lit but crackling gently. A grandfather clock stood proudly in the corner, its tick audible above the sound of the flames. There were modern touches too, flashes of colour amongst the natural tones and the solidity of the building which spoke of centuries rather than decades.
Blue and white garlands were strung through the banisters, and there was mistletoe everywhere. Most of it was natural, with ribbons providing the colour, but there were a few of the shimmering bunches they’d worked on in the village hall.
Lucy led Imogen into a large room at the back of the house, with windows on two sides looking out on wintry trees, fragments of blue between the trunks, letting in the soft winter sunshine. There was another fireplace here, a pale grey carpet, several seascapes on the walls. If Imogen had to guess, she would have said this was the living room – though about five times the size of the one in her London flat – but today the sofas were pushed back against the walls, and rows of chairs lined up to face the back of the room, a narrow aisle between them.
The chairs were quickly filling up with guests, some that Imogen recognized from her walks around the village, people she’d said hello to in the bakery queue. Classical music played gently beneath the excited chatter, and Harry and Dexter were standing at the front of the chairs, next to a low stage, talking to a woman with wild grey hair and a kind, worn-in face.
‘That’s Winnie,’ Lucy said. ‘She runs the hotel with her sister, and she’s … Dad said the word, it’s …’
‘A celebrant?’ Imogen suggested.
‘Yes! That one. She’s marrying Sophie and Harry.’
‘Great.’ Imogen’s palms were sweaty. It didn’t look like the ceremony itself would be huge, and she was used to performing, whether planned or impromptu, but there was something about being here, in this grand setting with these people, that was heightening her nerves.
‘I have to sit at the back, so me and Artichoke can walk in after Sophie. You need to go and sit near the front, to look after Dad.’
‘Of course.’ Imogen didn’t point out that, when Lucy had entreated her to make sure Dexter wasn’t on his own, shehad failed to mention that he was Harry’s best man, and would be pretty busy himself. ‘You’ll be great.’ She squeezed Lucy’s shoulder.
‘I know we will,’ Lucy said, with the confidence of a ten-year-old.
When she’d gone to find a seat, Imogen went to sit in the row behind Harry and Dexter, then worried she was taking up a space reserved for family.
She leaned forward, her chin centimetres from Dexter’s suit-clad shoulder. He smelled of sandalwood and the bakery, and Imogen loved that it was part of him, inescapable even when he was away from it. ‘Is this OK?’ she asked. ‘I can move if—’
‘You’re good there,’ Dexter murmured, leaning back but not turning around, so Imogen’s nose was close to the shell of his ear. ‘I like having you there.’
‘Oh.’
‘And I’m really sorry about the runaway bride comment.’
‘Please don’t worry. It would have been weirder if nobody had mentioned it.’
‘OK.’
Their whispering was cut off by the music getting louder, the chatter dying down. All the seats had filled up without her noticing. Dexter shot to his feet to stand beside Harry, who was star-fishing his fingers at his sides, and Imogen turned towards the back of the room, waiting for the bride, her breath held. A month ago, she had everyone she knew waiting forherlike this. But, apart from a few people near the back who had seen her arrive, balk and run, they had waited, and waited, then had the confusion of nobody coming down the aisle.
Imogen swallowed the uncomfortable thought, and gasped along with everyone else as Sophie appeared in a beautiful navy silk dress with frosted, silver-blue accents. Lucy and Jazz followed her in their pale blue dresses, along with the well-dressed – and stupidly well-behaved – dogs. Felix trotted along beside Jazz in his big-hearted jumper, and Imogen wondered what tactic she was using to keep him there.
