Ashton Park (27 page)

“I say.” An astonished Harrison fumbled open a car door. “You look like a bride on her wedding day, Miss Victoria.”

Victoria kissed her father and mother and then turned her full smile on Harrison. “Why, thank you. But white for the bride, Mister Harrison.”

He doffed his black chauffeur’s cap as she approached. “Indeed.”

“And you look smashing in that new uniform.”

Aunt Holly rolled down the motorcar window and popped her head out. “I’ve told him that. He’s strikingly handsome. Now you’ve heard it from both Miss Victoria and me.”

Harrison smiled. “I’m grateful to you both.”

As Victoria stepped into the car she teased, “Though I do miss the fedora and jacket.”

“They’re hanging on a peg in the Castle. When I’m not driving the motorcar I’ll be in my old things and looking after the grass and trees and ponds as usual.”

She paused and looked at him. “I’m glad to hear it. Thank you for everything, Harrison. Everything.”

He gave a slight nod of his head. “My pleasure, my lady.”

Reporters and photographers swarmed around Ben Whitecross outside Buckingham Palace. The medal, with its distinctive burgundy ribbon, was pinned over his heart. Leaning on a cane with his left hand he shook hands with his right.

“Good show, Captain.”

“Well done, sir.”

“Congratulations, Captain Whitecross. All the best.”

Ben smiled and kept shaking hands all around. “Thank you, gentlemen, thank you.” He looked up and caught a glimpse of a slim figure standing alone at the edge of the crowd. The sun slipped out from behind a cloud, blazed over the scene, then slid behind another cloud. In those few moments it ignited Victoria’s crimson dress, her auburn hair, and her smile. Ben Whitecross felt as if the ground was giving way under his feet.

“Gentlemen. Gentlemen. Excuse me. You must excuse me.”

Ben began to lurch through the reporters. He became so frustrated with the cane that he threw it aside and half-ran to Victoria, seizing her hands and gazing into her face before embracing her. He broke away and faced the people who thronged around them, holding Victoria’s hand.

“My fiancée. Miss Victoria Danforth.”

Scores of hands clapped.

“Well done!” someone called. “When do you expect the wedding to take place?”

Victoria put her arms around Ben and smiled, holding him close. “As soon as I can pry him away from his well-wishers. Once that’s done, it’s the first church I spot after we leave Buckingham Palace. We’ve waited long enough.”

Standing at the edge of the group, Sir William turned to Libby, who had come from France with Kipp for the big occasion. “All the attention has been on the young war hero and your sister. But you have been absent from our lives far longer than Ben Whitecross—and you, my daughter, have been sorely missed.”

Libby patted her father’s back. “Papa, I don’t mind. I enjoy seeing her so happy. And you and mother beaming.”

“You must know that seeing you and Kipp brings us as much happiness as seeing Victoria and Ben together?”

“Of course I do.”

Sir William stood back, holding her hand. “Look at you. You must be a head taller than when you left us. And your complexion reminds me of cream in tea.”

She laughed. “Despite the war I have been very well, Papa. French cuisine suits me better than boiled beef and mushy peas.”

“It must. You look splendid. I shall go and find your mother and bring the two of you together. Will you be returning to Ashton Park with us?”

“Yes, Father. Though Kipp must return to France for a time.”

“Return to France? The war’s been over for months.”

“He can explain it himself when you both have a quiet moment. It’s all about turning aerodromes over to the French and whatnot. He’s a major now and there’s a fair bit of liaison work.”

“All right then. I’ll speak with him and we’ll get that sorted out. His mother will want to know. She can’t be far. Wait here.”

Libby put a hand on her father’s arm as he turned to go. “Papa. I wonder if I might ask you a favor.”

“A favor? You don’t even need to ask.”

“I’ve met someone, Father.”

Sir William’s eyebrows arched. “What? A Frenchman?”

“Oh, Papa.” She laughed and shook her head. “No. Though there wouldn’t be any problem if he were, would there?”

“Not at all. They’re our allies and all that—”

“As it happens this gentleman is one of our allies too. He’s an American.”

“American?” Sir William’s eyebrows remained in their raised position. “Who is he?”

“He is a Woodhaven. So that should please you, at least.”

“Woodhaven? The New York family?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Sir William’s eyebrows returned to their rightful position above his eyes as his smile opened up. “Well, well. Isn’t that something? How is he related? Nephew? First cousin? I’m curious.”

“He’s their son.”

“What? Son? Why, that family is good friends with the king and queen. And the Prince of Wales.” Sir William studied her, putting his hands in his pockets. “They have two sons.”

“Mark was killed in the war. This is Michael. The eldest.”

“Ah. I’m sorry to hear about Mark. We must extend our condolences. But what of Michael? What can we do for him? What is it you wish to ask of me?”

“Father, I should like to invite him up to Ashton Park for Ben and Victoria’s wedding. To meet everyone. If I may.”

A smile slowly returned to Sir William’s features. “So you are not asking that Jeremiah perform a double wedding ceremony then?”

Libby looked down. “Oh, no, Papa. Nothing like that. But I do very much want him to meet the family.”

“And so he shall. We’d never turn away one of our American allies.”

He kissed her on the forehead as she put her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Papa.”

“You have been gone such a very long time. We have missed you terribly. I know you’ve prided yourself on being something of a lone wolf. You always lived a bit of your life apart from the rest of the family. But, my girl, you are one of us regardless of where you roam. Your mother and I cherish Libby Danforth.”

A plane circled the aerodrome in Amiens, taking its time, a photographer leaning out of his seat as the pilot concentrated on keeping the aircraft steady and level. The sun was bright in the west even though it was beginning its slow fall to earth. Christelle lifted Kipp’s hand to her lips.

“When will you take me up?” she asked.

“As soon as he lands. The photographer won’t have enough light in a few minutes. By the time we go up the sun will be red and gold. How does that suit you?”

“I like the idea of that.”

“Nothing fancy, though. No loops or dives or barrel rolls. I want you in one piece for my sister’s wedding.”

She lifted her head and he watched the sun fill her eyes. “You have made up your mind? You are taking me to England?’

“You’re willing to go, aren’t you? Your parents have not objected.”

“
Mère et père
—my mother and father would not object to anything you asked.”

“Not even your hand?”

“Oh? Are you going to do that?”

He kissed the top of her head. “I will surprise you.”

“And your father and mother?”

“That’s why you must come to Ashton Park. Once they meet you they will be charmed.”

“I am not French nobility.”

“Neither is Ben Whitecross.”

She made a face. “Oh, Ben, a war hero, a captain, an aviator, he wears France’s Croix de Guerre and Britain’s Victoria Cross. What am I?”

“A beauty.”

“So a beauty who serves coffee. Nothing more. They will not be impressed.”

“A beauty with a heart as big as the sky. They will see it. But there is also one other thing that will come to their attention—I am going to teach you how to fly.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

She laughed silently at his enthusiasm. The sun put color on her skin and glistened on her lips. He gazed at the effect of the evening light and shook his head.

“It’s impossible,” he murmured, “not to wish to kiss you no matter where we are or what’s going on. I’m helpless.”

He put a hand under her head and placed his mouth over hers, taking his time, rushing nothing. She had just had a cup of coffee with sugar and tasted like it. They could both hear the plane landing but did not look up. Finally she pulled away with a mischievous smile like a girl.

“Take me up. Finish the kiss there.”

The panorama of a world gleaming with light and green fields overwhelmed Christelle as they flew west. Several times Kipp called from the cockpit behind her but she did not respond. She only whispered, “
Mon Dieu, merci. Merci, mon Dieu.
” Crimson melted into emerald and emerald into amber and amber into long stripes of purple cloud. Swarms of blackbirds swept by beneath them.

The harness was tight and would not let her move, so she undid it. Kipp saw what she was doing and yelled at her to stop but she held onto a strap with one hand and leaned out of her seat toward him. He slowed the plane down and shook his head. She smiled and mouthed the words, “
Je t’aime.
” Then she waited for him to come to her. Her hair unwound from the collar of her flying jacket and streamed toward him like silver rain.

He released his harness and came out of the cockpit, stretching forward, one hand on the plane’s controls, the other drawing her head closer until the kiss was strong, much stronger than the kiss on the ground had been. The aircraft fluttered from side to side and the air rushed over them as the world slipped past under their wings.

“Well, sir?” asked Mrs. Longstaff anxiously. “What did you think?”

Sir William was vigorously shaking hands with people spilling out of the small brick church. “What’s that, my dear?”

“How did you find the service and the preachin’?”

“Why, capital, capital.” He smiled at an older man. “Good morning, sir.” Glancing at Mrs. Longstaff and Lady Elizabeth, he laughed. “You two have been keeping a great secret from me—how wonderful the singing is here, how robust, and how faithful to the Word of God the good parson is. Who would have thought it? A Baptist church?” He began to hum the tune of one of the hymns. “Ah, good morning, sir, a splendid time of worship, I praise God.”

“So we may see you here again, Sir William?” asked Mrs. Longstaff.

“Hmm? See me here again? I should think so. That is, if they will have an old dowdy Anglican in their midst.”

“What a thing to say.” Mrs. Longstaff beamed. “Why, the people love you. You sang louder than anyone else.”

“Did I? Well, there was plenty to sing about, I thank God.”

Lady Elizabeth held back a giggle. “Look at you carrying on as if it were election day. I never see you shaking hands like this at St. Mark’s.”

“Ha. The congregation there would think I was mad.” He looked around him. “This is just what I need to shake the dust off my spirit. I would be grateful if we could come again in a fortnight. What do you say to that, Mrs. Longstaff, eh?”

“I would say amen, sir.”