The Unexpected Wedding Gift

“We’ve hung around long enough, Carreras!” he fairly bellowed. “Make up your mind. Are you taking the kid or not?”

Marian, her face pale and drawn, hovered behind him, a tiny bundle clutched in her arms. Even Julia, drowning though she was in her own misery, couldn’t help feeling sorry for what the woman must be going through. To have to choose between her child and this brute of a man—how could he ask this of her?

“I’ll take him,” Ben said, at which Marian let out a sigh, walked over and handed the child to him.

Julia could hardly bear to watch as Ben looked at the baby. Awkwardly, he reached out a finger and pushed aside the blanket covering its face. She heard his indrawn breath, saw the startled expression in his eyes and knew in an instant that, even if she had been his first love, she was no longer his only love. There was recognition in the gaze he turned on that little face, and wonder, and the primitive determination to protect that only a parent can know—all those things she’d expected he’d never experience until he held their first-born in his arms.

A hand closed over her shoulder, and she turned to find her grandmother at her side. The compassion in Felicity’s eyes undid her. Lips trembling, Julia reached up and clung to her. “Tell me what to do, Amma, please!”

“It’s not my place to say, my angel. You’re facing a hard decision and it’s likely only the first of many. But whatever you decide, Ben is your husband, and I’d ask you not to forget that.”

“This isn’t fair!” she wept.

“No, it’s not.”

“I hurt so much.” She pressed a fist to her chest.

“How could he break my heart like this?”

“His own heart’s breaking, too, Julia. One only has to look at him to see that.”

She slewed a glance his way, hoping he wouldn’t notice, and found her gaze locking with his. The naked pleading in his eyes could have melted stone.

She was only vaguely aware of Marian Dawes and her husband leaving, of the sudden blast of music from the reception as the doors leading to the ballroom swung open, of her grandmother urging her forward. All her attention was fastened on the man she’d married.

The sight of him drew her like a magnet. Even at that late date, she was still hoping for a miracle, for someone to leap out from behind the curtains and shout, “Hey, this is all a big mistake. Some other guy’s the father. Go back to your wedding and the lovely life you planned. This isn’t your problem.”

But when she finally drew abreast of Ben and looked down at the baby he held awkwardly on the palms of his hands as if it were a tray of food, her heart plummeted. Because any hope she’d entertained that he might not be Ben’s son was instantly dispelled. He was a miniature carbon copy of her husband.

Numbly, she stared at the thick dark hair, the olive complexion, the brilliant blue eyes, and accepted the inevitable. Only Ben could have fathered this child.

“Your father is out of patience, Julia,” she heard her mother exclaim from the doorway, “and I am frankly mortified at your behavior.” Then, as Felicity murmured a protest, “No, Mother Montgomery, I won’t be put off again! Surely even you cannot dispute that, as mother of the bride, I have the right to know why Julia and this man she’s married have chosen to abandon the guests who’ve come here today to help them celebrate their wedding.”

“I’m afraid your mother’s right,” Felicity said.

Slowly, Julia raised her eyes and again met Ben’s anguished gaze. “Yes,” she said. “Amma, will you stay with…will you stay here until we come back?”

“Of course. Here, Ben, give the baby to me.”

“Ba…by?” The way her mother’s outraged shriek sank to a horrified whisper would have struck Julia as comical in any other circumstances. As it was, she could only be grateful that, in Stephanie Montgomery’s book of social etiquette, keeping up appearances ranked above all else.

“That’s right, Mother,” she said, hooking her train over her arm and sweeping toward the door with as much dignity as she could muster. “What else would you expect to find wearing a diaper and wrapped in a receiving blanket? A stuffed turkey?”

How he and Julia made it through the next hour, he didn’t know, because even a moron could have cottoned on to the fact that, between the first dance and their final exit in a shower of confetti and rose petals, something had gone terribly wrong between the happy couple.

The bride refused to make eye contact with the groom and tossed her bouquet as if she were heaving a live grenade into enemy lines. The smile stretched over her mother’s mouth more accurately resembled the rictus of a woman in extremis, while the expression on her father’s face would have stopped traffic. But if any of those well-dressed, well-bred, upper-echelon society guests happened to notice, no one was crass enough to remark on it.

Of course, the honeymoon plans had to be scratched. Instead of changing their clothes and heading for the airport, he and Julia climbed into the limousine in all their wedding finery and directed the driver around to the back of the country club where Felicity waited with the baby. The switch took place with furtive, undignified haste. Fortunately, the black-tinted windows in the vehicle hid the infant carrier strapped to one of the rear seats as the car sped down the driveway and headed south to White Rock.

Frequently, as they crossed the city, Ben began to speak. But one glance at Julia’s profile, and the words, inadequate at best, dried up completely. She sat as if made of stone, blind and deaf to everything around her, especially the man and child sharing the back of the limousine with her.

When they were only a few minutes short of their destination, he made a last attempt to reach her. “I love you, Julia. I need you. Please try to hold on to that. No matter how bad things seem, if you’ll believe in me, in my love, we can win this. We can make it.”

“The baby’s crying,” she said.

Astonished, he looked over at the little scrap of life that was his son and saw movement beneath the blanket, heard a mewing that sounded more like a kitten in distress than a human being. What was he supposed to do? He knew next to nothing about babies except that they needed attention at both ends rather often, yet it seemed to him that removing the child from the safety of the baby carrier wasn’t smart. What if the car swerved suddenly, or slammed to a stop? What if he dropped the baby on its head?

“I guess whatever’s bothering him can wait,” he muttered. “We’ll be at the house in another five minutes or so.”

She tilted her head, as though to say, Suit yourself. He’s your son, and continued to stare unblinkingly at the back of the driver’s head.

By the time they finally drew up outside the house, the mewing had escalated into an irate squawk. Leaving him to deal with that as he saw fit, Julia stepped out of the car and stalked to the front door. The driver followed with their luggage. Ben brought up the rear with the baby shrieking at the top of his tiny lungs.

“How do I make him stop?” he asked, once they were inside.

“Don’t ask me,” Julia said. “I’ve never had a baby. But I’d imagine whatever’s in the bag your lady friend left with you might provide some answers.”

“She’s not my lady friend, Julia,” he said edgily.

“Your former lover, then.” Turning to the mirror hanging above the hall table, she ripped off her wedding veil and tiara. “It’s been a long, not to mention devastating day, and I’m tired. I’ll take one of the guest rooms and leave the master suite for you, since you’ll be requiring extra space.”

“Julia—!” he began. But he was drowned out by the baby’s crying and even if he hadn’t been, she wasn’t interested in listening to anything he had to say. Deftly hoisting her skirt over her arm, she disappeared up the stairs.

He couldn’t blame her. Outwardly, he might appear to be functioning on all eight cylinders but inside he was a mess. How she must be feeling he could only begin to imagine. And the devil of it was, he couldn’t make consoling her his first priority.

Picking up the baby, he tried to soothe it by propping it against his chest. Its head flopped forward as if it hadn’t been properly connected to the neck. The hand he’d placed under its little rear end felt suddenly wet and clammy. Something smelled.

“Cripes!” he muttered as some sort of drool bubbled down the front of his shirt. “You’d better have come with a book of instructions, kiddo, or you and I are in for a rough ride.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE house had five bedrooms. Julia chose one at the other end of the upstairs hall, as far away from the master suite as possible. Fortunately, the renovations had almost been completed and although the furnishings were minimal, they’d do. Anything was better than being in the same room with Ben and the baby. That she could not have endured. She’d have slept in the garage first.

The room smelled of fresh paint and lemon oil. There were no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks on the dresser, no reading lamps, nor even sheets on the bed. The windows were bare and the only light came from an antique brass fixture in the middle of the ceiling.

It showed her stark reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door. She looked like the bride of Frankenstein—wild-eyed and as white as her wedding dress.

Almost everything about the wedding had been white—the flowers, the cake, the limousines. Even her bridesmaids had worn white. It had been her mother’s idea. “Why not?” she’d said, when Julia had questioned the need for quite such an extreme fashion statement. “It’s not only chic, it’s a proclamation of your innocence. You’re entitled to be married in white, unlike most brides in this day and age. Call me old-fashioned if you will, but to my way of thinking, women who’ve behaved like alley cats before marriage have no business parading down the aisle and trying to pass themselves off as virgins when they finally decide to settle down with one man.”

Just as well Ben had worn black. At least it matched his morals.

A sob caught Julia off guard and as another wave of misery overtook her, she tugged frantically at her dress. She could not bear its smothering softness a moment longer. She heard the pop of tiny buttons pulled roughly free, the tear of fine silk. Heard the ping of hand-sewn seed pearls and crystal bugle beads rolling across the polished oak floor. And didn’t care. The dress and everything it signified were a farce.

“Julia?” Ben’s voice, right outside the door, had her swallowing her sobs. “May I come in?”

And witness her standing there in nothing but her stockings and the strapless merry widow that showed more of her breasts than it concealed? With her hair standing on end and her face streaked with mascara and her eyes all puffy and red from crying? “You may not!”

“I’ve brought up your overnight bag. I figure you’ll be needing it.”