Chapter 18 #2
Instead of reminding him whose fault it was we were late, I did as he asked and took the first spot I saw.
When I hopped out and followed my family down the sidewalk toward town hall, there wasn’t a single soul to be seen on the street or even loitering outside.
We were very definitely late. I tried to suck in a calming breath…
And then we stepped through the foyer and into the assembly hall… and my breathing simply stopped.
The room no longer contained a motley collection of old, mismatched folding chairs from seventy years of potlucks and banners from centuries-old spelling bees. It had been transformed into a velvet-draped, candlelit ballroom filled with… Regency-era actors?
I blinked. This couldn’t be heatstroke, right? It was September and decidedly chilly. But I couldn’t come up with any other explanation for what I was seeing.
A woman in a coral-colored empire-waist dress with matching turban and feathers strolled by and gave me a polite curtsy, and I gasped. “Ms. Fortnum? What is happening right now?”
I stepped further into the room and turned in a circle.
A woman in a deep blue dress and a sapphire necklace that set off her eyes—Jack’s eyes—winked at me.
“Melanie?” I whispered. Across the room, a gaggle of girls in white dresses with artfully arranged curls smiled, and one of them waved with way too much energy.
“Gracie?” A man in a top hat and long sideburns nodded at me. “Holy… Mr. Avery?”
Not actors, I realized. None of them were. This was my town—my friends and family—all dressed up in costumes like something out of…
Em grabbed my hand. She’d shucked her denim jacket, and now I could see that she, too, was dressed in costume. “Isn’t this amazing? The whole town came together… They love you, Hawk.”
Webb leaned in and whispered, “By the way, they already did the vote half an hour ago. It passed, thanks to you.”
That was great, and later tonight or maybe tomorrow, I’d care very much about that, but for the moment, the vote was the last thing on my mind.
My neck twisted around like an owl’s, taking in the details of the room’s decorations, the orchestra music coming from one end of the room, the chaotic mess of modern-day Hollowans crowding the dance floor, trying to do the Boulanger.
I pressed a hand to my mouth to hold back my laughter even as my eyes filled with tears.
This was the Netherfield ballroom.
This was Pride and Prejudice.
This was… magic.
This was someone not caring that they were doing something a little foolish, as long as it made the person they loved smile.
And I knew exactly who had made it happen.
As I approached the dance floor, the music stopped, and a tall man with broad shoulders I would recognize anywhere, anytime, even when dressed in formal Regency attire, made his way through the dancing pairs.
Jack Wyatt was stunning always, but dressed in a formal black tailcoat and buff-colored knee-breeches, with a crisp, white silk cravat tied in an elaborate knot at his throat and a dark beaver top hat over his sunshine hair, he made my knees turn to jelly.
He approached me formally, removed the hat, and made a deep bow.
“Mr. Sunday,” he said, his gravelly voice loud in the sudden pin-drop silence of the room.
“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
I stared at him, my throat thick with emotion. I swallowed and tried to ignore all of our friends and family watching us.
Jack Wyatt had done this for me. Given me the over-the-top romantic fairy tale I’d wanted for years.
“You’re tolerable, I suppose…” I sniffed, when I really wanted to scream, “Did you just quote Darcy at me?”
Jack’s breathtaking smile broke through his attempts at formality as if he knew exactly what I was thinking—because he probably did—and his blue eyes sparkled with adoration and mischief. My heart nearly hurled itself out of the cage of my body and into his own.
“You are too generous to trifle with me,” he whispered.
I stepped forward, reaching up to feel the intricate knot at his throat and the luxurious wool of his tailcoat lapels.
“Baby,” I said, keeping my voice soft enough to stay between the two of us.
“I can’t believe… You are…” I shook my head, unable to find the words to describe how happy he made me.
How understood I felt when I was with him.
“But you know you don’t need to prove anything to me, right?
I don’t need this… when every single minute with you is—”
“I know.” He brushed a finger over my forehead.
“Of course I know. How could I not when you show me how much you love me every day? But I’m not always great with words.
” He gave me a rueful half smile. “I’m never gonna be Mr. Darcy, with the longing looks and the poetic language.
And I never want you to doubt how important you are to me.
You make the bad days better and the good days amazing, and…
and you’re my heart, Hawk Sunday,” he said simply.
Seriously, if the man were any better with words, I’d melt into a puddle of goo right there on the floor.
I cupped his jaw. “I don’t need you to be Mr. Darcy for me,” I whispered. “I never did. I only ever needed you to be Jack. My Jack.”
“Always and forever. That’s a given.” He brushed his lips across mine and winked. “Dance with me, Bird?”
When we kissed, the crowd of friends and family around us whooped with joy—as well as a few semi-lewd puns. We joined the awkward dancers attempting a cross between square dancing, the waltz, and the Macarena.
The orchestra earned their keep for two straight hours, playing killer sets of the most danceable instrumental music in history. Refreshment tables were filled with pitchers of punch, platters of cold meats and finger sandwiches, and fruit-flavored ices for the kids.
And when the room began to overheat from all the dancing and candlelight, Jack led me outside to the cool night air of the parking lot, which had been hung with fairy lights and dotted with chairs, flower topiaries, and enormous tree cutouts I recognized from the town theater group’s production of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.
“Much better,” I said, fanning my face with my hand. Jack had removed his tailcoat at least an hour ago and stood in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. I reached up to untie the knot at his neck. “You must be suffocating.”
Jack gasped in mock outrage. “Hawkins Sunday! Are you taking liberties? Attempting to steal my virtue, right here in this…” He looked around at the paved ground, and his eyes landed on a potted chrysanthemum. “…garden?”
I laughed out loud. “Is it working?”
“Of course not,” he lied, leaning closer so I could wrestle with the complex folds of cloth. “What would my mother say?”
I laughed harder. “She’d say, ‘Good job, Hawk! Peony and I approve!’”
Jack pursed his lips, knowing this was true.
“Still. This reminds me of that scandalous Pride and Prejudice variation you told me about last month, remember? The one where Darcy and Lizzy get it on in the garden while she’s visiting Pemberley, and she’s compromised, and there’s the whole blackmail plot… ”
“That was hardly compromising,” I reminded him. “Darcy had already vowed his eternal love. ‘Trust me with your body as I trust you with my heart, Elizabeth, and I will keep you safe always.’ Remember? She already knew the marriage proposal was coming and they’d be together forever.”
Jack covered my hands with his, trapping them against his chest. “Did she?” he said gruffly, but it sounded like he was saying something else.
Startled, I glanced up at him, my heart beating hard. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Yeah, she did.”
“Good.” He grinned and dropped his hands to my waist. “Then, by all means—” he began.
But I should have known better than to expect a man to be left to his own devices in the town of Little Pippin Hollow because a chorus of male laughter sounded from the other side of the plywood tree to my right.
“Oooh! That’s strong stuff, Norm,” a voice that sounded an awful lot like Ernie York’s said delightedly. He made a lip-smacking sound. “But it’s good.”
“We gotta rejoice that this vote is over and done,” Norm Avery said, grumpy as ever. “Now the Hollow can find something new to get its knickers in a twist over.”
“Nonsense. There’s still the construction left to be done. Plenty to complain about there!” Conrad Pilkner sounded positively delighted at this prospect.
Jack caught my eye and bit his lip to stifle his laughter.
“I just hope they bring in better surveyors this time,” O’Henry Brush said.
“Last batch was downright incompetent. D’you know, they brought one of their off-roaders into Charlie’s garage a couple months back?
Engine flooded, whole front end smashed in, and—get this—every single one of those heavy tires was flat as a pancake and stuck through with long steel spikes.
Looked like it had gone six rounds with a giant metal porcupine and lost. Weirdest thing I ever saw. ”