Chapter 14
ELIZA
The dinner party thrown in our honor was small and intimate. At least, small by my father’s standards. Only a few dozen people milled around our formal dining room instead of the hundreds that usually appeared when an aristocrat got engaged.
These were my dad’s closest friends, men who had known him for decades, lofty, rich, and royally tied just like him. They’d arrived in polished cars just after sunset, their wives following like elegant shadows wrapped in silk and pearls.
Soon, the faint scent of expensive cologne and perfume lingered in the air while stories were swapped about land and lineage.
It had been a long time since I’d been at a gathering like this, the sort that ran on the tradition of scotch before dinner and carefully veiled comparisons about whose family had been around the longest.
I used to be able to hide behind my sisters when this kind of thing happened, but tonight, I was alone. Winnie hadn’t made the journey, which honestly hadn’t surprised me. London offered far more interesting entertainment than a countryside engagement dinner for her sister.
As for Eugenie, she hadn’t come either, but I hadn’t spoken to her in any serious capacity for the last several years.
We sent messages on birthdays and occasionally shared family news, but the easy closeness we’d had as children had long since faded into polite distance.
Marrying her ex-boyfriend certainly wasn’t going to help matters much.
I still hadn’t heard a word from her since the contract had been offered to me instead.
Even Jesse had been dragged away with the men while I stayed at the table, quite content on my own, but that changed abruptly when the wives descended. They appeared in clusters of one or two, drifting over while the men gathered near the fireplace with their scotch.
A third joined, then another, until I found myself surrounded by a semicircle of strange women smiling at me while they clucked like little hens. I’d met most of them before, of course, but I didn’t really know any of them.
Not that you’d say it for the way they’re looking at me right now.
“Eliza, darling, the ring is magnificent,” the first cooed, grabbing my hand in a gentle grip and curving my fingers around her palm.
Another leaned in closer. “Oh my, look at the size of that stone.”
“You must be over the moon.”
I sat frozen between them, but they barely seemed to notice my discomfort, their attention squarely on my left hand and the diamond Jesse had slid onto my finger earlier.
It was glittering enthusiastically under the chandelier, like it was putting on a show for them.
I didn’t mind. As long as they were gawking at the ring, at least they weren’t looking at me.
“Yes,” I said politely once I finally realized they were looking at me expectantly. “We’re very happy. The ring is lovely.”
It was also gaudy, the weight of it on my finger uncomfortable, but I would never say any of that. Objectively, it was a beautiful ring, modern and flashy. I simply would have preferred something a little… less.
Another woman leaned closer with an approving smile. “Your fiancé is extremely handsome.”
Well, she’s not wrong there.
I’d been struggling to keep my eyes off him tonight myself, dressed as he was in a dark tuxedo with his rich brown hair neatly styled and his eyes somehow sparkling brighter than ever before.
He stood across the room with the other men, a glass of scotch in his hand and his head thrown back as he laughed.
One of the wives followed my gaze. “Such a handsome blue-blooded American,” she said, covering a giggle with her hand. “He certainly looks the part, doesn’t he?”
A few of the others murmured their agreement. I didn’t even know who they were and yet, they were positively swooning over my fiancé. I didn’t know how to feel about that, other than not being able to blame them at all.
The first woman who’d come over finally dropped into the seat beside mine. “He’s from Chicago, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I replied quietly. “It’s a lovely city.”
Lovely. There’s that word again. I need a new one. Pronto.
“I heard the Westwoods are quite the family.” She smiled at me like we were sharing a secret. “It must be so exciting, the prospect of going over there to live with him.”
“It certainly is. It’s going to be lovely.” I returned her smile, outwardly gracious, but internally, I would’ve very much preferred to be upstairs in my room.
Usually, I could sneak away from these events, but tonight, I was the guest of honor. That meant curling up beneath my blankets and continuing the novel I’d started last night would have to wait.
Instead, I tried to come up with a few different words to throw out on the rare occasion they required any input from me, and I nodded my way through questions about wedding dates and dress designers.
When a flute of champagne appeared in my hand, I took a small, tentative sip, almost sneezing at the amount of bubbles that came with it, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant, so I kept sipping. Eventually, the glass was empty and someone replaced it with a fresh one before I could protest.
Around me, the conversation shifted between topics with dizzying speed. The wives discussed potential venues and the guest list as if they were sure they would be on it, speculating about whether the ceremony might attract press attention and whether Jesse had started planning the honeymoon yet.
Every so often, someone would glance at my ring again and sigh dreamily. Meanwhile, I kept smiling, nodding, and reminding myself to breathe.
I also kept catching myself looking over at Jesse.
He seemed far more comfortable than me, apparently having settled into the circle of men with surprising ease.
Once in a while, he glanced at me, either sending me a small smile or a wink whenever our eyes met, but I only got to have him to myself for a few minutes over dinner.
“You having a good time?” he asked, those eyes twinkling even more now. Although that might’ve been the scotch.
I shrugged, picking at my food while raucous laughter broke out around the table. “It’s fine. It’s a lovely party.”
Bloody hell. A different word, Eliza. Whatever happened to eloquence?
Jesse’s gaze drifted to my fork, just poking at food instead of spearing it. “Not hungry?”
“Not particularly, no,” I murmured, then looked up into his eyes. “Are you having a good time?”
He flashed me an easy smile. “Sure. I’m surprised at how cool some of your father’s friends are. I was expecting a pretty quiet evening.”
“So was I,” I agreed, but the words had barely left my mouth before one of the men drew him into conversation over the port that had been served after dinner.
The men eventually circled back around to scotch. Their stories were growing louder, their laughter coming more often. Jesse leaned with one elbow against the table, listening to one of my father’s friends recount some hunting trip from twenty years ago.
The wives had mercifully been broken out of the wedding-talk trance by the meal, so I had the opportunity to just observe my future husband for a little while, once again astounded by how much he’d changed.
No longer insisting on being the center of attention, he asked questions at the right moments and delivered the occasional dry remark that sent another ripple of laughter through the group. It was impressive, honestly, how completely at home he looked among them. Although I suppose it makes sense.
His family moved in similar circles, but even so, as the night wore on, I noticed the color in his face beginning to change just slightly, the faintest hint of red creeping across his cheeks. I lifted my champagne again, taking another careful sip.
I hope he’s as practiced a drinker as he seems, because he’s definitely getting ruddier and these guys aren’t going to let him go soon.
As dessert was served, my thoughts were interrupted when the wives turned their attention to me. I’d just taken a sip of what was definitely my third glass of champagne when one of them suddenly stood and lifted her champagne flute.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said brightly. “A toast!”
Instantly, all conversation quieted and glasses lifted, everyone giving her their attention as thoroughly as if she was making an announcement of national importance.
She seemed to revel it, smiling warmly at my father.
“To love, and to how lucky James is to have a daughter who gets to marry for it. And to marry so well, at that.”
My father beamed. I smiled politely, though the words marry for love sat awkwardly in my stomach. The woman, however, was clearly enjoying herself, not quite done yet.
“And, of course, to such a handsome blue-blooded American,” she said, gesturing toward Jesse with theatrical approval.
He inclined his head with easy charm, but then another woman chimed in. “I suppose we must thank your parents for producing such fine sons.”
“Oh!” someone else said. “Do you have brothers, Mr. Westwood?”
Jesse leaned back slightly. “I do. Quite a few, actually.”
“Well then,” the first woman said mischievously, gesturing toward the younger women scattered around the room. “Perhaps you can set our daughters up with them.”
The table erupted into delighted laughter, but Jesse simply raised his glass. “I can probably make that happen.”
The response from the group was immediate and enthusiastic. I shook my head slightly, amused despite myself. At least, I was until someone near the far end of the table called out loudly.
“Well, I think it’s time.”
Another voice joined in. “Yes, let’s see it.”
I automatically assumed they were talking about the ring, already moving my hand up before someone else chimed in with unmistakable glee. “Kiss her!”
I choked on my champagne, the bubbles going down the wrong way and sending me into a brief coughing fit. Heat rushed to my face. Beside me, Jesse straightened.
One moment, he’d been relaxed, if slightly flushed from the scotch, and the next, he looked completely sober.
He leaned over and smoothed his palm over my back until the coughing had subsided, the warmth of his skin even through my clothes sending tingles through me, but the room was still buzzing with encouragement around us.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
Finally, Jesse lifted his hands in an attempt to quiet them, flashing them a charming, crooked grin. “Now hold on. In America, we have a proud tradition of waiting until marriage.”
The room exploded with boos. Good-natured but relentless. A chorus of “Oh, nonsense!,” and “Don’t be shy!” and “Give the girl a proper kiss!” ringing out.
Jesse laughed under his breath but turned to look at me.
Something quiet passed between us as our eyes met, a question or perhaps a warning.
Maybe even just a silent acknowledgment of the ridiculous situation we were in, but whatever it was, it didn’t appear that we were getting out of it without giving them what they wanted.
I barely had time to process before he slid his arm around my shoulders and leaned in closer again. My pulse jumped as his free hand settled lightly at my waist, his head slowly descending.
The first kiss was just a peck, a soft, brief press of his lips against mine.
Polite enough not to disappoint the crowd, but not quite enough to fully satisfy them either.
They burst into cheers, but before I could even breathe properly again, Jesse leaned back in, those eyes intently focused on my own.
Instead of pulling away, he slanted his head to one side and pressed his lips back to mine. This second kiss was much more than just a peck, slower and deeper, his mouth moving against mine with a quiet confidence that made my entire body go still.
For a moment, I forgot where we were. I forgot about the guests, the champagne, and the fact that my father was right across from us. Jesse seemed to forget himself too, his hand tightening slightly at my waist as the kiss softened into something warm and unexpectedly intimate.
My heart skipped and then started galloping, butterflies exploding in my stomach and fluttering through my entire body.
All I could think about was the warmth of Jesse’s lips and the steady pressure of his hand, the woodsy, masculine scent of him enveloping me and the slight taste of scotch on his tongue.
I found my body inching toward him, my hands suddenly itching to reach for his shoulders.
It was intoxicating, utterly maddening that something was holding me back.
It took me a beat to remember what it was, and as if Jesse had suddenly remembered too, he finally slowed the kiss to a natural end, but lingered with his lips mere millimeters away from mine.
When he eventually pulled away, the room rushed back, that suspended moment in time evidently over. The first thing that rushed back in was the noise. Applause. Whistles. Someone laughing loudly.
Reality took a second to return, but beside me, Jesse had already straightened up again, one hand still resting lightly against the back of my chair. His voice sounded slightly distorted in my ears when he spoke.
“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You’ve all had your entertainment for the evening.” More laughter followed and his lips curved into a self-deprecating grin. “I’m the lucky one here. Trust me.”
They seemed delighted by his answer, but I couldn’t even bring myself to look at them. Instead, I just stared at the champagne glass in front of me, finally realizing that it was empty.
My third one tonight.
My fingers curled around the stem, my heart still beating much faster than it should’ve. Am I drunk or did I just have the best kiss of my life?
I honestly didn’t know, but I was suddenly looking forward to finding out. Preferably in private next time, alone with the man I’d already agreed to spend the rest of my life with. The man who might just spend the rest of his own kissing me like that.