“Maybe. But first, speaking of Pattie, I'd like to straighten you out about something.”

“I beg your pardon.” His mother looked shocked at his tone, and he did nothing to soften it as he continued.

“You should beg my pardon, Mother. Or rather, Serena's. And I want to make something clear to you once and for all. Serena is my wife, whether you like that fact or not. Apparently you asked her not to come to Greg's wedding. That you would dare do such a thing astounds me and hurts me. If you'd like us both not to come, that would be fine, but if you'd like me to be there, then you'd best know that I'm bringing Serena.” There were tears in his eyes now as he went on. They were tears of anger and fury and disappointment. “I love her with all my heart, Mother. She's a wonderful girl, and in a few months we'll have a baby. I can't make you accept her. But I won't let you hurt her. Don't ever do anything like this again.”

With a hesitant step his mother walked toward him. “I'm sorry, Brad. I—I misunderstood … I'm afraid this has all been very hard for me too. I just never expected you to marry someone … different. I thought you'd marry someone here, someone we knew.”

“But I didn't. And it's not fair to punish Serena for it.”

“Tell me.” His mother looked at him with interest. “Did she tell you this herself?”

“No, you see, Serena loves me too much to put herself between you and me. She confided in Teddy, and he told me.”

“I see. Did she say anything else?”

He looked at his mother strangely. “Is there more to tell?” Could his mother have done more? Had he been right to worry about Serena's obvious upset the day before? “Is there something I should know?”

“No, not at all.” With relief she realized that Serena hadn't told him, not that it would have changed anything. She wouldn't have given that paper up to anyone now. The paper Serena had signed was already in her vault. She was still convinced that Serena was after his money, and years later when she left him and tried to soak him, his mother would save the day with the paper she had had the foresight to force Serena to sign. One day he would thank her.

He had one more thing to tell her. “I think, under the circumstances, that it will be better if we leave today, after the wedding. I'll try to get a compartment on the night train to Chicago, and if I can't, we can stay in a hotel and leave in the morning.”

“You can't do that.” Suddenly her eyes blazed.

“Why not?”

“Because I want you here. You haven't been home for any decent amount of time in years.”

“You should have thought of that before you declared war on Serena.”

Her eyes were angry and cruel and bitter. “You're my son, and you'll do what I tell you.”

Brad's voice was oddly quiet. “I'm afraid you're wrong. I'm a grown man with a wife and family of my own. I am not your puppet. Father may be, and my poor weak brother, but I'm not, and don't you ever forget it.”

“How can you talk to me this way? How dare you!” Brad took a careful step toward her. “Mother, stay out of my life or you'll regret it.”

“Brad!”

But he said nothing as he turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.





25

And at exactly one minute to eleven the huge front doors were closed, the organ began to play more loudly, and there was a sudden hush in the church, unbroken even by whispers, and as though by magic the ushers and bridesmaids began to appear, in a solemn procession of cutaways and striped trousers and organdy dresses in palest peach. There were picture hats to match, and the dresses were so lovely that Serena gazed at them in fascination. They had enormous Victorian sleeves and high necks, tiny waists, and full skirts with elegant little trains. Each bridesmaid carried a bouquet of tiny roses in the same color, and when the last of the bridesmaids had passed by and the flower girl appeared, she was wearing a miniature version of the same dress, except that the sleeves were tiny round puffs and there was no train over which she could fall. She carried a silver basket filled with rose petals, and she had an angelic face, as she giggled at her brother who wore a short black velvet suit and solemnly carried a velvet cushion on which lay both rings. Serena smiled at the children with damp eyes, and then turned to see who came behind them, and as she did she caught her breath at the vision that stood there. It was a fairy princess in a dress of lace so magnificent that Serena thought she had never seen anything like it. It was obviously an heirloom. A gasp and a murmur ran through the church as Pattie stood there in the high-necked full-sleeved gown of her great-grandmother. The dress was well over a hundred years old. There was a short necklace of exquisite diamonds that she wore at her neck, a tiny tiara that had been made to match, and pearls and diamonds glittered in her ears, and all around her hung a cloud of veil that seemed to sweep behind her for miles, covering her train and most of the aisle as she marched regally by on her father's arm. It was impossible not to feel dwarfed beside her, her dark beauty in sharp contrast to the soft white, and Serena was absolutely certain that she was the most beautiful bride she had ever seen. It was impossible to associate, even for a moment, this totally perfect scene with all that Brad had told her about Partie. This couldn't be the same woman, Serena found herself thinking. This was a goddess, a fairy princess. It was she who looked like a principessa, Serena mused as she sat there. And then with a heavy heart she realized that it was she who could have been Brad's wife. He could have been the groom at this wedding, married to the striking little dark-haired beauty from his own world. Had he done that, there would have been no strife, no anger, no problem with his mother. And as she thought of it all she felt guilt pour over her for all that she had done to disrupt B.J.'s life. Her eyes wandered back to the altar, where she saw Greg standing stiffly beside his bride. And just behind them stood Brad and the maid of honor, and as Serena watched her, a distinguished-looking girl with red hair, which somehow blended well with the peach dress and large picture hat, she wondered if Brad was regretting what he had lost when he married her. He could have had the redhead, or any of the pretty blondes with their bright, freckled, American faces. He could have names that everyone recognized, whose aunts and grandmothers and fathers they had known. He could have lived the life his mother wanted for him, keeping his family intact. Instead he had married a stranger to this world, and he would become an outcast. As she thought of it the tears filled her eyes and ran slowly down her cheeks. She felt a grief beyond measure at what she had done to him. Oh, God, what would happen if he ended up hating her for it?