Arthur Hargreaves strode into the room, dressed in a spotless tuxedo, an immaculate shirt, a flawless bow tie, and gleaming black leather shoes, with his grapevine wreath tilted at a rakish angle over one eye. He struck a wide-legged pose before Charlotte and Honoria, thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and grinned roguishly at them.
“You,” Charlotte gasped as the color drained from her face.
“Arthur?” Honoria breathed, looking horror-struck.
“Hello, girls,” he said cheerfully. “I hear you’ve become proper ladies.”
The color rushed back into Charlotte’s face in a crimson flood. Honoria’s mouth moved, but no sound emerged.
“Deirdre,” said Willis, Sr. “Would you please take my granddaughter to the nursery? I believe her diaper requires attention.”
Deirdre, who’d been staring delightedly at Arthur, came out of her happy trance and, with many a backward glance, took Bess from the room.
“I do apologize for bursting in on you,” Arthur said, extending his hand to shake Willis, Sr.’s and Bill’s. He raised Amelia’s to his lips before releasing it. “I’m Arthur Hargreaves and I live next door. Lori thought we should get to know one another.” He cocked his head toward Honoria and Charlotte. “No need to introduce myself to those two. Honey and the Shark are old pals.”
“Honey and the Shark?” I said, feeling as though Christmas had come early.
“That’s what they called themselves back in the day,” Arthur said brightly, beaming at Bill’s aunts. “We met in Boston when I was lecturing at MIT. They were party animals back then. Haven’t changed a bit, have you, girls? Still downing your drinky poos?” He began to stride jauntily back and forth in front of the sisters. “I was a callow fifteen-year-old, but Honey and the Shark liked the look of me. Fixed me up with a fake ID, took me barhopping.” He came to a halt and gazed wistfully into the middle distance. “I’ll never forget the sight of them, dancing on a pool table with their dresses hiked up around their . . .” He sighed reminiscently. “It was quite an education.”
The martini glasses fell to the floor. The sisters stood.
“Excuse me, William,” Charlotte said, her eyes downcast. “I am unwell.”
“As am I,” Honoria mumbled.
They sped from the room. The sound of their footsteps on the marble staircase suggested that they were unwilling to wait for the elevator.
“Is it true?” I asked Arthur, clasping my hands to my chest as I rose from the settee. “Oh, please, let it be true.”
The answer came from an unexpected quarter.
“It is true,” said Willis, Sr. “My sisters were legendarily wayward young women. My father had to bail them out of jail on five separate occasions. My recollections of their youthful indiscretions have always made it difficult for me to take their conversion to respectability seriously.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” I cried, throwing my arms around him.
“I had to protect our emissary,” he said, his eyes twinkling, when we broke apart. “And some good deeds can’t be done in silence.”
“Mr. Hargreaves?” said Amelia. “Would you care to join us for dinner?”
“I would be honored,” said Arthur.
“The honor,” said Bill, grinning from ear to ear, “is entirely ours.”
And though darkness had fallen on the slumbering world, the sun shone that night in Fairworth.
Epilogue
The wedding was a joyous occasion. Willis, Sr., and Amelia were equally radiant and the love they felt for each other seemed to fill every heart in St. George’s. Peggy Taxman, Sally Cook, and Christine Peacock held their husbands’ hands, Grant Tavistock rested his head against Charles Bellingham’s shoulder, and the Handmaidens couldn’t help smiling through their copious tears.
My matron of honor dress fit me like a dream and though I wasn’t as slender as the young bridesmaids, my curves won their fair share of admirers. Bill looked debonair in his morning suit and Will and Rob performed their roles as ring bearers flawlessly—after Amelia showed them the cookies she’d hidden in her bouquet.
The sunlit reception at Fairworth House was more fun for some than for others. Charlotte and Honoria led the rest of Bill’s relatives in welcoming Amelia to the family, then took the first flight back to Boston. Bree Pym and Jack MacBride presented the newlyweds with a matching pair of didgeridoos they’d picked up in Australia, then regaled us with tales of their journey, finishing each other’s sentences with an ease that left little doubt in anyone’s mind that the vicar would soon be performing another wedding.