Stop That Wedding Read online

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Copyright © 2018 Melissa Klein

  First Printing, 2018

  Rusty Wheels Media, LLC.

  P.O. Box 1692

  Rome, GA 30162

  ISBN-13: 978-0692165096

  ISBN-10: 0692165096

  Printed in the United States of America

  -Disclaimer- Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. While some instances or thoughts may appear real, this is a work of fiction that is brought to life by the author.

  To everyone who attempted to stop my wedding.

  To everyone who wept as I walked down the aisle.

  To everyone who said it would never last.

  Love conquers all.

  -Melissa

  For projects past, and this precious book. Let there be many more in our future…

  -Marc, RWM

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Diana Curtis stood behind the barricade at Jackson-Evers International Airport waiting to collect her mother from a vacation touring England’s gardens. “Have you seen my mother?”

  Mrs. Frasier, president of Greenville’s Garden Club, waved and smiled. “No time to talk now, dear.” The woman kicked it into high gear, sprinting past others also arriving at the Mississippi airport.

  “Dang, I didn’t know the old gal could walk that fast.”

  While others bore signs or flowers, to welcome their travelers home, Diana carried a roll of antacids in one hand and a cell phone in another. What was taking so long? All the passengers had cleared customs in Atlanta. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Her mother’s last transmission before boarding her flight from London had sent her stomach churning and her anxiety pinging.

  I have a surprise for you.

  Coming from a typical mom, that message might mean a tin of shortbread biscuits or a Big Ben-shaped teapot. From Jackie Bouvier Dansfield Curtis it could mean any number of things. None of them good for Diana’s ulcer or her bank account. Several more familiar ladies made their way past. All ignoring her query as they scurried off to baggage claim.

  What is Mama dragging home this time?

  Her phone vibrated in her palm. Turning her attention from the arrivals door, she prayed for another message from her mother. Instead she found a text from her head buyer.

  No textiles in latest shipment. Only girl’s accessories and toiletries.

  Diana popped an antacid. Since starting the first Sweet Tea and Lavender store five years ago, she’d taken off exactly seven days. Five had been Christmases, one to have her wisdom teeth extracted, and another for her graduation from Ole Miss with a degree in business. Diana likened her string of boutique gift stores dotting the south to pearls worn by a sorority girl—breathtakingly beautiful, classic, and expensive. Her brainchild also required constant nurturing and attention. Just like her mother who dwelled in a fantasy world of garden parties and historical romance novels.

  As long as the SEC merchandise arrived we’re fine.

  While Black Friday came for most retailers at Thanksgiving, hers arrived during the weeks leading up to the college football season.

  She glanced up, worried she’d miss her mother. Jackie had the attention span of a drunk squirrel and was, therefore, prone to wander if something caught her fancy. Diana tossed the roll of antacids back in her purse and fished out the bottle of prescription anxiety medicine.

  “Why didn’t I take the time off and go with her like she asked?” Diana muttered, popping a pill. Clearly, that would have been the less panic attack-inducing solution.

  Yet another lady from home walked past the roped off area. “Mrs. Beecham, a moment please.”

  The woman paused, sighed, and then doubled back.

  Thank God for pastor’s wives.

  “Please tell me my mother didn’t miss her flight.”

  The woman in her late sixties arranged her features into a smile. “She stopped off to freshen up. She’ll be along in a while.”

  Diana let out a breath. “Thank heavens. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. My imagination has cooked up all kinds of trouble my mother could get into.”

  “You’re a good daughter to Jackie.” Mrs. Beecham patted Diana’s cheek before rejoining the line headed to baggage claim.

  When several more work-related texts had her phone singing, Diana joined the travelers at the oval-shaped carousels. The sooner she got her mother dropped off at Greenbrier, the family’s antebellum home forty miles west of Jackson, the sooner she could tackle the multiple work issues piling up. Besides her retail stores, Greenbrier’s bed and breakfast accounts needed her attention and the hunters’ camp she’d recently purchased required a visit.

  After locating the correct carousel, she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the crowd waiting for their bags. With summer travel season in full swing, the area had more people squeezed in it than a tailgate party at an Ole Miss game. A rotund man with a cart pushed his way forward to the front of the circular conveyer belt. His bull-in-a-china shop impersonation sent a young mom with two kids in tow bumping into Diana. In turn, she knocked against the person to her left.

  “Excuse me.” She turned to the man dressed in the nicest gray suit she’d ever seen. The finely woven fabric appeared hand crafted. Facing away from her, the gentleman didn’t react to her entering his personal space, but good manners dictated she apologize nonetheless. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  Mr. Fancy Suit let out a growl. “Damn Yanks.” The muttered oath shouldn’t have gotten under her skin. His clipped British accent gave him away. Bless his heart. He didn’t know many in her region of the US considered “Yankee” a curse rather than a national identifier.

  “It’s bloody bedlam in here. Don’t these people know how to queue?”

  A sharp retort poised on Diana’s lips. She didn’t complain about `driving on the wrong side of the road when she had traveled over there for business. Or the fact she couldn’t get grits and ice tea. When in Rome, and all that. The sight of her mother’s suitcase saved Mr. Suit from the cutting down he so richly deserved. She wormed her way toward the revolving black belt.

  Timing her snatch-and-grab, she captured the handle and pulled, only to be carried along when she failed to lift the heavy case off the carousel. People scrambled to get out of her way as she rounded the curve—all the while trotting backwards on her red-soled heels. This is how I die! She could imagine the Greenville Post headlines, “Former debutante killed in suitcase mishap. Closed casket required.”

  “Here, let me help you.” In a fluid motion Mr. Suit wrapped an arm around Diana’s waist and tugged her mom’s bag free from the belt. He set them both upright and steady on the floor as if neither weighed more than a bag of sugar.

  She blinked up at the guy who’d been so surly only moments before. “Thank you kindly. I do believe if you hadn’t come along, I was facing certain dismemberment.”

  His smile sent her heart to sputtering, something it hadn’t done since she caught her ex-boyfriend in bed with her ex-best friend. Contrary to popular humor, Brits had good t
eeth, especially the gentleman in his early thirties standing before her. Full lips perfectly accentuated his pearly whites.

  “You’re quite welcome.” His hazel eyes sparked as if somehow, he found her amusing.

  Ordinarily she would have taken offense at being the butt of someone’s joke, but the flash of dimple on his left cheek made her want to say something else amusing. Instead she tugged on her mother’s luggage. While the rest of the world carried bags with wheels, her mother clung to a matching set of Louis Vuitton passed down from Diana’s grandmother, Bette. The case refused to budge, giving Diana a sudden flashback.

  “Allow me.” Mr. Suit hefted the case, removing them from the throng to the edge of the baggage claim area. “My God, woman, what did you do—steal the crown jewels?”

  Diana smoothed the blonde strands that had come loose from the knot at her nape. “It’s my mother’s bag and it’s entirely possible.” At the very least Jackie had purchased replicas of famous jewels to add to her collection of all-things-British. She caught Mr. Suit’s gaze and winked. “If she has your crown and scepter, I’ll see to it you get it back.” While clearly not one of the often-photographed members of the royal family, his smart appearance and manners certainly identified him as a member of Britain’s upper echelon.

  Why on earth was he slumming with the mundane multitudes?

  Andrew had never wanted to kiss a stranger—until this moment. The woman he’d rescued from death-by-luggage elevated chatting up a chap to an art form. The snap of her green eyes conveyed intelligence while her ready smile hinted of sensual pleasure. Were all Americans this outgoing, or was it only this woman who’d ensnared him?

  No wonder Uncle Neville had gotten into this mess.

  “They’re not my jewels per se,” He winked. After all, at Eton he’d earned his reputation as a rounder for more than his card skills. “However, I do know the correct persons to whom you should return them. If you’ll provide your contact information, I’ll make certain of their safe return.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  Ah, wisdom behind that ready smile. “Andrew Montgomery.” He left out the Viscount Farthingworth part. His title tended to attract the wrong sort, much like his uncle had as Duke of Effingham. Eventually, Andrew would bear both titles, adding to his eligibility as groom bait. “At your service. Miss?” He bowed ever slightly.

  “Diana Curtis.” She extended her hand, taking his in a firm grip. “What brings you to Mississippi? Business or pleasure?”

  Her words snapped him out of his daze. He’d been so completely taken with the charming lady, he’d forgotten his purpose in flying to the States. Andrew glanced at the carousel for the black cases with the Effingham crest. “My uncle seems to have gotten himself in a spot of a situation. I came to sort him out.”

  Diana nodded. “I can identify with that problem.” Her drawl threatened to distract him again. “My mother is the kindest, most generous person I know, but she has as much common sense as God gave a billy goat.” She rubbed between her brows. “Mama lives in a fantasy world. Do you know she sent a birth announcement to the Prince and Princess of Wales when I was born?” All the while she told her story she scanned the throng of people, presumably looking for the flighty woman.

  “Did their royal highnesses respond?” Where was his uncle? As much pleasure as he drew from chatting with Diana, he needed to straighten out the situation and return to Monte Carlo.

  “Their note of congratulations was framed and has been in my bedroom since it arrived.”

  Something about Diana’s candor—and her lovely heart-shaped face—enticed him to share his own parental woes. “Let me tell you what my Uncle Neville has done.” Though his father, the Earl of Somerset, was still living, his maternal uncle was the guiding force in his life. To learn he’d behaved quite out of character, unsettled Andrew more than he was willing to admit. “It seems he’s been corresponding with a woman from here in Mississippi. He invited her for a visit. Following a two-week courtship, he put my grandmother’s ring on her finger, left a note with the butler, and headed here to meet her family.”

  Diana placed her hand on his arm. “It sounds as if we both have our hands full. The last message I received from my mother said she had a surprise for me.” She held up a roll of antacids. “Surprises from Jackie are rarely pleasant, for me at least.”

  “Whatever your mother has done, I’m sure you’ll be able to manage it. You seem like a woman who knows what she’s about.” He shook his head. “Me, on the other hand, I’m in for it. The butler, Cullen, described the woman in the ghastliest terms. He said she had hair as dark as a raven’s wing and teased into something that looked like a nest for a large bird. To say nothing of her garish wardrobe. Usually, I’m as egalitarian as the next chap, but this is beyond the pale. Mark my words, she’s a gold digger.” Not that her digging would do her any good. Still, duty demanded Andrew protect the retiring gentleman who spent more time in his library reading fifteenth-century literature than he did keeping up with twenty-first-century culture.

  Andrew scanned the crowd, aiming his sights at shoulder height of the crowd. If only he could separate Uncle Neville from the clutches of this woman with a minimum of fuss. Drawing the stares of strangers ranked high on his to-be-avoided list. Just like romantic entanglements.

  A fresh wave of anxiety washed over Diana. The knot in her stomach tightened to the point no amount of antacid could help. Andrew’s description touched a little too close to home. Perhaps to outsiders, Jackie’s bouffant was a little full. But her mother had always said, “The bigger the hair, the closer to Jesus.”

  You’re borrowing trouble.

  Lots of middle-aged women teased their hair and colored it a shade or two darker than they should. Besides, her mother’s trip entailed tours of gardens, not ensnaring old men.

  From several yards away, she caught a flash of fuchsia, her mother’s signature color. Diana waved to catch her attention. “Yoo-hoo, Mama, over here.”

  Jackie weaved through and around people, smiling and waving all the way as she closed the distance. “I’m home, baby. Safe and Sound.”

  Diana turned to Andrew, who’d finally located his uncle’s luggage. “Maybe her surprise isn’t so bad after all. She looks fine.”

  “Hey, sugar, let me hug your neck.” She did and added a peck on the cheek. “You are a doll for picking us up.”

  “Us?” She squeaked out the word.

  Her mother tugged a short, portly gentleman forward through the throng of people. “Diana, I’d like you to meet the Duke of Effingham, my—”

  “Uncle Neville, what the bloody hell?” Andrew cut between the two lovebirds. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Diana’s head practically exploded as the pieces slid into place. Her mother patted her gentleman friend’s balding head while the duke looked bashfully at his nephew—who’d called her mother a gold digger!

  Balling up her fist like Granddaddy Dansfield taught her, she punched his jaw a good one. “You take what you said about my mama back, right this minute.” She jabbed a finger toward the pair. “Whatever unholy mess these two have gotten into, I assure you my mother is not after your uncle’s money or his stupid title.” Thanks to Diana’s drive and horse sense, money wasn’t a problem for her family—anymore.

  The crowd around them grew quiet, which was saying something considering they were in the middle of baggage claim. Her hand flew to her mouth. Good Lord, she’d assaulted a man. She could go to jail.

  Pride flashed in Andrew’s face for a moment, sending her heart into her stomach. Her grandmother always said, “a wound to a man’s ego was as lethal as one to his chest.” He rubbed the bright fist-shaped mark, moving his jaw. “My God, woman, are all American women versed in the pugilistic arts?”

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  He motioned around the open area where people still observed their drama. “Is there a place we co
uld discuss this matter in private? I’ll be happy to render your mother an apology, but I’d rather not provide the masses with quite so much entertainment.”

  Andrew’s steady tone did nothing to settle the buzzard flapping around in her belly. More than restoring her mama’s honor needed attention. Jackie had been on the verge of declaring something regarding her relationship with the duke. Had she heard Andrew correctly? “I suppose the best place to do that is back home.”

  Jackie’s hands flapped with excitement. “What a good idea, Diana. I can’t wait for Neville to see where we’ll be spending half the year.”

  Andrew opened his mouth, cut his gaze at her, and clamped his lips together.

  “My car is in the parking deck. There should be room for everyone.” If they didn’t mind the extra “cargo” rolling around inside. While her office and bedroom were impeccably tidy, it seemed beyond Diana to maintain order in her vehicle.

  “You’ll love the gardens, especially the English cottage room I created a few years ago. The fairies and sprites find my hollyhocks and peonies delightful places to hide during the heat of the day.”

  Diana popped another antacid and rubbed the twitch forming above her right brow. She’d long ago given up wishing for a more conventional mother. “Jackie was as the good Lord intended,” her grandmother always said. Since the age of twelve, Diana had taken care of her mother’s day-to-day needs. However, as she looked over her shoulder at the two distinguished men Jackie had drug home, she couldn’t help feeling this would be far more difficult than the time her mama brought home an injured deer. That fiasco ended when the buck ate the garden and gored the neighbor.

  She cut her eyes at Andrew. Good Lord, he was a looker, even with a bruise forming on his jaw. This time she and her mother could both be in jeopardy.

  Having procured a trolley for the cases, Andrew proceeded along behind the others. His plans for a quick return to his “occupation” slipped from his grasp as Diana and her mother discussed supper plans and accommodations for his uncle and him. It appeared they were on their way to the family’s home where they’d sort out the mess in private.